smiled then at Jon-Tom and let out a pleased whistle-whoop. "But it don't matter
much, mate, because you're awright."
"Your vest's in better shape than my shoulder." Jon-Tom sat up with Talea's
help. She felt of it ungently, and he yelped.
"Don't be such a cub. It's not broken, but I wager you'll have the devil of a
bruise for a few weeks." She cleaned one knife on a pants leg and used it to
point at an overhead set of iron bars. Jon-Tom walked beneath them. They'd been
invisible from his seat on the cot.
"Crawl space up there. We heard you talking with this bunch before we
interrupted the party." She looked back at him interestedly. "What were you
talking about?"
"Nothing much." He looked away. "They wanted me to join them."
"Huh! Join them in what?"
"Sort of an outlaw band," he muttered uncomfortably.
"And what were you going to do?"
He looked angrily at her. "I didn't give it a thought, of course!" He hoped he
appeared suitably outraged. "What do you take me for?"
She regarded him silently for a moment before saying, "A confused, stubborn,
naive, brilliant, and I hope sensible guy."
With that she left him, joined Flor in inspecting the escape door to see if any
wounded remained.
Caz was at his back, undoing his bonds. "Rather awkward situation, my friend."
" 'Ere now, it were bloody well more than 'awkward,' flagears!" Mudge had
adopted a familiar swagger, now that the fight was won. "When I shot into the
room and saw that mace comin' down I was afraid we were goin' t' be a second too
late. Good thing sweet flame-top's as fast with 'er 'ands as she is with 'er
'ips," and he glanced around quickly to make certain Talea hadn't overheard him.
"I'm okay, Mudge." The ropes came loose. Circulation stabbed back into his
wrists. Rubbing them, he stood, towering once more over his rescuers.
Mudge, Caz, Pog. Not only were they not "annuals," he decided, they were a hell
of a lot more "human" than the so-called humans who'd kept him prisoner. The
thought of betraying their trust on behalf of the Plated Folk now made him
almost physically ill. As for dreams of power and mastery, they vanished from
his thoughts. Not because they were unattainable, not because they were morally
repugnant, but because Jon-Tom had always been utterly unable to do less than
the Right Thing.
I'd make a lousy lawyer, he thought. And if I can't help thinking about power
and mastery, well hell, I'm only human.
Maybe if I work real hard, he told himself, I can manage to overcome that.
"There was an insect envoy with them," he said. "One of the Plated Folk. They're
trying to find allies among the locals. We have to inform the authorities."
"We'll do that for a fact, mate," said a startled Mudge. "Cor, t' think o' one
o' them great ugly bugs a-sneakin' about in this part o' the world!"
"How could he get in here?" Caz wondered.
"He looked as human as any of the others," Jon-Tom told them. "Clothahump should
know."
Talea and Flor crawled back out of the secret doorway. "No sign of the one
Jon-Tom says he saw here, nor the scum that got away."
They moved cautiously to the main door. Jon-Tom gathered up his belongings. It
felt good to have the smooth bulk of the duar under his arm and the staff in his
hands. While his companions formed a protective cordon around him, Mudge checked
the stairway. It was empty now.
Then they were racing up the hallway toward the street, Jon-Tom and Flor taking
the steps two at a time. Mudge and Talea burst outward into the mist, one
looking right, the other left.
"All clear," Talea called back. The others soon stood on the cobblestones.
They started back up the street. Eyes searched windows for drawn bows as they
walked rapidly between dark buildings. Pog overflew alleys in search of ambush.
But there was no sign of any attempt to block their progress.
Jon-Tom stumbled once as his shoulder flared with pain. Talea was alongside. She
remained there despite his insistence that he was all right.
"This outlaw band," she inquired, still warily inspecting the street ahead, "you
sure you didn't consider joining up with them? They might do real well if they
have Plated Folk support."
"Why would I do an asinine thing like that?" he snapped. "I've no love for the
insects."
"They've done nothing to you or yours. Why should you not be as willing to join
with them as with us?"
How much did she overhear through that grating? he wondered. Then it occurred to
him that she was nervous, not angry. The unaccustomed expression of
vulnerability made him feel suddenly and oddly warm inside.
"I didn't like those people," he told her calmly. "I didn't like that envoy
Hanniwuz. And I do like you. And Caz, and Mudge, and the others."
"As simple as that?"
"As simple as that, Talea."
She seemed about to say something more, lengthened her stride instead. "Let's
hurry it up." She moved out in front of them and the others, even the
long-limbed spellsinger, had to hurry to keep pace.
A disturbed Pog suddenly dipped low overhead. "Jon-Tom, Jon-Tom! There's
something wrong up ahead!"
"What? What's wrong, Pog?"
"Big commotion, boss. Many people running like da Naganuph's after dem. I can't
see a cause yet."
They turned a corner and were nearly trampled. Dozens of citizens poured down
the wide street, bumping into the new arrivals and each other. Anxious raccoons
cuddled masked infants in their arms, squirrel tails bobbed hysterically, and
nightgown-clad anteaters stumbled into panicky simians. All were screeching and
yelling and bawling in fear, and all were obviously running away from something
utterly terrifying.
"What's wrong, what's the matter?" Talea demanded of one of the fleeing
inhabitants.
The elderly bobcat beat feebly at her with her cane. "Let me go, woman. He's
gone mad, he has. He'll kill us all! Let me go!"
"Who's gone mad? What... ?"
In her other hand the feline carried a heavy purse, weighed down perhaps with
the family gold horde. She struck at Talea's wrist with it and tore free of her
grasp.
Humans in night clothes and sleeping caps were among the mob. With their smooth
strides they were outdistancing some of their shorter-legged neighbors, but they
were equally panicked. Only the occasional roos and wallabies bounded past them.
"Falameezar. It's got to be," Jon-Tom said fearfully. "Something's gone wrong at
the barracks."
"Maybe it would be better," Mudge said, slowing slightly, "if some of us waited
'ere. Pog and I could stay in reserve in case of..."
"Not me," said the bat forcefully. "My master may be in trouble. I've got ta
help him if he is."
"Loyalty from you, Pog?" Jon-Tom couldn't help saying aloud.
"Loyalty my airborne arse!" the bat snorted derisively. "Dat hard-shelled senile
old turd and I have a contract, and he's not gonna get out of it by getting
himself stepped on by some berserk overheated lizard!" He soared on ahead above
the foot traffic, darting and weaving his way around the panicked birds and bats
that flew toward him.
For a while it seemed as if they'd never make it back to the courtyard.
Eventually the crowds of refugees started to thin, however. Soon they'd vanished
altogether.
Ahead the evening sky was glowing brightly, and it wasn't from a rising moon.
They turned a last corner and found themselves in the open square on the
opposite side from the barracks. That massive structure was a mass of flame.
Orange fire licked at the sky from several smaller buildings nearby, but the
blaze had not yet spread to the large, closely packed residential structures