“Looks very natural,” said Oldwife. “The men ignoring their cousin until they need her for something. Her resenting it but not saying a word.”
“So Bear and I thought,” purred Precious Wind. “Their relationship must appear ordinarily familial: vexed, provoked, and exasperated.”
The wagon’s contents had been disarranged by the Farrier brothers. Those remaining behind repacked everything and tied it down under its protective canvas. After a time, Abasio got himself upon the road, after squeezing Xulai’s shoulder in farewell. She looked after him sorrowfully. The time passed much faster when Abasio was with them, with her. Bartelmy was a friend, an old friend, but he had nothing new to say to her, nothing to make her mind struggle out of the muck and look at the sky the way Abasio did.
Precious Wind and Oldwife went into the meadow where Oldwife had seen a ragged stretch of ripe grain along the trees, something left, perhaps, from some long-ago farm, the grain reseeding itself year after year. Among the tall stems of ripe wheat they found remnants of root crops, parsnips and carrots and turnips, some so huge they had obviously grown for years, but others first-year roots, young enough to be tasty. Black Mike went off into the woods, returning well before dark with a young boar over his shoulder. He skinned and butchered it in a clearing far enough away that the carrion eaters and flies would not be a nuisance before bringing it to the women. “It’s only half-grown,” he said softly. “Should be reasonable tender.”
Oldwife and Precious Wind had wrapped the grain heads in a canvas and beaten them with sticks to break them up, then laid the canvas flat and tossed the grain in the light breeze to blow the chaff away. Now they cooked a cauldron of mixed meat scraps, grain, and root vegetables to accompany the roast pork. The meat they didn’t eat would be rubbed with salt and herbs and dried beside the fire, or in the smoke, if they could find the right wood to do it. Pecky hunted for wood while Bartelmy and Bear took turns keeping an eye on the road. The only traffic was two men on horseback, headed down toward the falls at a leisurely pace.
Xulai spent the day playing with her cats, too tired to offer to help or to think—indeed, trying not to think of anything at all. Supper was eaten early, so everything could be packed, ready to go at a moment’s notice. At sundown, Mike, Bear, Pecky, and Bartelmy agreed upon the order of the watch. Pecky took first turn. Xulai fell asleep almost as soon as she lay down, the basket amplifying the purrs of the kittens next to her ear.
She woke in the night. Someone was speaking to her: the chipmunk, who had not spoken for days.
“Xulai, don’t worry about Justinian. He is well.”
Though the chipmunk was at her ear, the words came from somewhere, nowhere, anywhere in the night. She heaved a great sigh and was asleep once more.
Morning came. By midday, they were beginning to feel edgy. There had been no report from the inn and the only creatures in the valley besides themselves seemed to be a great many sheep that had materialized out of the folds of the meadows across the road, earth-colored blobs springing up out of nothing, like mushrooms. A lackadaisical shepherd and a weary dog with its tongue out, neither in any hurry, were moving them on toward the inn. None of them saw Nettie arrive until she spoke to them.
“I was sent out to pick flowers,” she said, holding out a considerable bouquet. “Some important woman is coming to the inn tonight and Benjobz wants flowers in her bedroom. I hung around while he talked. I heard him say Altamont.”
“The duchess,” said Bear, frowning, his teeth showing. “We move now. Nettie, go back, take your flowers, don’t rush, don’t give any appearance of hurry, but get your animals saddled and put them where they won’t be seen by anyone arriving at the inn. All three of you leave when you can without attracting notice. Same for Abasio. We’ll go past the inn without stopping. Did you find out about the first riders?”
“That first lot was from Wilderbrook,” she said. “Second bunch was as we thought, from Ghastain atop the palisades. Nobody knows why or where. I’ve got to get back with this bouquet.”
Bear summoned Precious Wind and spoke to her quickly. She nodded and ran, gathering up Xulai as she went. Everyone else was busy with harnesses. Only two horses were harnessed to the closed carriage, only two to the wagon, and only four mules to the dray. Bear drove the closed carriage, first in line; Black Mike the wagon; and Pecky the dray. Bartelmy brought up the rear with the light carriage, into which part of the wagon’s contents had been piled and covered with stout canvas. When they reached the road, the men ran back and raked the grasses up, as they had done before, paying particular attention to the verges, where they scuffed out the tracks the wheels had made.
From the top of the ridge, the men could see miles in all directions. Bear raised his arm as though stretching, and the women emerged from the forest behind them: Xulai on Flaxen; Oldwife on one horse; Precious Wind on the other, leading the mule. Hidden by the ridge, the women rode swiftly across the road, splashed across the wide, shallow river, much diminished this far up the valley, then urged their mounts quickly up the sloped meadows into the forest along the south side of the valley. Once they were out of sight, Bear clucked to the horses and examined the view while they plodded down the far side of the ridge.
Benjobz Inn lay some distance beyond the pond, surrounded by green meadows and a clutter of pens, paddocks, and animal
