"Why so long?" Atropos demanded.
"To let a generation grow up learning self-government. That's absolutely essential."
Atropos nodded. "Aye. You must live a long life."
"But it's not up to me! It's up to them!"
"Even were you a tyrant," the youngest said, "you would give them more freedom than they now have. Do your best to rule justly, and you shall open their dungeon cell. Nay, Wizard, you must do your best."
"Shall he be king of Ibile, then?" Fadecourt's eyes were burning.
Clotho glanced at her web, then shook her head. "I have not yet determined that. There are many other strands to the weave, and the pattern has not yet emerged."
Emerged? Matt wondered who really controlled her loom.
"However," the Fate went on, "you shall be vital to giving them their freedom. Only do as you think right, and you will set their feet on the road to wise choice. They shall someday choose their own government, I promise you."
Matt wasn't entirely happy about that; it sounded too much like saying that people get the kind of government they deserve. "Why? Why does it have to be so slow? Why does it have to be me?"
"Because that is as we wish it!" Atropos snapped, her eyes glowing. "You are the man chosen by Fate, the man of destiny! Your own actions and choices led you to becoming our instrument, of your own free will! Do you say you do not like it? Pity! For it is what you chose!"
"Yes, in a moment of anger, in a fit of temper! Come on—there have to be other reasons, better ones!"
"Even so." The youngest smiled like a vixen. "There are, and many, and good ones—but we do not choose to tell you of them."
"Surely not!" Atropos said. "And seek not to know! Beware of hubris, youngling, of overweening pride! Do not seek to challenge the gods, and expect death!"
Which meant, Matt decided, that they weren't about to tell a young upstart like him.
"Not such a young upstart as yourself!"
Matt clamped down on his temper—mustn't let them know they were getting to him! Or did they already? Either way—they were egging him on, trying to make him do something rash again.
Indeed they were. All three leaned forward in expectation, their eyes glowing through the mist.
Matt forced himself to settle back, to relax. "No, of course I wouldn't do a thing like that. I'm not about to forget that I have to put on my pants one leg at a time, after all. I make too many mistakes for that."
Sir Guy frowned, not understanding, but not liking the tenor of the remark—and the three sisters relaxed with a sigh of disappointment. "Well enough, then," Atropos said, though she sounded as if she didn't mean it. "Wend your way through your life, weak and foolish one—but do not expect us to save you from the consequences of your own folly!"
The globe of light shrank abruptly, as if it were receding at an incredible rate, and winked out. The room was very silent, and the only motion was the flickering of their shadows on the wall, cast by firelight. Matt became uncomfortably aware that all his friends were staring at him.
So he pretended a nonchalance he certainly didn't feel. He turned away to the fire with a sigh that he hoped sounded like disappointment. "Too bad. I half hoped they were going to slip and tell me something useful."
CHAPTER 24
The Maid from the Sea
The old don came back into the room, nodding happily and murmuring to himself. "Oh, very pretty, yes, my little one, very pretty! Yet 'tis so pleasant to have guests, yes, and ones who wish to challenge the king! Ah, I am so concerned for them, little one, yes. Who knows what will become of them, when they approach..." He came within the range of firelight and broke off, seeing his guests. "Ah, my friends! Have you rested, then? Shall we converse?" Then he frowned, peering at them. "Yet something has discomfited you, has it not? Come, tell me! In mine own house! Nay, it cannot be! Only tell me what 'twas, and I will chastise it sorely, nay, even send it away, an I must! Was't a well-wist? Nay, tell me! I know they are slow to forgive, and you did pain them, though 'twas understandable, yes, quite understandable. Nay, tell me, and I'll remonstrate with them!"
"No, it wasn't the well-wists." Matt finally managed to get a word in edgewise. He could understand it—if he'd been alone with no one to talk to for twenty years, he'd probably run off at the mouth, too, when he had the chance. "Nothing you could have done anything about, milord—and nothing that concerns you, really. Our fault—no, mine, I suppose."
"Not concern me? How could it not concern me, when 'tis in mine own house? Nay, tell me, for..." He broke off, his eyes widening; then he began to tremble.
Matt spun about, staring off into the shadows where the old don was looking.
It was gathering substance, still a dim, gauzy cloud, but wavering and fluxing—and its outlines clarified as it pulsed and brightened.
" 'Tis a ghost!" the old don shrieked. He staggered to the wall, pulled down a broadsword, and held it up as an improvised cross. "Shield me, my Lord, from vile and vicious specters who walk by night!"
The ghost's face, newly formed, quirked into a look of horror, thinning as it stared.
"No, my lord!" Matt was up and leaping in between the sword and the ghost. "He's not vile and vicious—he's a friend! And he doesn't walk by night—well, that, too, but he walks by day when he needs to. He just doesn't look his best."
"He will come by daylight?" The old don peered at the misty face across from him, craning to see around Matt's shoulder. "Then he cannot be completely a thing of evil."
"Hardly evil at all. He's been a big help—and he knows what we intend to do."
"Then if he seeks to help you, he must needs be on the side of Good." The old don nodded, his chin firming. "He is welcome, then—though I will confess 'tis the first time I've been host to a ghost. Yet though I may welcome him, he must make his own peace with the other nightwalkers; for there be other ghosts within this castle."
"What respectable castle would be without them? If you wouldn't mind, though, I think I'd better find out why he's here." Matt turned to the ghost. "Good to see you again, friend."
A smile appeared on the ghost's face, tentative at first, then a little more definite.
"You are our friend, I know now," Yverne put in. "Forgive my fright when first I saw you."
The ghost shook its head with a look of distress that as much as said the fault was all his. He pointed at his mouth, opening and closing it silently.
"Ah. You could not tell me, because you cannot speak." Yverne smiled, somehow at her most charming. "Then let me guess. Have you come to warn us of new enemies come against us?"
The ghost shook its head with a wisp of a smile.
"Probably just trying to find us. Our force got split up in a bad fog sent by a sorcerer-duke, and..."
"A sorcerer and a duke!" De la Luce shook his head "How sadly sunk is Ibile, when even men of rank sink to evil magics!"
"'Fraid so. And I expect our friend, here, has been trying to round up the forces ever since...Say!" Matt looked up with sudden hope. "I, uh, hate to point this out, milord, but your castle would make an ideal staging ground for an attack on the king, and—"
"You wish to have your army rally here?" De la Luce answered with a wisp of a smile. "Well, wherefore not, after all? I am secure against attack, and even should the sorcerer batter down my walls—well, I have lived a long life, and will yield it gladly in the service of God and goodness."
"I hope it won't come to that..."
"It will not, if you act quickly. Yet be warned, young man—though you may gather your men here, how will you send them to the king's castle?"