“What kind of task?” Beck asked.
Even the unfamiliar human company and the comfort of a hot meal was not enough to induce Barrick to share all his secrets with someone who was after all nearly a stranger. “Never mind that. I need to find a certain door, as I said, but I have no idea where it might be except for the name Crooked’s Hall. What else can you tell me? If you don’t know Crooked’s Hall, is there a famous door somewhere in Sleep? An important gate? Something guarded?”
“Everything is guarded,” Beck said grimly. “What is not watched by the skrikers is in the houses of the Dreamless, clutched tight.”
“You mentioned some fellow your master took you to see—the Duke of Spiderwebs, was it?”
“Spidersilk. He is tremendously old. My master said he was one of the oldest in the city, second only to the members of the Laughing Council.”
Despite himself, Barrick blinked. “What sort of name is that?”
“I don’t know, my lord. Master hated them. He said someone should suck the last of the juices from them and then we could all begin again. He also said that laughter should have a sound, but I do not know what he meant.”
Barrick was growing impatient with all the history. “This Spidersilk— where is he? Could we reach him? Could we make him tell us what we want to know?”
Raemon Beck stared in abject horror. “The duke? No! We cannot go near him. He would destroy us without lifting a finger!”
“But where did he live? Can you at least tell me that?”
“I’m not certain. Somewhere near the heart of the city. I remember because we passed many of the oldest places as we reached the middle of Sleep, some of them burned and others fallen down into ruins, some of them so surrounded with darklight that I could not see them even from a short distance. My master pointed out many things—such strange names!—the Garden of Hands was one, and a place called Five Red Stones, the Library of Painful Music—no, Pitiful Music…” He took a breath. “So many names! Syu’maa’s Tower, Traitor’s Gate, the Field of the First Waking ...”
“Hold,” said Barrick, suddenly intent. “Traitor’s Gate? What was that?”
“I… I don’t remember ...”
Barrick reached out and grabbed Beck’s arm with his left hand, and only realized that he was hurting him when he heard him whimper. He let go. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I must know. Think, man! What was it, this Traitor’s Gate?”
“Please, Lord, it was… it was one of the places so dark I could not see it. But Master said something ...” Beck squinted his eyes, clearly trying hard to remember, all the while rubbing the arm Barrick had squeezed. “He said it was a hole.”
“A hole?” Barrick had to restrain the impulse to grab the small, dirty man again and shake him this time. “Is that all?”
“I know it sounds strange, but he called it a hole… what did he say? A hole that even the gods could not… could not ...” His face brightened. “That even the gods could not close.”
Barrick’s heart was beating fast. He had heard enough talk of Crooked’s roads to know this was something he could not ignore. “Show me how to find it.”
Beck’s look of satisfaction evaporated. “What? But… my lord, it’s in the heart of Sleep—in the district of Silence where only those who are called may go. Even my master would not have set foot there without being summoned by Spidersilk ...” He jumped at a loud clacking noise, but it was only Skurn cracking a snail shell against a rock.
“My master was very clever,” Beck said. “If he wouldn’t go there by himself, neither should we. You do not know these creatures, Prince Barrick—they’ve no souls, no kindness at all! They will skin us just to amuse themselves, with less concern than I gave to this coney!”
“I will not force you to go with me, but I cannot let the chance pass.” Barrick wiped his hands on his ragged clothes and began smoothing out a place to lie down. “I must see this place, Beck. I must find out if this… hole that even the gods can’t close is what I’m looking for. I have a task, as I said.” He reached into his shirt to touch the mirror in its bag. “You are free to do what you want.”
“But if you leave me, I will be caught! A runaway servant—and a Sunlander!” The man’s eyes filled with tears. “They will do terrible things to me!”
Some of the coldness had returned to his heart: Barrick was suddenly tired and did not want to listen to this weak fellow’s weeping—he could almost feel himself hardening like clay becoming brick. He lay back in the hollow between two pine roots and rolled the hood of Qu’arus’ cloak behind his head as a cushion. “I cannot make your decisions for you, trader. I have responsibilities beyond shepherding one man.” He closed his eyes.
It should not have been easy to fall asleep with Beck sobbing quietly only an arm’s length away, but Barrick had scarcely slept in the house of the Dreamless—would not have said he slept at all, but for the memories of that strange lizard-dream. The world quickly slipped away.
In his dream he stood on a hilltop, an oddly featureless place the color of ancient ivory. A crowd of people had gathered on the slope below him, their staring faces like a garden bed of unusual flowers. He could recognize some of them instantly—his father the king, Shaso, his brother Kendrick—but some of them were less familiar. One might be Ferras Vansen he realized after a moment, but at the same time it was an older man with a gray-shot beard and thinning hair—a Vansen who could never exist because the guard captain had died in Greatdeeps, falling into endless darkness. Most of the rest were strangers, some in antique-looking dress, others as weird and misshapen as any of the creatures he had met in the demigod Jikuyin’s slave cells: the only things the strange assembly seemed to share were their silence and attention.
Barrick tried to speak, to ask them what they wanted of him, but his mouth would not form the words. His face felt numb, and although the muscles of his jaw and tongue twitched, something kept them from moving freely. He reached his hand to his lips. To his horror, he felt nothing there but skin, stiff as old leather. His mouth was gone.
Barrick? Is that you?
Someone spoke from behind him, the achingly familiar voice of the dark-haired girl—Qinnitan, that was her name—but he could not answer her no matter how he tried. He struggled to turn toward her but could not move, either—his body had become as numb and hard as his face.
Why won’t you talk to me? she asked. I can see you! I have wanted to talk to you so long! What have I done to anger you?
Barrick strained until his vision swirled, trying to make his stony muscles move, but it was useless. He might as well have been a statue. The expectant faces still gazed up at him but some of them began to change, showing impatience and confusion. He stood looking down as the sky darkened and rain began to fall, cold drops that he barely felt, as though the very flesh of his body had become something thick and stiff as tree bark. He heard Qinnitan’s voice again but it grew fainter and fainter until at last it was gone. The crowd began to disperse, some clearly enraged by his inaction, others merely puzzled, until he stood by himself on the bare hilltop, dripping with rain that he could not wipe away.
“Prince Barrick, if you truly… ah!” Raemon Beck, who had only shaken Barrick once, was startled to feel Qu’arus’ blade pressing against his neck.
“What is it?”
Beck swallowed carefully. “Could you… could you please not kill me, my lord?”
Barrick withdrew the blade and slipped it back into its scabbard. “How long did I sleep?”