Willametta looked around. Her windbreaker had become a bag for onions and mushrooms. "I didn't."
"Did Andrew?"
"No. Why?"
"Any idea where Duncan's got to?"
She'd seen his worry. "It's all going fine, isn't it? Why are you turning weird now? I haven't seen Duncan Nick since breakfast."
"Maybe I started weird. How would you like to go to Destiny Town?"
"What?"
"Somebody has to buy stuff. It sure isn't me, not with this accent!"
She smiled. "I guess I could stay out of trouble. Do I look like a living woman now?"
"Close. Let's test that." He took the bag she'd made of her windbreaker and set it down.
"Jeremy, Destiny people won't see this much of me."
"Speaking for the felons assembled, we're relieved to hear it."
Conversation deteriorated.
Winnie looked into the wood, grinned at them, and passed on. Then dashed back, scooped up Willametta's windbreaker, and ran away laughing. They were in no condition to chase her down.
Too many of them had spent too much of the day arguing possibilities. Nevertheless the arguments had culled Barda's list into what they needed most that cost least. By the red light of evening's coals it had all evolved into a plan.
Someone was going to have to go into town.
At some point that person had become Andrew.
He was going alone. "You were right, Jeremy. One of us is just skinny. Two together look like walking dead."
"Our bones aren't showing through so much now," Jemmy agreed. "You can pass. Most of us could."
"But not you. You'd make a mistake."
"Not Barda either. Barda, the places that sell supplies for an inn would all know your face."
Barda grinned. "They'd all tell me how wonderful I look. All that lost weight." She looked down at her windbreaker. It was too dark to see food stains, but she said, "I'd kill a prole for a stack of napkins."
"How high?"
Felons were tottering off to their beds. Duncan Nick wasn't among them. Duncan hadn't come to dinner. Jemmy hadn't seen him since breakfast. It bothered him most because he'd been expecting it.
Andrew said, "Come with me at dawn, I'll show you where the grain is. "
He'd been expecting that too. "Not dawn," Jemmy said. "I'll clean up from dinner and set up breakfast first. I'll start after that and catch up."
They went into the inn. They left the hall lights on all the time now. Unbelievable luxury, and Spiral Town saw none of it. Felons and merchants took it for granted, and nobody wondered why, nobody but Jemmy Bloocher.
The ninth day had a lid of dark clouds.
Jemmy watched Andrew leave. His pack looked heavy. Jemmy waved; but there were things he had to do before he set off after Andrew.
Cleaning out the pit wasn't one. Those ashes would get to be too much of a good thing, but for now they were authentication of the restaurant's age.
There were squirrels and songbirds about. They did some of the cleaning up of spilled food. When Jemmy, Amnon, and Winnie finished the job, they left scraps in the wood.
Curious looks followed his departure. His pack was light. He'd hidden the gathering's trove of speckles. He didn't want to be carrying that down the Road.
He crossed the bridge and moved immediately to the center of the Road.
The river ran on his right, chuckling unseen. Jemmy moved briefly to its edge: a curve of melted rock flowing straight down into rushing water, He moved back to center. He'd considered climbing to the ridge, but that would have slowed him, and....e could be overreacting. Seeing murder in every face.
Willametta was no creature of evil. She would have been free of the Windfarm in less than a year. She'd followed Andrew for love, it seemed.
And Winnie's story, told by others, was that she'd killed a man because it was the only way to be rid of him. She had scars and broken bones to show for their time together, and he'd stalked her after she ran to Destiny Town. Maybe Destiny justice would have imprisoned him. Maybe she'd kill quicker next time a man gave her a hard time. She was probably no threat to a man like Jemmy.
Barda would never do anything to hurt the Swan. But the Windfarmers were felons. Duncan Nick was legitimately a thief, and Dolores's first impulse had been to use a prole gun on the toolshed, and Andrew Dowd- Murder in every face.
The Road straightened after a time. Now Jemmy could see several klicks ahead, though a dip hid part of it. Then he was over the dip, watching Andrew hike along the river's edge. Now, by a small blackbronze tree, he stopped and looked down into the water.
Then moved on.
Jemmy followed. Andrew must have expected Jemmy to start later. He hadn't looked back. Jemmy lost him around a curve, and couldn't see him when that stretch of Road reappeared.
The Road stayed a steady twenty-five meters wide, with a jagged bluff on the left, river and bluff on the right.
Where he'd seen Andrew stop, Jemmy, with his breath gone fast and the hairs rising on his neck, edged to the water and looked down.
The rock was split. A Destiny fisher tree's oversized roots were prying the rock apart. Jemmy moved back to center and, after a moment, kept walking.
Left and ahead, the red rock turned ragged and jagged: a steep slope with deep cracks half-filled with loose landslide-shattered rock. Okay. Jemmy called, "Hoy, Andrew!"
No answer came, but Jemmy turned in a quick circle, and Andrew was ten meters behind him, laughing. "How on Earth did you get past me?"
"Don't know. Did you stop for lunch?"
"No, a quick dip." Andrew strolled toward Jemmy. But his hair was dry, and Jemmy turned and ran straight at the red rock cliff.
Finding Andrew behind him had been a shock, but he'd already picked his path and he took it now, straight up the cliff, avoiding the loose rock. He didn't look back until he reached a flat spot as wide as his foot. Andrew was just below him and climbing fast, his pack swinging like something heavy and broken.
Jemmy climbed, breathing hard through a grin. He'd done this the whole length of the Crab. He could see his path, and there wasn't any better on this stretch.
A hundred and twenty meters up, the rock turned sheer. He edged
sideways toward a heap of shattered rock standing at a forty-degree slope. He paused there to glance back.
Andrew paused too, blowing hard, teeth showing in a laugh. He shouted, "I thought you brought the lunch!"
"Just a watermelon," Jemmy called. "Hope you brought a knife!"
"You bet!"
"Seen Duncan lately?"
"Lately, yes!" Andrew lunged toward him, panting like a bellows now, across red rock and onto red scree. Jemmy climbed with some care. He thought he could climb faster than Andrew, but a slide would be bad might be bad for Andrew too, but the game was to live.
The peak of the rockslide was sheer again but for a notch of sorts, a setting for his feet and a hold for his left hand. Jemmy set himself before he looked back.
Andrew was far below and making little progress.
Jemmy threw a rock at him. Then another, and another, without waiting.
They fell in front of Andrew, all three. He wasn't throwing hard enough, but his aim was good. Andrew screamed something foul... fowl, actually. Jemmy caught the echo.
Jemmy screamed back, "It's the law!," and he set himself and hurled. Andrew threw too, but his rock fell far short. His second throw started him sliding, and he flattened himself against the scree and tried to stay there. Jemmy's falling rock hit him-somewhere-and so did the next, and Jemmy threw three more before he had to stop for breath. Andrew was sliding. He couldn't stop. Jemmy hadn't planned on that. By now Andrew Dowd might have come to believe the unbelievable: that Jemmy Bloocher could beat him at climbing. If the slide didn't kill him, Andrew would have a chance to rest, to hide, to run now and kill him later.