I laughed. “Any answer to that question might lead to bloodshed.”
“Please, I’m serious. I know we look similar. Even identical to a casual glance. But there must be differences.”
“There are. But they don’t make one of you more beautiful than the other.”
“What are they?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Her voice grew small in the darkness. “She makes Marc happy. I once wanted to do that with all my heart, and failed. I’ve often wondered if that meant she was somehow a better person than me.”
“You make Elliot happy. I doubt very seriously if the queen could do that.”
“Making Elliot happy is no effort.”
“Maybe making Marc happy is no effort for the queen. I’d say you both ended up where you needed to be. I’m sorry it’s all gone to hell like this. Hopefully it can still be salvaged.”
“You said you kept the other Jennifer’s secrets. Did you just mean this situation, or were their others?”
“If I answer that either way, I’m breaking her confidence.”
She nodded and turned away to look into the dark. Neither of us spoke for a long time. At last Jenny caught me yawning and said, “If you’d like, you can stretch out in the back. I can drive a wagon.”
“That’s okay.” I urged the horses to a faster pace. They snorted their disapproval but obeyed. I doubt they were used to working this late, either. “We’re close, if the map was right.”
She nudged me in the ribs. “You won’t be much of a bodyguard if you’re too sleepy to hold your sword. Go get some rest, I’ll be fine. I promise to scream if I need you.”
She had a point, and I really was having trouble keeping my eyes open. So I crawled into the back of the wagon and used her bag for a pillow. I put the sword beside me and snapped the hilt into my cast. In my dreams, I fought with Agravaine while Marcus Drake sat in judgment and the two Jennifers, one on either side of him, watched and laughed.
Two things woke me. One was the realization that, with all the other insanity I’d found in Blithe Ward, I hadn’t mentioned the dust cloud to Spears. If those were soldiers on the move, he’d run right into them. Of course, he was their commanding officer, second only to King Marcus, so there should be no danger. As long as they were Grand Bruan troops.
The other was the awareness that we’d stopped.
It was still mostly dark, although the horizon ahead had begun to lighten. We were no longer in the forest. I sat up and saw Jenny on the wagon seat, absolutely still, facing ahead. One of the horses whinnied impatiently.
“What’s wrong?” I asked thickly. My mouth tasted as if a badger had bedded down in it.
“That idiot, ” she hissed.
I climbed onto the seat beside her. “Which idiot?”
“Cameron Kern.” She nodded ahead of us.
We were atop a slight rise that gave a wonderful view of the rolling countryside below, all tinted gray in the dawn. Short stone fences marked off plots and pastures, and a small cottage lay about
a mile away. Beside it rose a barn, and on the barn’s sloping roof were painted the words, visible in the predawn light even at this distance, SEE THE CRYSTAL CAVE.
“I can’t believe he would do that,” she fumed.
“Do what?”
“That he would”-she sputtered in her fury before she got out the word- “advertise.”
I shook my head to wake up and found a sack of water in the basket. I splashed some on my face and said, “So what is the Crystal Cave?”
“It’s where Cameron always told everyone he was going to retire. To live secretly, quietly, in peace away from the world. No more kings and knights seeking his advice and counsel.” Her sarcasm grew stronger as she spoke. “And now he’s announcing its presence to everyone.”
I blinked a few times and yawned. “Does that change anything?”
“No,” she said, dejected. “It’s just disappointing.”
She whistled at the horses and we started down the hill. As the sun rose, we passed two more barns with the same message. I’d never seen that before, but if you were trying to drum up business, it was a great idea.
We met a local family on their way to market with a cart full of produce. I asked if they knew anything about the Crystal Cave.
“Oh, sure,” the farmer told us. “The guy who runs it, Cammy, comes by every so often to buy some vegetables. He always gives us tokens for a free visit.”
“What kind of place is it?”
“It’s pretty neat,” a little boy about ten said.
“Was anyone asking you?” his father snapped. “I know you have manners, boy, I’ve spent your whole life beating them into you. Don’t speak until spoken to.”
“Oh, it’s okay,” I said, although the kid didn’t look very intimidated by this threat. I asked the boy, “Have you been there?”
The kid looked at his father until the man said in exasperation, “All right, tell him.”
“Yeah,” the kid began, so quickly it was as if the words had been piling up behind his lips. “He can do magic tricks, and he sings all the songs about King Marcus. They say there’s dragons in the forest where he lives. They protect him from the bad guys.”
“There are no more bad guys,” his father said. “Marcus chased them back across the sea. We live in a peaceful kingdom now.”
I thought of Mary lying dead beneath Nodlon Castle. I said nothing.
“It’s got this whole model of Motlace, the king’s main castle, all made out of crystal,” the boy continued. “It covers the whole floor of the cave, and if you peek in the windows, you can see little scenes of the king and queen and all the Knights of the Double Tarn.”
“It really is something,” the father agreed. “I can’t imagine having the patience to do it myself.”
“Does Cammy live there alone?”
“You sure ask a lot of questions,” the little boy asked.
“That’s how I find things out.”
“What kinds of things?”
“All kinds.”
“Like what?”
“Like that you’re a really curious little kid.”
His father smacked the back of his son’s head. “With the manners of a damn billy goat. Stop pestering people.”
Throughout, Jenny remained silent, the brim of her hat pulled low ostensibly against the rising sun. She tapped her fingers impatiently on the back of the wagon seat. I thanked the farmer and his son, and we clattered off in opposite directions.
We followed signs down a narrow road to a clearing in front of an immense rock outcropping. At its base was the dome-shaped cave mouth shaded by an awning. Nearby stood a small stone cottage. Smoke curled from the chimney, and in the dawn lamps glowed through the windows. Seems somebody got up early.
I stopped the horses with an extra-loud “Whoa,” so that Kern would know we’d arrived. “Stay here for a minute,” I told Jenny as I hopped down. Just as I reached the cottage door, it opened.
A portly man with thick, wavy gray hair and a beard that covered his cheeks almost to his eyes peered out at me. He was clad in a baggy, multicolored tunic that hung almost down to his knees. He wore no pants or shoes. He held a long-stemmed pipe in one hand, and I saw he was missing most of his right middle finger; all that was left was a stump out to the first joint. The tapestries at Nodlon had captured his likeness, but they gave him more reserved dignity than the man before me possessed.
I smelled burning giggleweed; rather than getting up early, he seemed to have forgotten to put out the lamps the night before. Giggleweed did that to people.
“Hey, man,” he said genially. “I’m afraid you’re too early for a tour today, but come back closer to noon and we’ll be open for business. Here.” He flipped a coin-like token at me. “Tour’s on the house. Peace.”
“We’re not here for the tour,” I said, and ungracefully caught the token with my left hand. “We’re from Blithe Ward. Elliot Spears sent us. I’m Eddie LaCrosse.”
“Hello, Cameron,” Jenny called from the wagon.
The big man squinted his red-veined eyes toward her. His expression changed instantly from benign curiosity to guarded acknowledgment, and a lot of his haziness vanished. “Dark Jenny. Last person I expected to see on my doorstep first thing in the morning.”