"They did," I said, wheezing. "That’s…that’s one of the reasons I’m here and not there."
Quintilius Rousse looked calculatingly at me, then at the Tsingani wagon stuck on the cliff road. "Go help them down," he said to a handful of his men, who set out grumbling. "What’s the other?" he asked me.
I had regained my breath. "I speak Cruithne."
"Aahhhh." One long syllable, and a gleam of understanding in his shrewd eyes. "Come along, then. We’ve a great deal to discuss." He looked at Hyacinthe and Joscelin. "You too, I suppose?"
Both of them bowed.
"Let’s to it, then." He glanced up the cliff road once more, rubbing his chin. "Glad you brought them. I could use a few horse, you know."
"We were counting on it," Hyacinthe said.
The Queen’s Admiral received us in his tent, which was large, mainly to hold the vast number of chests filled with maps and books that he had accumulated; that, and treasure, which he had in abundance. "No time to stow it or even buy a respectable mistress," he grumbled, sweeping aside a King’s ransom of jewelry from atop one of the chests. "Sit. And tell me why you’re here. Starting at the beginning. Who killed Anafiel Delaunay?"
We told him, Joscelin and I, starting at the beginning, in the marquist’s shop.
"My lad Aelric Leithe made it back with his skin whole," Rousse interrupted us. "I knew as much. S’why I knew it wasn’t you, child, or the Cassiline either. That, and the fact you always doted on him like a babe on a sugar-tit. Delaunay was already being watched. So who was it?"
"Isidore d’Aiglemort," I said, then took a deep breath, and told him the rest. This time, he listened without interruption, his face growing dark with outrage. When we were done, he sat gathering fury like a thunderstorm.
Until it broke, and he roared about his tent, raging, breaking and throwing things. One of his men poked in his head, then hastily withdrew it as a piece of crockery came flying his way. When it was over, Quintilius Rousse sighed. "Too much to ask that you’re lying, I suppose?" he asked hopefully.
I shook my head and reached for Ysandre’s ring, showed it to him lying on my palm. "She gave me this. To show you, and to give to the Prince of the Cruithne."
"Rolande’s ring." The Admiral gave it a cursory examination, and heaved another sigh. "Oh, I know it, all right. No, there’s no hope for it. But I don’t mind telling you, I’d rather bring my fleet upcoast and sail up the Rhenus, set us in place to crack Skaldi skulls-and Camaeline, come to it-than go chasing off on a fool’s errand to Alba."
"What if it’s not a fool’s errand?" I argued. Quintilius Rousse fixed me with his shrewd gaze.
"We tried it before, you know, sailing the long way 'round from lower Siovale, going leagues out of our way to avoid the Straits, to the far shores of Alba. Know what we met? A thousand lime-haired Dalriada, shrieking curses and casting spears. We never even made landfall."
"How many ships?" Hyacinthe asked abruptly.
"Fifteen," Rousse replied curiously.
"You need one. Only one." Hyacinthe swallowed, as if the words pained him. "That’s what I saw, when Ysandre asked me to speak the dromonde. One ship."
Another mighty sigh. "A Night-Blooming Flower, a Tsingano witch-boy, and a…a Cassiline whatever. This is what Ysandre sends me. I must be mad." Quintilius Rousse rumpled his hair, a tangled, half-braided mane of reddish brown. "What do you say, Cassiline?"
Joscelin bowed. "My lord Admiral, I say that whatever you choose, you must do it quickly. Because by tomorrow afternoon, the Duc de Morhban will be here asking questions."
"Morhban." It was uttered in tones of disgust. "He’s got me penned in like a fox with chickens. How’d you get past him, anyway? Aelric scarce made it through, and de Morhban’s gotten more suspicious since the King died."
Hyacinthe looked at me. Joscelin looked at me.
I raised my eyebrows. "Naamah’s way."
"Aahhh." Rousse grinned. "Delaunay’s pupil to the end! Well, then, I must decide, and quickly. Too much to ask, I suppose, that the Queen has a plan for passing Elder Brother?"
Dismayed, I shook my head. "I thought you would have passage, my lord. You treated with him, you won an answer. When the Black Boar rules in Alba!"
"And nigh foundered to gain it." Quintilius Rousse scratched his chin. "I’ve no right of passage, child. That answer was all I gained; that, and the right to cling to my wretched life. Why do you think Delaunay was working so hard to unravel the mystery of him? And the white-haired lad, Alcuin."
Outside the tent, on the beach, the sound of fiddles and a tambor sundered our depressed silence, punctuated by rhythmic clapping from the sailors. Hyacinthe stirred.
"My lord, we promised the Tsingani a great trade, for the horses they bring. They’ve done us fair service as disguise. It worked all the way to Morhban."
"Might as well." The Admiral grasped a handful of Akkadian treasure, long strands of rubies and seed pearls spilling from his brawny clutch. "I’ve naught better to do with this, it seems, and like to rest on the bottom of the Straits ere I come to spend it. We’ll set 'em back on the Long Road with something to boast of, eh?"
I am no gem-merchant, to gauge the worth of the wealth Quintilius Rousse bestowed on Neci’s family, nor a horse-trader, to guess at the value of what he got in trade. Whatever it was, it was enough that the Tsingani stretched their eyes to see it, and fell into their most obsequious manner, swearing to bless his name at every crossroads.
It had taken some time to get the wagon onto the beach and conclude the deal, and dusk was falling when it was done. The Tsingani would stay that night, and depart in the morning. They set up their camp with their usual efficiency, and I noticed Gisella doing a good trade in spices with the D’Angeline sailors, weary of bland fish stew. Joscelin entertained the children with one last Mendicant’s tale as the stars emerged, benign and distant over the vast, surging ocean.
Hyacinthe brought me with him to make his farewell to Neci.
"May the Lungo Drom prosper you, tseroman of Neci’s kumpania," he said, bowing formally. "You have been a good comrade on the way."
Neci stroked the tips of his mustache, twiddling them to elegant points. "And you," he added, and grinned. "Rinkeni chavo," He looked solemn then, with one of those quick shifts of emotion of which the Tsingani are masters. "Chavo, I don’t know if it’s true that you speak the dromonde or not. I do not care. When people say Manoj has no grandson, I will say it is untrue. I will speak your name and remember it. In my kumpania, your name will always be spoken."
"Thank you." Hyacinthe clasped his wrist, hard and firm. "And yours."
"The great trade of outermost west." Neci gazed at the sea, the waves breaking on the shore. "It is true. It will make our lav." He bowed to me. "And you, chavi, who was never born in a back alley, else I am a fool. We will remember you, too."
"Thank you." I kissed him, on the cheek. "Be kind to women without laxta, then, if you would remember me."
"I will remember you in my dreams." His white grin flashed, and he turned to stride back to his family, waving a last farewell.
"It’s not too late," I said to Hyacinthe.
He gazed out at the sea, rippling silver in the dusk. "What did Rousse say? Maybe he’s right. The Long Road doesn’t end where the sea begins. If anyone is to cross it, it should be the Prince of Travellers, yes?"