The curtain of rain parted enough so that he could see the elven ship through it—the storm was blowing over. Hugh the Hand was just about to venture out when he saw a female dwarf heading in his direction. He decided it would be more in character to wait for her arrival, and stayed where he was. But when she drew near, Hugh began to curse softly.
Of all the luck! He knew her! And she knew him!
Jarre—Limbeck’s girlfriend.
There was no help for it now. He would have to trust to his altered appearance and considerable acting ability.
Splashing heedlessly through puddles, Jarre was peering upward continually at the sky. Hugh deduced that another ship must be expected, probably carrying the elven contingent of dignitaries. Good, she would be preoccupied and might not pay much attention to him. He braced himself. She opened the door, bustled inside.
“I say!” Hugh rose haughtily to his feet. “It’s about time!” Jarre skidded to a halt, stared at him in astonishment—Hugh was pleased to note that she showed no recognition. He kept his hood up, casting his face into shadow but not hiding it, which might have looked suspicious.
“Wha—what are you doing here?” the dwarf stammered in her own language.
“Don’t gabble at me in that strange tongue,” Hugh returned pettishly. “You speak human. I know you do. Everyone who is anyone does.” He sneezed violently, took the opportunity to draw up the collar of his cape around the lower part of his face, began to shiver. “There, you see, I’m catching my death. I’m wet to my skin.” He sneezed again.
“What are you doing here, sir?” Jarre repeated in passable human. “Did you get left behind?”
“Left behind? Yes, I was left behind! Do you think I sought shelter in this beastly place because I wanted to? Was it my fault I was too sick to walk when we landed? Does anyone wait for me? No, no, and no. They’re off like arrows, leaving me to the tender mercies of the elves. By the time I staggered onto deck, my friends were nowhere in sight. I made it this far when the storm hit, and now look at me.” Hugh sneezed again.
Jarre’s mouth twitched. She was about to laugh, thought better of it, and changed it into a polite cough instead.
“We’re meeting another ship, sir, but if you’ll wait, I’ll be happy to show you to the tunnels—”
Hugh glanced outside, saw a whole group of dwarves trudging through the puddles. His sharp eyes picked out the leader, Limbeck. Hugh scanned the rest of the crowd intently, thinking Haplo might be with them. He wasn’t. Hugh drew himself up in offended dignity. “No, I will not wait! I’m halfway to dying of poomonia. If you will simply have the goodness to point me in the correct direction...”
“Well...” Jarre hesitated, but it was obvious she had more important things to do than fool with a sopping wet human numbskull. “See that enormous big building way, way over there? That’s the Factree. Everyone’s inside.” She cast an eye at the distant storm clouds. “If you hurry, you should just about make it before the next downpour hits.”
“Not that it would matter.” Hugh sniffed. “I can’t get much wetter, can I? Thank you, m’dear.” He offered her a hand that resembled a wet fish, lightly twiddled his fingers near hers, and retrieved the hand before she could actually touch it. “You’ve been most kind.”
Wrapping his cloak around him, Hugh stalked out of the Liftalofts to meet the startled stares of the dwarves (discounting Limbeck, who was gazing around in blissful myopia and didn’t see him at all). Giving them a look that consigned them all unfavorably to their ancestors, Hugh flung his cape over his shoulder and strode past them.
A second elven dragon ship was descending, carrying the representatives from Prince Rees’ahn. Those meeting it soon forgot Hugh, who splashed his way to the Factree, ducking inside just as another storm swooped down on Worn be. Throngs of elves, humans, and dwarves were gathered in the enormous area that had been, so legend had it, the birthplace of the fabulous Kicksey-winsey. All present were eating and drinking and treating each other with the nervous politeness of longtime enemies now suddenly friends. Again Hugh searched the crowd for Haplo.
Not here.
Just as well. Now was not the time.
Hugh the Hand made his way to a fire that was burning inside an iron barrel. He dried his clothes, drank some wine, and greeted his fellow humans with outflung arms, leaving them to think confusedly that they must know him from somewhere.
When anyone tried to ask—in a roundabout way—who he was, Hugh looked faintly insulted, replied vaguely that he was “in the party of that gentleman over there, Baron [sneeze, cough], standing by that thingamabob [wave of the hand]”.
A polite bow and wiggle of the fingers to the baron. Seeing this obviously wealthy, well-dressed gentleman bowing to him, the baron bowed politely back. The questioner was satisfied.
The Hand took care not to talk to one person too long, but he made certain that he said something to everyone.
By the end of several hours every human in the Factree, including a pale and ill-looking Trian, would have been prepared to swear that he or she had been friends with the richly dressed and politely spoken gentleman for eons. If they could just think of his name...
The dignitaries gathered in the Factree, forming a circle around the statue of the Manger. The High Froman of the dwarves, Limbeck Bolttightner, would have the honor of opening the statue, being the first to descend into the tunnels, leading the way to the heart and brains of the Kick-sey-winsey. This was Limbeck’s moment of triumph. He held the precious Sartan book[22] in his hand (not that the book was necessary; Limbeck had memorized it completely, besides which he couldn’t really see it unless he held it up level with his nose), and with Jarre at his side (now Madam High Froman), accompanied by a host of dignitaries, Limbeck Bolttightner approached the Manger. The dwarf, who had started this wondrous upheaval by simply asking “Why?”, gave the statue a gentle shove. The figure of the robed and hooded Sartan turned on its base. Before descending Limbeck paused a moment, stared down into the darkness.
“Take it one step at a time,” Jarre advised him in an undertone, conscious of the dignitaries gathered around, waiting for them to proceed. “Don’t go too fast and hold on to my hand and you won’t fall.”
“What?” Limbeck blinked. “Oh, it’s not that. I can see fine. All those blue lights,[23] you know, make it quite easy. I was just... remembering.”
Limbeck sighed and his eyes misted over, and suddenly the blue lights were more blurred in his vision than before, if such a thing was possible. “So much has happened, and most of it right here in the Factree. They held my trial here, when I first realized that the Manger was trying to tell us how the machine worked, and then the fight with the coppers—”
“When Alfred fell down the stairs and I was trapped in there with him and we saw his beautiful people, all dead.” Jarre took hold of Limbeck’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Yes, I remember.”
“And then we found the metal man and I found that room with the humans and elves and dwarves all getting along together.[24] And I realized that we could be like that.” Limbeck smiled, then sighed again. “And after that came the horrible fight with the dragon-snakes. You were a hero, my dear,” he said, looking at Jarre with pride. He saw her clearly, if he could see nothing else clearly in this world.
She shook her head. “All I did was fight a dragon-snake. You fought monsters that were far bigger and ten times more horrible. You fought ignorance and apathy. You fought fear. You forced people to think, to ask questions and demand answers. You are the true hero, Limbeck Bolttightner, and I love you, even if you are a druz sometimes.” She said the last in a whisper and then leaned over to kiss him on the side-whiskers, in front of all the dignitaries and half the population of dwarves on Drevlin.
22
Foreseeing their doom, realizing they would be forced to leave Arianus without completing their task, the Sartan left detailed instructions informing the mensch how to operate the Kicksey-winsey. The book was written in three languages, dwarven, elven, and human, as well as Sartan. Unfortunately, at this time the mensch races were already at war, divided by hatred and prejudice. The book fell into the hands of the Kenkari elves, a powerful religious order.
Giving in to their own fears, particularly of the humans, the Kenkari hid the book and suppressed all knowledge of it. The current Speaker of the Soul—a studious man who, like Limbeck, suffered from insatiable curiosity—came upon the book and knew instantly what wonderful miracles it could bring to his world. He, too, was afraid of the humans, however, until an incident occurred that caused him to see true evil. He then gave the book to Haplo, to be given to the dwarves.
24
Ironically, what Limbeck saw was a gathering of the evil dragon-snakes, who had taken on forms of the mensch in order to insinuate themselves into the world. Haplo knows the truth, but, seeing that Limbeck is quite taken with the idea that the races can live and work together in peace, Haplo has never told the dwarf what he really saw.