'Indeed he did, Witness.' Horth smiled shyly, showing no surprise or alarm at having his secrets thus exposed, which was evidence of commendable control, if not necessarily razor intelligence.
Ingeld did not inquire what those curious items might be. 'And how do you propose to remain at large when the satrap discovers your absence?'
'My plans were still, er, fluid, my lady. I had originally hoped that Frena and I could escape tonight by boat. Alas, whereas I was merely in the town jail, I discovered that she was being held in the palace proper, guarded by Werists. Polytheists can be bribed, Heroes cannot. I was balked. Naturally, I was overjoyed to learn that she had already been, um ... sprung.' His wishy-washy smile faded on and off. 'So I cannot answer your question, my lady. I do not know what is going on.'
'You are not the only one, although I expect our hostess can tell us?'
'In good time,' Poppy snapped. 'Fabia is on her way here. She has been meeting with the youngest of her brothers, who has proved to be a very stubborn young man.'
'You amaze me. Benard has a head of solid brass.'
Wigson cleared his throat. 'Frena herself can be quite determined at times.'
On cue, Fabia burst in the door and hurled herself at him. 'Father! Oh, you're safe! I was so worried!'
And so on. She was taller than he was and certainly louder. No doubt she had the makings of a charming young lady, if she could just be taken in hand by someone with suitable knowledge and skill... plus a strong arm and a switch. Someone like Ingeld herself. About three years should do it.
'It is known that you met Lady Ingeld in Kosord,' Poppy said.
'I did have that honor.' Fabia bobbed to Ingeld.
'Then why,' the seer persisted, 'are you not surprised to meet her here, so far from home? Did Benard mention her to you?'
'After what I have seen tonight, I shall never be surprised by anything. Here he is!'
Benard shambled in, reacting to the sight of Ingeld by turning on his goofiest grin. It was less convincing than usual. He was upset by something—so much so that he was trying to hide his feelings, for once.
'No luck with Orlando?' she asked.
'Like making soup with live cats.' Scowling, he flopped down on the floor beside her stool. 'It's horrible, what they've done to him. He's become a death-before-dishonor fanatic!'
'I know someone who was prepared to die for his art.'
'No, you don't.' He leaned back against her leg. In Ingeld's wildest nightmares she could never imagine Horold sitting at her feet like this. Moving to pat his shoulder in motherly fashion, she was annoyed to discover that her hand held a half-eaten peach. The empty basket he had just pushed aside had contained at least a dozen when it arrived. They were small, but why did Oliva have this mad craving for peaches?
Ingeld moved the fruit to her other hand and stroked the nape of Benard's neck. She felt the tension knots there, despite his pretense of calm, and wished she were alone with him so she could knead them away. Never in her life had she been a clinging vine. It was as if her departure from her city had changed her into another person altogether—not necessarily one she approved of, just one she was insanely happy to be, at least for now. Love!
A Witness tall enough to be Mist entered and closed the door. The little room was now very crowded. Fabia, lacking a proper seat, pouted and perched on the edge of the sleeping platform beside the rumbling Guthlag. Wigson clasped his hands behind his back again. The newcomer remained standing where she was.
'I am Mist. You all know one another. I suggest we pool our resources, because cooperation will help all our causes. Let us begin by stating our aims, to make sure they do not conflict. The Witnesses—those in our faction— wish to hasten the downfall of the Fist and all he stands for. Lady Ingeld?'
Ingeld decided she hated all masked women. 'Benard and I seek a comfortable hiding place where we may live in peace. I have left my husband. Holy Veslih warns that he is following me.'
'Satrap Horold is unlikely to find you without the aid of seers, so you must favor our revolution. Master Wigson, what do you seek?'
The little man shrugged. 'Happiness ...' He paused as if waiting for someone to protest that he was a Ucrist, then smiled and added, 'for Frena. With respect, Lady Ingeld, my foster daughter does not wish to marry your noble son.'
'No offense taken.' It would be harder to imagine a less promising match than those two.
He bowed. 'On the other hand, if she is entitled to succeed to the throne of a great city, then I should be very selfish if I did not do everything in my power to assist her achieve this goal.'
The girl smirked, no doubt contemplating the prospect of Celebre without Cutrath.
Poppy uttered a snort almost as loud as Guthlag's snores, apparently indicating disbelief. 'Does that explain why your purchases from the harbor master included a packet of marsh calabar seeds?'
Ingeld suspected that the old lady's obvious dislike of Horth stemmed from frustrated nosiness. If Veslih and Xaran could block the seers' sight, it was a reasonable assumption that Ucr could.
'Not a fatal dose,' the merchant retorted blandly.
'Physic may have unpredictable effects in the Edgelands.'
'Just what is marsh whatever-you-said?' asked Benard from the floor.
'A medicinal herb. In excess it causes a severe loss of muscle tone, which can last for half a year or longer. Crossing the Edge is a severe test of endurance. Furthermore, in males, calabar may cause prolonged penile dysfunction.'
Horth, Ingeld was pleased to see, was carefully not looking in her direction. She would just hate for him to
