He lifted the broken shard of bone to his lips and sucked, imitating the clansmen. The congealed substance tasted of blood and meat, and though not altogether distasteful, and undoubtedly healthy in any number of ways, he could not work up the enthusiasm for it that the clansmen seemed to share. He ate some out of a sense of politeness, but did not ask for more.
The clan’s mostly carnivorous diet was supplemented by roots, berries, and various greens, most of which he enjoyed, though he began to miss simple seasonings, especially salt. He made a mental note to remedy this situation at the first opportunity. But all in all, they ate well enough-some days better than others, as determined by the hunt-and Kit reckoned that if he did not grow fat on the primitive regimen, neither would he starve.
One of the more arresting features of their society was how very quiet they could be, and most often were. They could speak, but usually became talkative only when excited. Kit marked an entire day when no one spoke. From the moment he opened his eyes in the morning until he crawled into bed that night, not a single vocal utterance had been made. He wondered about this for a long time, until it occurred to him that perhaps it was a basic survival tactic, an inbred desire to keep from drawing unwanted attention to themselves by passing predators. Despite this innate reticence, they were extremely communicative in other ways, employing a full repertoire of facial expressions that would have done a professional mime proud. Added to that was a range of gestures that bordered on sign language. In combination, the gestures and expressions were often all that was necessary to get surprisingly complex messages across.
But that was not all. In the first few days, Kit observed that the entire clan appeared to possess an uncanny instinct for empathy within the group-a sixth sense that told them what the others were thinking. At first he imagined that perhaps it was due to the fact that they lived so closely and in such harmony with one another that they had simply developed a fundamental understanding that did not need words. But as time went on he saw that it was something far more subtle and specific than that: it was a sort of telepathy. As Kit got to know them better, he came to believe that the clan did not talk much because each just instinctively knew what everyone else was thinking.
The most potent demonstration of this came late one afternoon a few days after he had come to River City. An early dusk was settling on the camp, and some of the females were chopping a haunch of wild pig in preparation for cooking; a few of the males were chipping flint to make scrapers or ax blades. Everyone was busy, working away quietly, when all of a sudden one of the males dropped his flint stone and stood up. Instantly he was joined by the three females. Not a word was spoken-not even a grunt-but all four disappeared into the wood. Those who remained behind also stopped working and began preparing a bed of fresh reeds and rushes by the fire ring.
Intrigued, Kit watched as they heaped the reeds high and covered them with skins; they then built up the fire-clearly in anticipation of something that was about to take place. And only a few minutes later, the group that had gone into the wood returned carrying one of the younger males-scratched and bleeding and obviously injured. They laid him on the reed bed and nursed him through the night.
All this took place without so much as a single syllable breathed aloud. The more he thought about it, the more convinced Kit became that at the moment of the young one’s injury, they all knew that he was in trouble and had gone to rescue him. They just knew.
Yet, as extraordinary as that was, the thing that impressed Kit most was how very gentle they were with each other. In those first days with them, he did not witness any angry or aggressive behaviour. Indeed, they seemed to tolerate one another very well, if not to enjoy being together. The older ones definitely doted on the younger-at least in camp, for the smallest of the clan were not allowed to wander very far into the surrounding woods unless an adult was in tow.
There was still much to learn about them, of course, but Kit was content to allow that learning to take place naturally. In the meantime, he tried to be a good guest and not bother his hosts or make a nuisance of his presence. Nevertheless, the clan appeared as fascinated by him as he was by them. For their part, they missed nothing he did, following his every move-from the way he washed his hands and face, to brushing his teeth with chewed hazel twigs, and taking off his shoes to sleep-which drew great excitement the first time he performed any of these activities.
The younger members of the clan tried to imitate him, the older ones merely watched from a polite distance. The thing that produced the greatest amusement for the clan was Kit’s attempt to wash his clothes.
One morning, awakening to the fact that his shirt and trousers were filthy and that he had not had a proper wash for more days than he cared to think about, Kit decided that the time had come to take the plunge-literally. He took himself to the river and found what he imagined to be a secluded spot where the stream ran deep and slow, and then waded out. He dove in, swam around a bit, bobbing up and down to thoroughly soak his garments, and then waded back to the bank and disrobed.
All this splashing about drew a crowd, of course, and he was soon the object of intense observation. For although they understood that his clothing, while different from their own, served the same function, the younger ones reacted with the same mixture of fascination and disgust he might have felt upon seeing a businessman shedding his skin like a snake. They jabbered excitedly at the first glimpse of the extreme white hairlessness of his skin-at least that was what Kit assumed they were remarking on, and not on his inconsequential and wholly unimpressive physique.
Despite his initial qualms, he found he did not mind being naked in front of the clan-any more than a farmer might baulk at being caught naked in front of barnyard cattle. Not that he thought of them as cattle, but the sense of species separation was so great that once he had wriggled out of his sopping shirt and trousers and was slapping them against the smooth, flat river stones, he simply did not care anymore.
In any event, the exercise proved mildly successful; after drying on a sun-facing bush, his garments did seem fresher, if not cleaner. But, lying in the sun on the riverbank, he felt the chill that was never far from the air even on the warmest days, and knew that he was enjoying the last gasp of a splendid autumn. The days were already drawing in, the nights growing steadily cooler. Often now the morning air held a frosty note, and days were overcast. He wondered what the River City Clan did for the winter-where did they go? He did not think they would stay camped by the river, and he was right.
CHAPTER 31
In Which a Sensible Course of Action Is Proposed
Why, oh why, can’t everyone just once do what they’re told, for heaven’s sake? Wilhelmina tapped her foot and gazed darkly down the empty trackway. No Kit. He should be here. Her instructions were simple, specific, and clear: Stay put. Do not wander off. Wait for rescue.
Was that too much to ask?
Okay, Giles getting himself wounded had thrown a kink into the plan. That had taken a deal of sorting out, admittedly-not to mention putting her carefully maintained cover at risk-and had delayed things considerably. But that was no excuse for Kit to go wandering off when she had told him not to move a muscle.
But could Kit manage even that much? Could he, heck!
She decided to give it another fifteen minutes, and if Kit didn’t show up, she would have to abandon her present time location and try another. This particular ley leading into the valley was completely reliable. In all her experiments, learning the ropes of ley travel, practicing her technique, mapping the destination, and basically just trying to get her head around the incredible facility to simply pop out of one world into another… in all those early training trials she had come to believe that the one she called the Big Valley ley was fairly uncomplicated. Its time window seemed to be limited, and there were not a lot of branches or forks, or whatever they were, leading off to other places in other universes-just a simple, straightforward thoroughfare. In motorway terms, she though
t of it as the M4.
So, if Kit had made it to the ley ahead of the chase, why the devil was he not here waiting for her?
The only explanation was that Kit had left the trail and gone off somewhere into the valley. Searching for him there would be a chore, and one she was not prepared at the moment to undertake. She glanced down at the smooth-tooled object filling her palm-the new ley lamp Rosenkreuz had made for her. Although roughly the same size and shape as before, it boasted a few improvements, most of which she looked forward to trying. The chief difference in the new model was a second row of little lights, which, she was told, glowed from yellow to red in the presence of the searched-for traveller. The young alchemist had offered to explain the mechanics of its operation, but with everything going on, there had been neither time nor inclination.
In any event, she had been able to get Giles bandaged, medicated, and tucked away without Burleigh tumbling to the fact that she was in cahoots with the two fugitives. Lady Fayth, a willing accomplice, had helped-unwittingly, true, but necessarily. If Haven had known the full extent of Wilhelmina’s involvement she might not have been such a keen collaborator. If things had fallen out differently, Mina would have been forced to join Kit and Giles on the run. But the young lady had kept her head and, when it mattered, backed Wilhelmina’s risky play to the hilt.
Now Mina cast yet another longing look down the trail and, with an exasperated sigh and a roll of her big brown eyes, trudged down the trail and into the valley. When she reached the bottom she paused and then shouted for Kit. She listened, then repeated the call. Satisfied that if he had been within the sound of her voice he would have answered, she moved on-eventually coming to the little half-abandoned village.
The settlement was one of several that seemed to have been settled and constructed by country folk in the region. The few who lived there maintained fields on the riverbanks and on the highlands above. The river provided water for a mill, duck ponds, and a little fishery. She had met some of the inhabitants, and they in turn were used to seeing her now and then; they were simple, peaceable folk who kept to themselves and avoided conflict and confrontation-which is why Mina had felt good about sending Kit and Giles here. They were unlikely to get into difficulties with the locals.
She walked along the valley floor, following the river and calling for Kit. There was never any reply. After walking a mile or more in one direction, she turned and repeated the procedure in the opposite direction. At the end of the exercise, with darkness falling, she returned to the ley and made a last call for Kit to hurry or miss his rescue. She waited. As before, there was no answer.
Turning on her heel, she took up the ley lamp and, in four quick strides, departed the valley for home.
By the time she returned to Prague, the sun had risen on another day. At the city gates she joined the trickle of farmers fresh from the fields, trundling produce to market in barrows and donkey carts. She walked through the old town as the day’s traders were setting up their stalls in the square; she greeted those she knew and promised to return later to buy. Etzel was just opening the Grand Imperial Kaffeehaus, removing the shutters and pulling down the green awning she had designed and Herr Arnostovi had commissioned to be built and installed.
“Good morning, mein Schatz,” she chirped, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“ Ach! Wilhelmina, you are here!” Relief pinwheeled over his round face. “I did not see you return last night-all the kerfuffle-I was worried something might have happened to you.”
She smiled and patted his arm reassuringly. “Nothing is going to happen to me. Remember what I told you?”
“If I should turn around and find you gone,” he said, repeating her words by rote, “I am not to worry. You will always come back.”
“I will always come back,” she echoed. Then, on impulse, she gave him another kiss. He stared at her, blinking in the early-morning light. “That is a sacred promise, Etzel. I will always come back.”
“ Ja, I believe you,” he said, dropping his head shyly. “But sometimes I think it might be better if I helped you with this…” He searched for a word. “This work that you do.”
“I know, Liebling,” she said, resting her hand on his arm and feeling the warmth there. “Maybe someday you will. But for now, there is too much I do not understand, too much I must learn-”
“I could help you learn these things, I think.”
She smiled. “You are helping me. You help me more than you can possibly know just by being here when I come back.”
“But maybe-”
“It is true, Etzel. I need you to be here, to be my rock and my anchor. One day I will tell you all about my other work. But for now it must be this way.” She held his eyes with her own, willing him to understand. “All right?”
“Of course, meine Liebste.” He gave her a small, contrite smile. “If that is what you want. You know I cannot refuse you anything.”
She gave him a pat on the arm. “And I will try never to ask you for anything you would not willingly give.” Mina moved to the door of the shop. “I am famished. I could eat a horse-nose to tail.”
“There is fresh bread and good sausage,” Engelbert told her, resuming his work of pulling down and spreading the heavy cloth awning. “I will join you when I have finished here.”
Mina paused in the kitchen on her way through the coffeehouse. She greeted the staff and commended them to their labours, then went upstairs to change her clothes and to check on her injured guest. Thanks to her cunning intervention and Lady Fayth’s help, Giles was not only alive, he was safe in Wilhelmina’s care. Left to Burleigh, she had no doubt Giles would be pushing up daisies.
“Do you really want the city militia nosing around in your business?” she had asked.
“What is that to you?” Burleigh had asked, bristling with belligerence.
Knowing she skated on very thin ice, she had shrugged. “Nothing. I don’t know the man. But I know the city bureaucracy. He’s been seen, and questions will be asked. If you wanted him dead you should have killed him when you had the chance. It’s too late now.”
“She is right,” Lady Fayth chimed in.
Turning to Wilhelmina, he had asked, “Could you take care of him?”
“Me?” She feigned surprise. “I have a peaceful life here. I don’t want any part of this.”
Burleigh stared at her so hard she thought he had worked out the ruse. But then he pulled her aside and said, “I want him gone. See to it.”
“Why should I? This is nothing to do with me.”
“You have friends in high places. I wonder what these friends of yours would say if they knew the truth about you.” He gave her a sly, knowing look. “What would happen to your peaceful life then?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I could think of all manner of things to tell them.” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do you know what they do to witches here?”
Wilhelmina bit her lip.
Lady Fayth, who had been watching this exchange, said, “Giles was just my uncle’s coachman. He knows nothing. Please, Archelaeus, let him go.”
“Very well,” the Black Earl relented. To Wilhelmina, he said, “I don’t care how you do it, but I want him gone. Disappeared.”
“I got it,” Wilhelmina replied petulantly. “I don’t like it, but I’ll do it.”
The two had left then, consigning the wounded man to Mina’s care. The barely conscious Giles had been carried to an upstairs bedroom, and Wilhelmina joined him there to assess the damage. He had been shot through the upper shoulder, the pistol ball passing through the muscle back to front, nicking his collarbone and making a mess of his pectoral muscle, but high enough to miss his lung and any major arteries. The ball had exited the wound, so she did not think he would suffer lead poisoning. He might well die of septic infection, however, if she could not keep the wound clean. To aid in this, she fetched a generous portion of Engelbert’s excellent schnapps, in which she soaked Giles’ b
andages. She also gave him a sip of laudanum to lull the pain and then, as the wounded man drifted off to sleep, she had gone out to bring Kit home.
Wilhelmina moved to stand beside the invalid’s bed; she put a hand to his forehead and with some relief determined that there was as yet no fever. The patient stirred at her touch and surfaced from his groggy sleep. Momentarily confused, he started up. Pain instantly grabbed him. His face contorted, and he fell back once more with a groan.
“Easy there,” Wilhelmina told him. “You’re safe now. Take a deep breath.” She waited while he pulled himself together. “You’ve had a pretty narrow escape. I gave you some laudanum, and you’ve been asleep. Do you remember what happened?”
He nodded on the pillow. “Mr. Livingstone… did he escape?”
“Kit got away. Some of the townsfolk think they saw him jump into the river. Burleigh thinks Kit might have swum to the other side. They’ve been looking for him there.”
Giles licked dry lips.
“You will be thirsty. I’ll get you some water. Is there much pain?”
“No, my lady.” He gave his head a feeble shake.
“Liar. I’ll get you some more laudanum. It makes you groggy, but it will numb the pain.” She put her palm to his forehead again. “Don’t worry. You’re going to get through this.”
He bent his head to try to see his wound; when that did not work, he touched it gingerly with his fingertips. The touch made him wince.
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