The Seeker

  “This is Elspeth. She’s one of them gypsy folk,” Emmon said, slipping behind her into the house.

  I wondered why she did not speak. As if in answer to my thought, she raised a finger to her lips. At first I thought she was trying to tell me to be quiet. Then I realized she was mute.

  “The honeyballs are burnin’!” Emmon wailed.

  Gilaine smiled anew, gesturing for me to follow her. The cottage was tiny, consisting of three sections: a closet of a room with a bed in it, a front hall, and a cozy and relatively large kitchen.

  The honeyballs turned out to be tiny, crisp sweets. My mouth full, I asked Emmon why I had not seen Gilaine at the nightmeal. He managed to look wrathful over bulging cheeks. “She is nowt asked,” he said.

  I could figure out the rest. The old Druid was a perfectionist. His hatred of Misfits extended to anything he considered flawed. And Gilaine was mute. Seeing my look, she smiled sadly and shrugged.

  We stayed with Gilaine until it was time to go. I was surprised to hear Emmon confess his deception in retrieving me early, but she only shook her head helplessly and ruffled his hair with an expression of mingled concern and exasperation.

  Crossing the green to the meeting house, I spotted Jik playing ball with some children and asked Emmon if I could talk to him.

  “Well, yer nowt supposed to, an’ ye know what a stickler I am for rules. But if I was to gan over an’ wash my hands at th’ spring, I’d nowt see what ye were up to. I’m a gullible fellow,” he said with a smirk.

  I called Jik away from his game. “Do you know where the others are being kept?” I asked him immediately. There was no time for greetings.

  He shook his head. “I think they’re someplace outside the walls.”

  “What about the block, can you feel it?”

  He nodded, saying he had heard no talk of machines but that the Druid’s acolytes worked in a shed forbidden to all others.

  I nodded impatiently, frustrated that Emmon’s tour had included neither this shed nor the compound I’d heard mentioned before. “Keep an ear out but don’t ask any questions that will make anyone wonder about you. Remember, you’re a gypsy. Where’s Darga?”

  “He’s disappeared,” Jik said miserably.

  “Darga’s a smart dog,” I said. “He’s probably gone to look for the others, or even to find Domick.”

  Jik’s face brightened. “Do you think so?”

  “Come on, Elspeth,” Emmon called.

  I patted Jik on the shoulder and ran to join Emmon.

  I was taken in to the Druid by one of the acolytes. Struck again by his building’s similarity to the Councilcourt, I wondered curiously if the Druid was indeed trying to start up his own opposing order. I had the feeling his order would be as bad as the Council’s, whatever Gilbert believed. Entering the Druid’s meeting chamber, I heard a tantalizing snatch of conversation.

  A voice said, “If she is telling the truth, I don’t see any need to waste more time on the mountains. I said all along it was your old friends in the Herder Faction that we bumped into.”

  “That may be, but it is likely too late to stop the soldierguards from investigating Obernewtyn. And better to have them in the mountains than here.” That was the Druid. I hesitated at the door, hoping to hear more, but the Druid looked up.

  “Come in, Elspeth. I want you to tell me again all you saw at Obernewtyn.…”

  I was there for the rest of the afternoon. Fortunately, my story was simple, and I resisted the temptation to embellish in case he asked me to repeat it again. I quickly realized what he really wanted to know was if Rushton were continuing Alexi’s researches.

  I was unsure how much he knew of the truth. It was common knowledge Alexi and Madam Vega had been involved in illegal research into the Beforetime and that Rushton had stopped that research when he had claimed Obernewtyn, as was his legal right. At one time, Henry Druid had befriended Rushton and had even supported him in his work to undermine the usurpers. But the Druid’s motivations were less than admirable—he had sought for himself the same Beforetime weaponmachines that were the object of Alexi and Madam Vega’s researches, and so far as I knew, he had hoped to eliminate his competition without getting the Council involved.

  Rushton had severed ties without revealing his true plans for Obernewtyn, recognizing that the Druid’s obsessive hatred of mutations was a danger to us. Ironically, this must have made the Druid wonder whether Rushton was continuing Alexi’s search for Beforetime weapons, and our occasional exploration of the Blackland fringes would have only supported his suspicions.

  The snatch of conversation I had overheard told me the Druid no longer saw Rushton as an enemy. Just the same, while taking care to present myself as an ignorant, self-centered gypsy, I made sure Rushton sounded as if he were verging on mania, committing all his resources to rebuilding the shattered Obernewtyn.

  Dismissed at last, I went back to the kitchens. “What did he want?” Kella asked. “You’ve been ages!”

  I told her of Emmon’s antics, then recounted what I had heard.

  “But it sounds like they now believe the Teknoguilders they clashed with at the ruins were Herders. How odd that they should jump to that conclusion, when Herders discourage any interest in the Beforetime,” Kella said.

  I nodded. “I think there is much about the Herders’ activities that is secret. The important thing, though, is that the Druid now seems to believe Obernewtyn is a ruin. Even so, he seems to have set something in motion—there are soldierguards coming to the mountains. That means the rumors about renewed interest in Obernewtyn are true, and I’m almost sure this friend of theirs who works with the Council organized the investigation. It wouldn’t be hard. The Council is so suspicious anyway.”

  Kella wiped her hands slowly on her apron. “We have to warn Rushton.”

  I nodded. “But first, I have to do something about this machine. Let Rilla think I’m still with the Druid. I think I can home in on the source of the static if I put my mind to it.”

  “Don’t get caught,” Kella said.

  I climbed out the window at the back of the kitchen. Walking slowly, I let my mind explore the oddly pliant nature of the blocking static. Again I was reminded of a blanket and brushed my mind against it instead of using force. I had the eerie feeling it liked this, as if it were rubbing up against my mind like a kitten. I thought I could sense a core and moved in that direction.

  Before long, I found myself in a part of the camp I had not seen before. I walked purposefully, trying to look as if I were running an errand, and avoided the eyes of the few people I passed.

  Two men coming out of a doorway looked at me but made no move to stop me. As soon as I rounded a corner, I ran, keeping to the walls. I was determined nothing would keep me from at least locating the machine. A young girl looked out of a window curiously. I slowed abruptly to a walk, but her eyes followed me up the street.

  I noticed a bank of ominous black clouds roiled along the horizon. An omen, though for good or ill I couldn’t decide.

  Suddenly I found myself on the very perimeter of the settlement. There was no one in sight. This part of the camp looked deserted. Uneasily, I wondered if the whole thing was some sort of trap.

  I was about to turn back when, suddenly, I sensed the source of the block was very near. I couldn’t resist. It came, I was certain, from a long, low-slung building with a flat roof. There was only one door to the building, and no guard stood by it. My trapped powers prevented me from knowing if there were guards inside.

  Pressing one ear against the door, I heard faint voices. Dry-mouthed, I made my decision. The door swung open soundlessly.

  I gaped at the complete unexpectedness of what lay inside. The building was composed of a single, long, almost bare room filled with babies and very young children. On the far side of the room, a thin dark-haired girl wiped the face of a bawling tot.

  In the middle of the room, playing with a group of happy children, was Gilaine.


  She looked up idly, and her face registered my own shock.

  I could not think of a single thing to say. The room was obviously a kind of communal nursery, but I was convinced it was also the source of the block. The machine had to be concealed somewhere in the room.

  The dark-haired girl came over. “Yes?” she said pleasantly.

  Gilaine touched her arm and made a few intricate hand motions. “Gilaine says you’re a friend. Come in.”

  Gilaine made another agitated hand movement and the girl nodded. “I’ll do it. You talk to your friend,” she said kindly.

  “What is this place?” I asked Gilaine when we were alone.

  She frowned and pointed to the children. One of the toddlers waddled after her and lurched at my knees. Reaching out to catch him, my hand brushed against Gilaine’s.

  The baby gurgled in delight, oblivious to our stunned looks. The moment our hands touched, I had immediate access to her mind—and she to mine! Gilaine was a Talent. She had the same unusual combination of empath and farseeking abilities as Jik.

  She pulled away almost immediately. I leaned forward slowly, not wanting to alarm her, and touched her forearm. Again contact was established. It seemed the block did not work if I was actually touching the person I wanted to communicate with.

  “Gilaine?” I sent gently. She recoiled. I stood waiting, and she reached out, touching my shoulder with a tentative finger.

  “Elspeth?” her mind responded. It was a weak signal despite the strength I had found in her mind.

  I nodded. Gilaine sat on a chair as if her legs would not hold her and pulled the toddler onto her lap. I reached forward, pretending to look at the baby, and touched her. “We must not make ourselves obvious,” I sent, at the same time wondering if Gilaine was the trap.

  “You … are like us, but different,” Gilaine sent timidly.

  “Us? There are other Misfits here?” I asked, astounded.

  She nodded almost imperceptibly. I sensed that she did not want to talk about them.

  “Does your father know?” I asked.

  She shook her head vehemently. “Must not know.” The baby began to struggle to be put down. Gilaine jiggled her knees up and down, and he gurgled contentedly. “Father-druid thinks Misfits only feebleminds or dreamers. He does not know about us/you. He thinks Misfit/mutant evil,” she stressed.

  “And you? Do you think this is evil?” I asked.

  She shook her head but without much conviction.

  “It’s dangerous for you and your friends here. Why do you stay?” I asked.

  She shrugged, but I was startled to see a familiar face in her mind. It was the boy I had met in the Councilcourt in Sutrium years earlier, when I had been waiting to be sentenced to Obernewtyn. In her vision, he was older, but it was unmistakeably the same person. He had spoken to me of running away to take refuge in the mountains. He had even mentioned Henry Druid, saying the rumor of his death was a lie. Clearly, he must serve the Druid. I fumbled in my memory for the name he had told me. “Daffyd,” I murmured aloud triumphantly.

  Gilaine almost dropped the baby in fright. The startled child hitched in a breath and began to scream. When it was quieted, Gilaine touched my hand. “How do you know that name? Did you read my behindthoughts?” she asked suspiciously.

  I shook my head without bothering to explain that I could have if I’d chosen to. People always thought I wanted to eavesdrop on their private thoughts, whereas the notion actually embarrassed me. “I saw his face in your mind. I met him once, in Sutrium. Is he a Misfit, too?”

  She nodded, still wary.

  “Where is he?” I asked, for surely I would have seen him if he were in the camp.

  “Druid sent him to Sutrium/lowlands. Druidbusiness.”

  I noticed the dark-haired girl watching us curiously. We had been silent too long. In another moment, she would begin to wonder who I was and why she had not recognized me. I was putting Gilaine in danger and said as much to her in a low voice.

  Rising, I sent a final, vital question. “Where is the blocking machine?”

  She frowned. “Machine?”

  “The block on our minds. Surely you can feel it?”

  “Feel what?” Gilaine sent.

  Confused, I sent a brief impression of the block.

  “Oh, that,” her mind sent, amused. “No machine. Lidgebaby.” She pointed to a cot near one of the walls. “Lidgebabymind.”

  My mouth fell open. The incredible numbing effect blanketing the camp that had resisted all my strength was the uncontrollable mental static of a Misfit baby!

  11

  SOMETHING WOKE ME.

  It was a dark night, with no moon showing beyond the window glass. Rain was falling softly on the roof of the washhouse and its adjoining sleeping chambers.

  Then I heard a voice, calling softly. “Elspeth?”

  I sat bolt upright in bed, afraid to answer in case it was a trap. Trying to think how a real gypsy would react, I climbed out of bed and went across to the window.

  “Who’s out there?” My voice came out low and anxious, not quite a whisper.

  “Shh!” the voice hissed urgently.

  Apprehension prickled along my spine. “What do want? Who are you?”

  There was a pause, as if the caller was wary, too.

  “I come from a friend,” the voice whispered at last, reluctantly.

  I frowned. “I have no friends here.”

  Again there was a pause. “Gilaine,” the voice grated, with a hint of irritation.

  I bit my lip and peered into the rain-streaked night, wishing there was a moon. Whoever was out there had the perfect cover. I could see nothing.

  “I have a key to unlock your door,” the voice said.

  I made up my mind. If it was a trap, I would blame gypsy curiosity.

  A moment later, there was a faint click, and the door opened to reveal a man wearing a dark hooded cloak pulled low across his face. Pulling my own cape hastily over my nightdress, I padded out barefoot, closing the door behind me.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “My name is Saul. And you don’t need to know any more than that,” he added brusquely.

  We hurried along, keeping close to the walls, cloaks flapping in gusts of wind that blew along the dark, empty streets. Coming to a cobbled square, Saul stopped, intently scanning the square and the streets leading into it. Trees growing up through the cobbles flung bare branches about, sighing mournfully. After a long moment, he flicked his hand curtly and strode directly across the square.

  On the other side, I stopped. “Wait a minute. This isn’t the way to Gilaine’s house.”

  “It is the way to mine,” Saul answered.

  His house proved to be as small as Gilaine’s but looked dark and deserted. He opened the door, and light spilled out onto the wet ground. Dark heavy curtains had hidden the light from prying eyes. Reassured, I followed him inside.

  Removing his cloak, Saul shook it and hung it on a peg in the wall. Studying him covertly in the light, I decided he was handsome in a cold sort of way. He was tall but too thin, and his skin was pale. His hands were as long and slender as a woman’s, his facial features sharply defined beneath a fringe of straight light brown hair. He looked at me fleetingly with eyes the color of mud-stained ice. I smiled tentatively, but he did not respond. I pretended to stumble as I followed him along the hallway, clutching at his arm to steady myself.

  I had a brief impression of an intelligence bordering on brilliance, resting on a frighteningly unstable personality.

  “Get out!” commanded an icy mental voice. He pushed me away with a look of revulsion.

  I followed him wordlessly into the kitchen, knowing I had seen such stress before in people unable to tolerate the realization that they were Misfits. I guessed Saul had been ruthlessly orthodox before discovering his true nature. His very personality was disintegrating under the stress of being what he loathed. I wondered if the others knew how poorly he was coping
.

  The kitchen was almost the exact replica of Gilaine’s but without cooking smells or flowers. It reminded me of an orphan-home kitchen before Council inspection.

  Seated at a scrubbed timber table were Gilaine, the two musicians I had seen at the Druid’s nightmeal, and an older heavyset man I had not seen before.

  For a moment, they looked up at me with collective appraisal. Then Gilaine rose. Smiling welcome, she touched my arm. “I am glad you came. See? I am getting better at this strange way of communicating. But Lidegbaby does not like it. You know Saul. I think you have seen Peter and Michael.” She gestured at the musicians. “And last is Jow, the brother of Daffyd.”

  “This is dangerous,” I said aloud.

  Gilaine nodded gravely. “You told me this afternoon that you meant to escape. We want to help, but you must answer questions first,” she sent.

  From the expressions on the faces of the others, I guessed they had been less eager to help than Gilaine. I wondered what she had said to convince them—especially to Saul, who made no pretense of liking my presence and was prowling back and forth like a caged animal.

  “The others with you—Misfit also?” Gilaine asked.

  I nodded, aware we would not get out of the camp without help. I had to take the risk. And I did trust Gilaine. I guessed she was reporting my answers to the others but could find no trace of their communication, though her hand rested on my arm. She seemed not to need physical contact to farseek with the others.

  She looked back at me. “Have you really been to Obernewtyn?”

  I nodded, and again told the story I had told the Druid, with one difference. I told her we had welcomed Pavo’s illness as an excuse to split off from the rest of the troupe. “It was getting too dangerous for us to stay. Most gypsies hate Misfits.”

  “Then you never meant to rejoin your father?” Saul asked accusingly when Gilaine had relayed my answer. “You say Obernewtyn is a ruin. How can we believe you?”