Digger was watching Kali trying to stay awake. “What do you mean ‘uh-oh’?”
“She’s gone into a stable. Talking to somebody.”
One of the workers came in and began straightening up the office, working around Kali. Digger waited in the corridor, but he kept an eye on the cylinder.
“Digger, they’re bringing out a berba. One of those fat horses.
“She’s getting on.”
“The messenger?”
“Yes. And there she goes, trotting off into the park. Bye-bye.”
“How about grabbing one of the critters for yourself?”
“You think anybody would notice?”
Digger had a vision of a riderless berba galloping through the park. “I don’t know.”
“Believe me, it wouldn’t be pretty.”
“If you can keep the animal in sight, Kellie, I’ll try to have Bill follow her.”
“The park is the one immediately west of where you are. She’s headed north.”
“Okay. Hang on. I’ve got a channel open to Bill now.”
Bill acknowledged his instructions. Meanwhile, the cleaning person finished up and left. It was a perfunctory effort. Kali never stirred.
Bill was on the circuit to Kellie: “Can you describe the animal?”
“It’s got big jaws. It waddles when it runs. And it looks like all the rest of them.”
“Color. What color is it? There are a lot of Goompahs down there riding around.”
“Green. It was green. With a big white splash across its rear end.”
“Wait one.”
Kali shook himself awake, wandered outside, looked at the sundial that dominated the area in front of the main entrance, and came back in.
“I can’t find the animal,” said Bill.
“Damn.”
“I need more information. Several of them look like the one you describe. How about the messenger? Any distinguishing characteristics?”
“She’s a Goompah.”
“Good. Anything else? What color’s her jacket? Her leggings?”
“White. White jacket. No, wait. Yellow. I think it was yellow.”
“Leggings?”
“White.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” But she’d hesitated.
BILL INSISTED THERE was no rider wearing yellow and white atop a beast of the description Kellie had given. But it didn’t matter. Near the end of the afternoon, Kali bundled up the cylinder with some other papers, glanced curiously at it, shrugged, picked up a bell to summon an assistant, and handed him everything. The assistant made a further distribution. The cylinder and a couple of other items ended in the hands of a young Goompah with a bright red hat.
Digger, having learned from Kellie’s mistake, noted his clothing, noted also that Kali kept the three coins, and followed the creature out of the building.
“Mine’s on the way,” he reported. The big items in the description were the red hat and a violently clashing purple scarf, a combination that should be easily visible to the naked eye from orbit.
The messenger stopped for a cup of the heated brew that passed locally for tea. He engaged in a loud conversation with a couple of others. He wasn’t anxious to go home, he told them. His mate, wife, zilfa, was still angry. They laughed and took turns offering advice on how he should handle it. One of the comments translated roughly to “Show her who’s boss.” When he’d finished, they agreed to meet tomorrow, and he picked up his deliveries and headed across the street into a stable. Minutes later, he saddled up and headed north.
“I’ve got him,” said Bill.
MACAO LIVED IN a brick cottage on the northern side of the city. It was a long walk, mostly uphill, and they were exhausted when they arrived. By then, Bill reported, the cylinder had been delivered.
The cottage was one of several set at the edge of a dense forest. There was a small barn in the rear, and a modest garden probably given over to raising vegetables. The sun was down, and the first stars were in the sky. An oil lamp flickered through closed, but imperfectly fitted, shutters. Black smoke rose out of a chimney.
Something yowled as they approached, but nothing challenged them. A gentle wind moved against the trees. They heard voices farther along the crest, sporadic, sometimes laughing or shouting. Digger could make out only part of it. “Kids,” he said.
Goompah kids.
They paused under a tree facing the house. Something moved against the light.
“I think it should be just one of us,” said Digger.
Kellie agreed. “Has to be you,” she added.
“My personality?”
“Right. Also your language skills.” He felt her hand on his wrist, restraining him. “Maybe you should kill the lightbender.”
Digger took a deep breath and thought of the demonic, foul creatures being dispatched by the god with the sword. They all looked like him and Kellie. So how best approach her? Demon or disembodied voice?
He turned off the device. “I don’t look so terrible, do I?”
“You look ravishing, love.”
“All right. Let’s try it this way. She is, after all, enlightened.”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Can’t go wrong.” He walked up to the front door, which was a bit low for him. It was constructed of planks laid side by side, painted white, and polished with a gum of some sort. “First contact,” he told Kellie. And he knocked.
“Who’s there?” He recognized Macao’s voice.
Footsteps approached the door.
“Digger Dunn,” he said.
“Who?”
“I was at your slosh in Brackel, and I listened to you speak at the launch. Could I ask a question, please?”
A bolt was thrown, and the door swung out. Her eyes locked on him. He’d expected a screech in those first moments, screams followed by bedlam, neighbors on the way, animals howling, torches in the night, God knew what. He was prepared at the first indication of panic to hit the switch and wrap himself again in the lightbender.
But she laughed. And when he stayed where he was, half-shrouded in darkness, she reached back and produced an oil lamp. She held it up to inspect his face. And the laughter died.
“Is that real?” she asked, staring and beginning to breathe irregularly. She was gripping the door, hanging on to it for support.
“Roblay culasta.” I’m a friend. He didn’t budge. Did nothing she could interpret as threatening. “Macao,” he said. “I know my appearance is strange. Frightening. I’m sorry. I come from very far.”
She stared. Her mouth worked but nothing came out.
“From beyond the sea,” he said. “It’s important that we speak.”
She sighed and staggered back into the room. She wore a bright yellow blouse with rolled-up sleeves and a pair of red shorts that hung to her knees. Digger hesitated, edged forward, saw that she was on the verge of collapse, and reached for her arm.
She did not react.
He took hold of it and eased her into a chair.
“Still got the old charm,” said Kellie.
Macao needed a couple of minutes. She opened her eyes, looked at Digger, and instinctively turned her face aside as though he were too horrible to behold. He tried his most winning smile. “I won’t harm you, Macao,” he said softly. “And I’m not a zhoka, even though I look like one.”
She quailed in his presence. “Don’t hurt me,” she said, in a tiny voice.
“I would never do that.” He eased the door shut, found cups and a flagon of wine on a table, and poured some for her. She shook her head no. He was tempted to try it himself. “No,” she said. Her voice was barely audible. “Lykonda, protect me.”
“I, too, have great affection for Lykonda,” he said.
She simply sat there, limp as a wet towel, staring at him, as if she’d retreated into some far corner of her mind.
“Macao, I’m sorry to frighten you. But it’s important that we talk. About T’Klot.”