"How do you tell them apart?" I asked Queynt, unable to see any difference between Yittleby and Yattleby at all.
"Ah, my boy, one of the great mysteries of life. How does one tell a male krylobos from a female krylobos? No one knows. Oh, but they manage to do it, the krylobos do. Never make a mistake. A female will tell another female across a wide valley and challenge just like that, but she'll let a male come into her very courtyard, as it were, without a threatening sound. And what's to see in difference between them? Nothing. That's the honest truth. Not a thing. Isn't it so?"
"But you know them apart. You said Yittleby was on the left?"
"Ah, my boy, when they drink or eat or talk with one another, Yittleby is always 'pon the left, indeed yes. When they are hitched to the wagon, Yittleby is always 'pon the left. Yes, indeed. And when I find an egg, it is always 'pon the left, my boy, certainly, which is how I know it is Yittleby. But if they were not properly arranged, why then, my boy, I could not tell Yittleby from Yattleby or either from the other. And if there were more than two, why, my boy, I would be totally lost among them. Indeed I would."
Thereafter, I watched them, and it did seem that the same one of them was always to the left, the other to the right, though I could not be sure. Nor could I be sure that the two incredible creatures did not know exactly what I was thinking and were not laughing at me the entire time without opening their beaks.
We had the egg scrambled. Somehow we managed to eat it all, and it was very good, with a mild, nutty flavor. I began to gather our gear, wondering what would happen next, but Queynt soon clarified that. He summoned Silkhands to ride beside him on the wagon seat, holding up the harness so that Yittleby and Yattleby could thrust their long necks through it and pull the traces taut. They were hitched separately, one to each side of the wagon, the harness running across their prodigious chests. I thought it would be a strange, whipsawing way to travel, but when they strode off it was a matched stride, varying not a finger width between them as they went down the road chatting with one another in an endless whit, kerawh, whit, while Queynt lounged on the wagon seat talking to Silkhands who, for the first time since I had known her, could not get a word in edgeways. Smooth as ice they moved along, Jinian and I following, coming up beside when the road widened, falling well back when it was narrow and dusty. So we went, west along the Boneview River toward the Great North Road. When we saw it ahead of us, I suggested to Silkhands that we turn north, avoiding the Great Road and its possible dangers, but she and Queynt forestalled me.
"Why, my boy, this young lady is too weary to go ahorseback another step, not a step will I allow, no, not at all. She may go inside the wagon and the other young lady as well, if you think it necessary which I do not, for as I understand it, no one knows her at all, and as for you, you can Shift a bit not to seem so familiar to any who may be hunting you, and with Yittleby and Yattleby to carry us along, we will go leagues and leagues on the Great North Road in less time than you can imagine."
If Silkhands were minded to trust this strange one enough to confide in him, which angered me a good deal, then what could I say against it? I would not leave her and turn aside with Jinian, though the thought did go through my head all in an instant. No, if I Shifted a little, we could ride on the Great Road in some safety, I concluded. The wagon and the birds were so outrageously unfamiliar that no one looked at the riders along of it. None who passed failed to turn and stare at the great birds, and to each Queynt called out with a greeting or a jest, all full of words and empty of much sense. The hours went by. Queynt gave us fruit and bread from the wagon, come noon, and we rode on, the birds striding tirelessly, the tall wheels turning, and it was not yet evening when we began to see scattered nut plants and the spires of Reavebridge shining across the silver of River Reave which had been drawing ever closer to the road with the leagues we had traveled.
"We'll make for the Tragamor's Tooth," Queynt told us when we came up beside him. "A fine hostelry with excellent food and a stable which I am happy to say both Yittleby and Yattleby have found to their liking. We have never before been so far south as during this season. We must seem very strange to all these people, who, I must say, seem not far traveled by the looks of them. Why, I'll wager not one in a hundred has been north to the Windgate nor upon the heights of the Waeneye or upon the Waenbane Mountains. 'Windbone,' you know. That's the 'Windbone' Mountains, so called because the wind has carved great skeletons of stone up there, ribs and fingers reaching into the sky as though the very mountain had lain down and lost its flesh upon those heights. Ah, one must go there by way of the Wind's Eye, Waeneye as they say in these parts, if one is to see krylobos which put these two to shame for smallness. There are krylobos there, mark me, which would make you shiver in your boots to see, half again as tall as these, and able to kick gnarlibars to death I have no doubt."
"Wind's Eye," said Jinian. "That's the prophesy you heard in the Bright Demesne. Wind's Eye."
She had remembered it before I had, but her words brought back the sound of Windlow's voice in my head. "You and Silkhands. A place, far to the north, called Wind's Eye." I dug out the memory of the other things he had said. "A giant? Perhaps. And a bridge. You must take me along… and the Gamesmen of Barish." A giant. Perhaps a giant of mist, of cloud, of sadness, a giant seen at dusk who begged for help of his kinsmen. I raised my eyes to the towering scarps which loomed to the west of Reavebridge. Sharpening my Shifter's eyes, I could see the curved spires and organic shapes which Queynt had spoken of, as though some great, unfamiliar beast had laid himself upon those heights to leave his bones.
And behind those bones the outline of a giant, misty and vast, striding, striding to the north. I heard Jinian catch her breath, heard the man, Queynt, fall silent only for an instant before his voice went on in its ceaseless flow. When I turned, it was to find his eyes upon me, insistent and eager, measuring me as though for a suit of clothes-or a coffinwhile he told us about the town of Reavebridge and all that lived therein in greater detail and to a greater length than anyone of us could possibly have cared to know.
7
Reaverbridge
BEFORE WE ARRIVED AT THE TRAGMOR'S TOOTH, Silkhands busied herself in Queynt's wagon, making herself beautiful. I noted that she did not suggest Jinian do likewise. I put it down to vanity. Silkhands was a little vain, only a little, and not in any sense which was improper or false. She simply liked to appear at her best, and who could argue with that. Jinian, on the other hand, seemed determined to make the King as little sorry for the delay as possible. Knowing that he awaited her at the Tragamor's Tooth, she had drawn her hair, which was plentiful and brown as ripe nuts, back into a single thick braid and had neglected to wipe the road dust from her face. Also, she was dressed for travel and looked as though she had slept in her clothes, which she had. She looked very good to me, very staunch and dependable, but she would have won no prize for style, that one.
So we arrived at the Inn with Silkhands looking a vision, Queynt appearing no less fanciful than he had done at dawn, and Jinian and me, the followers, dirty and sweaty and caring not who cared. Someone must have been watching for Jinian's arrival, for the King, a lean, elegant man, with a curly red beard and eyes that gleamed with intelligence and humor, appeared as we were having our things taken to the rooms we had hired. He came to the place Silkhands stood and called her by Jinian's name, offering his hand and smiling. When she disabused him of the mistaken identity and introduced him to Jinian, his face changed no one whit though his eyes did. I saw a flicker of disappointment there, and Jinian saw it as well. She made her courtesies in a well-schooled manner, however, and her voice was all anyone could have wished, soft and pleasant, without the whine of weariness or rancor at the mistaken recognition.
"I greet you, King Kelver," she said. "Many kind things have been said on your behalf, and though I do not merit your courtesies, I thank you for them."
He bowed, perhaps a little surprised at her calm and poise. She was n
ot at all girlish, as I have remarked heretofore. I myself sometimes found it surprising.
"I greet you, Jinian. If you have received any courtesies on my behalf, then be assured they were given freely and in pursuance of continued friendship between your people and my own." It was delicately put, and I found myself liking the man. He was telling her that he had not presumed to buy her, that he had only tendered an offer of friendship and the final decision was still hers. Jinian smiled at him, and I saw his eyes lighten. She has a wonderful smile.
Queynt bustled in. "Ah, well then, ladies, young sir, so all friends are met, are they? Good, good. One does not like to stand upon ceremony at the end of a long ride when dust and the day conspire to rob one of whatever youth and spirits one may have hoarded long ago in the dawnwhen the skin cries for the waters of the bath and the throat yearns for the marvelous unguents of the vintner's art. Ah, sir, forgive these weary travelers for the moment, and I who have come with them this lengthy way, until we are refreshed and cleansed sufficient to be a credit to the honorable company which you so kindly bestow upon us…" And Queynt bowed us away from the King, who stood with mouth open to watch this aberration lead us to the stairs and whip us upward with the lash of his tongue. "Go now, Peter, to the room at the head of the stairs where a bath will soon be brought, and you, ladies, to the second room where a bath even now awaits, and these lack-a-daisy pawns swift as flitchhawks rise, rise with your burdens that my young friends be not inconvenienced at the lack of any essential garment or lotion or soothing medication which might be contained therein. Ah, when all is sweet again, and pure as the waters of the Waenbain which plunge in eternal silver from the heights, then let us return to this good King Kelver to partake with him of those viands his generosity and foresight cannot but have prepared."
This last faded into silence, and I risked a glance over the banister at that same King to find him with mouth still open but with a laughing look around the eyes. Well then, he was not offended.
I had scarce got into the room before hearing a quiet tap-tap at the door behind me which, when I opened it a crack, disclosed Chance in the get-up of a cook looking for all the world like a major servitor of some proud Demesne. He slipped into the room before I could greet him, stopped my mouth with his fingers, and hissed, "Who is this fellow with you? This clown? Where did you get him?"
I explained that I had not got him, that rather Queynt had got me; that, thus far, the man had done us no harm.
"Harm's known when harm's done," he said portentously, throwing himself into a chair and fanning himself with a towel. Indeed, he looked very hot and harried, and I guessed that the cook's garb was not a disguise. He affirmed this. "Seeing I caused such a hooraw there in Three Knob, I decided to be a little less obvious in future. So, come the outskirts of Reavebridge, I put the mounts in a stable and came into town like any pawn looking for work and well recommended."
"Well recommended?" I didn't mean to twit him, but it did come out that way.
"Well recommended," he announced in a firm voice. "I had foresight enough to have Himaggery and Mertyn write me letters of reference and leave the as-what blank so I could fill it in myself. You'll be pleased to know they recommend me highly as a chef, and chief chef I am in this place since their last one got himself riotous during a recent family observance and hasn't got himself on his feet yet. May not, from what I hear. Terrible stuff, this Reavebridge wine, when drunk with grole sausage, which is mostly how they drink it." He went on fanning himself, pausing only to open the window behind him and lean out to take a deep breath. "I was beginning to give up on you."
"We came the back way," I said.
"Thought you must've come by way of the moon."
"Along the Boneview River, Chance. It was there that Queynt joined us. He's strange, all right, but it seemed less harmful to come along with him rather than make a fuss."
"Silkhands looks tired," said Chance. "Who's the girl?"
"Jinian? A student of Silkhands'. Promised to King Kelver by her brother, Armiger Mendost. However, she's not eager to be given to the King. Wants to come along with Silkhands and me to find the answers to the mystery."
"Oh, ah," said Chance, patting himself all over before finding the crumpled paper he was looking for. "Speaking of mystery, here's a message came by Elator from Himaggery. Says the blues are coming in from all over and they've found Quench…"
"It's directed to me," I said mildly, seeing it was opened.
"Well," he said and shrugged, "you took a time getting here. Himaggery might have wanted an answer."
I unfolded the message, already ragged where Chance had ripped it, to read Himaggery's message. They thought they had found Quench-with the Immutables. "Gamelords," I snarled to myself. "That's why the fellow looked so familiar. It was Quench, Quench all the time."
"Who's that?"
"The fellow who came to meet us at the ruin, the one who went to get Riddle, the long-faced fellow. I'd never seen Quench without that square black hat the magicians wore and the long black robe and mittens. That's who that was: Quench."
"Well, that tells you what that hooraw was on the road. Must have been Quench trying to get you there without your knowing."
I didn't answer him. I was too angry with myself. I went back to the message. Riddle and Quench were being brought to the Bright Demesne together with some others of those who had escaped from the holocaust of the magicians. Riddle had decided he needed help of some kind, and so on and so on. Peter was to feel free to go on to the north if he liked. They sent their affectionate regards.
"Why," I grated at Chance, "why did Riddle do that to me? I would have helped him if he'd asked me. Why! I can't believe he's an evil man."
"Well, if you won't believe him evil, then think up a reason why he's not."
That was Chance. Think of a reason. Before I had a chance to think of anything, we heard someone outside the door and Chance eased himself out with vague words about breakfast as Queynt oozed himself in.
"Well, young sir, so quick to place orders among kitchen staff? Hardly an instant, and breakfast ordered already? Ah, but what it is to be young! Isn't that so? Enormous energy, enormous strength, eat like a fustigar and sleep like a bunwit when one is young. One might ask why not wait to order breakfast until supper has been consumed. One might ask that, but Vitior Vulpas Queynt will not. No! Queynt has learned that each man has his oddities, oh, my yes. Ha-ha. Oddities, which if not questioned can be safely overlooked, but if mentioned must be dealt with, considered, judged! Isn't that so? Now, your tub, young sir, and me off to mine in the instant. Below us, supper soon awaits our pleasure."
He beamed at me and was gone, giving way to three struggling servitors, one bearing a tub on his back like some kind of half metallic turtle, the other two laden with tall ewers of water, one hot, one cold. All was set down and poured into and arranged to my satisfaction (to my annoyance, rather) before they trooped out to be succeeded by others bearing towels. I had never been so overserved in my life. Whether King Kelver was responsible or Vitior Queynt, I desired most heartily that all of them would leave me alone for a time.
But when I was scarce out of the tub-which the same servitors had come to haul away with much gesticulation and pour with loud shouting down some drain or other-the door was again tap-tapped and Jinian opened it a crack to whisper whether I were dressed or not. I told her I was not, but she came in anyhow. I was decent enough in the towelmore decent than we had been together several times on the road.
"My, you are in a temper," she said, seating herself on the bed and arranging her flounces. "Silkhands made me dress up. She said otherwise would be an affront to the King."
"I am not in a temper," I growled. "I am perfectly all right."
She widened her eyes, played with her hair with one finger, fluttered and pouted. "Oh, ta-ta, Gamesman, but if you go on in this way, I will think I have offended you." She laughed, a high, affected little titter, then spoiled the effect by sneezing with l
aughter. I could not help it, but laughed with her.
"No," she went on. "You are in a temper. Do you know why?"
"Not really," I growled, "except that Queynt is too sudden an addition to our journey, and Silkhands seems too ready to trust him. She has told him too much, I think. He knew I was a Shifter, though I am not dressed so. He knew we were being hunted. How else did he know but Silkhands told him? She knows better!"
"Put not yourself in another's hands," agreed Jinian. "But she may not have done. You know, Peter, I don't think Silkhands wants to, go on with you to Waeneye."
I felt my face turn red. "Nonsense. Of course she does. She's a little tired just now, but Silkhands would not let me go on alone to solve this thing."
"I think you're wrong," she said, her voice breaking a little at sight of my face. "She would rather not go."
"I have known Silkhands for years," I said, stiffly, and even more angrily. "I don't think it's appropriate for you to attempt to tell me what my friends would or would rather not do as it concerns me. If Silkhands did not want to go to Waeneye, she would tell me. She has not told me. Has she told you?"
"No. Not in so many words."
"Not in any words," I asserted, slamming my hand down on the sill and hurting the thumb. This made me angrier still. "You are very young, Jinian. I'm afraid you do not understand the situation at all." The last person I had heard use these honeyed tones was Laggy Nap, trying to poison me.
She did not answer. When I turned at last, it was to see a tear hanging on the fringe of her eyelashes, but she still regarded me steadily, even though her voice shook a little. "No. Perhaps I don't." And she turned to leave the room. In the door, she turned. "However, Peter, it was not that I came to talk to you about. I came to say it is easy to stop listening to Queynt. He talks so very much, to so little purpose. One stops hearing him. However, it would be wise for us to listen to him carefully at all times." And she shut the door behind her, leaving me with my mouth open.
The True Game Page 48