And the heavy oaken bench was standing in the middle of the floor, quivering while four spriggans sat on it; the spriggans were grinning broadly. The bench had obviously been what had rammed the door, and Kilisha guessed it had been trying to knock the spriggans off.
"Ride! Ride!" one of the spriggans called happily, slapping the bench.
"Get off!" Kilisha shouted back. "It's not your bench!"
The nearest spriggan looked up at her in wide-eyed surprise. Not?" it asked, in an amazingly sincere tone.
"No, it's not," Kilisha said angrily, stepping forward and reaching for the spriggan.
The spriggan already clinging to her wrist squealed, and she stopped. She didn't want to dislodge it; she really didn't want to lose track of which spriggan was which. They all looked very much alike, and while she thought she could recognize the individual she wanted, she was not sure of it.
She reached out with her other hand, caught Sprigganalin, and tried to pry it loose, to return it to her shoulder.
Sprigganalin clung more tightly, keening at this abuse.
"Get back on my shoulder, damn you!" she shouted.
The keening stopped abruptly. "Shoulder?" it asked.
"Yes, my shoulder!" Kilisha said. "So I can use my hand!"
"Fun!" the creature said, releasing its hold and scurrying back up her arm.
She let out a growl of exasperation, then reached for the sprig-gans on the bench.
They all crowded away from her toward the far end of the bench but did not jump off. She stepped to one side, to go around the bench and grab them.
The instant she stepped to the side, though, and was no longer between the bench and the door, the bench bolted.
"Hai!" Kilisha called, staring stupidly as the thing charged past her, its four legs churning, its wooden joints creaking, and all four spriggans still clinging to it. "Come back!"
The bench paid no attention, but dashed out into the sun, pivoted on one leg, and galloped westward along Shipyard Street.
Kilisha took one look at the chair, then ran to the door and screamed, "Kelder!" at the top of her lungs.
Several men in the shipyard turned and watched as the bench ran away, but Kilisha did not see anyone in the yellow tunic and red kilt of a guardsman. She hesitated; if she ran after the bench the chair might escape. And the bench was heading westward, into Hillside and the Fortress district, while almost the entire city lay in the other direction; if it didn't double back it would reach the seaside cliffs in a few blocks, and she could corner it there.
But it could double back, or turn up a side street, or throw itself over the cliff…
But the chair was behind her.
She whirled, dove for the chair, grabbed it up, hoisted it overhead with the squealing, giggling spriggan still clinging to its back, and ran for the door. She promptly whacked the chair into the lintel, almost throwing her off her feet; she was not tall, but even so, the doorframe was not meant for the combined height of a woman and a chair.
The spriggan on the chair squeaked and fell off, hitting the floor with a thump; the spriggan on her shoulder squealed, "Fun!" and grabbed a double handful of hair while digging its toes under the coil of rope she still carried.
"Damn," she said as she regained her balance. She lowered the chair and tried again, and this time made it out onto Shipyard Street.
The bench was still in sight, well around the curve to the west, the four spriggans still riding it and shrieking happily. Kilisha raised the chair over her head again and ran after it.
The chair finally overcame its surprise and began to wave its feet feebly, joints creaking. Kilisha ignored that and ran.
The street was not crowded, and both she and the bench easily dodged the occasional passerby, leaving various men and women standing there, staring after her. Kilisha called out, "Stop that bench!" but no one reacted in time.
The gap between the bench and herself narrowed briefly, then widened again as the bench picked up the pace and Kilisha could not. In fact, she began to slow; running while carrying a chair over one's head was surprisingly tiring.
"Kelder!" she called again. She kept moving, alternately running and trotting.
The bench had passed two intersections without turning, but she could see it was nearing the fork where Shipyard Street continued straight ahead, leaving the curving side of the shipyards and continuing up the hillside toward the Fortress and the coastal cliffs, while Old Seagate Street curved down to the left, toward the Throat and the Fortress Docks.
Old Seagate Street remained open to one side, overlooking the shipyards, though tall old houses replaced the storage sheds on the other side; Shipyard Street beyond the fork was lined with housing on both sides.
The bench slowed, and for a moment she thought it was going to stop and give her a chance to catch up, but then it seemed to make its decision and went charging on up Shipyard Street, up toward the Fortress.
If she followed, in a few moments she would be out of sight of the shipyards and Kelder would be unable to spot her-but, she asked herself, what did that matter? She had the chair, even if it was starting to squirm a little, and she could catch the bench soon enough, she was sure-especially if she could get some passing pedestrian to help her. She had rope to tie the bench and chair together, once she had them both cornered, and then she could lead them both home. She didn't really need Kelder.
At least, she hoped she wouldn't need him.
She charged onward, in pursuit of the bench.
Chapter Fifteen
Two blocks past the fork Shipyard Street began to curve to the left, the better to follow a fold in the terrain. The bench was still two and a half blocks ahead of her; by the time she passed the fork it was vanishing around the curve, out of sight.
And there were no other people around to call on for help; the street was, just for the moment, deserted. She strained to run faster, ignoring the whooping and babbling of the spriggan on her shoulder, and the twisting and kicking of the chair she carried above her head.
The chair and the spriggan did not slow her as much as the street itself did; it was sloping up steeply by the time she passed the third cross street, so steeply that along either side stone steps were provided. The earthen center was intended primarily for wheeled vehicles, not pedestrians; in dry weather, such as the city had experienced for the past two sixnights, it was suitable for walking, but in wet weather, when the dirt turned to slick mud, the steps were needed.
By the time she reached the first steps Kilisha could not see the bench.
Two blocks later Shipyard Street ended in a I with Steep Street-and Steep Street lived up to its name; it was all stone stops, with grooves cut into them for cart wheels. To the right Steep Street continued up the hill toward the Fortress; to the left it dropped down toward the Fortress Docks.
Kilisha stopped, panting, the chair still over her head, and looked both ways.
She did not entirely understand how the bench, with its short legs and cross braces, could move so fast, or how it could negotiate the steps of Steep Street, but it seemed to have done so; she could not see it in either direction.
She stood in the middle of the trapezoidal patch of level pavement where the streets intersected and slowly turned, left to right, in a full circle.
She saw narrow houses, so black with centuries of smoke that she could not tell whether they were wood, stone, or plaster between the heavy wooden beams. The figures on their carved cor-nerposts were worn down to facelessness, and their chimney tops thrust up crookedly above sagging gables; a few had shopwindows displaying jewelry or fine fabrics. She saw the gray stone steps of Steep Street leading up the hill, kept clean and worn smooth by rain and passing feet, curving to the left so that she could not see to the next intersection.