Gliding across the floor of the vat, the animal came to Limbeck and thrust its muzzle in the Geg’s hand. Limbeck started at the unexpected touch of the cold nose, and jerked his hand away. But the dog remained, looking up at him intently, the bushy tail slowly brushing from side to side. Limbeck’s nearsighted gaze was drawn slowly and irresistibly from the dog to its master. Hugh glanced swiftly back at Haplo to see what message he was giving, but the man’s face was mild and tranquil, with that quiet smile.
Limbeck’s hand absently stroked the dog, his eyes fixed on Haplo. He sighed deeply.
“My dear?” Jarre touched him on the arm.
“The truth. And my speech. I must make my speech. I’m going, Jarre. And I’m counting on you and our people to help. And when I come back, when I’ve seen the Truth, then we’ll start the revolution!”
Jarre recognized his stubborn tone, knew it was hopeless to argue. She wasn’t certain she wanted to argue anyway. Part of her was stirred at the thought of what Limbeck was doing. It was the beginning of the revolution, really and truly. But he would be leaving her. She hadn’t realized, until now, how much she truly loved him.
“I could come too,” she offered.
“No, my dear.” Limbeck gazed at her fondly. “It wouldn’t do for both of us to be gone.” He took a step forward, put his hands out to where it looked to his nearsighted eyes her shoulders were. Jarre, used to this, moved up to be right where he thought she was. “You must prepare the people for my return.”
“I’ll do it!”
The dog, afflicted by a sudden itch, sat down, scratching at its fur with a hind foot.
“You can teach her the song now, sir,” said Alfred. Alfred translating, Hugh gave Jarre his instructions, taught her the song, then bundled her back into the air shaft. Limbeck stood beneath it and, before she left, reached up to hold her hand.
“Thank you, my dear. This will be for the best. I know it!”
“Yes, I know it too.”
To hide the trouble in her voice, Jarre leaned down and gave Limbeck a shy kiss on the cheek. She waved her hand to Alfred, who gave her a small solemn bow; then she hastily turned and began to climb through the air shaft. Hugh and Haplo lifted the grille and put it back in place as best they could, hammering at it with their fists.
“Are you hurt very badly, Alfred?” asked Bane, struggling against sleepiness and an unwillingness to return to bed and possibly miss out on something.
“No, Your Highness, thank you for asking.”
Bane nodded and yawned. “I think I’ll just lie down, Alfred. Not to sleep, mind you, just to rest.”
“Allow me to straighten your blankets, Your Highness.” Alfred cast a swift sidelong glance over to Hugh and Haplo, pounding at the grille. “Might I trouble Your Highness with a question?”
Bane yawned until his jaws cracked. Eyelids drooping, he plopped down on the floor of the vat and said sleepily, “Sure.”
“Your Highness”—Alfred lowered his voice, keeping his eyes fixed on the blanket that he was, as usual, clumsily twisting and knotting and doing everything but straightening—“when you look at that man Haplo, what do you see?”
“A man. Not very good-looking but not very ugly, not like Hugh. That Haplo’s not very much of anything, if you ask me. Here, you’re making a mess of that, as usual.”
“No, Your Highness. I can manage.” The chamberlain continued to maul the blanket. “About my question—that really wasn’t what I meant, Your Highness.” Alfred paused, licking his lips. He knew that this next question would undoubtedly start Bane thinking. Yet Alfred felt at this juncture he had no choice. He had to know the truth.
“What can you see with your . . . special vision?” Bane’s eyes widened, then narrowed, glistening with shrewdness and cunning. But the intelligence in them was gone so swiftly, masked by the bright gloss of innocence, that Alfred, if he had not seen it before, might not have believed he saw it then.
“Why do you ask, Alfred?”
“Just out of curiosity, Your Highness. Nothing more.” Bane regarded him speculatively, perhaps gauging how much more information he was likely to wheedle from the chamberlain, perhaps wondering whether he could gain more by telling the truth or lying or a judicious mixture of both. Giving Haplo a wary sidelong glance, Bane leaned confidentially near to Alfred and said softly, “I can’t see anything.”
Alfred sat back on his heels, his careworn face drawn and troubled. He stared intently at Bane, trying to judge whether or not the child was sincere.
“Yes,” continued Bane, taking the man’s look for a question. “I can’t see anything. And there’s only one other person I’ve met who’s the same—you, Alfred. What do you make of that?” The child gazed up at him with bright, shining eyes.
The blanket suddenly seemed to spread itself out, smooth and flat, without a wrinkle. “You can lie down now, Your Highness. We have, it seems, an exciting day tomorrow.”
“I asked you a question, Alfred,” said the prince, stretching out obediently.
“Yes, Your Highness. It must be coincidence. Nothing more.”
“You’re probably right, Alfred.” Bane smiled sweetly and closed his eyes. The smile remained on his lips; he was inwardly enjoying some private joke. Alfred, nursing his knee, decided that, as usual, he had made a mush of things. I gave Bane a clue to the truth. And against all express orders to the contrary, I took a being of another race into the Heart and the Brain and brought her back out again. But does it matter anymore? Does it really matter?
He couldn’t help himself, his gaze went to Haplo, who was settling down for the night. Alfred knew the truth now, yet he resisted it. He told himself it was coincidence. The boy had not met every person in the world. There might be many whose past lives were not visible to him through the medium of his clairvoyance. The chamberlain watched Haplo lie down, saw him give the dog a pat, saw the dog take up a protective position at the man’s side. I have to find out. I must know for certain. Then my mind will be at rest. I can laugh at my fears.
Or prepare to face them.
No, stop thinking like that. Beneath the bandages, you will find sores, as he said.
Alfred waited. Limbeck and Hugh returned to their beds, Hugh casting a glance in Alfred’s direction. The chamberlain pretended to sleep. The prince had drifted off, seemingly, but it might be well to make sure. Limbeck lay awake, staring up into the top of the vat, worrying, afraid, repeating to himself all his resolutions. Hugh leaned back against the vat’s side. Taking out his pipe, he stuck it between his teeth and gazed moodily at nothing. Alfred did not have much time. He propped himself on one elbow, keeping his shoulders hunched, his hand held close to his body, and faced Limbeck. Raising his index and middle fingers, Alfred drew a sigil in the air. Whispering the rune, he drew it again. Limbeck’s eyelids lowered, opened, lowered, quivered, and finally shut. The Geg’s breathing became even and regular. Turning slightly, keeping his movements smooth and stealthy, Alfred faced the assassin and drew the same sigil. Hugh’s head dropped. The pipe slipped from between his teeth and fell into his lap. Alfred’s gaze turned to Bane, and he made the same sign; if the child hadn’t been asleep before this, he was now. Then, facing Haplo, Alfred drew the rune and whispered the same words, only now with more concentration, more force.