Blue halted the carriage at once. She’d already discovered that mind and eyes played tricks on this cursed wilderness, especially at this time of day when the light was just beginning to fade. All the same, there was something out there and she was fairly sure it wasn’t just another dune. She rummaged in her equipment until she found a glass. (What wouldn’t she have given for a decently spell-driven travelling eye!) The heat haze and the low angle of the sun wouldn’t permit any real resolution, even with optical help, but what she was looking at might have been a low building of some sort, or possibly some temporary structure. Was this one of the ruins the Arcond had talked about? Or could it be a pavilion erected by the nomads? For the first time, she realised she knew almost nothing about these mysterious nomads: how they lived, how they travelled… nothing. Did they have tents and pack animals?
Questions were useless. The only thing she knew was that they avoided contact. But if this really was one of their structures, perhaps she could reach them before they spotted her and ran away. Then, a mischievous voice murmured in her head, she would find out the truth about the cannibalism business.
Blue gently manoeuvred the carriage around, then started it off, slowly, in the direction of the thing on the horizon. She was very aware of the need for caution. If these really were the nomads, she couldn’t just come storming in – she’d have to gain their trust. She had gifts – Madame Cardui had seen to that – but she was aware that gifts alone would never be enough. She was seriously considering abandoning the carriage before she got too close and making the rest of her way on foot. With luck and care, she might even be able to observe the nomads for a little while before committing herself to contact. The more she learned about them the better.
She had scarcely driven for more than ten minutes when a brutal sense of disappointment swept over her. The shape on the horizon, which had looked so like an artificial structure even when examined through the glass, suddenly resolved itself as a well-worn peak, part of a low mountain chain, hardly more than high hills, really, but beyond doubt natural formations.
For a moment she considered swinging away and heading back into the deep desert – her carriage was fine for relatively flat terrain, but there was no way it could tackle a mountain – then something else caught her eye, nestling in the foothills. This time she was close enough for the glass to show it as a series of squat stone buildings.
Once again Blue stopped the carriage. With her eye to the glass, she examined the structures carefully. This was ancient architecture for sure, but no ruin. Someone lived here, or at least had lived here until recent times. But not the nomads. These were permanent structures, built to last by settled people.
What to do? Madame Cardui had said their best hope was for Blue to make contact with the nomads, but that hadn’t happened so far, and she’d no idea how to make it happen. But if people did live here in the shadow of the mountains, they might have some idea where the nomads could be found, perhaps even advise on how best to approach them.
Blue set the carriage going, aware of the lengthening shadows. Even if no one lived here any more, it would still be a place to stay. Since coming to the desert, she’d slept in the carriage, sheltered from the night wind by the canopy. Each night she’d listened to the sounds of creatures moving after dark – there seemed to be far more life in the desert at night than there ever was during the day. Nothing had attacked her, nothing had even seriously disturbed her, but the sounds made her nervous and vulnerable. She would welcome a solid stone-built wall around her.
But as she drew closer, it became obvious the place was inhabited. Distant figures moved unhurriedly outside and she could see a small strip of cultivated land close to the buildings, someone must have set up an irrigation system to reclaim it from the desert.
Closer still, the figures resolved themselves into green-robed, tonsured individuals, all, without exception, male. She was approaching a monastic community. It occurred to her then that she might not be entirely welcome. There were all-male monasteries in her own country, where the mere glimpse of a woman sent the monks running for cover. But by the time the thought struck her, it was too late. Her clockwork carriage was rolling over an area of stony ground that gave way to a crudely paved road. One of the green-robed figures, a thin, almost wasted, monk whose skin had turned to leather in the desert sun, broke away from his companions to walk towards her.
‘You are welcome, young man,’ he told her gravely. Blue blinked, then remembered she was travelling in disguise.
Fifty-Six
The ground beneath Henry’s feet was rough as he ran; he couldn’t see more than a yard or two ahead. In normal circumstances, he would never have tried to run in a situation like this. In normal circumstances if he had tried he’d have stumbled. But he was encouraged by the howling behind him – and by the speed at which the white shapes were gaining. Henry ran fast.
The faster he ran, the clearer his mind became. He knew he was about to die. There was no way he could outrun the vaettirs, no way he could survive so many of them when they finally caught up. But, oddly, the realisation caused no fear. In fact, the dread he’d felt earlier had been replaced by calm. He found himself thinking about his mother and Charlie and school and his exams. He found himself thinking of Blue and what a mess he’d made of their relationship. He found himself wondering how he’d gone through so much of his life not knowing what he really wanted, let alone how to get it. It seemed he’d been pushed around by his mother for years and pushed around by circumstances when he wasn’t being pushed around by his mother. He’d spent so much time trying to do the right thing, but mostly what he thought of as the right thing was just the thing that other people wanted him to do. He’d never liked upsetting people, so usually he just went along. He wished Mr Fogarty were still alive. Mr Fogarty had somehow managed to do the right thing without giving a toss about how much that upset other people. Mr Fogarty robbed banks for cripe’s sake, when he thought it was the right thing to do.
Now he was about to die, Henry suspected he might have wasted his entire life.
Except maybe he wasn’t about to die after all. He wasn’t quite sure, but the pursuing vaettirs seemed to be dropping back a little. Maybe they were like cheetahs very fast in short bursts, but not much stamina. If he could just keep up his pace he might outrun them.
With his new-found clarity, he realised this made sense. Lorquin might be weird, but he was a decent kid. He’d hardly ask Henry – his Companion – to commit virtual suicide just so he could become a man. There might be risk – people who lived in the desert were used to that – but it probably wasn’t much of a risk, however dangerous it looked. After all, it was Lorquin who had to prove himself a man. For Henry there was probably hardly any risk at all. All he had to do was keep up a steady pace and wait for the vaettirs to get tired and…
The earth convulsed.
Henry lost his stride, then his footing, then his balance. He hurled forward and struck the ground, hard. He was on a mix of rock and desert that hurt his injured leg and filled his mouth with sand, but he hardly noticed either. The ground itself was shaking underneath him and his head resonated to a low, subsonic rumble that was somehow more terrifying than the horde of vaettirs racing after him.