Those in bright cloaks and those in gold seemed to be of separate castes. The small ivory-skinned men and women who hugged the shadows made up a third group. They wore no clothing at all. As they sat at their benches, the women’s breasts were so small it was hard to distinguish sexes. And then there were the machines-a fourth caste, Maggie decided. From outside they had looked like warriors in armor, but now she saw that the silver men were only machines like those in the kitchens. They moved smoothly through the room, refilling mugs, cleaning tables.
Neither Gallen nor Orick had spoken since entering the building. Maggie wasn’t sure what to say. Should they talk about the strangers? Discuss the wonders they beheld? Something warned her that neither would be prudent. She did not want to call attention to herself.
Maggie felt ignorant. The people here lived among so many marvels-walls that sang, machines that cooked and could fly. Compared to such people, she was a savage. Maggie had always had a quick wit, and for the first time in her life, she felt profoundly undereducated.
Halfway through breakfast, Maggie realized that people were watching them with furtive glances. She whispered to Gallen and Orick, “People are staring at us.”
“Maybe we’re not dressed to their liking,” Gallen whispered.
“Or maybe I’m the only bear they’ve ever seen,” Orick growled. “I can’t smell another anywhere.” Maggie was used to seeing bears in Tihrglas-they often would try to panhandle in town. She hadn’t even noticed the absence of them here.
Gallen glanced around the room and said softly, “Orick, can you pick up Everynne’s scent here? Even the slightest whiff?”
“Believe me,” Orick answered, “if I could catch the slightest trace of that dear creature’s fragrance, I’d pounce on her like a hound on a hare. She’s nowhere near.”
The folks at the nearest table left, affording Gallen, Maggie, and Orick a moment of privacy. “What now?” Gallen whispered. “Do we throw ourselves on the mercy of these townsmen? Do we look for work and try to scratch out a living? Or do we hunt for Everynne?”
“We can’t announce ourselves,” Maggie warned. “We left those vanquishers behind, but for all we know, they could be on our trail at this very moment. If we were to be going around telling everyone that we were strangers, we’d only attract attention. They might even turn us over to the vanquishers.”
Orick said, “By the way folks are staring at me, they must know we’re strangers. Yet they seem mighty hospitable. Free food for everyone! If these are Everynne’s enemies, then maybe we’ve taken up with scoundrels.”
“Hmmm,” Gallen said. “You and Maggie are both right. The folks here seem nice enough, but the vanquishers might be hunting us. We should lie low. Still, there’s more to this city than this one corner. Everynne and Veriasse may be here. I want to go look for them.”
“And leave us alone?” Maggie asked.
“I’d be less conspicuous that way. It would only be for a bit,” Gallen said. At that moment, Gallen caught a startled breath. Maggie followed his gaze.
A man stood in the doorway to the dining room, a man in a black robe with black gloves and tall black boots, a man with a face that shone like golden starlight. Gallen got up clumsily.
“What is it?” Maggie asked, taking Gallen’s wrist.
“Nothing,” Gallen said. “I thought I recognized someone.”
Maggie looked at the silver-faced man. “Him? Where would you have met the likes of him before?”
“Not him,” Gallen said. “The one I saw was dressed the same, but his skin shone lavender. Besides, the man I met was younger and thinner.”
“Where did you meet him?” Orick asked.
“In Coille Sidhe. Last night, a man dressed like that saved my life.” Gallen stretched. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours-sooner, if I find Everynne.” He left the dining room, passed the stranger, and moved into a well-lighted hall.
Maggie watched his back. Right, Gallen O’Day, go chase your mystery woman. I wish you both all the happiness.
The room seemed to close around Maggie. Every few moments, someone would bump her as they tried to get past. The room filled with diners, becoming cramped. She and Orick moved to a table that let her look out over the broad, muddy river. Green barn swallows were skimming over the river, dipping for drinks.
Maggie nibbled at her food and began to think that this place might be heaven. The weather was beautiful, the food delicious, and life here appeared to be simple.
But when Gallen had been gone for nearly an hour, the truth became more apparent: on the ruby road outside the city, six black dronons appeared. They wore odd shoes that let them glide along the road as swiftly as water striders. One of them skated to the inn. Maggie and Orick moved back against the wall, fearing that the creature was searching for them.
The inn became deathly quiet. The dronon was so wide that it could not easily pass between tables, but the gleaming black creature folded its wings and pulled itself slowly under the arch. Its head swayed from side to side as it moved. It held a long, black incendiary gun in one chitinous hand.
It stopped beside Maggie and Orick, and a single long feeler twisted up from beside its mouth. The feeler wrapped around Maggie’s wrist. She stood abruptly, wanting to run, but found she was trapped between two tables with her back against the wall.
The dronon’s feeler held her like a thick cord, binding her in case she should try to flee. Beneath the creature’s mouth was an organ that looked like dozens of small, blunt fingers poised above the stretched membrane of a drum. The fingers began rhythmically tapping, creating an odd thrumming noise not unlike the sound that some deep-voiced locust might make. Yet the thrumming varied greatly in intensity and pitch. Maggie could distinguish words in that music. The dronon was speaking to her.
“You are not from this world. Where are you from?” the dronon demanded.
Maggie froze, not knowing how to answer. She pressed herself farther against the wall. The dronon’s grip tightened, and it raised one arm overhead. She looked up-the arm was heavy, like the claw of a crab, and had a serrated edge. The dronon’s tiny segmented hand had retracted, leaving a single large hooklike claw. If the dronon struck her, the arm would chop her in half like an axe. The dronon hissed, threatening to strike her into oblivion if she did not answer.
“You are not of this world. Where are you from?”
At a nearby table, the man dressed in black robes, the man with a golden face that glowed like starlight, stood and answered. “Great Lord, she is a Silent One from Pellarius!” He stepped forward. “She cannot speak. The singers there thought her voice lacked beauty, so they cut out her vocal cords and sterilized her so that she could not breed. Still, I have purchased her as a worker so that she might serve the greater glory of the dronon empire.”
“What is her function?” the dronon asked.
“She is an aberlain, highly skilled in installing genetic upgrades in the unborn.”
“If she is an aberlain, where is her Guide?” The dronon’s feeler began probing Maggie’s scalp.
“She has been a class-two aberlain,” the stranger said, “and is ready to be promoted to class one. I am having a new Guide created for her at this very moment.”
“Where is her current Guide?” the dronon demanded.
“Here, in my pocket.” The stranger pulled out a wide band of silver, a crown with small lights in it. He held it up for the dronon to see. The dronon warrior abruptly lowered its battle arm.
“May your work prosper the empire,” the dronon said, addressing both Maggie and the stranger in the same breath. It regarded Orick for a moment, then hunched and dragged its massive body through the cafeteria. It turned at the hallway and disappeared into the deeper recesses of the building.