She turned past the upward-bound street.
On the corner stood a larger house, gargoyles leering over the cornice, and almost unreadably worn runes carved deep into the lintel spelled out armorer. She doubted that any armorer still lived or worked there; to the best of her knowledge all the armorers still operating were based in Wargate, near the parade ground. Presumably this house dated back at least to the end of the Great War.
Then, past the corner, came Shipyard Street, back the way she had come, tumbling down the hillside away from her, houses and shops on either side; the bench could not possibly have gotten past her in that direction.
Then the other corner, occupied by a shuttered house of no great distinction.
And finally, the other side of Steep Street, narrow stone steps curving down to the right, dropping away so steeply that a level gaze looked into third-floor windows half a block away.
Somewhere on this street lived that man who had wanted his bed enchanted, but she had no idea which house might be his, or whether that had anything to do with why the bench had come this way. Had some shred of Ithanalin's memory guided it here, seeking out that customer? Could the bench possibly be heading that way? It didn't seem likely. Ithanalin had presumably known where the man lived, and the bench might remember that, but why would it want to go there? It wasn't a bed, and it surely knew that.
The customer had said he lived near the intersection with Hillside Street, and she was fairly certain that was farther up the slope-but did that mean anything? She saw no one, no sign of movement, no sign of the bench in any direction. She could hear distant voices as the city went about its business, and the faint hissing of the sea breaking over the rocks below the cliffs, but nothing that gave her any clue to the bench's whereabouts.
"Damn," she said.
"Not fun?" the spriggan on her shoulder asked.
"No," Kilisha said. "No fun at all." She realized that her arms, legs, and feet were all sore, and that she was still holding the chair over her head. She lowered it, and set it carefully on the pavement.
She looked down at it for a moment, not releasing her hold, and then did the obvious thing. She sat down, taking the weight off her feet.
The chair did not react at first; it seemed as inert and lifeless as any ordinary chair. She looked down past her hip at the edge of the seat, wondering whether she had somehow done something to it, perhaps inadvertently broken a part of the spell. Her sheathed athame might have brushed against the wood when she sat down, she thought; might that have triggered something?
Could it possibly be that simple to restore Ithanalin's life to its rightful place?
And then the chair abruptly lifted her up an inch or so, then dropped back.
"Oh!" she said, startled by this proof that the enchantment had not been broken.
"Ooooooh!" the spriggan replied.
Kilisha had no time to respond to that; the chair was moving, and she was too busy clinging to the seat to say anything more.
It moved with an odd rocking gait that felt horribly unsteady, but was not actually bumpy or uncomfortable. It carried her to the west, to the upward-bound side of Steep Street, up to the base of the first step.
Perhaps the bench and chair really were trying to deliver the customer his spell, even though it had all gone wrong? Kilisha blinked, and brushed hair from her eyes as she tried to think.
Then the chair paused, and tentatively lifted one leg, straining and creaking as it tried to gain purchase on the step.
Kilisha was fairly certain that if she had not been sitting on it, holding it down, it would have been able to manage the step. As it was, however, it was rocking backward threateningly, on the verge of tipping over backward and spilling her out onto the granite pavement.
"No," she said. "Don't you dare."
The chair hesitated, then lowered its probing leg.
Then it turned suddenly, and before Kilisha could protest it trotted across to the downward half of Steep Street.
"No, wait!" Kilisha called; she was sure that if it tried climbing down it would send her tumbling down those steps.
The chair hesitated.
"Do you know where the bench went?"
The seat seemed to quiver slightly. She could not interpret that as a useful answer.
"Tap a leg once for yes, twice for no," she said. "Do you know which way the bench went?"
The chair tapped twice. Kilisha sighed.
Then a thought struck her. Spriggans were drawn to wizardry. Presumably that meant that they could sense wizardry, and the bench was enchanted. She turned her head and stared at the spriggan on her shoulder.
"Oooh!" it said. "Pretty eyes." It grinned.
Kilisha blinked again. No one had ever told her she had pretty eyes before, and she wondered whether it was the spriggan half of the creature's personality, or the Ithanalin half, that had spoken.
But it didn't matter. "Do you know which way the bench went?" she asked.
"Oh, yes!" it said happily. "Down, down down! With spnggans."
She was sure, now, that Hillside was farther up; then it hadn't been looking for Ithanalin's customer. Winding up on Steep Street had just been a coincidence. "Why didn't you say so sooner?" she demanded angrily.
"Didn't ask," the creature replied.
"Augh!" She had no intention of riding the chair down the steps of Steep Street; she got up, carefully keeping a solid hold with one hand. She looked down the slope and reached to pick up the chair again.
Her muscles ached at the very thought.
"No," she said-and then she belatedly remembered that she had come equipped. She reached up and slid the coil of rope from her shoulder.
As she snugged the first knot down tight against one of the two slats in the seat back she prayed to whatever gods might be listening that none of the essence of Ithanalin's athame had wound up in the chair.
Her prayers appeared to have been answered; a moment later one end of the rope was securely tied to the chair, the other end wrapped around her wrist, with no indication that the chair could escape as the spriggan had.
She set the spriggan on the seat of the chair and said, "Ride there for a while; my shoulder's tired."
"Yes, yes!" the spriggan said. "Ride chair."
The chair did not seem happy with this; it tried to pull away, but Kilisha tugged on the rope.
"It's just for a little while," she said. "It won't hurt you; you share the same soul." Then she straightened up and looked down Steep Street.
The bench had had plenty of time to build up a lead by now, but she didn't see where it could have gone. Two blocks down Steep Street would bring them to Old Seagate Street and the foot of the cliffs. If it had doubled back to the east Kelder might well have seen it and caught it; if it had turned west again the road wound its way up to the Fortress in no more than a quarter of a mile. She set out down the steps at a steady trot, trailing the rope behind her.
The chair hesitated, then followed, keeping a comfortable slack in the line.
Half a block from the corner Steep Street straightened out, and she could see the ocean ahead, sparkling in the afternoon sun. She smiled at the sight; then her smile vanished as a horrible thought struck her.
What if trie bench had dived off into the sea?
It couldn't drown, not being capable of breathing in the first place, but she would never find it if it were underwater!
And that assumed the waves hadn't pounded it to bits against the rocks, and the tide hadn't swept it out of reach of land.
Well, she told herself, she would just have to hope it hadn't done anything so foolish. Even if it thought it would survive a plunge into the sea, salt water would ruin its finish, and surely it would realize that.