Together they would find the Ronans, discover the hiding place of Prince Malagon’s lost stone, and savour the pain and suffering of their victims through the next Twinmoon.
The rain finally stopped, and before the mud dried in the streets, heavy waves of disagreeable humidity radiated up from the sodden ground. Mornings were the worst, the sun somehow hotter than at midday: Hannah hated going about Middle Fork in the morning. Regardless of how carefully she stepped or how thoroughly she cleaned her boots each evening, by the mid-morning aven, her feet were covered with mud and she was drenched in sweat.
Cursing herself for leaving her sunglasses – she could see them now, lying where she had tossed them so carelessly, on the front seat of her car – she felt as if she had developed a permanent squint. Of course, sunglasses would destroy her efforts to blend in with the Pragan people; any passing Malakasian patrol would take her into custody in a matter of minutes – but it might have been worth it. ‘At least they might take me someplace dark,’ she muttered, then added with a sigh, ‘No. I suppose that would be worse.’
This morning, she was hustling back to Alen’s home near the outskirts. Over one shoulder she carried a thick hemp bag stuffed full of vegetables, fruit, fresh bread, a couple of wine flagons and the ungainly carcase of something called a gansel.
Hannah had – stupidly! – taught Churn how to play rock, paper, scissors, and now he insisted on challenging her every day, especially when it came time to help out around the house. Bring in firewood? Rock breaks scissors. Buy food for breakfast? Paper covers rock. Shovel out the ash box? Scissors cut paper. The man was a virtuoso, a rock-paper-scissors savant, and to make matters worse, Churn bellowed an inhuman laugh every time he won: it sounded like a drunken opera star practising the vowel continuum in a stairwell.
Avoiding a group of begging street children she crossed through the mud, turned down an alley, and cut back behind several large businesses before re-entering the main boulevard only a block or two from Alen’s house. She promised herself she would return later with the leftovers for the hungry children, but for now, she wanted to get back to Alen Jasper. He had told her a lot about Eldarn, its people and history, but there was still a great deal to learn, especially if she were going to track down Steven and discover a way to step back into Idaho Springs.
There was something the old man was holding back, though. They had been staying with him since Churn had carried him out of the Middle Fork Tavern. Hannah shuddered as she recalled Alen’s wailing plea to let him die. Hoyt had tried to make light of the situation, telling him, ‘If I looked and smelled like you, old man, I would want to die, too.’
But they had realised it was more serious when Alen had replied desperately, ‘No, you don’t understand: he won’t let me die.’
‘Who won’t?’ Hoyt asked, worried now. ‘You have to help me understand, Alen. Tell me what’s happened.’
‘Of course you don’t understand. You don’t have any family,’ Alen growled, suddenly angry. ‘But he won’t let me go. He won’t let me die, the mad stinking rutter. I lost my Jer. It finally happened. My baby.’
‘Your son?’ Hoyt asked, ‘what happened?’
‘My grandson. My last grandson. He died. That’s the end of me, the end of my family. There may be children of cousins somewhere, but they don’t count. My babies are all gone.’
‘What happened? Was there a plague or something? How did they die?’
‘Old age… but they were my babies.’
Hannah tugged at Hoyt’s sleeve. ‘What’s he talking about? He’s drunk as a very drunk skunk; we’ll not get anything sensible out of him until he’s sobered up. Let’s just put him to bed – or better, burn his clothes and then put him to bed.’
Hoyt agreed, but when he tried to tell Alen what they were doing, the old man surprised him by lashing out, crying, ‘Don’t call me that! My name is Kantu. Call me Kantu!’ He gripped Hoyt by the ankle.
‘All right… Kantu.’ Hoyt kneeled beside him and smiled in an effort to calm him down. ‘Let’s back up. Why do you want to die?’
‘My Jer died.’
‘When?’
‘What Twinmoon is it?’
The old man had obviously been out of it for a while. Hoyt swore quietly. ‘It’s just past mid-autumn.’
‘Last summer; so, twelve Twinmoons ago… give or take.’ Alen waved his hand back and forth to imply an estimation, and Hannah was momentarily comforted by something so simple and familiar. ‘That’s when I started drinking.’
Hoyt tried not to sound surprised. ‘So you’ve been drinking for twelve Twinmoons?’
Again the gesture. ‘Give or take.’
‘A year and a half,’ Hannah whispered to no one and shook her head in awe.
‘ Every day?’
‘I think so.’ He released Hoyt’s ankle. ‘It’s good to see you, boy, one last time.’
‘You said someone won’t let you die.’ Hoyt took the bony hand in his own.
‘The stinking rutting horsecock,’ Alen agreed.
‘Who?’ he tried again, ‘ who won’t let you die? And why?’
‘Lessek.’
‘Who’s Lessek?’ Hannah ventured softly, not wanting to interrupt the conversation, even though her hope was waning with each unintelligible remark.
Hoyt looked at Churn, who shrugged and shook his head. Without looking at her, Hoyt answered, ‘A magician, a scholar, a sorcerer, a legend. Our history talks of Lessek, but that was many, many Twinmoons ago – many generations ago. I think he was supposed to be the founder of a famous research university in Gorsk, the Larion Senate.’
Alen nodded. ‘He did.’
‘But the Larion Senate hasn’t been around for more than a thousand Twinmoons,’ he continued.
‘Give or take,’ Alen added, and this time Churn waved his own hand back and forth, mimicking the gesture.
Alen had had enough of the conversation. Still holding Hoyt’s hand, he fell backwards onto the floor, muttering, ‘It is good to see you again, though, my boy, even in these sad circumstances. And someday, when you have your own children, you’ll understand. I wasn’t supposed to live this long. None of us were. So you go now, Hoyt. Take your friends and leave me here.’ His head rolled limply to one side.
Dropping the old man’s hand, Hoyt moved to stand next to Hannah.
‘That’s him?’ She failed to control the tremor in her voice. ‘That’s the one man who can get me back home? Him? We walked for – for I can’t remember how long, to get here to meet this – this disgusting, drunken sot, because he is the best Eldarn has to offer? This wino, this stinking pile of horseshit? He’s my only hope? ’ With each word her voice rose until she was shouting.
Hoyt pursed his lips and gave a half-shrug. ‘He wasn’t always-’
‘Wasn’t always what?’ Hannah felt the tears come, tears of fury, and decided not to fight them. It was a fine time to cry, stuck here in a world that shouldn’t even exist, weeks and miles away from the grove where she’d entered this dreadful place. It was a perfect time to cry. ‘Wasn’t always what, Hoyt? A foul-smelling, babbling idiot with fungus growing on his clothes?’ She kicked at one of Alen’s outstretched feet. ‘Ah, shit, Hoyt… shit.’ With that, the tears came on in earnest and she sank to the floor, sobbing unrelentingly.
‘What? What did you say?’ Alen sat up suddenly; he appeared determined to bring the room and its occupants into focus, if only for a moment.
Somewhat surprised, Hannah forcibly swallowed a sob and looked down on him. ‘I said you were a drunk, a dirty, smelly, grumpy old drunk.’
‘No, no, after that.’
Irritated, Hannah went on, ‘I don’t know what the f-’ She stopped, bemused. ‘You speak English. That was English, just now.’
‘And you said “shit”. I heard you.’
She looked at Hoyt and Churn. ‘What is this? How does he speak English? Where did he learn English?’