“No sense atall,” said the birdman, wiping foam from his upper lip. “ ’Fa man c’n ride it in an hour or so, no point sendin’ a bird. ’Less it’s just backup, makin’ sure the word gets where’ts goin’.”
“Your troops use them, though, I suppose. Justinian said he used his whenever his troops were away from the gard.”
“Oh, if they’re some distance, yep. If they’re close, they’re gonna be in and out fer meals any old how, no point sendin’ birds.”
“Is that so? I assumed they’d have field kitchens, you know: ‘Like it or not, that’s what we’ve got, all’s in the pot and at least it’s hot.’ That was what we said about it.”
“Nah, no field cookin’ ’less they’re more’n a hour’s ride away. ’Fthey’re close they’re in ’ere fer breakfas’, grab a pack lunch t’eat when they can, back fer dinner in shifs, then out t’ do whatever needs doin’ if anythin’ needs doin’ at night. No armor’s bin movin’ round at night since those pillagers stole stuff when we were buildin’ the watchtower on the south end.”
“Only the one watchtower?”
“No more needed. Forest east’s got wulfs and lions more’n trees. An’ they say it’s full o’ were-critters and witch-wings. There’s trip wires ’n’ threads movin’ mirrors t’flash sunlight ’f they get stepped on. No vis’tors or pillagers comin’ that way. Y’go up belfry you’ll see the road north far down t’ward Benjobz, ’n’ there’s ’n old watchtower in t’forest that’d see any army moving.
“On the west, there’s a strippa forest, but where’t slopes there’s milesa wicked country, break-leg rocks and scrub, no good nowhere. They used to be mines, ’n’ the place is fulla holes and shafs, half of ’em hid by downfalls ’n’ brush. No army gets through there ’thout losin’ half itself and makin’ a racket, and that’s ’fit’s dry. ’Fit’s wet, stay out! South, though, sighta the road’s cut off the way the mount’ns lie, all stacked like a decka cards, so they built a watchtower out there, oh, lessee, it’d be fifteen years ago. From there y’c’n see a full day’s travel south. Anybody comin’, half a dozen birds go out t’ armor ’n’ they head whatever way the message says.”
“How about behind these walls?”
“Armor here, ahind the walls? They’d hol’ the wall likely f’rever. Nope, any army come to fight t’ abbey, it could’n sneak up on us, and by the time they got set to come at us, there’d be our men behin’em doin’ their own sneakin’.”
“So you don’t worry about people sneaking up on you through the trees! I’m glad to hear that. On the way here, I heard some strange sounds in those trees.” Smiling confidently, Abasio did not mention a forest that was a barrier to an army might be excellent cover for a small band of abductors. Instead, he changed the conversation to a history of strange sounds and what they’d turned out to be, then to a history of strange smells, likewise mentioned a few bird keepers he’d known back over the mountains, told a few jokes, gathered in another small audience, and left Solomon Winger awash late in the evening with confidence the old man wouldn’t remember anything much about their conversation. Only later did he chide himself for confidence unwarranted.
That night he thought he knew that if there were troops out there behind the abbey wall to the east, that fact was not generally known, and only if they were there would they be taking their meals in shifts in the abbey itself, not in the dining room where Xulai and her people were served, but in one set aside for armor.
Now all he needed to do was find out where that was.
Xulai had made it clear to her minders that she intended to go out in the evenings by herself, perhaps to one of the gathering places, perhaps to visit Abasio, perhaps to climb the stairs to the walk on top of the walls, as many residents did to enjoy the sunset. Though Nettie Lean was full of cautions, both Oldwife and Precious Wind seemed to have decided it was either for the best or unavoidable.
So, that evening when Abasio explained what he needed to know about where the abbey’s troops were fed, Xulai leaned toward him and spoke in a low voice. “I already know about that. They told us the first day we were here. For travelers who are just passing through they have what they call a guest arm, guesthouses and a dining room, on the north end, just inside the northernmost gate, between the first two shield walls. Then there’s what they call an anytime arm at the far south end, between the second and third shield walls, and that one provides food service for troops and other workers on local duty. It’s a kind of come-and-eat-anytime place for people who don’t have the kind of jobs they can just stop doing and leave on the stroke of the clock. You know, like medical people, animal doctors, people watching brick or charcoal kilns, people like that.”
“And there’s access from inside the abbey?”
“So I was told. If we’re looking for troops from outside, however, I imagine it might be easiest to see who uses the outside gate. It’s fairly easy to tell who’s military. They wear half-armor almost all the time. When they come out, maybe you could follow them. Can you follow people? I mean, without their knowing?”
“I’ve been known to,” said Abasio, reminded of a certain talking coyote who had been an excellent tracker. He mused for a moment or so, then said, “I haven’t had Blue under a saddle in a long time, but if we leave, it’ll have to be on horseback. The wagon
