Exploring the cave lake was harder than he had expected and made him think of crossing a glacial moraine. On a trip to Canada, he and Harold had toiled over rocks, trying to reach the source of a glacial stream, but it was farther than it had seemed. In the end, the old man wearied and turned back. A pang of longing like a white arrow pierced him. He had loved Harold and Russ better than any foster father, and now they were both gone, perhaps floating in some pool of lost time. What would he do if he met their faces here?
His limbs grew drowsy as his mind drifted, anchorless. A single burning point of pain settled under a shoulder blade. Gusts of wind roiled the waters and howled into distant windings of the cavern. After the last echo died, sheer silence filled up the chamber.
“God,” he said. He meant it as a prayer, and perhaps it was.
The journey stretched out like a sheet of hot glass. The white boulder in the lake seemed no nearer. He waded into a dreamlike state, automatically checking faces, swimming sluggishly when the flames grew too deep.
At last a pattering and splashing alerted him — treading fire, he hid behind a thicket of white spears. He was now much closer to the stone.
A shape in a tattered dress shirt, herringbone vest, and wool pants wormed out of the waves and hunched on a rocky ledge where the wall began to slant upward. Crouching, he licked at streaks of a mineral deposit.
“Hey,” Xan called, making up his mind to collar the figure if necessary. “Hey!”
The other sat up, nosing the air, and revealing a lean face with moth-eaten tufts circling a bald pate.
“Over here.” Xan swam closer to the heap of stones. “Have you seen a pretty girl flying by — have you seen a blue pitcher? Maybe that sounds too—”
“Look! If it’s not Adam, the red man!” He barked with laughter. “I haven’t seen you in fifty years or more. You ripped through here, searching for some kid you’d misplaced; I’m sure of it.”
Xan was confused until he remembered that his skin was stained by blood. Didn’t adam mean red? Had Adam been made from a mud like the rust of mountain clay?
One corner of the man’s mouth drew up. “Don’t you recognize me? They call me Attorney — or Atty or Fox-marrow or Sir Greedy Bones. What will you give me, Adam, if I squeal? Hair like copper? Eyes like coins?”
So he had seen her. Xan considered. “A shoe.”
“One shoe?” Attorney leered, looking sidelong as his tongue wriggled out. “Just one?”
“Yes, just one.” What else did he have to offer but his shoes?
“The shoe of Adam. Let me see.”
The gaffer waded nearer and then slipped off a clog.
“Nice, very nice,” Attorney cooed, cupping his hands. “Pitch it here.”
“Not until you tell me.”
“I could squall for the demons.” Flinching, he darted a look around the cave.
“Go ahead and squall.” Xan tapped the sole of the shoe against his palm.
“All right, be that way. She’s just there, on the other side of the boulder. Lashed on with ropes and a rag stuffed in her mouth. Easy! I made faces and her eyes went big.” He nodded, pleased. “I canoed over on a fire-bather — one of the silver ones. My favorites. You know them? They can’t tell what’s happening to them, not until the cocoon breaks up. It’s the goddess the girl’s tied to — that fat pebble! The demons pinch me, but she never makes a peep, just rocks when the earth quakes. Get it? Rocks!” A high-pitched whinny shook echoes from the walls.
Xan shivered in revulsion, imagining silver-lidded eyes and strange hatchings under the fire. “Here.” The shoe slapped onto the ledge. He didn’t trust Attorney, though he seemed to be telling the truth — at least his pride in scaring the salamander girl could probably be relied on as a true confession.
“Don’t get riled, Red Man. I’ll tell you how to whisk out of here if you give me the mate.” He caressed the clog and licked at a loose thread.
“Tell me a shortcut. If it’s good, I’ll give you the other shoe.”
“Got another, do you? I’d rather have a loafer with tassels.”
The young man reached for his other clog and held it up. A trembling under his feet signaled a tremor deep in the earth, but he saw that it must be the usual order of business because Attorney took no notice.
Instead, he gestured toward a slanting fold in the rock face. “See that crease? There’s a staircase cut in the stone. Easy as pie. Oh, I used to love pie, pie, pie. Apple, raspberry, peach. Give the shoe now,” he said, lowering his voice, “or I’ll be forced to serve a writ that neither of us will like.” Attorney beamed as he caught the other clog. “Stench-blossom. The shoe stinks like a human.”
Xan regarded him with curiosity. “But you’re human.”
“Not for long. By the time these shoes wear out I’ll be growing a tail and proto-wings and be buzzing the fire-bathers for kicks. Baal has promised to make me a pseudo-demon. The goddess, she’s one of his three daughters. Either that or there’s a demon jailed in the rock like a maggot in a Mexican jumping bean. They lie — even Baal. When I earn my wings, I’ll perch on her dome. The demons won’t call me Atty-boy anymore! I’ll have a new name. I’ve been thinking about names for the past twenty years. I’m partial to Metacarrious. Do you like it, Adam?” He turned the clog in his hands, inspecting the heel.
“For a demon, maybe.”
“Exactly!” Attorney’s face brightened. “None of this eternal lolling about in the flame baths for me. Baal says I was half a demon when I came here. If I can only jettison the baggage of my soul—”
“Your soul.” A tremor passed through Xan. He had nothing left to trade but his pants. And Attorney already had on a ragged pair.
“You wouldn’t like to swap for a pair of pants, would you?”
Attorney sneered. “Why do you ask? You like mine better than yours, don’t you? Well, so do I!”
“Fine, fine. Could I take a look at your soul? Maybe you’d like me to relieve you—”
“No! No pro bono, see? It has to be barter. De-sir-a-ble trade. That’s rules.” He nodded with vigor. “Fair, square, devil’s hair,” he chanted. “And I don’t want those jeans.” Attorney scrunched his face in disgust. “But I’ll show you. It’s come loose — tries to fly away.” He turned away, body writhing as he hacked and spat.
When he swung round again, something lay in his hands — a mass of sputum clotted onto a rainbowlike substance, delicate and thready. A portion resembled a dragonfly’s damaged wing, partially blackened and crimped.
“I’ve killed most of it,” he said cheerfully. “There’s a scrap remaining if you want to haggle. Maybe you’ll think of something.”
“Would you trade if I did?” Xan scanned the waters around him but saw nothing but the purified face of a woman, her features almost burned away. The pain at his back was making him dizzy, so he splashed blue onto his face before remembering that it was only fire.
“Yes, yes, I’d be busting my seed coat and sprouting a tail-root and wings so quick! But it’s funny that you want it and have nothing to swap. Poor Adam! Because I don’t want those ugly, ugly pants!” Reeling with laughter, Attorney slapped his shanks. “Ugly pants! Ugly pants!”