Kedrigern grunted and looked thoughtful.
“Don’t expect much,” Versel went on, taking a blackberry. “It’s mostly gibberish. We think we’ve been interpreting it correctly, but it’s hard to be certain. Yesterday, for example, the voice said, ‘A puddle, a gooseberry bush, a wooden spoon—these are three things.’ At least that’s the interpretation that makes the most sense.”
Princess, looking uneasy, asked, “Do you know what it means?”
“I’m not a philosopher, I just listen.”
“Do you know, Keddie?”
“No,” said the wizard distractedly. “That’s probably not what he said, anyway.”
There was no more talk, as they worked their way through the remaining berries and cream. When they were done, Versel methodically licked the bowl clean, then licked his fingers and wiped them on his plain brown robe. He studied the borderline of light and shadow moving slowly across the floor and warned them, “It’s nearly time. Quiet, please.”
They drew their stools together and watched the line, now a fingernail’s breadth from the crack, inch ever closer. It crept to a straw’s width away; then to a hairbreadth; and then a beam of reflected light shot from the floor and a wild yammer of sound filed the air. Shril, grating, cacophonous, unmistakably a human voice, it was impossible to determine what language it spoke or what its precise mood might be. It could equally well have been in transports of ecstasy or paroxysms of murderous rage; childishly happy or steeped in despair. For several seconds it was everywhere, and then the light moved on, and all was still.
“Did you understand it?” Princess asked, her voice hushed.
“I think it said, ‘Bravely paint shoe, living windmill of the pudding,’” said Versel cautiously.
“It didn’t sound like that to me,” Princess replied. “I couldn’t catch everything, but I think it said, ‘Drum, drum the paper lake.’ Did you understand it, Keddie?” she asked.
“I didn’t hear anything like that,” said the wizard, looking grim.
Versel rose, stretched, and took up his stool. “Well, that’s it for today,” he announced. “Sorry it wasn’t clearer. It never is. You can stay here if you like. I’m going to sit under a tree until dinnertime.”
“We’ll be moving on, too. Thanks for the chance to listen, Versel. And for the blackberries and cream.”
“Drop in anytime. Good listening,” said Versel with a wave of farewell.
There were no other parting words. The rest of the Harkeners were too busy harkening to notice the departure of their visitors; most of them had not even been aware of anyone’s arrival. Kedrigern helped Princess to her horse, and they rode for a long time without either one speaking. The wizard seemed lost in thought. Now and then he shook his head, but he did not speak until they had stopped for the night in a clearing by a brook, and then only in response to Princess’s glum observation that their trip to the valley of the Harkeners to the Unseen Enlightened Ones had been a complete waste of time, and that they knew no more now than they had when they left Castle Grodzik.
“Not about your family, no,” he said, staring into the fire.
“Not about anything! What a lot of nonsense! Listening to fruit and furniture and rye bread, and when they finally hear something, it’s ‘Drum, drum the paper lake.’ Really, Keddie… what a shocking fraud!” she said angrily.
“That’s not what he said.”
“Who?”
“Quintrindus, my dear. I recognized his voice at once.”
“What did he say?”
“Things I would never repeat in the presence of a lady. He’s very angry. And very frustrated.” Kedrigern turned to her, smiling faintly. “In a sense, the Harkeners have found what they’re looking for. I wouldn’t call Quintrindus enlightened, exactly, but he’s certainly unseen. And he’s definitely on another plane, where Jaderal sent him.”
“How can we possibly hear him?”
“There are all sorts of leaks in the spell. Jaderal was always a poor speller. At certain times, under certain conditions of light and shadow, Quintrindus’s voice breaks through. Fortunately, he’s using one of the old tongues, and it’s so distorted that scarcely anyone will be able to understand a thing he says, no matter how closely they listen. He’s swearing like a drunken necromancer.” With a sigh, the wizard rose and rubbed the small of his back. “Shall we turn in, my dear? We’ll get an early start tomorrow.”
“Good idea. Will we need protection?”
“A small warning spell should suffice,” he said, assisting her to her feet.
“Allow me. I need the practice.”
Kedrigern bowed graciously. “I leave everything in the hands of the Grand Enchantress and Deliverer. Choose your spell, my dear.”
They completed the trip without further incident, making good time on firm, dry roads. As Silent Thunder Mountain rose before them, Kedrigern’s spirits improved. He became more talkative, and his talk was more cheerful than it had been for the past few weeks. Princess took advantage of what she saw as a rare opportunity.
“Well, it wasn’t so terrible after all, was it?” she asked.
“What wasn’t?”
“The trip to Castle Grodzik. You’re always complaining about how awful travel is. I thought this was a very nice trip.”
“It was better than some, I must admit. But not every trip gains one praise and gratitude. Far too many trips end in narrow escapes and headlong flight.”
“Well, let’s try to avoid those,” said Princess.
A bit farther on, Kedrigern paused and drew out his medallion. He peered through the Aperture of True Vision, sighting in on their litle cottage. All was well: the windows were clean, the dooryard had been swept, the garden was still flourishing, and Spot was busy weeding the flower beds. Kedrigern smiled and sighed with relief.
“It wasn’t a bad trip at all,” he conceded. “It’s nice to have the loose ends tied up. I feel better knowing what’s become of Quintrindus and Jaderal.”
“And Grodz,” Princess said pointedly.
“And Grodz, of course. Very nice work, my dear.”
“Thank you. But we still don’t know anything about my parents, or my old kingdom.”
“Still no memories?”
“Not one,” she said with a wistful sigh. “If only the Harkeners really could hear wisdom and good advice from outside, instead of just hearing an unfortunate wizard—”
“Alchemist,” Kedrigern corrected her.
“Alchemist, to be sure. Sorry. In any event, they still hear him swear once a day, and that’s all. And they can only hear it on sunny days.”
“It’s probably best that they don’t find what they’re after,” Kedrigern said.
“Why ever do you say that?”
“Success would ruin them. People would flock to their valley. You can’t sit and listen to a plate of stewed figs when there are hundreds of people milling around.”
“That’s true. There’d be huge crowds,” said Princess.
“People camping everywhere.”
“Building fires.”
“Selling food and souvenirs.”
“Long lines on the roads.”
“Oh, my, yes. They’d be lined up…” He paused, groping for the proper phrase. Princess turned to him with a sly smile.
“Three deep?” she said.
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