Gar pursed his lips. “Yes, it will be a little confused, won’t it?”
“The churls will be in turmoil.” Madelon shivered. “Small wonder. I almost ran, myself, when that great golden ball came dropping down.”
“Oh yes, that.” Dirk smiled whimsically. “Yours, I presume?”
Gar looked up, too quickly. “My ship, yes… Does it matter?”
Dirk shrugged. “Probably not. Just wondering why you didn’t climb aboard—that’s all.”
Gar frowned. “There was a small matter of fifty churls to try to save. I’m not in the habit of deserting my fellows.”
“Aye, and good for us you didn’t,” Hugh said soberly. He cracked his fingers thoughtfully. “I’d have liked to kill a few more—but all in all, I’d rather be alive.”
His handful of Tradesmen muttered agreement. “That thing was yours?” one of them said, awed.
Gar suddenly seemed wary. “What matter?”
“I’d thought it was the Wizard’s tower, dropping down,” another answered, staring at Gar as though he were something supernatural.
Gar smiled feebly. “Just the thing to start a riot.”
“And a riot’s just the thing to bring the Soldiers out in force,” Dirk chirped, “guarding every byway and highway.”
Madelon gave him a black look. “Yes, of course. We’ll have to be careful.”
“Why?” Hugh asked, staring at Gar. “We’ve our own wizard with us, now.”
“Belay that!” Gar surged to his feet, paced out toward the forest wall. “He said the new guide would come soon! Where is he?”
Dirk watched him, marveling. Why be upset? It wasn’t real, anyway. He pointed to the lip of a trail poking out into the clearing. “If you’re really all that eager, there’s an exit off that way.”
Gar’s head swung about, eyes riveted to the trail.
Madelon glanced at him, then at the trail, back at Gar, looking worried.
“Why not?” Gar grinned, shrugging. “Our new guide must know the woods. He shouldn’t have any trouble finding us.”
Madelon still looked worried, and so did the churls. “There are times when personal initiative is singularly inappropriate,” Hugh pointed out.
But Gar only laughed and strode toward the trail.
Dirk shrugged and shoved himself away from the hummock, following. Why not?
The churls followed automatically, but also slowly.
Madelon stared after them, shocked. Then she pressed her lips tight in exasperation, and ran after them.
As he came in under the leaves, Dirk glanced back toward the city. The sun was touching the tops of the towers, coloring the whole landscape rose and magenta. Dirk pursed his lips; the day’s carnival had taken more time then he’d realized. “Night’s coming down, Gar. Any idea where we sleep tonight?”
“Why, with us,” said a voice from the shrubbery.
The whole party stretched to a halt. “Who said that?” Gar asked carefully.
Everyone looked at Dirk. Dirk looked at the bushes. “It didn’t sound like a man’s voice—and it certainly wasn’t Madelon’s.”
“I’m rather aware of that,” Gar said sourly. “Now, mind you, I’m not one to turn down an invitation—but I do like to have a look at its source.”
“Look, then,” the contralto answered, and a huge tub of a woman waded out of the underbrush with two archers to either side of her. Gleaming chestnut hair fell unbound to her shoulders. Her eyes were small, almost hidden in folds of fat, as was her mouth. She had a pug nose, scarcely noticeable. She wore a hooded robe, the color of walnut juice, over a beige tent of a dress. But her step was firm, and she spoke with the authority of a general. Her archers wore brown leather jerkins and tan hose, plus well-stocked quivers and longbows-nocked, at the moment.
The woman stopped a few feet from Gar and searched his face, frowning. Then she nodded, satisfied. “I am Lapin. You are welcome to our poor hospitality, though I’d rather you’d waited our coming.”
“So would Lord Core,” Gar said sourly.
“Gar, be still!” Madelon hissed. But Lapin’s eyes turned hard and opaque. She turned her head toward Dirk. “I believe I should resent that.”
Dirk stared back, at a loss for words; but a voice behind him said, “No need, Mother Lapin,” and Hugh stepped toward the huge woman, grinning. “Forgive him; he is an outlander and knows little of manners. But he is a good man for all that, and has brought me back to you whole, with several worthy recruits.”
Gar frowned. “My thanks, Hugh—but I have a tongue of my own.”
“It is so rude you had better not use it,” Lapin retorted. “I think you have need of an advocate, and you could scarcely ask for a better one than my own fellow captain.”
Dirk and Gar stared, poleaxed.
Hugh smiled at them, amused. “Come now, fellows. You knew I was not in the Cages for the theft of a chicken.”
Hugh saw them outfitted when they reached the outlaw camp. It didn’t do much for the handy collection of thorn scratches they’d picked up on the way, but it was definitely warmer than the cold night air of the forest. They wore sparrow-brown tunics, rather thin at the elbows, with a few major tears, and breeches of the same ilk. Hugh came back about the time they were done dressing—transfigured. Now he wore leather jerkin and tan hose, like the rest of the forest outlaws, and a grin a mile wide. “It is good to be back to mine own place to bide,” he confessed, slinging an arm around each of them. “Now for some honest feeding.”
He led them out of the bushes toward a large fire in the center of the forest clearing, with a spitted carcass roasting over it. Dirk sniffed, recognized venison, and wondered about the “honest” part. His stomach, however, informed him that the issue was academic. Hugh gave him a wooden plate, an outlaw turned around from the fire to slap a steaming, rare slab of meat on the plate. Dirk stepped back, found a convenient log, sat down, and tore into the food.
After the fourth bite, when his mind had room for other matters, he looked up and surveyed the camp, chewing thoughtfully. The huge fire was the only light, aside from a sprinkling of starshine. The outlaws were gathered around the huge blaze in groups of four or six, fletching arrows with crow feathers, making bows, sharpening arrowheads; and the women, scraping hides, patching garments, grinding meal—or, men and women alike, simply sitting and gossiping, while a few children ran about with bubbling laughter and joyful shrieks.
Beside him, Hugh was explaining to Gar. “Lapin escaped from the Houses some years ago and came here alone. The few outlaws in the wood gathered about her—then a few more, and a few more; there are always a few who escape the Estates. But, about a year ago, they began to come in greater numbers, and more frequently, till now we have twelve-score here in our pleasant forest hideaway.”
Dirk frowned. “How come the sudden increase? Did they say?”
Hugh turned to him, grinning. “Oh aye; it was they who brought us the news—that the Wizard is abroad in the land again, to bid all churls to make ready.”
Dirk choked on a piece of gristle.
“The life is not easy,” Hugh went on explaining to Gar while he pounded Dirk on the back. “There is constant toil, and always the danger of Soldiers. But there is no need to bend our backs to any man. And, though there is little enough to feed on, we all share equally in what we have; no man holds back the bulk for himself, as the Lords do. No one starves.”
Gar nodded slowly. “Then no one owns anything, but all of you own everything.”
Dirk glanced at him, irritated, and Hugh looked puzzled. “Why, what nonsense is this? Every man owns his clothes and his weapons; each woman her clothes and the goods of her household. These they have made for themselves; who is to gainsay them? Do you think we are lordlings?”