"It won't take much more avalanche to bury three of us than two,” T'lin agreed morosely.
Kollwin uttered a snort that would not have shamed the dragon trader. “Four! You think the blue sister has gone back to her nunnery?"
T'lin threw back his head and howled, but whether from rage or merriment Eleal could not tell. Starlight's answering belch rattled the casement.
"Oh that does it!” the big man said, heaving to his feet. “That'll waken half the city. That'll fetch every priest in the Lady's temple!"
Eleal stood up, but he frowned at her.
"I can't take you! Every lizard in the streets is going to be stopped and questioned. Can you dress this troublesome wench to look like a boy, Embiliina Sculptor?"
Gim's mother looked Eleal over and pursed her lips. “I think we have some old castoffs that will fit."
"Excellent!” T'lin turned a thoughtful gaze on Gim. “Never knew a city without a lovers’ gate."
"I know a way over the wall, sir,” the boy said.
T'lin nodded. “Have you a trade yet, stripling?"
Gim smiled nervously. “I am apprenticed to my uncle, Golthog Painter. I play the lyre, but..."
"As of now you're Gim Wrangler!” Dragontrader pulled a face. “Remember I hired you in Lappin last Neckday and I pay you one crescent a fortnight.” He grinned. “But I may make it two. I don't usually pay that for greenies, understand, but you made a good start on impressing me tonight. Bring the girl down to my outfit as soon as she's ready. You'll impress me a lot more if you make it."
"Very generous of you, sir!” Gim straightened his shoulders. “The god will guard us."
"He'll have to.” T'lin on his feet could not have dominated the kitchen more effectively had he been one of his dragons. He swung around to the sculptor. “What of you and your lovely wife? The priests will be after you also."
Husband and wife exchanged glances. “Us and our other fledglings?” Kollwin said. “What sort of a family picnic are you planning to conduct over Narshwall, T'lin Dragontrader?” He shook his head. “We have friends who will help us offer penance to assuage the Lady's wrath."
T'lin did not argue—he had scowled at the mention of children. “Probably cost you a whole new temple.” He stooped to cup Eleal's chin in his raspy hand. He tilted her face up and frowned at her menacingly. “Most women wait until they have tits. You have set the world on its ears already, minx!"
Eleal had been thinking the same, but she knew Ambria would not tolerate such vulgarity. She assumed her most disapproving expression. “Wait ‘till you see what I'm going to do in Suss, Dragontrader,” she said.
32
A DOGCART STOOD UNDER THE GASLIGHTS. THE DRIVER jumped down and came trotting up the steps. He wore a sporty suit and a bowler hat, but no overcoat. He was scowling under a bristly hedge of eyebrows. He had a clipped, military-style mustache, and a clipped, military-style bark: “You brought him!"
"Aye!” Mr. Oldcastle chortled. All Edward could see of him was the crown of his hat and his Astrakhan collar. “I bring thee a doughty cockerel for thy flock—truly a recruit of sinew."
"The devil you do! But I'm not at all sure I want him, don't you know?"
"Well, thou hast him now. Present thyself by whatever name thou deemest most fitting."
The man eyed Edward disapprovingly. “Name's Creighton I knew your father.” He began to offer a hand, then realized that both of Edward's were engaged. He was obviously an army man, very likely Army of India, for there was a faint lilt to his speech that such men sometimes picked up after years of commanding native troops.
"Pleased to meet you, sir,” Edward said. Balanced precariously on one foot and his crutches, he was shaking so violently that he was frightened he might fall, and the thought was terrifying.
"By Jove!” Creighton said. “The man looks all in. Couldn't you have made things easier for him, sir?"
Mr. Oldcastle thumped the ferrule of his walking stick on the granite step with a sharp crack. “I have already expended resources I would fain husband!"
Creighton's reaction was surprising. As a class, Anglo-Indian officers were self-assured in the extreme, yet he recoiled from the little old civilian's testiness. “Of course, sir! I meant no criticism. You know we are extremely grateful for your assistance."
"I know it not, sirrah, when you presume so.” Then came the familiar dry chuckle. “Besides, I let him demonstrate his mettle. He tests an admirable temper in the forge."
"I expect he does,” Creighton said offhandedly. “But he cannot cross over with that leg."
"It shall be attended to, Colonel."
"Ah!” Creighton brightened. “Very generous of you, sir. Well, lean on me, lad. We'd best get you out of here, since you obviously can't go back."
Edward could tell he was not welcome, but that was hardly surprising. War or not, there was going to be a hue and cry after him very shortly. “I have no desire to cause trouble, sir."
"You already have. Not your fault. And my esteemed friend here has made a good point. I know spunk when I see it. Just what I would expect of your father's son. Come."
After that remark, Edward had no choice but to descend the steps and install himself in the dogcart without screaming even once.
Creighton took the reins, with Mr. Oldcastle sitting beside him. Edward sprawled along the backward-facing bench behind them. The pony's hooves clattered along the deserted road. Soon the gaslights of Greyfriars were left behind, and they were clopping along a country lane under a bright moon. He had been rescued from both the law and the knife-wielding woman, but he was now a fugitive from justice, utterly dependent on Mr. Oldcastle and this Colonel Creighton. He did not know who they were or what their interest in him was.
He was wearing a shift and a dressing gown, one shoe and a straw hat—hardly the sort of inconspicuous garb he would have chosen for a jailbreak, and certainly not enough for small hours travel in England, even in August. He shivered as the cool air dried his sweat. His leg throbbed maliciously with every bounce and lurch. He suspected it was swelling inside the bandages; he wondered what more damage he had done to the shattered bones. He felt utterly beat.
"Gentlemen?” he said after a while. “Can you tell me what's going on?"
Creighton snorted. “Not easily. Ask."
"I didn't kill Timothy Bodgley—did I?"
"No. The objective was to kill you. He got in the way, I presume. Damned shame, but lucky for you."
"Why, sir? Why should anyone want to kill me?"
"That I am not prepared to reveal at this time,” Creighton said brusquely. “But the culprits are the same people who killed your parents."
After a moment, Edward said, “With all due respect, sir, that is not possible. The Nyagatha killers were all caught and hanged."
Creighton did not turn his head, concentrating on the dark road ahead. His rapid-fire speech was quite loud enough to be heard, though.
"I don't mean that bunch of blood-crazed nigs. They were dupes. I mean the ones who incited them to go berserk."
"The missionaries who threw down their idols? But they were the first—"
"The Chamber was behind that Nyagatha incident, and even then the purpose was to kill you."
"Me?” Edward said incredulously. “What chamber?"
"You. Or prevent you from being born, actually. There was a misunderstanding. It's a very long story and you couldn't possibly believe it if I told you now. Wait a while."
That ended the conversation. He was right—Edward could not even believe what he had already seen and heard. To be suspected of killing Bagpipe was bad enough. To be held responsible for his parents’ death and the whole Nyagatha bloodbath would be infinitely worse.