“Believe it or not, I’ve actually heard of her,” Drum added. “Daimon had me check her out back when we started on the Elshies. For a while, he was considering trying to locate the Hierophant. Tallent has a reputation as one of the best VSD scouts. She’s Veritean, but spends almost all her time in virt.”
“And we have an address for her,” Alice said. “I wonder if there is any particular reason that the Lady of the North Wind suggested her?”
The ants milled, finally settling on: “Markon in danger from Meru.”
“And so Virginia Tallent will want to help us?” Alice asked.
“Tallent Markon’s friend,” the ants agreed.
“Can you get us transport there?” Drum asked.
In response a strong wind began to blow first around Alice, then around Drum. Lydia, although standing close to her daughter, was untouched.
“I guess that’s a ‘yes,’ ” Alice said, giving her mother a quick hug.
“Luck, Alice! Be careful. I don’t consider switching you for Ambry a reasonable trade.”
“How about Drum?” Alice giggled.
The wind blew them away before Lydia could answer, but when Alice looked back she could see that Dr. Hazzard was smiling.
The wind set them gently down in the center of a forested grove. Unlike the Land Behind the North Wind, this site had a somewhat tropical feel to it, an impression not at all diminished when a slim brown-skinned woman clad in a saronglike garment emerged from the shelter of a red-flowered vine. Her long brown hair was loose and her feet were bare, but the Chaos Factor gun she held in one hand and the steady menace in her pale blue eyes made quite clear that she was no harmless primitive.
“Virginia Tallent?” Alice said quickly, holding her hands palms out so that the other woman could see she was unarmed. “We’ve come for your help.”
“You know who I am,” the woman said, her pistol unwavering, “but I don’t know who you are.”
“Fin Alice Hazzard—also known as Lincoln Crain. This is my partner, Desmond Drum.”
“Lincoln Crain… I think I’ve encountered that name.”
“I write articles for the newsies.”
“Then that’s probably where I’ve heard of you. This is a restricted area of a private site. How did you know to find me here?”
“The Land Behind the North Wind… its genius loci sent us. She’s a friend of my father. This is dreadfully complicated, ma’am, and your pistol is making me very nervous.”
“There are two dire-cats standing behind you who would probably make you more so.” For the first time, Virginia Tallent smiled. She stuck her CF pistol in the sash around her waist. “You want me, not Markon?”
“That’s right. Can I just tell you my story? It’s pretty incredible.”
Virginia Tallent glanced across the grove. At its farthest edge, enveloped in muddy green light, was a long box.
“I’ve had a few incredible things happen myself, lately. I’m in a listening mood. Give me your tale, Alice.”
And so, with minimal assistance from Drum, Alice told Virginia about the kidnapping of Wolfer Martin D’Ambry—the Phantom Piper of Skyga. She left nothing out, not Ambry’s multiple identities, not Skyga’s manifestation, not even her and Drum’s theory that all of this was connected to the Church of Elish’s upcoming Celebration.
Virginia Tallent had the gift of listening, a gift honed in her work for the VSD, and later as she dwelt with Markon and listened to the genius loci’s complicated tales. She listened now, and the occasional stirring of the brush or bubbling of the stream told her (although not Alice or Drum) that Markon was listening as well.
“I can tell you why the Lady Behind the North Wind decided to help you. It’s not merely that Ambry was her friend—it was Skyga’s invasion of her site. The older genius loci are very conscious of their rights and Skyga played havoc with the proprieties.”
“And can you help us find Mount Meru so we can free my father?” Alice asked.
Virginia Tallent nodded slowly.
“Yes, I can, and moreover, I will. As the Lady noted, I am a friend of Markon and one of the Highest on Meru has trapped him into a pact that will mean his death.”
“I don’t understand.”
Briefly, Virginia explained about Earthma’s assault, about the bargain she had offered Markon, about the side effects.
“I faced her down once and Markon grew stronger for a time. Lately, he’s been weakening again. I think Earthma’s bastard is drawing on his power. Yesterday, I saw the moire.”
“The moire. Ambry used that word, too. What does it mean?”
“It is a warping, a fading, a shimmering. In Virtu it means the end of a proge’s life. I believe that this moire was an omen that Earthma’s child will slay Markon. If the real Lord of the Lost had marked him, the end would have already come. He does not toy with his subjects—at least, so Markon told me.”
“Pardon, ma’am,” Drum said, “but you didn’t seem at all surprised by the more outrageous elements of Alice’s story.”
“Because I was not—or perhaps I should say that they were not outrageous to me. Markon has told me about the theology of Virtu. I had already heard of the Piper, the Master, and the One Who Waits. That he had offspring, or that his daughter would wish to rescue him rather than having him remain a pawn in a divine game, did not surprise me at all.”
“Can you guide us to Meru?”
Virginia frowned. “Yes and no. I do not know the way myself, but according to Markon, there is a train…”
ELEVEN
Tearing the head from a petite arboreal simian with large pleading eyes, Sayjak playfully squirted the blood fountaining from the neck over Ocro. Ocro howled with coarse amusement, never stopping his own enthusiastic rape of a somewhat bovine herd creature. Later, the memory would add piquancy to dinner.
Their taking of this territory could hardly be dignified with the word “battle.” The area had been designed after a particularly saccharine children’s entertainment series, furnished with gamboling lambkins, frolicking calflets, and chubby fuzzy-bears. Until the arrival of Sayjak’s People, the spreading forests and brightly flowered meadows had been filled with the music of myriad birds and the chattering of the adorable monklings.
Little children had run over hill and dale, learning kindness, caring, and sharing. After witnessing, even briefly, the incursion of Sayjak’s clan, most would be visiting their psychologists for weeks to come.
In a dream, Big Betsy had directed Sayjak to bring his People here, providing the key that would unlock the interface protecting the site. Sayjak grew hard at the memory of that dream, but he decided he would have come here without the bribe of screwing his dream-girl—this place was fun!
The young of the People enjoyed the warm and cuddly inhabitants as much as the human children had—although in a different fashion.
Sayjak interrupted a group playing tug of war with a squealing lambkin.
“You,” he said to a terrified youngling, “go get Dortak, Bilgad, the other leaders. Say Sayjak wants them now.”
The little one scampered off, leaving Sayjak at the center of a circle of awed, admiring eyes. Embarrassed, he grabbed the lambkin, which had been trying to limp away. Grasping it firmly by forelegs and hindlegs, he tugged.
“Christmas cracker,” he guffawed.
Leaving the young to finish dismembering their toy, he knuckled over to join his subordinates.
“This good place, Sayjak,” one said.
The others muttered rapid agreement. Sayjak had been known to beat the snot—and occasionally the life—out of any who didn’t agree with his plans. At first this had been necessary; for instance, when they had first fought in coordination with Muggle’s phants. Lately, even the meanest tumbled over each other in their haste to praise him.