“What about it?”
“When the water gets to the top of the Stoneway, you’ll have ocean running down the valley instead of a river.”
“Except that most of Wold will probably already be underwater as the sea moves east from Wellsport.” Precious Wind stared out the window. “I have been told that this happened in the Before Time, this great surge of waters, shortly before the hot times came, before the Big Kill and the Time When No One Moved Around.”
“I’ve been told the same,” said Abasio. “Back then, it was a matter of ice melting and then freezing again. This time there’s a lot more water, and as it flows out of the deep caverns, the earth will collapse into them, leaving only water, that’s all.”
Bear made an impatient gesture at what he regarded as so much nonsense. “So, how’d you come all that way?”
“The old maps say the desert is a low place. When I started out, I figured if water got that far, it had filled the desert, so I didn’t go that way. I went north, along the east edge of the mountains, until there was nothing but forests. People call it trackless, but it’s not. There’s trails there, even roads some places. People still trade and travel and wander. There’s blowholes and hot springs jumping out at you, true, but most places people have put up warning signs. Other places there’s signs saying which trails are safe. People are generally helpful; they’re eager for news, always.”
Precious Wind asked, “Do you know which of the old lands are gone?”
“On this continent, by the old names? Some. There was a place called Florda, and it’s gone. There were three places along the water west of Florda and they’re all gone. George’s and Mispi’s and Albambas, something like that. The ocean comes way up into the land along there, and there’s fish! My heaven, are there fish! Conkrodiles, too. Or maybe alley gators. Never did know the difference. Both eat you as soon as say good morning to you. The way we know about them and the fish and all is from the boat people, and there are more of them every year. They’ll decide on a place, maybe a hundred boats or more of them. They’ll link themselves together with ropes and give the place a name. They’ll live there for a year or two, until the fishing gets slim, then one night they’ll untie the ropes, pull up anchors, and go off in all different directions. Later they’ll gather up in different sets of boats and call it something else. Some say it’s a courting move, to remix their families genetically every so often.”
Bear demanded, “And so, what do you do?”
Finally, Bear had come to the question he’d been headed for all along. Abasio had been expecting it. “I do two things. One way I earn money or trade for goods is by being a dyer. I make fancy cloth for women’s clothes, sometimes men’s, too, depending on how people dress wherever I am. I do cloths for dining tables or napkins, sometimes curtains or fabric for fancy furniture. Second thing I do is—you ever hear of a newspaper?”
Great Bear shook his head.
“Back in the Before Time, before the Hot Times and the Big Kill and the Time When No One Moved Around, every day somebody would write down everything interesting that happened and they’d print copies of the writing and go around the town selling copies to everyone so they’d know what was happening. That was a newspaper. They had other ways of doing it, too, but they were ease-machine ways, so we can’t have those ways anymore. Me, and others like me, we’re it. We like to travel and we like to find out what’s happening and we like to tell people about it. Like if you were going east past the second range of mountains, you’d probably give me a bit of money or some food or supplies as a thank-you when I made it a point to tell you there were griffons there, plus a few giants and more trolls than I’d be comfortable with unless I had a small army with me.”
“Magic,” sneered Bear.
“From what I know, more likely genetics,” said Abasio. “Mixing it up under conditions leading to mutation. And very few of them are able to reproduce themselves. I’ve never seen a female giant, for example, but the male ones must have mothers somewhere. They live a good long time. I’d guess giants are a grizzly bear–human sex-linked cross overdosed on human growth hormone, if you’d feel happier about those words. Trolls probably had some genetics from way back, elephant, maybe, or something from the prehistoric past when beasts were huge. Could be accidental, or . . .”
“Or?” asked Bear.
“Or somebody could be doing it. They knew how, in the Before Time.”
There was a lengthy silence.
“If you can explain trolls, how about curses?” asked Xulai when the silence became boring.
“What about them?” asked Abasio.
“I was in the inglenook and I heard Cook say the princess was cursed,” Xulai announced, trying to sound calm and uninvolved in the matter.
Precious Wind raised her head to cast an appraising look at Xulai. “Yes, it was a curse. And it’s all right to weep for her, Xulai.”
As though Precious Wind’s words had turned a faucet, Xulai’s tears spilled. Ignoring the wetness that slipped over her cheeks and dripped from her jaw onto her lap, she said, “Dame Cullen asked who had done it. I think I know who it was. I know the princess was fighting against it. I helped her when I could.”
“Of course you did, Xakixa. So did the duke. So did I.”
Only rarely did Precious Wind call her Xakixa, and never when other people were about. The role of a Xakixa was very much a Tingawan thing, not something one bandied about among the locals.
“She taught me things,” Xulai said, gulping.
“Such as?” asked Bear.
“She
