“There,” said Bear softly. “A signal for the duke.”
“But none on the other mountains,” said Xulai, who had been looking for one.
“Too much glitter from the sunset to see,” said Bear. “It’ll be dark soon! Will we still go a way east before stopping?”
Bartelmy replied in a voice full of annoyance. “When I went over the trip with His Grace, the duke, we planned to go several miles that way, yes, not wanting to stop on Altamont ground, but with this delay, it’ll soon be dark, and the beasts are already tired. Last time I was by here there was a clearing with a brook about a half mile farther on. It’s still a good distance from the Old Dark House . . .”
Ahead of them the men on the bridge cried out and slapped one another on their backs. Waving to Bartelmy and Bear, they went slowly down the arc of the bridge and turned into the eastward road, slowly, very slowly.
Bartelmy cast a look first at the creeping ox-drawn wagon, then at the darkening sky and said, “If you’ve no objection, Bear, we’ll pick the nearer campground.”
Bear examined the sky for himself, shook his head, murmured an assent. Bartelmy clucked to the horses. They crossed the river, went past the crossroad and not far beyond, around a short curve. There, to the right, through a lane of large trees, they found a small, grassy clearing. Along its far side, a cheerful streamlet rushed north toward the Wells. Willum and Clive came into the clearing, parking the wagon and the dray, one at each end of the hop-skip to form a U shape. Pecky Peavine drove the large ’trot across the open end of this arrangement, leapt down from the seat, and gathered rocks to make a cook-fire place near the stream before fetching a net to the stream itself. Black Mike found a place to dig a privy trench, put a folding lady-seat over one end of it, set a canvas sidewall around it, and went to gather firewood. Meantime, the other men removed the harnesses and hobbled the animals before turning them loose to graze.
Xulai—thankful to be off the hard carriage seat—walked out to the road and the few hundred paces back to the curve. The traveler’s wagon was a little way down the road to the east, facing the way they would go tomorrow. Abasio stood beside it. When she approached he put his hand on her shoulder. “I think I’d best not be seen in your company along here. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He patted her shoulder and cheek, got onto the wagon, and clucked to Blue, who took them a distance down the road before commenting, “Has you confused, does she?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Abasio replied, fully aware of what Blue meant. He was not the kind of man who would find a child . . . attractive in that way, yet every time he saw her, his mouth dried and he shivered with a need to . . . to do something about her. He could not, would not, allow himself to define the something.
“Ah,” grunted Blue. “Well, when you figure it out . . .”
Behind them, Xulai swallowed deeply. She had rather hoped he would stay with them tonight. Though the glen was pleasant and the little brook was cheery, it felt false, like a picture. As though it had been arranged. She returned to the campsite to rummage for the large sack of horse biscuits she had asked Cook to help her bake before they left. Emptying some of them into a smaller bag, she went from horse to horse, offering a biscuit to each, breaking some into pieces so they would smell, taste, and relish what they were eating. Distribution ended with Flaxen. Xulai leaned against his side fondling his soft ears while he whickered at her, giving him a second biscuit to make up for the long day’s travel with no petting.
Precious Wind and Nettie Lean were setting their pans on the folding grill over the fire Black Mike had made. Pecky Peavine brought in five large fish and a number of small ones. By this time Bear had made a nest of blankets laid over the thick grass between the two large wagons.
“Is that for me?” asked Xulai when she returned from the horses.
“Of course not,” said Bear. “It’s for Precious Wind, but she’ll no doubt let you other females share it.”
“Why in among the wagons that way?”
“With the men sleeping under the carriages at each end and the wagons at either side, there’s protection for you by us armed creatures if needed . . .”
“Armed?” asked Xulai. “I didn’t realize . . .”
“Pistols, swords, bows, and crossbows, Xulai. Writ of the king allows us pistols when traveling where wolves may be found.”
“And of course you have your knives,” she murmured.
“The long and short of it is—we do.” He grinned, patting the various places where both the long and short blades lived. “Should it rain, you can shelter beneath the wagons or in the ’trot. If it doesn’t rain, you’ll have the nest, the sweet night air, and, just to be safe, someone on watch.”
“Do you always do that when you travel?”
“We do, Xulai, when we travel. Whenever we think other people are around and we don’t know who.”
“Or when there’s an unusually long delay at a bridge,” she murmured. “Or a dust cloud that came from the west and then suddenly turned around and went back, made by someone unidentified.”
He stared at her, scratching his ear and narrowing his eyes. “Exactly. Aren’t you going to let those poor cats out? I can hear them crying from here.”
“Oh,” she cried as she ran to the carriage. “I was . . . thinking about something else.”
Bothercat decided the pile of dirt that came out of the privy hole was the right place to dig another. Vexcat
