Miles was startled, even shocked. “Don’t blame him for it, lass. It’s not as though he chose it.”
“Oh, I know, I know,” Ciletha said, “but his going left me without protection against the magistrates, or the town boys who wanted my father’s house.”
“Ah. Well, I can see you’d be angry, then,” Miles said, “and I’ve no doubt your father is, too—angry at the death that sundered him from you.”
“What are you saying?” Ciletha stared. “You talk as though he were still alive in his grave!”
“No, but I’ve heard some folk say that the spirit lives on after the body dies,” Miles said slowly, “and it tries to move about in the world, if its business isn’t done.”
“Ghosts?” Ciletha breathed.
“Aye, the ghosts of our nursery tales. No one ever asks what happens to the spirits of those whose life’s business is done, though,” Miles said, musing. “Wouldn’t there have to be someplace for them to go and rest, some Spirits’ Home?”
“I suppose there would,” Ciletha said slowly. “It would have to be a happy place, wouldn’t it? For everyone there could have that pleasant feeling that comes from a task well-finished.”
Gar rode on, listening to the two young folk behind him reinventing religion, and smiled. Dirk caught his eye and winked.
Then, distant and so faint it might have been imagination, they heard the first elusive baying of the hounds. Miles stopped, galvanized even though the sound faded away again. Gar grinned. “They’ve followed the false trail we laid.”
“That’ll delay them a few hours,” Dirk said, “but they’ll still catch us by morning. Can’t you find this city a little faster?”
“We’re moving directly toward it,” Gar told him, “and it’s not very far away. Ciletha must have been going in circles when she left it, and certainly when the bandits chased her.” Ciletha looked up, startled, and Miles touched her hand, giving her a reassuring smile. “It’s the natural thing, lass, in a strange wood.” He turned back to the path—and saw a skeleton moving toward them in the scraps of moonlight that filtered through the trees.
CHAPTER 10
Miles would have run, but Ciletha cried out in fear, and he leaped to place himself between her and the skeleton. Gar and Dirk only stared, though, and Dirk said softly, “Well, would you look at that!”
“At a guess,” Gar said, “I’d say this Lost City was left over from the original colonists.”
“Left over for five hundred years! Amazing that it’s still working!”
Miles stared, and Ciletha cried, “What nonsense are they talking?”
Gar turned back and gave them a reassuring smile. “Nothing to worry about, folks. It’s just a machine.”
“Machine! Machines are huge ungainly things, like mills! This is a walking skeleton, a spirit of the dead!”
“Not at all,” Gar told them. “It’s a robot, a moving statue.”
“But where did they get a power source that would keep this thing going so long?” Dirk asked. “And how do they keep it working?”
“We are recharged every day, sir,” the skeleton replied, “and automated machines manufacture spare parts according to the templates on file.”
Ciletha gave a little shriek, and Miles nearly shouted in fear. “How can you say it’s not a spirit,” Ciletha cried, “when it talks?”
The featureless skull swiveled toward her, and the skeleton said, “This unit is equipped with a vocoder and a computer, sir, and is programmed to respond to human questions.”
“Nonsense,” she whispered. “It’s a ghost that talks nonsense!”
“There must be some reason to it somewhere,” Miles said, trying to sound reassuring. “If Gar and Dirk say it makes sense, it must—somehow.”
“What do you do if those humans attack you instead of asking questions?” Dirk asked.
“We immobilize them, sir.”
“ ‘We.’ ” Gar frowned. “How many of you are there?”
“Three hundred, sir. Half recharge by day, half by night.”
“Sentry duty?” Dirk tensed. “What are you guarding against?”
“Large animals, sir, and bandits—and others who might wish to enter the city to prey upon its people, or to find a living without working. That is our original programming.”
Gar frowned. “You obviously don’t take us for bandits.”
“No, sir. You have made no threatening movements, and though you carry weapons, you are clearly not coming in attack mode, nor with enough companions to constitute a threat.”
“It isn’t really a skeleton,” Miles whispered to Ciletha. “Its head doesn’t have eye or nose sockets.”
“No,” she said, eyes wide in wonder, “and it doesn’t have ribs, just a sort of flattened egg. But Miles, it gleams like polished steel!”
“Yes, it does,” he answered, “and I think it must be. I thought the old tales were just children’s stories!”
“You’ve guessed rightly,” Gar told the robot, “we’re not bandits. In fact, we’re fugitives looking for shelter. Can you take us into the city for the night?”
“I’m sure hospitality can be arranged, sir. Please follow me.”
The robot turned and walked away. Gar and Dirk clucked to their horses and followed, beckoning Miles and Ciletha along. They stared, then ran to catch up. As they slowed again, Ciletha asked, “What kind of men are they, these friends of yours, not to be frightened by that … thing?”
“Very strange men,” Miles replied, “though they’ve saved me from the bailiff’s men twice, and seem to be thoroughly good in every way. But I have to help them, too, because they don’t know very much about everyday life.”
“They seem to know enough about magic,” Ciletha said, with a wary glance at the skeleton.
“They’d be the first to tell me that it’s not.”
“Would you believe them?” she asked, with a skeptical glance.
“No,” Miles confessed. “Not really.”
They followed the robot for hours, or so it seemed, until the canopy of leaves suddenly fell away, leaving only isolated trees, and letting the moonlight bathe the stone towers that loomed high in the night.
The companions stopped involuntarily, catching their breath. The stone glimmered in the moonlight, giving the impression of a fairy city, a magical realm. Even though the towers were festooned with flowering vines, and every flat surface held its crop of brush and at least one small tree, the illusion of enchantment held.
The robot paused, turning its “head.”
“Why do you stop?”
“To appreciate beauty,” Dirk told it.
The silvery skull nodded. “Yes, a human concept. I confess that the word is meaningless noise to me, but the referent seems to take hold of your species at the oddest times.”
“And this is a very odd time,” Gar agreed. “We would like to see this treasure from a closer vantage point, sentry.”
“Of course, sir. This way.”
The robot found a trail where they could have sworn there was none. They followed slowly, scarcely able to take their eyes from the soaring towers.
“You’ve seen this before,” Miles said.
“Yes, but its spell still catches me.” Ciletha smiled up at the glowing spires. Light glittered in her eyes—or were those tears? “Maybe I won’t be afraid to go in, with friends about me.”
“Oh, we’re certainly your friends.” Miles stopped himself from saying that he wanted to be much more, then was amazed to realize how he felt about a woman he had only just met. “What was there to fear, though?”
Ciletha shuddered and would have answered, but the underbrush about them suddenly ceased, showing them a very wide gap in a high and gleaming wall.
“This is the gate,” the robot said. “Welcome to the city of Voyagend.”