"Dunno.” Theology was confusing, and not something she had ever known T'lin to show an interest in before.
Now he polished the dragon in silence until Eleal began to fidget.
"There is a god whose real name is never mentioned,” he said solemnly. “He is called the One True God, or the Undivided."
"Visek."
The dragon trader shook his head. “The Parent was not called the One like that until this other came. Other gods do not approve of the Undivided. He has few followers in Lappin, I expect. Fewer now, you tell me. He has no shrine or temple there."
Eleal nodded, perplexed by his sudden interest in gods. Probably it was a blind anyway, for he suddenly changed the subject.
"These Thargian visitors? Can you describe any of them so I would know them? Any squints or cauliflower ears?"
"Of course not! What sort of a spy would he be? But the fat one I saw with the locals ... the local was Gaspak Ironmonger. He's thought to have a slight chance of being the new magistrate and if he supports the Joalians instead of the Thargians—"
T'lin chuckled and rose to his feet. “Did you ever hear of the chicken farmer who bought a leopard to rid his land of foxes?"
"No,” she said, bewildered.
"Joalians are the foxes."
"Oh! And the Thargians are leopards?"
Dragontrader laughed. He fumbled in a pocket. “Indeed, you are a mountain of useful knowledge, Beloved of Tion. Here!"
She held out her hands and he sprinkled silver into them without bothering to count it. She gasped in delight at this shower of riches.
"Well done, Leading Lady of the World,” T'lin said. “Give my love to Suss."
"If we can get there ... T'lin! Dragons can go over mountains!"
"Yes,” he said warily.
"Then, since the mammoths are so busy this year, and we need to get there more than, oh, a merchant say, or a priest—I mean, our art is important! I was just wondering...” She saw a glint in his eyes.
"Yes, I could put you and your friends on my dragons and be a ferryman, but I wouldn't get away with it twice. Do you know who owns those mammoths, Aspect of Astina?” He bared his teeth. “The temple of Ois! And the priests would not appreciate competition. They would have my trading license canceled."
"Oh."
"Yes. So you stick to acting! Good fortune at the festival."
How could he be so tactless? Did he not know the rules? “I have decided my art is not yet mature enough for me to enter."
T'lin shrugged. “Well, good luck in Sussland, anyway."
9
THE STRAPS OF HER PACK WERE CUTTING THROUGH EVEN her heavy fleece clothes as she trudged back to the mammoths across the muddy meadow. Squish, squash, squish, squash ... Her hip hurt, and she could feel a stitch starting in her side.
As she neared the loading point, the line of mammoths was already moving out, the leaders wading across the river. One last shaggy bull stood by the stair, and he raised his trunk to trumpet, perhaps calling on the others to wait for him. The loading had gone quickly. There had not been time for the others to complete another sacrifice in the temple; Uthiam Piper had known where Eleal was; they would not have left without her. Another night in miserable cold Narsh!
When she reached the crowd squashed in around the steps, she could see no sign of the troupe. She began squeezing her way through, ignoring angry protests about what the world was coming to and the usual mutters that children had no respect for their elders these days.
She could not see the huckster, but she heard voices raised in frantic competition as the customers bid for seats in the last howdah. Even if T'lin had given her enough money for a ticket—and it sounded as if the offers were being made in gold—she could not just go on by herself. Not without telling the others. It would have been a good idea to send her on ahead, though, because Gartol Costumer had left two days ago to make arrangements for a performance in Filoby tonight. He would wonder what had happened. A missed show meant patrons disappointed and more money lost. What a disastrous day!
The festival started in three more days! To miss the festival would be a tragedy.
Then she thought of even worse disaster. Ois was goddess of all passes. Suppose she would not turn aside her anger, and the troupe was stuck in horrible Narshvale forever? Even Fandorpass could be dangerous.
Something poked hard in her back. “Child!” said a sharp voice.
She wriggled around in the crush, and discovered the ancient blue nun peering at her accusingly. It was her staff that had done the poking.
"Is your name Eleal?"
"Yes! Do you have a message for me?"
"Oh, no!” Sister Ahn's long nose seemed redder than ever, her faded eyes even moister. “But that explains why we keep meeting."
"Do you know if my friends have left?"
"Friends?” She shook her head sadly. “Oh, your friends are irrelevant, child. You are the only one mentioned."
Suddenly the crowd moved like leaves in the wind. The two men in front of Eleal backed up so fast she was almost knocked over. She staggered, recovered, and found that she and the blue nun were alone in an empty space, looking across at the huckster. He was a beefy, red-faced young man, and there was an expression of comical astonishment on his pudgy features.
"Well, that helps,” Sister Ahn murmured, almost inaudibly. “Come, child.” She leaned a twisted hand on Eleal's shoulder and pushed with surprising firmness.
Eleal resisted. “I can't go without my friends!"
"You are the one who matters!” the nun snapped. “Is it not written, Eleal shall be the first temptation?"
"Written?” The crazy old priest had mumbled something about a prophecy. “Written where? Written what?"
"If you do not know, then it is probably destined that you shall not know. Come!"
She pushed harder. Peering down nervously to make sure the unsheathed sword was not about to cut her off at the ankles, Eleal found herself being propelled toward the huckster. She looked up suddenly as he uttered a wail of horror.
A man had come forward to the base of the steps—probably a man, possibly a tall woman. He was swathed in a heavy robe, like a monk's, keeping his head bent so the hood would hide his face. He was black, all black. Even the cord around his waist was black. The hand that reached out to offer a coin to the huckster wore a black glove.
The huckster dropped his satchel with a loud jangle and leaped back, colliding with the mammoth's leg. He tried to speak and made no sound at all. His eyes bulged; his face had gone comically pale. Trong Impresario himself could not have depicted terror more convincingly.
Again the black-robed stranger tried to offer payment. Again the huckster refused it, sidling away farther, clearly determined not to let that fateful hand come close to him. With a shrug the dark monk turned to the steps and proceeded to climb slowly up to the howdah. The mahout stared down in horror as this sinister passenger made his approach.
The crowd was scattering in sullen silence, many of them running.
"Truly the gods reward those who have faith,” proclaimed the blue nun. “Come, my dear, let us see what the price of a seat is now.” She hobbled forward on her staff, urging Eleal along also, but she had taken only a couple of steps before the huckster grabbed up the satchel he had dropped, dived through under the mammoth, and took to his heels as if Zath himself were after him.
"Wait!” cried the nun, but the wind swept the word away. The black monk had taken his seat. Nine seats around him remained empty. The stairs were empty.