They walked for a while in silence. They were past the worst. The gate must be just around the corner, set back in the hedge, probably.
"Did you meet Eleal again?"
"No, never. T'lin had changed his schedule, and he had not run into the troupe since the reaper almost got him in Sussvale. He thought they were still in business."
"And Olympus?"
"Ah! One morning, early in the spring, I was exercising a couple of bulls—boars—stallions? What the deuce do you call a male dragon in English? Anyway, I ran into a chappie riding a beautiful young female, of the color they call Osby slate. Of course we stopped to admire each other's stock, and of course I asked him if he would like to sell or trade.
"He was a lanky, rangy youngster with sandy hair and a notably big nose. Well fitted out. He admitted he would consider an offer...."
Something funny was coming, judging by the grin.
"We must have stood there and haggled for two solid hours. I tried every trick I knew. I really wanted that filly! I blew my charisma to white heat. I argued and wheedled. I kept going up and up, and he wouldn't come down one copper mark. I was completely flummoxed. And finally he held out a hand and drawled in perfect English, ‘I don't believe I want to part with her after all, old man. I'm Jumbo Watson. I was a chum of your father's.’”
Alice chuckled at Edward's infectious glee. “Nicely done?"
"Oh, beautifully! I wanted to melt and soak into the sand.” He laughed aloud. “You should hear Jumbo tell the story! He puts on this incredible Tinkerfolk accent, although we'd been speaking Joalian. I have died a thousand deaths at dinner tables over that episode. But that's Jumbo."
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I took to him right away. We got along like a house on fire. We rode dragons over the ranges to Olympus, which was a corker of a trip at that time of year, and he was absolutely solid. He was gracious to Ysian, which is more than can be said of some.... He has the most marvelous dry humor, a regular brick.
"There you are—that's how I got to Olympus. It's a charming spot, very scenic, a little glen tucked away between Thovale, Narshvale, and Randorvale. Didn't dare stay more than four or five fort ... about a couple of months.” He fell silent for a moment, and then seemed to discard what he had been about to say. His smile had gone.
"I'd been two years on Nextdoor, and that was the first time I'd had any news of Home. I was horrified to hear that the war was still on and at the same time glad that I hadn't missed it all and would still be able to do my bit. I sat around for a few days, bringing them up to date on what I'd been doing and learning about the Service and so on. Then I politely asked for the first boat Home. That's when the wicket got sticky.
"The Service is badly split over the Liberator prophecies, you see, and always has been. The guv'nor had never gone for them. Once I got to Olympus and learned all the ins and outs of the business, then I was thoroughly against it, too. Break the chain and be done with it! Jumbo was pretty much leader of the anti faction, and I agreed with him wholeheartedly. Killing Zath would only lead to worse trouble. I wanted to come Home and enlist.
"Creighton, incidentally, had been one of the pro-Liberator group. In spite of what he told me, he came Home in 1914 specifically to make sure I crossed over on schedule. Much good it did him personally! But the pro-Liberator forces were in a majority, and they kept me dangling, on one pretext after another."
They were almost at the summit, and Alice decided she could cycle again. Before she could say so, she saw that Edward's mind was very far off.
"And what happened?"
"Mm? Oh, well, I did come back, didn't I? Eventually. And here I am. It's a beautiful day and I'm Home and I want to enjoy every minute of it."
She sensed evasion there and went after it—instinct, she thought, like a dog chasing anything that runs. “How, Edward? How did you come back?"
Long pause ... Then he shrugged. “That was Jumbo's doing, too. One day he turned up at the chapel where I was massaging the heathens’ souls for the Undivided and more or less said, ‘If you wait for a flag from those blokes on the Committee, you'll wait a thousand years. I can fix it up for you.’ He took me to another node and taught me a key to get me Home, and he swore that there would be people waiting at this end to help."
"What! You mean he deliberately dropped you on that battlefield in Flanders? He's the traitor you've been talking about! Jumbo tried to kill you?"
Edward nodded. He stared at the road ahead with eyes as hard and cold as sapphires. With a shock, she remembered that her young cousin could be dangerous. He was a sacker of cities.
"You see why I need to send word back?” he said. “And it may be worse than that, even. Five years ago, when the coming of the Liberator was almost due, the Service sent a couple of men Home to talk to the guv'nor, to see if he still felt the same way about matters. They wanted to meet me, too. I was sixteen by then, and they thought they should be allowed to inspect me. The guv'nor forbade that, although the only one who ever learned his reaction was Soapy Maclean. Jumbo came straight to England. Soapy went to Africa."
She took her bike from him. “And died at Nyagatha!"
Again Edward nodded. “The Blighters roused the Meru outlaws. But who tipped off the Blighters? Who told them where Cameron Exeter was? I think that must have been Jumbo, too. I think he was working for the Chamber even then. He killed our—"
She looked where he was looking. They had come to the gate. It was no farmer's gate. It was a steel gate, with a padlock. It bore a sign that said, WAR DEPARTMENT and POSITIVELY NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON HIS MAJESTY'S SERVICE and other stern things. Beyond it, a freshly paved road climbed across the field to the crest of the hill—once, she assumed, crowned with a copse of oaks and a few immemorially ancient standing stones. Now it was surrounded by yet another fence and a gate with a sentry box. The woods had gone. In their place was an antiaircraft battery, a twentieth-century obscenity of iron sheds and repulsive ordnance.
"Puck!” Edward said with cold fury. “They've despoiled his grove! It's all gone. They drove him away."
First Stonehenge, now this. Another of the roads back to Nextdoor had just closed. But obviously that was not what was distressing him. He had just stumbled on a friend's grave.
Alice fumbled for words of comfort. “He had lived beyond his time, Edward. All things pass."
"But he was such a likable old ruin! Harmless! He helped me—a kid who meant nothing to him at all but was in serious trouble. He wouldn't have hurt a fly!"
"On the contrary, Mr. Exeter,” said a voice from the other side of the road, “he was a meddler, and for that he had to pay."
49
IT WAS THE MOTORIST WHOM EDWARD HAD CALLED A BOUNDER. HE was short and thick, standing in the weedy grass of the verge, half hidden in the hedge. He wore his floppy cap at a cocky angle above a haircut short enough to be called a shave; his brown tweed suit looked absurdly hot for the weather. He had removed his goggles. Despite his breadth, his features were not flabby. They were hard, and his eyes were a peculiar shade of violet.
He was smiling and he had his hands in his pockets, yet Alice had an inexplicable feeling that he was pointing a gun at her.
"Should I know you?” Edward drawled.
"If you believe in knowing your enemy. I have been waiting for this meeting for a long time, Exeter. The prophecy has run out of mana at last."