“Well, now that you mention it,” Dirk said, swallowing hard, “yes.”
The duke laughed, gloating. “You fear that we will keep you inside the hill all your lives, for committing the crime of knowing too much—and you fear rightly. We cannot let you walk abroad, to tell the Milesians we are only mortal, as they are, but with more powerful weapons.”
“You’re planning to hold onto us,” Dirk said, his mouth dry. He thought of Magda, and his heart twisted.
“Your friend already wishes to stay.” The duke nodded at a smaller building off to the side of the plaza. “Look where he comes!”
Turning, Dirk and Gar saw Desiree coming out the door, holding the hand of a very besotted Cort. He moved like a sleepwalker, letting her touch guide him, never taking his gaze from her face. She beamed back into his eyes, face radiant with triumph.
Dirk felt his heart sink. “He’s lost to us.”
“And to all the outer world,” the duke agreed. “He is a good fighter and a strong, tall, handsome man, for a Milesian. His genes will protect us against the inbreeding you cite, without introducing too many unpleasant traits.”
“Can he stay as anything but a servant?” Gar asked.
“We do, very rarely, allow a Milesian to marry one of us,” the duke hedged, “as much as any of us marry.”
“Which means that the only vows they exchange are that they love each other right then, at that moment?” Dirk asked.
“Something like that, yes.” The duke seemed disgruntled that Dirk had guessed.
“But no one expects it to last longer than a few years,” Gar suggested.
“None,” the duke agreed. “When they decide their marriage is done, he who has married one Fair Lady may marry another. He need not be a slave all his days.”
“Meaning that you think he or she is a superior enough specimen that you want to spread their genes widely through the pool,” Dirk said dryly.
“And of sufficient interest to help dispel ennui, the perpetual restless boredom that is our bane,” the duke said.
“Will you decide to so honor our friend?” Gar asked.
“Perhaps,” the duke answered. “If a man of such grace and beauty survived long enough in the chaotic world outside, he may be worth keeping as something other than a bondsman-though mind you, even our slaves wish to remain here, where they are safe, and all is laughter and music.”
“But you are definitely keeping him,” Dirk inferred.
The duke watched the couple, brooding, as Desiree dropped Cort’s hand, tossed her head, and turned away. He stared after her, dumbfounded.
The duke smiled. “I see that Desiree has had her fill of him for the time being. She may decide to reclaim him some day. For now, though, dawn is coming, and he is free to go.”
He turned to a side table, filled with fruit and decanters. “Eat and drink! The night has been long, the way longer, and you are surely hungry”
Dirk glanced at the fruit; his mouth watered and his stomach rumbled. But Gar caught his eye and gave the slightest shake of the head. Dirk remembered Cort’s warning not to eat or drink, and ground out, “I thank you, Your Grace, but on a mission such as we follow now, we must eat only journey rations.” He wondered what malice Gar had overheard in the man’s thoughts.
The duke’s face darkened. “I urge you to taste and sip! It is quite pleasant—far more pleasant than it is without.”
“It’s drugged, isn’t it?” Gar asked. “Your ancestors read the old legends, and liked the irony. You feed sedatives to the Milesians you don’t want to keep around, but don’t want to let go, either—the ones who know too much. Then you store them away somehow, for twenty years. When you let them out, the world is a generation older, and though people believe they’ve spent a night in Hollow Hill, they also believe the experience has left them mad, and don’t believe anything they say about you!”
The duke flushed with anger. “You see far too much, far too quickly! I warn you, it will be far more pleasant for you if you eat or drink!”
“I thank you.” Gar inclined his head. “But we must decline the invitation.”
The duke snapped his fingers, and Fair Folk men whirled from the dance and fell on Dirk and Gar, drawing their swords.
The companions leaped back, whipping out their blades, and met the onslaught, parrying frantically. “Try riot to injure them!” Gar called. “Look, I have some idea of good manners!” Dirk called back.
Then a shout split the air, and Cort barreled between two of the tall men. They leaped aside in sheer surprise as he turned, rapier and dagger drawn and whirling. “If you fight my friends, you fight me!”
“Cort, no!” Desiree wailed.
“Game’s over, lady,” Dirk snapped, parrying a blade that ripped his sleeve. Blood welled, but he ignored it and caught another sword on his dagger.
“Spare him!” Desiree cried. “I have more games to play!”
If anything, that made the Fair Men fight harder. They piled on the trio ten to one and bore them down by the weight of sheer numbers. Gar felt his blade cut flesh; a tall man cried out in pain, and Gar felt blades pierce his shoulder, his thigh. Then a blow rocked his head, and he went limp.
He could still see and hear, though everything seemed distant. He felt his body heaved up high, saw Cort and Dirk borne up on the shoulders of tall men, heard Desiree wailing, and saw the floating lights slide by overhead, then the lintel of the palace portal. Its ceiling reeled past, painted in beautiful, ornate designs; then the roof closed in, they passed under a low lintel, his head tilted downward, and they went jolting down and down into gloom.
Then, suddenly, the ride leveled, and the roof rose again. Gar felt control of his limbs returning as the daze faded, leaving a splitting headache. He looked about him and saw a domed ceiling painted a cold blue. The light was cold, too, and glaring white-mercury vapor, at a guess.
Then they lowered his legs, and Gar saw that he stood in an underground chamber filled with clear glass doors. Behind a dozen of those doors stood Milesians, men and women of Cort’s kind, who had come into the Hill by chance or the caprice of a Fair Person, but who now stood frozen and rigid, eyes closed in cryogenic sleep.
CHAPTER 16
The Fair Men lowered Dirk’s and Cort’s feet, too, but kept hold of their arms. Cort and Gar managed to stand, but Dirk sagged, as though all the stiffening had been taken out of him. “All right, I can’t fight against odds like these! And I have to admit you boys can fight. What the hell, it isn’t death-and whatever I’m planning to do with my life can wait twenty years.”
Gar stared at him, and Cort gaped, scandalized-but it became worse instantly, for Gar’s knees weakened, too, and his head bowed. “He’s right. There’s no point in fighting it.”
“Are you mad?” Cort cried. “You’ll lose twenty years with the people you’ve grown with! When you come out of this place, you’ll still be twentyfive, but they’ll be forty-five! You’ll be bachelors, but they’ll have grown children!”
“Not much loss, in my case,” Gar grunted. “There’s no lady love waiting for me to find her.”
“I know the feeling,” Dirk said, totally despondent—and Cort stiffened, suddenly sure that Dirk was lying.
Dirk looked up, frowning, gaining the energy of outrage, glaring at the duke. “But you were going to kick our buddy Cort out of the hill. He shouldn’t have to lose twenty years of his life just because he was loyal enough to fight for his friends!”
“Indeed he should not!” Desiree cried, unseen behind the wall of men, but a dozen women’s voices clamored in agreement.