“Welcome,” he called out when he was still some distance away, his arm repeatedly waving in greeting.
Despite his obvious difficulty walking very fast on his stiff legs, he did his best to hurry to meet the visitors. He finally came to a stop, wheezing a bit as he caught his breath.
“Welcome,” he repeated. “We were expecting you tomorrow, not this late at night, but welcome anyway. I’m Iron Jack.”
Kahlan could see where he got his name. He was quite stout-looking, with a thick neck, a full red beard, and a full head of wiry red hair. His thick features revealed that he was well beyond middle age, but he looked like a man made of iron, with his red hair giving him a rusty look, the kind of man who had been in many a battle in his years and had the scars to prove it.
Kahlan stepped forward, holding her hand back at her side in signal before Richard could say anything.
“I am the Mother Confessor.”
Richard arched an eyebrow at her when the man showed no reaction, least of all reverence.
Cassia stepped forward as she spun her Agiel up into her fist. “Perhaps you are hard of hearing. This is the Mother Confessor. You should be on at least one knee, and two if you had any common sense.”
He smiled as he gestured dismissively. “My knees don’t work so well anymore. Sorry, but I’ll not be able to kneel.”
He didn’t look at all concerned; Cassia did.
“Then maybe I can help you to—”
“It’s all right,” Kahlan said as she gently took Cassia by her upper arm and pulled her back. “It’s clear that the man has bad knees.”
Cassia looked in a mood to bite spikes in two. “His neck isn’t bad. He can at least bow his head.”
Iron Jack’s cheerful face suddenly didn’t look at all cheerful. “If it would speed matters along …” He performed a perfunctory bow of his head. “Mother Confessor. Welcome.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Kahlan saw Richard use two fingers of his left hand to lift his sword from its scabbard enough to make sure it was clear. She had seen him do that same thing as a prelude to the possibility of violence countless times since he had become Seeker.
But this time, the sword didn’t lift away from the scabbard.
Instead, the scabbard lifted with the sword as if the two were welded together. Richard tried not to betray his surprise, but Kahlan could read his reaction in the change of his posture. Kahlan didn’t usually become overly concerned when someone didn’t show the proper respect for the office of Mother Confessor, but with Richard’s sword suddenly not available to him, her level of concern rose several notches.
She returned her gaze from Richard to Iron Jack so as not to draw attention to what was clearly a problem.
“What is this place?” she asked the man before her.
“Why, you didn’t know?” Iron Jack lifted an arm and swept it around in grand fashion. “You have arrived in Bindamoon.”
“Bindamoon? This is Bindamoon?” Shale asked with a frown of surprise as she took a step forward. “I know of Bindamoon.”
Iron Jack’s tense expression eased and he beamed again. “Then you know what a wonderful place it is.”
Richard shot a suspicious look at the sorceress. “You’re from the Northern Waste. How do you know of it?”
“Some of the people in the Northern Waste trade in Bindamoon for rare herbs. Healers consider this place sacred. They make pilgrimages here to collect the rare herbs they need.”
Richard turned back to the blocky man. “You said that you were expecting us.”
“That’s right,” the man said, as if no explanation were needed.
Richard clearly wanted to hear that explanation. “How is it that you were expecting us?”
“The queen told us that you were coming.”
“The queen,” Richard repeated in a flat tone.
Iron Jack twisted around to lift an arm toward an elegant, soaring structure built on a prominent rise of rock in the distance.
“Yes, the queen. That would be her winter palace, up there.”
“We need to see this queen,” Richard said. “Now.”
Iron Jack, the mirth again vanishing from his gnarly features, lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
13
“And why isn’t it possible?” Richard asked.
The man shrugged in reaction to the question. “It’s the middle of the night, in case you hadn’t noticed. No one would be wanting to wake the queen at this time of night, and I’m sure you wouldn’t, either. You will wait until morning.”
Richard clearly looked displeased. “The morning? You expect us to wait until morning to see this queen of yours?”
Iron Jack smiled without humor. “That’s right. You may see her in the morning—if, that is, she wishes to see you, and when she wishes to see you. She is, after all, not at the beck and call of travelers. Until then, I will take you to our guest quarters, where you may await word on a possible audience.”
“That sounds more than reasonable,” Shale said as she tugged Richard’s sleeve to get him to let her speak for them.
When he frowned back at her she gave him an odd smile as her eyes widened and she leaned toward him a little with meaning. Kahlan could see that the sorceress had her reasons for not wanting to push the issue and she wasn’t going to say those reasons out loud in front of the stout man. She was simply hoping to get Richard to go along with her.
Richard finally turned back to Iron Jack. “Considering the late hour, I agree that it would be a rude imposition. Why don’t you take us to these guest quarters?”
Shale looked relieved. Iron Jack appraised Richard with a sly smile. Kahlan thought for a moment that the two men might suddenly break into a battle right then and there among the fields of herbs and blue butterflies.
Iron Jack finally broke eye contact and turned to lead them off past the fields of herbs toward the mass of buildings. When they reached a series of paths that branched off, he took one leading to the right. It soon started ascending the steep slope into the town, wending its way among the tightly packed buildings that, while square and uniform, were placed askew, apparently wherever would work best on the rising mountainside.
Heavy wooden beams every few feet were set across the cobblestone path to make steps of sorts as well as help keep people from slipping in the wet as they climbed through the canyon of buildings.
Walls made of flat, tannish-colored stone set in dark mortar rose straight up to each side. The path wouldn’t have been wide enough for a wagon. When they came to a small handcart sitting tight against the wall by a door painted dark green, they all had to turn sideways in order to squeeze past.
They finally reached a long, low, blocky building in a row of low, blocky buildings set in front of another. Since each of the buildings had a number of doors, the long buildings were apparently divided into a series of separate rooms. Iron Jack opened the first weathered, wooden door they came to.
“These are guest accommodations for visitors, merchants, traders, and those passing through Bindamoon and needing a place to stay for the night.” He pointed to the row of doors in the low stone buildings. “There is a different room for each of you. I don’t know what sort of food would be at hand at this hour, but I will have someone bring along something to eat to each of your rooms.”
“Thank you, Iron Jack,” Shale said, stepping in front of the others before anyone else could say a word. “We could all use a bite to eat and some rest.”