He looked at me oddly, like something way back was nagging him. He remembered something. I did not want him worrying it like a cavity in a tooth. He might come up with an answer. “Been some changes since I was here in the army.”
“Going to the dogs,” he grumbled. “The dogs. Worse every day. You think anybody cares? We’re going to rot out here. How many in your party?”
“Four. And one dog.”
Wrong move. He scowled. No sense of humor. “Names?”
“Candle. One Smith. Tailor. Tracker. He works for us. And Toadkiller Dog. Got to call him by his whole name or he gets upset.”
“Funny man, eh?”
“Hey. No offense. But this place needs some sunshine.”
“Yeah. Can you read?”
I nodded.
“Rules are posted over there. You got two choices. Obey them. Or be dead. Case!”
A soldier came from a back office. “Yeah, Sarge?”
“New trader. Go check him out. You at Blue Willy, Candle?”
“Yes.” The list of rules had not changed. It was the same paper, almost too faded to read. Basically, it said don’t mess with the Barrowland. Try it and if it don’t kill you, we will.
“Sir?” the trooper said. “When you’re ready?”
“I’m ready.”
We returned to Blue Willy. The soldier looked our gear over. The only things that intrigued him were my bow and the fact that we were well armed. “Why so many weapons?”
“Been talk about trouble with the tribesmen.”
“Must have gotten exaggerated. Just stealing.” Goblin and One-Eye attracted no special attention. I was pleased. “You read the rules. Stick to them,”
“I know them of old,” I said. “I was stationed here when I was in the army.”
He looked at me a bit narrowly, nodded, departed.
We all sighed. Goblin took the spell of concealment off the gear he and One-Eye had brought. The empty corner behind Tracker filled with clutter.
“He might come right back,” I protested.
“We don’t want to hold any spell any longer than we have to,” One-Eye said. “There might be somebody around who could detect it.”
“Right.” I cracked the shutters to our one window. The hinges shrieked. “Grease,” I suggested. I looked across the town. We were on the third floor of the tallest building outside the Guard compound. I could see the Bomanz house. “Guys. Look at this.”
They looked.
“In damned fine shape, eh?” When last seen it was a candidate for demolition. Superstitious fear had kept it unused. I recalled pottering around in there several times. “Feel like a stroll, Tracker?”
“No.”
“Whatever makes you comfortable”—I wondered if he had enemies here—“I’d feel better if you were along.”
He strapped on his sword. Out we went, down, into the street—if that expanse of mud could be so called. The corduroy ran only to the compound, with a branch as far as Blue Willy. Beyond, there were walkways only.
We pretended to sightsee. I told Tracker stories about my last visit, most cast near the truth. I was trying to assume a foreign persona, voluble and jolly. I wondered if I was wasting my time. I saw no one interested in what I might say.
The Bomanz house had been lovingly restored. It did not appear to be occupied, though. Or guarded. Or set up as a monument. Curious. Come supper I asked our host. He had me pegged as a nostalgic fool already. He told us, “Some old boy moved in there about five years ago. Cripple. Did scut work for the Guard. Fixed the place up in his spare time.”
“What happened to him?”
“While back, couple four months I guess, he had a stroke or something. They found him still alive but like a vegetable. They took him over to the compound. Far as I know, he’s still there. Feeding him like a baby. That kid that was here to inspect you is the one to ask. Him and Corbie was friends.”
“Corbie, eh? Thanks. Another pitcher.”
“Come on, Croaker,” One-Eye said in a low voice. “Lay off the beer. The guy makes it himself. It’s terrible.”
He was right. But I was getting adjusted for some heavy thinking.
We had to get into that house. That meant night moves and wizards’ skills. It also meant our greatest risks since Goblin and One-Eye went silly in Roses,
One-Eye asked Goblin, “Think we’re up against a haunt?”
Goblin sucked his lip. “Have to look.”
“What’s this?” I asked.
“I’d have to see the man to know for sure, Croaker, but what happened to that Corbie don’t sound like a stroke.”
Goblin nodded. “Sounds like somebody pulled out of body and caught.”
“Maybe we can arrange to see him. What about the house?”
“First thing is to make sure there isn’t a big-time haunt. Like maybe Bomanz’s ghost.”
That kind of talk makes me nervous. I do not believe in ghosts. Or do not want to.
“If he was caught out, or pulled out, you have to wonder how and why. The fact that that’s where Bomanz lived has to be considered. Something left over from his time could have gotten this Corbie. Could be what gets us if we’re not careful.”
“Complications,” I grumbled. “Always the complications.”
Goblin snickered.
“You watch yourself,” I said. “Or I just might sell you to the highest bidder.”
An hour later a savage storm arrived. It howled and hammered at the inn. The roof leaked under the downpour. When I reported that, our host blew up, though not at me. Evidently making repairs was not easy under current conditions, yet repairs had to be made lest a place deteriorate entirely.
“The damned winter firewood is the worst,” he complained. “Can’t leave it set out. Either gets buried under snow or so damned waterlogged you can’t dry it out. In a month this place will be loaded ceiling to floor. At least filling the place up makes it less hard to heat.”
Along about midnight, after the Guard had changed watches and the oncoming had had time to grow bored and sleepy, we slipped out. Goblin made sure everyone inside the inn was asleep.
Toadkiller Dog trotted ahead, seeking witnesses. He found only one. Goblin took care of him, too. On a night like that nobody was out. I wished I was not.
“Make sure nobody can see any light,” I said after we slipped inside. “At a guess, I’d say we start upstairs.”
“At a guess,” One-Eye countered, “I’d say we find out if there are any haunts or booby traps first.”
I glanced at the door. I hadn’t thought about that before pushing through.
The Barrowland, Back When
The Colonel summoned Case. He shook as he stood before Sweet’s desk.
“There are questions to be answered, lad,” Sweet said. “Start by telling me what you know about Corbie.”
Case swallowed. “Yes, sir.” He told. And told much more when Sweet insisted on rehashing every word that had passed between them. He told everything but the part about the message and the oilskin.
“Curious,” Sweet said. “Very. Is that all?”
Case shifted nervously. “What’s this about,. sir?”
“Let’s say what we found in the oilskin was interesting.”
“Sir?”
“It appeared to be a long letter, though no one could read it. It was in a language nobody knows. It could be the language of the Jewel Cities. What I want to know is, who was supposed to get it? Was it unique or part of a series? Our friend is in trouble, lad. If he recovers, he’s in hot water. Deep. Real bums don’t write long letters to anybody.”
“Well, sir, like I said, he was trying to track down his kids. And he may have come from Opal. …”
“I know. There is circumstantial evidence on his side. Maybe he can satisfy me when he comes around. On the other hand, this being the Barrowland, anything remarkable becomes suspicious. Question, son. And you must answer satisfactorily or you’re in hot water, too. Why did you try
to hide the packet?”
The crux. The moment from which there was no escape. He had prayed it would not arrive. Now, facing it, Case knew his loyalty to Corbie was unequal to the test.
“He asked me if, if anything happened to him, I would get a letter delivered to Oar. A letter in oilskin.”
“He did expect trouble, then?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what was in the letter or why he wanted it delivered. He just gave me a name. And then he said to tell you something after the letter was delivered.”
“Ah?”
“I don’t remember his exact words. He said to tell you the thing in the Great Barrow isn’t asleep anymore.”
Sweet came out of his seat as though stung. “He did? And how did he know? Never mind. The name. Now! Who was the packet to go to?”
“A smith in Oar. Named Sand. That’s all I know, sir, I swear.”
“Right.” Sweet seemed distracted. “Back to your duties, lad. Tell Major Klief I want him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Next morning Case watched Major Klief and a detail ride out, under orders to arrest Sand Smith. He felt terribly guilty. And yet, just how had he betrayed anyone? He might have been betrayed himself if Corbie was a spy.
He assuaged his guilt by tending Corbie with religious devotion, keeping him clean and fed.
A Barrowland Night
It took Goblin and One-Eye only minutes to examine the house. “No traps,” One-Eye announced. “No ghost, either. Some old resonances of sorcery overlaid by more recent ones. Upstairs.”
I produced a scrap of paper. Upon it were my notes from the Bomanz letters. We went upstairs. Confident though they were, Goblin and One-Eye let me go first. Some friends.
I checked to make certain the window was shuttered before permitting a light. Then: “Do your stuff. I’ll poke around.” Tracker and Toadkiller Dog remained in the doorway. It was not a big room.
I examined book titles before starting a serious search. The man had had eclectic tastes. Or had collected what was cheapest, perhaps.
I found no papers.
The place did not look ransacked. “One-Eye. Can you tell if this place was searched?”
“Probably not. Why?”
“The papers aren’t here.”
“You looked where he hid stuff? Like he said?”
“All but one.” A spear stood in a corner. Sure enough, when I twisted it, its head came off and revealed a hollow shaft. Out came the map mentioned in the story. We spread it on the table.
Chills crept up my back.
This was real history. This chart had shaped today’s world. Despite my limited grasp of TelleKurre and my even more feeble knowledge of wizardly symbols, I felt the power mapped there. For me, at least, it radiated something that left me teetering on the boundary between discomfort and true dread.
Goblin and One-Eye did not feel it. Or were too intrigued. They put their heads together and examined the route Bomanz used to reach the Lady.
“Thirty-seven years of work,” I said.
“What?”
“It took him thirty-seven years to accumulate that information.” I noticed something. “What’s this?” It was something that should not have been there, as I recalled the story. “I see. Our correspondent added notes of his own.”
One-Eye looked at me. Then he looked at the chart. Then he looked at me again. Then he bent to examine the route on the map. “That has to be it. No other answer.”
“What?”
“I know what happened.”
Tracker stirred uncomfortably.
“Well?”
“He tried to go in there. The only way you can. And couldn’t get out.”
He had written me saying there was something he had to do, that the risks were great. Was One-Eye right?
Brave man.
No papers. Unless they were hidden better than I thought. I would have Goblin and One-Eye search. I made them reroll the chart and return it to the spear shaft, then said, “I’m open to suggestions.”
“About what?” Goblin squeaked.
“About how to get this guy away from the Eternal Guard. And how we get his soul back inside him so we can ask him questions. Like that.”
They did not look enthused. One-Eye said, “Somebody will have to go in there to see what’s wrong. Then spring him and guide him out.”
“I see.” Too well. We had to lay hands on the living body before doing that. “Look this place over. See what you can find that’s hidden.”
It took them half an hour, I became a nervous wreck. “Too much time, too much time,” I kept saying. They ignored me.
The search produced one scrap of paper, very old, which contained a cipher key. It was folded into one of the books, not really hidden. I tucked it away. It might be used on the papers back at the Hole.
We got out. We got back to Blue Willy without being detected. We all heaved sighs of relief once we reached our room.
“What now?” Goblin asked.
“Sleep on it. Tomorrow is soon enough to start worrying.” I was wrong, of course. I was worrying already.
With each step forward it became more complicated.
Night in the Barrowland
The thunder and lightning continued to strut about. The sound and flash penetrated the walls as though they were paper. I slept restlessly, my nerves frazzled more than they should be. The others were dead to the world. Why couldn’t I be?
It started as a pinprick in a comer, a mote of golden light. The mote multiplied. I wanted to lunge across and hammer on Goblin or One-Eye, calling them liars. The amulet was supposed to keep me invisible. …
Faintest, most ghostly of whispers, like the cry of a ghost down a long, cold cavern. “Physician. Where are you?”
I did not respond. I wanted to pull my blanket over my head, but could not move.
She remained diffuse, wavering, uncertain. Maybe she did have trouble spotting me. When her face did assume substance momentarily, she did not look my way. Her eyes seemed blind.
“You have gone from the Plain of Fear,” she called in that faraway voice. “You are in the north somewhere. You left a broad trail. You are foolish, my friend. I will find you. Don’t you know that? You cannot hide. Even an emptiness can be seen.”
She had no idea where I was. I did the right thing by not responding. She wanted me to betray myself.
“My patience is not unlimited, Croaker. But you may come to the Tower still. Make it soon, though. Your White Rose does not have long.”
I finally managed to pull my blanket to my chin. What a sight I must have made. Amusing, in retrospect. Like a little boy afraid of ghosts.
The glow slowly faded. With it went the nervousness that had plagued me since returning from the Bomanz house.
As I settled down I glanced at Toadkiller Dog. I caught lightning glinting off a single open eye.
So. For the first time there was a witness to one of the visitations. But a mutt.
I don’t think anybody believed me about them, ever, except that what I reported always panned out true.
I slept.
Goblin wakened me. “Breakfast.”
We ate. We made a show of looking for markets for our goods, of seeking a longer term connection for future loads. Business was not good, except our host offered to purchase distilled spirits regularly. There was a demand among the Eternal Guard. The soldiers had little to do but drink.
Lunch. And while we ate and prepared our thoughts for the head-butting session to follow, soldiers entered the inn. They asked the landlord if any of his guests had been out last night. Good old landlord denied the possibility. He claimed he was the lightest of sleepers. He knew if anyone came or went.
That was good enough for the soldiers. They left.
“What was that?” I asked when next the proprietor passed our way.
“Somebody broke into Corbie’s house last night,” he said. Then his eyes narrowed. He remembered other questions. My mistake.
/>
“Curious,” I said. “Why would anyone do that?”
“Yes. Why?” He went about his business, but remained thoughtful.
I, too, was thoughtful. How had they detected our visit? We were careful to leave no traces.
Goblin and One-Eye were disturbed, too. Only Tracker did not seem bothered. His lone discomfort was being there, near the Barrowland.
“What can we do?” I asked. “We’re surrounded and outnumbered, and maybe now we’re suspect. How do we lay hands on this Corbie?”
“That’s no problem,” One-Eye said. “The real trouble is getting away after we do. If we could call in a windwhale just in time. …”
“Tell me how it’s not so hard.”
“The middle of the night we go over to the Guard compound, use the sleep spell, get our man and his papers, call his spirit back, and get him out. But then what? Eh, Croaker? Then what?”
“Where do we run?” I mused. “And how?”
“There is one answer,” Tracker said. “The forest. The Guard couldn’t find us in the forest. If we could cross the Great Tragic, we’d be safe. They don’t have the manpower for a hunt.”
I nibbled the edge of a fingernail. Something to what Tracker said. I assumed he knew the woodlands and tribes well enough for us to survive with the burden of an injured man. But jumping past that only led to other problems.
There were still a thousand miles to cross to reach the Plain of Fear. With the empire alert. “Wait here,” I told everybody, and left.
I hurried to the imperial compound, entered the office I had visited before, shook myself dry, examined a map on the wall. The kid who had checked us for contraband came over. “Help you somehow?”
“I don’t think so. Just wanted to check the map. It pretty accurate?”
“Not anymore. The river has shifted more than a mile this way. And most of the flood plain isn’t covered with woods anymore. All washed away.”
“Hmm.” I laid fingers on, making estimates.
“What do you want to know that for?”
“Business,” I lied. “Heard we might be able to contact one of the bigger tribes around a place called Eagle Rocks.”