‘Hoyt,’ Alen grimaced, ‘not in front of Milla.’
‘What?’ Hoyt smirked guiltily. ‘I’m just saying he looks like he spent a lot of time shining up that uniform.’
‘I’ll talk with her,’ Hannah promised, ‘but can we get back to it?’ She had been reeling from Milla’s announcement that Gilmour had contacted her that morning. Conflicting feelings of joy and frustration threatened to drive Hannah mad: she wanted more information, now, about how and when the Ronans would arrive. Had Steven asked about her? Was he happy? Healthy? Looking forward to seeing her again? Alen was especially stunned, because he had slept through the entire conversation, never sensing even a flicker of his former colleague’s presence.
‘Get back to what?’ Hoyt said. ‘We know they’re coming, but we don’t know when or how, whether they’ll come overland or via the Northeast Channel. My guess is that it’ll be by sea from Orindale: there’s going to be a barrel of traffic through that passage with the Twinmoon looming. Anyone could sign on to almost anything that floats, and as long as they can get through the blockade, they’ll arrive in Pellia without a wrinkle.’
‘He’s right,’ Alen said, ‘but it worries me that Fantus-’
‘Gilmour,’ Milla interrupted, sipping her milk.
‘Sorry, Gilmour, that he didn’t say anything about the table or the key.’
‘Don’t let it bother you, Alen,’ Hoyt said. ‘If they have it, they’ll figure out how to get it here. If they don’t, then there must be some good reason for them to make the trip up the Ravenian Sea. Either way, this isn’t going to be a social call; he’s up to something, and we need to stay here until he arrives.’
Milla pouted, her eyes welling with tears.
‘What’s the matter, sweetie?’ Hannah whispered.
‘Alen said we were going to see my mama.’
‘Oh, we are, sweetie,’ Hannah assured. ‘We are. I promise. Alen promises. We just have to wait a bit longer; some special friends are coming here to meet us first.’
Milla perked up. ‘Gilmour, right? I talked to him; he’s funny. I thought he was going to fall backwards, but he didn’t; I caught him.’
‘You did what, Pepperweed?’ Alen asked.
Milla shrugged and tilted her goblet, trying to catch the last drops of milk on her tongue. ‘I had to catch him; he was going to fall.’
Alen’s brow furrowed. I had to catch him?
Hannah said, ‘So this means we can stop looking for a transport south?’
‘Right.’ Alen waved to Erynn, who was back talking with the young soldier.
‘Oh, good,’ Hoyt sighed. ‘That schooner captain was driving me strange-to-silly with his blather about a Falkan plot to rig the chain-ball championships next Twinmoon – I’d have drowned myself in the bilge by the time we reached Orindale.’
Milla giggled, echoing, ‘Strange-to-silly.’
‘So?’ Hannah asked, ‘What do we do? Just wait?’
Erynn came up behind them, her ubiquitous serving tray held at the ready.
Hoyt, not noticing the girl there, said simply, ‘No, we don’t just wait. We bury them, as many as we can without getting caught. And I suggest we start with the horsecocks running shipments along that highway.’
‘We can’t risk Milla,’ Alen said. Mention of terrorism had him immediately on edge, worried about the child prodigy.
‘No risks,’ Hoyt assured. ‘She’ll be here; she’ll be fine. It’ll be just you and me.’
Erynn cleared her throat. ‘Are you ready for some food this aven? Or can I bring you more beer?’
Hoyt and Alen exchanged a nervous glance. Hannah, smiling sweetly, said, ‘Another three beers, please, Erynn, and another milk for our driver here.’
‘All right,’ Erynn said, glancing sheepishly at Hoyt. ‘I’ll be right back.’
Hoyt forced a smile, blushing.
Hannah rescued him. ‘And Erynn, maybe later, when you’re done for the night, you and I can talk a bit.’
‘Really?’ Erynn’s eyes widened. ‘I’d love that – what about? Just… I mean we can just-’
Hannah pointedly looked over at the young soldier and smiled.
‘Oh,’ Erynn said, ‘oh, yes. All right, I’ll be done after the dinner aven.’
‘I’ll be here,’ Hannah said, giving the girl a reassuring squeeze on the forearm.
Alen frowned. ‘Do you think she heard us?’ he asked after she’d hurried back to the kitchen.
‘Of course she did.’ Hoyt, mimicking Milla, tipped his goblet to catch the last of his beer.
‘What do we do?’
‘We do nothing,’ Hannah said. ‘I’ll take care of this.’
Later, in Alen’s room, Hoyt sat on the edge of Milia’s bed, watching as the girl twirled a finger at her stuffed dog. Bits of old straw spilled from seams in its neck, hips and stomach, making the animal look like a bag of hay that had been run over by a logger’s cart. Despite its fractures and dislocations, the toy jumped and danced, flipping over, sitting up, and occasionally extinguishing and relighting the candles on the room’s small table.
Hoyt said, ‘That’s quite a dog you have there, Pepperweed.’
Milla, showing off, made the stuffed animal execute a full flip with a twist. ‘I taught him all these tricks.’
‘I can see that, but you know, Pepperweed, you can’t have him doing those tricks outside this room.’
‘I know,’ Milla sighed. ‘But if I had a real puppy-’
Hoyt picked her up and tossed her backwards into the pillows; Milla shrieked, and her dog leaped all the way to the ceiling. ‘If you had a real puppy, you could teach him great tricks. I’m sure he would be the talk of the marketplace: Milla and her Wonderdog…’ Hoyt paused.
‘Resta!’ she giggled.
‘Milla and Resta the Wonderdog!’ Hoyt bowed in mock deference. ‘People would come from the corners of the known lands to watch as Resta did… what?’
‘Wrote his name.’
‘Wrote his name!’ Hoyt laughed.
‘And sang funny songs.’
‘And sang funny songs!’
‘But didn’t chase cats or bite or growl or anything mean like that.’
‘Of course not,’ Hoyt said, tucking Milla into her blankets and blowing out her bedside candle. ‘Maybe when we get to Falkan, we’ll go looking for Resta together.’
‘Mama says dogs cost too much.’
‘Well, you let Hoyt worry about that.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘You know, I like pepperweed with gansel eggs and baked potatoes.’
‘Good night, Hoyt.’
‘Good night, Pepperweed.’
Alen joined them, said good night, and brushed two fingers gently over the girl’s hairline. Milla’s eyes fluttered a moment; she sighed through her nose and fell asleep.
‘You going out tonight?’ Alen asked.
‘Just to the waterfront. I need to ask a few questions, do a bit of eavesdropping, find out about whatever’s heading south next.’
‘More bark?’
‘I hope so, but I don’t honestly care. We’ll hit whatever they’re shipping.’
Alen pulled a leather pouch from his tunic. ‘You need bribes?’
‘No. After my last visit to the southern highway, I’m a wealthy man.’
‘All right, but be discreet.’
‘Naturally.’ Hoyt checked his sleeve for the surgical scalpel he carried. It was tarnished now and had a few deep scratches along the blade, scars from their brief tenure in the Welstar Palace prison. Hoyt’s fingertips had healed but his nails would be Twinmoons growing back.
‘How do you want to hit them?’ Whilst he knew he was expected to bring Larion magic to bear against Prince Malagon’s wagon-trains, Alen wasn’t actually sure what a terrorist raid looked like.
‘I think fire is best,’ Hoyt said. ‘It creates confusion, disables wagons, terrifies the horses or oxen, and, if we’re lucky-’
‘Incinerates the enchanted bark,’ Alen said.
‘It doesn’t do onions, flour or greenroot a lot of good either.’ Hoyt was in his element. This was a measure of vengeance for Churn. ‘Can you conjure up a pretty resilient flame?’
‘I’m sure I can figure something that’ll impress them.’