He tried to remain calm. “I didn’t come here looking for a fight.”
Inger said, “Of course you didn’t. It never occurred to you that anyone would do anything but jump when you barked.”
He was perplexed. Maybe Inger was not articulating clearly.
She continued, “I’ll take a passive approach. I’ll give you your head. A dole out the rope strategy. Will you embarrass yourself?”
She was less frightened and rattled than she had been. She had a plan. She would let him strangle himself. He had shown that he could.
Would her thugs try to nudge him off the precipice?
She said, “I paid attention back when I was your new bed bunny.”
That hurt. He had not thought of her as a toy, ever. He never thought that about any woman he loved.
He nearly broke a smile. Some of his lovers might not agree. Women saw things through different eyes.
Inger said, “So I will defer, publicly. I’ll be the dutiful wife. I won’t make your road any rockier. I’ll help where I can and I’ll remain blind in the matter of that…girl. Your mistress. Purported.”
Kristen hissed. There was no readiness to forgive in her.
Inger said, “I had nothing to do with what happened.”
Ragnarson nodded. “I know. I got to interview the assassin, courtesy of Varthlokkur and the Unborn.”
Kristen hissed again.
“I’ve made my peace with that, as much as I can.” He had made arrangements to bring Sherilee to Vorgreberg. She would lie not far from Fiana and Elana… Where their ghosts might meet?
Inger’s henchmen were more relaxed now. Wolf seemed mildly disappointed.
Inger said, “Let’s stay focused on the Thingmeet. You can explain Shinsan’s plans then.”
“No. Mist wants to be remembered as the one who saved the world from its worst ever plague. We can’t just shout out and let him know it’s coming.”
Babeltausque asked, “Will her feelings be hurt if you don’t convince us?”
“I think that if what it takes to win is her having to look like the bad guy lurking in the weeds she’ll put on the ugliest mask she can find, then sing weird songs while she prances and postures… Michael?”
Trebilcock was laughing. “Sorry. I was imagining her putting her dignity aside far enough to dance where somebody might actually see her.”
“Villain. You have a filthy mind.”
“Hey. She is a good-looking woman.”
Ragnarson grinned himself once the image got inside his head. “She would be a vision, wouldn’t she?”
…
Ekaterina asked, “Do you have a dancing girl outfit, Mother?” deliberately provocative.
Mist glowered.
In her most naive voice Nepanthe said, “You’d look good. Not like me. Twenty years ago, maybe. Now I’m all doughy.”
Lord Yuan was past being interested in women in scanty attire. “Ladies, can we focus?”
Mist turned away from spying on Ragnarson, irked but also arching the back of her vanity like a cat inclined toward more petting. She was disappointed, though Ragnarson had achieved more than she had expected. He could have concerned himself more with her mission and less with her physical form, however.
Even so… No. Good as it felt, the effect would fade. “Lord Yuan?”
“The instrument favored by that one is now in frequent play.”
“You said it isn’t worth tracking, yet you have been keeping watch?”
“Yes. I have men underemployed because of the peace. It keeps them occupied. The old devil did get busy. For a while he was up to something involving the man who killed the king of Hammad al Nakir.” He checked the proximity of the desert people. “Once he finished…”
“He headed east. Scalza has been tracking his mount, which has been giving him trouble. It acts like it’s coming down with something.” Louder, she asked, “Anyone know if horses get arthritis?”
Swami Phogedatvitsu responded, “Probably. Most domesticated animals do if they live long enough.”
Snide Scalza asked, “Does that mean people are domesticated?”
“A strong argument can be made for just that, youngster.”
Ekaterina flashed a ha-ha! face from where she hovered over Ethrian.
Mist grumbled, “Worry about that some other time. What is the villain up to right now? Anyone know? Where is he headed?”
Scalza said, “He’s already there, Mother. He was headed eastnortheast, avoiding towns and cities. He’s missing now, but there’s no obvious destination out there. It must be somewhere hidden.”
“Show me on a map. Varthlokkur has a whole raft of those things around here somewhere.”
He had scores. It took just minutes to root out one of a scale small enough to show the world from the ocean in the west to the barren shores of the east. It was particularly detailed where the Dread Empire was concerned. Mist was not pleased.
A dozen people crowded round, Ethrian and the Old Man among them. The latter indicated an archipelago off the eastern coast. “Ehelebe.”
Ethrian added, “Nawami.”
“Nawami,” the Old Man agreed. “That way,” indicating the nothing beyond the eastern edge of the map. “Yesterday. Long time.”
“Where is Sahmaman?”
The specialists attached to them crackled with excitement.
Lord Yuan had to be the killjoy. “Intriguing matters but not what we should concentrate on right now.”
Scalza wiggled his butt and waggled his elbows enough to win some space. He deployed a straight edge, adjusted its lie. “I’m resisting the temptation to mark this out with a pen. The target started here, in the desert. He flew along this line. He’s somewhere around here, now, in the steppe in the east of the upper Roe basin. There’s a town about here. He probably spent a night there.”
Impressed, his mother asked, “He’s definitely not moving now?”
“No. He has disappeared. Wherever he got to, we can’t watch him there. Maybe it’s where he goes when he isn’t making trouble. I can’t even find the horse, now, so I’m going to look for boundaries.”
The Old Man’s eyes bugged. His face reddened. Was he choking? Explosively, he blurted, “Wacht Musfliet!” He staggered to the shogi table, assisted the last few steps by his mental coach.
The others strove not to distress him by pressing for details.
Mist demanded, “Where the hell has Varthlokkur gotten to?”
The wizard was home. He had not left since he brought the Disciple in. He had kept Radeachar close, too, once the monster finished scouting in Hammad al Nakir. But Varthlokkur was not in evidence. He did not like the crowds in the Wind Tower.
No one knew where he was. Mist said, “Someone find him. Eka. Someone is you. I expect you know every hiding place in this rock pile.”
That caught Ekaterina off guard. She seemed fearful that her mother had penetrated some deep secret. Then she turned bland. “As you wish. No guarantee I can find him if he doesn’t want to be found, though.”
Mist smiled, nodded. “Anyone know what Wacht Mustflit means?” She hashed the pronunciation. No one noticed, nor did anyone do anything but shake heads.
There were plenty to shake. The Wind Tower was packed with a crowd that now included translators added to help Yasmid and her father get by. The one assigned to the Disciple grumbled plenty because he had so much nothing to do. Today’s Disciple was not entrancing. When he spoke at all he preached, without passion or energy, in a mumble. He believed that minions of the Evil One had imprisoned him in the antechamber of Hell.
The mental experts said opium had damaged his mind too much. He would never recover.
“The Place.”
Mist looked at Ethrian, who stood over the shogi board, shivering without Eka there to support him or to intercede. He spoke declaratively, though, in a tight voice. Everyone nearby shut up, hoping for more.
“Ethrian? I didn’t hear you clearly through the noise.”
“The Place of the Iron Statues. Wacht Musfliet is its name in…” Ethrian stopped, perplexed. In what language?
The Old Man made gurgling noises. He agreed but added nothing.