Nickel looked at him for a long moment. “You shame me, Chert Blue Quartz.” He didn’t sound happy about it. A moment later Nickel stopped and pushed open a door. The walls of the room behind it were covered with little baskets filled with glowing coral, so that by comparison to the dark hallway it seemed positively to blaze with light. “Come in and join your friends. They are here, in the library office.”
It was certainly a modest room compared to the great main chamber, and that made the two men in it—Big Folk, not Funderlings—seem all the more grotesquely oversized. The physician Chaven smiled but did not get up, perhaps because he was worried about banging his head on the ceiling. Ferras Vansen, who was half a head taller than Chaven, rose into an awkward crouch and took Opal’s hand. “Mistress, it is good to see you and your family again. I will never forget the meal you made for me on the night I returned—the single best thing I have ever eaten.”
Opal’s laugh threatened to become a girlish giggle. “I can’t take much credit for that. Cooking for a starving man, well, that’s like… like…”
“Catching a sun-dazzled salamander?” suggested Chert, then wished he hadn’t: Opal looked hurt. “You do yourself too little credit, woman. Everyone knows your table is one of the best.”
“Yes, she certainly has fed me grandly,” said Chaven. “I never thought I could grow to admire a well-cooked mole so much.” He smiled at Flint, who was watching the physician with his usual serious stare. “And hello to you too, boy. You’re getting tall.” Chaven turned back to Chert. “We wait only on the arrival of our last guest…”
The door creaked open. A worried-looking acolyte stuck his head in. “Brother Nickel?” the newcomer said. “One of the magisters from the town is here and he wants to use your study in the charterhouse for his council room!”
“My study?” squawked Nickel, then hurried out to defend his territory.
“… And that would be him,” Chaven finished. “Ah, well. Magister Cinnabar and Brother Nickel will never be friends, I fear.”
Chert pulled his old, blunt carving knife out of his pocket and gave it to Flint along with a chunk of soapstone to keep the boy occupied. “Let’s see what you make of this,” he said. “Take good care and think a little before you cut—that’s a nice clean piece.”
The door opened again and Cinnabar Quicksilver walked in, Nickel’s strident voice echoing behind him. “He thinks he is the abbot already, that one,” Cinnabar said, frowning. “Chert Blue Quartz, it is good to see you—and Mistress Opal! Have the brothers treated you well?”
“We just arrived,” said Opal.
“You and the boy are welcome to wash away the road dust,” Cinnabar said. “But I’m afraid I must steal your husband for a while, Mistress. Although you would be welcome, also. My Vermilion usually sees through problems in a moment that would take the Highwardens an hour.”
Nickel appeared now, scowling like a man who has come home to find a stranger sitting in his favorite chair. “Have you started without me? Have you begun to talk without me? Do not forget, the Metamorphic Brotherhood is the host here.”
“Nobody has forgotten you, Brother Nickel,” said Cinnabar. “After all, we’re are going to move this council to your study, remember?”
As the monk gave the magister a look that could have powdered granite, the physician stirred beside him. “Our talk will take much of the afternoon, I fear, and Captain Vansen and I have waited some time already. Is there a chance we could find some refreshment?”
“You may eat with the brothers at the appointed time,” said Nickel stiffly. “The evening meal is only a few hours away. We agreed with Master Cinnabar to treat you as our own while you guest with us. Our fare is simple, but healthy.”
“Yes,” said Chaven with a touch of sadness. “I’m sure it is.”
“… And so I suddenly found myself here—no longer leagues behind the Shadowline but standing in the center of Funderling Town atop a great mirror.” Vansen frowned, his eyes troubled. “No, there was more to the journeying between there and here than that… but the rest has slipped away from me… like a dream…”
“It is a gift to have you with us, Captain,” said Chaven, “and a gift to learn that when last you saw him Prince Barrick was alive and well.” But the physician looked troubled. Chert had noticed him beginning to frown when Vansen talked of finding himself atop the mirrored floor in the Guildhall council chamber, between twin images of the glowering earth god Kernios.
Alive—that he certainly was,” the soldier said. “Well? I am not so sure...”
“Your pardon,” Cinnabar said, “but now you must hear my news, for it touches on the young prince. A few of us are still allowed upground into the castle to work on tasks for the Tollys, and one of those, at great risk, brought news of your arrival here to Avin Brone.”
“The Lord Constable,” said Vansen. “Is he well?”
“He is Lord Constable no longer,” said Cinnabar, “but for the rest, you will have to discover for yourself. He sent this for you and my man smuggled it back to me.”
Vansen looked over the letter, lips moving soundlessly as he read. “May I read it to you?” he asked. Cinnabar nodded.
“ ‘Vansen,
“ ‘I am pleased to hear that you are safe and even more pleased to hear news of Olin’s heir. I do not understand what happened or how you got here—this little man has brought a letter from another little man…’ ”
“I apologize for the count’s manners,” Vansen said, coloring.
Cinnabar waved his hand. “We have been called worse. Continue, please.”
“ ‘… But I can hardly make sense of it. What is important is that you must not come up from below the ground. T.’—that would be Hendon Tolly, of course—‘has men watching me at all times, and only the fact that the soldiers still trust me and many have remained as my loyal guards have prevented T. from making an end of me.
“ ‘The fairy folk, may the gods curse them, have fallen quiet, but I think only to plan more evil. We can withstand a siege because they have no ships, but they have more weapons than those that one can see. They bring a great weight of fear against everyone who fights them, as you no doubt know...’
“And I do,” Vansen said, looking up. “Fear and confusion—their greatest weapons.”
He turned back to the letter. “ ‘There is still no word…’ ” For a moment he hesitated, as though something stuck in his throat. “ ‘… Still no word about Princess Briony, either, although some claim she was taken as a hostage by Shaso in his escape. It does not bode well that he has been so long gone and we have still heard nothing, though.’ ” Vansen took a deep breath before continuing. “So that is our position. T rules Southmarch in the name of Olin’s youngest, the infant Alessandros. The fairies are at our walls and as long as they remain a threat he dares not kill or imprison me. You must stay hidden for now, Vansen, though I hope one day soon to be able to greet you, man to man, to hear the whole of your story and thank you for your many services…’ ”
He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. “The rest is unimportant. You have heard all that matters. The Qar have gone silent, but remain. Still, the walls should protect us for a long time, even against fairy spells…”
“If the Qar want to get into the castle, they will not bother with the walls,” Chert said. “They will come through Funderling Town… and through the temple here, where we sit.”