Farree stretched out his own right hand, passing it slowly back and forth across what was left. There was nothing to answer until he came to the extreme edge behind the table. Then his skin pricked and he spread his fingers wider. Here was a trace of Togger at last. But nothing remained of that length of a second plundered wing.
With infinite care, Farree held his hand above what looked like a broken bone—dull and brown and shaped with a cutting edge into a knife. Yes, Togger! Now he raised the hand and turned around slowly so that the hand swept across and took in both the magician's platform and this deserted booth.
There! Farree's hand steadied, pointing inward toward the deeper reaches of this dangerous district.
"They have not found him." He was convinced of that. Were the smux captive Farree certainly could have read that also. "But he must have gone with the trader."
"To search such a maze and its many lurking places," Zacanthan observed, "may be impossible. Do you receive any more from him?"
"No," Farree returned impatiently, "but– Ah!" He interrupted his own answer, corrected it. "He is there! He does not send except with emotion."
"Yes, that I have, too," Maelen agreed. "Will he leave a trail or guide you—"
"If he can. It is this way!"
"Wait." For the first time Vorlund spoke. "There are baits for traps—if they would take you, little brother, how better could they call you so? It may be that they know Togger is with them, but they will let him do as he wishes and summon you—"
"Well thought," Zoror hissed. "We cannot turn for any help to the guards, for they do not venture here themselves by night, nor even far in by day. If there are deaths here they turn their heads and do not look. As long as these prey upon their own kind, so will they be left alone. It is only the very foolhardy who would venture out of the stew to kill or rob. I do not think that even the Guild have more than a token representative here."
"I go for Togger," Farree answered simply.
"He will not be turned from that!" Maelen said. "But if they lay a trap for one and four arrive—four with somewhat better weapons than expected, may not the plan benefit us?"
Zoror chuckled. "Daughter, that is a thought to lighten the heart. Only I would suggest that we do not go openly, marching like a landing party with a talk flag above us. We do not know what we seek—"
It was Farree's turn to interrupt. "The wings!"
"What do you mean?" Maelen asked.
"The wings—such brought me here. I think there is still a link between those we seek and their plunder—and I wear this!"
"Let us not argue this in the middle of the street," Vorlund warned again. "Slip around to the back of the booth. It is only right to believe that we are under constant monitoring and perhaps have been ever since we left the Place of Long Knowledge. However, what precautions are possible let us follow."
Now Farree heard a small sound from Maelen which might be smothered laughter. "Wise, oh, wise. Just let us hope that we do not tumble into some hole of refuse and smother ourselves with nose lifting stenches."
Farree was around the counter in the booth before she had finished talking. And he was barely out of the way when the others joined him.
"Now what have you to say about the wings—you are sure these are parts of wings?" Maelen wanted to know.
"I am sure," Farree replied shortly. "And those who once wore them—" He swallowed twice as if he would bite and hold fast the emotion which the thought awoke in him. "Those are dead."
None of them answered that. Perhaps the very tone of his voice made it impossible to quarrel with his statement.
They were behind the booth, going single file down a narrow way between the rear of two lines of booths which backed upon one another. Farree forced from his mind all but the seeking.
At the end of that narrow cut with its soft foul footing rising nearly ankle high he stood for a moment, his head turned a little as if he were listening to something which should be audible to all of them. Then he slipped into the wider alley which ran towards the center of the maze. Not Togger, not yet. But he again caught the faintest trace of the other odor in spite of the stenches about—the scent of the torn wings. Abruptly he turned to Maelen and held out one hand while with the other he drew his concealing cloak even closer about him.
"Give me—yes, give me that other piece! The one you bought before."
She asked no question, but unsealed the long pocket which was part of her suit at the thigh. There came a rustle and then he felt the length of silky stuff she passed to him—felt and SAW. For, though here were not even booth lanterns with their dull smoky light—his eyes could detect a faint glow from the stuff he had wound about his wrist. And with both strips so tightly in his hold he felt a drawing again—not from Togger. The green length seemed to wrap of itself about his flesh. There was a bitter chill which crept from it up his arm, down into his fingers. Dead—worn by the dead once—but alive in a way he did not understand—save that he was sure it was acting with him, perhaps for him.
Farree darted across the opening of the wider alley and once more sought a very narrow way. He had to be careful to twist and turn to accommodate his wings. The faint radiance from his wrist band was growing stronger—or was it that he was trusting its guidance the more?
"Here!" He backed a little away and nursed the banded wrist against his body. The shadow against shadow which was Vorlund moved closer.
"There is a door here," the spacer reported. "It is set in as part of a wall—I see no latch or way of opening it."
"Let me, brother." It was Zoror's turn before the wall. Farree caught a glimpse of a larger shadow moving in behind Vorlund. There were always noises in these streets—more so now that night had come and most of the inhabitants who sheltered or swaggered here were rousing for another night's pleasure or darksome business. Yet Farree caught a faint clicking and knew that Zoror must be trying his own way of gaining entrance through the wall door.
"It is ssooo,"—the Zacanthan sank his speech to that hiss which served his species as a whisper. "This is most easy– Thus!"
He was gone and Farree caught only a quick sight by the fading color of the scarf he carried to show that the Zacanthan had gone apparently through the door or wall as if that had been an illusion and not a solid barrier. He himself was quick to follow. There was a narrow hall running before him, but what was most important there was also a flight of narrow and splintery steps to his left. Light came from a globe fastened over their heads wherein luminous insects crawled and spun threads which shone brightly.
The steps were narrow and very steep. Farree wondered if he could take them with the cloak still bundled about him.
He had lowered and folded his wings to the smallest possible size but still they were a bigger obstacle than the case which had once held them and made him a hunchback.
There was a sudden thrust with his head. Togger! Perhaps the smux had been casting out for him all the time but the beamed message had not been able to reach him before.
"Here—bad—bad—" A recognition and a warning. At the same moment Maelen caught at the fold of Farree's cloak and held him back.