"Thou art witchfolk," Adele whispered.
"She saith it with fear," Geoffrey muttered, "she, who hugs things of magic to her bosom for their sweet sounds!"
Magnus turned, frowning. "What of the first man overboard?"
"He is here, brother." Cordelia stood, arms akimbo, glaring at Johann, who floated thrashing and squalling in midair. "Nay, thou'It not come down till thou art done seeking to strike out!"
"Why, who art thou to give commands!" Yhrene demanded in indignation.
Cordelia stood stiff with surprise for a moment, then turned slowly to Yhrene, her eyes narrowing. "Why, I am she who hath hauled thy lad from the river! Shall I let him go?"
"How like the old folk they be," Adele said contemptuously, "to think that mere might doth give them right to command."
"Aye," Cordelia spat, "even as Johann sought to sway my brother by sweet reasoned discourse! Nay, wherefore should I uphold a hypocrite?"
Johann hit the water with a champion splash again. But he managed to catch the edge of the raft this time and hauled himself up, spluttering and blowing.
"Oh, poor darling!" Yhrene cried, dropping to her knees and helping him pull himself onto the raft.
"I… I wish them gone," Johann gasped, and managed to push himself upright. He stood before the Gallow-glasses, soused but commanding, "We need no witchfolk here. Get thee hence!"
"Aye." Alno came dripping up behind him. "Go! If thou canst not be tranquil and enjoy sweet sensation with us, go!"
"Even so," Johann agreed. "This raft is for none but they who love peace!"
"Love the lotus, thou dost mean," Geoffrey grated, still bent and clasping Magnus's shoulder. "And the music. Nay, my sibs, let us go. They shall have the life they have earned."
"Earned, earned!" Wenna exploded. "Dost thou never think of aught but earning?"
"Nay, we never do," said Magnus, "just as thou dost never think of gravity."
"Why, wherefore should I wish to be grave?"
"Thou hast no need—yet wilt thy feet stay on the ground."
"If they are there at all," Cordelia added.
Wenna glared at her, not wanting to admit her own lack of comprehension. "Thou dost not think an air of gravity would help thee fly!"
"Nay, certes," Cordelia retorted, "though the sort of flying thou dost seek will make thee gravid."
Wenna flushed with anger, finally understanding. She was about to start clawing, when the raft jarred against the shore.
Johann stared. "How came we here?"
Gregory looked up from his station by the edge of the raft, all innocence. "A trick of the current, belike."
"Or a current trick." Johann's eyes narrowed. "Nay, assuredly we have no need of thy kind! Get thee hence!"
Magnus bowed with a flourish. "Ever are we glad to please those whom we respect."
"Aye," Geoffrey agreed, looking about, puzzled, "but where shall we find any?"
Johann reddened. "Begone!"
"Thou art of acute perception," Geoffrey growled. "We have." He glared at the raft, and it slid off into the current so suddenly that Wenna and Johann fell, and the others rocked on their feet, crying out.
Cordelia rounded on Geoffrey. "That was ill-done! Couldst thou not have let them depart with dignity?"
"I am somewhat preoccupied with mine aches," Geoffrey rasped, still bent. "Why, dost thou think they would mind?"
"Certes thou dost not think so poorly of them!"
Geoffrey shrugged, and nodded toward the raft. "Behold, sister."
Cordelia looked. Johann had fallen close enough to Wenna so that he was able to reach out to touch her—and he was doing so, as their lips met.
"Why, the scoundrel!" Cordelia gasped, scandalized. "Was he not Yhrene's lad?"
"At that moment," Magnus allowed. "Yet what cares he which lips he doth kiss?"
"He is a lad for all lasses," Geoffrey muttered.
Cordelia turned away, her face flaming.
Magnus glanced at her, concerned.
"I must walk, or I'll be lamed awhile," Geoffrey groaned. "Brother, give aid."
"Gregory!" Cordelia scolded. "Do not stare! Nay, do not even look at what they do! Turn thine eyes away!"
Gregory looked up, surprised, then turned away with a shrug.
Magnus relaxed. "We'll have naught more to do with the floating world, I warrant."
"Aye, forsooth," Cordelia agreed. "It seemed pleasant enough whiles I did tarry there, but its folk care so little for what they do that they cannot be trusted."
"For what they do," Geoffrey grated, "or for one another, or their duties. Nay, I am schooled."
"Aye," Magnus agreed. "To them, honor's a mere scutcheon—and thus ends their catechism."
Chapter Thirteen
Meanwhile, the elder Gallowglasses continued their part of the quest.
The sun set, turning the sky into rose and pink, reaching long streamers out toward Rod and Gwen as they hiked toward it.
"I had felt tired," Gwen said, "and a-hungered—but now, by some happenstance, I do feel invigorated, and mine hunger has abated."
"A bait that I would have taken," Rod said, "and dealt with the trap if I'd had to. But I know what you mean—I'm ready to greet the day. Only it's dusk."
"Could it be the music that hath done it?" Gwen asked.
"Can you call it music?" Rod returned.
"Whatever 'tis, 'tis wondrous," Gwen answered.
And it was—a magical blending of sound that almost seemed to lift them and lend wings to their heels. They walked on into the sunset with a spring in their steps. Almost without realizing it, they joined hands.
But the pinks went on much longer than they should have; surely the sun must have set long ago! Nonetheless,
all the sky was rosy still, and Rod suddenly realized that everything around them was pink-hued too. "Gwen—we're looking at the world through rose-colored glasses!"
Gwen looked about, eyes widening. "So it would seem— yet we wear no spectacles. How comes this, my lord?"
"Don't ask me—you're the magic expert." Rod grinned. "Why worry, anyway? Let's just enjoy it."
For a second, he could have sworn the breeze whispered in his ear, " Tis but entertainment." But he knew it must have been his imagination.
"Rose-colored glasses, indeed," Gwen said after a while. "The pinks have deepened."
"Yes, they have," Rod mused. "In fact, some of them have turned a definite red."
Then suddenly, the music that had been all about them was in front of them, and scarlet light glimmered through a screen of leaves ahead.
"What have we here?" Gwen murmured.
"Go gently," Rod whispered.
Together, they stole up to the screen of leaves, and peered in.
It was a throne room—it had to be. There was a huge chair on a high dais, which could only have been a throne, and a mass of courtiers treading the measure before it. They were all different shades of red—ruby, scarlet, deep rose— and the man who sat on the throne was crimson, with a crown of red gold adorned with rubies. He nodded and beat time with his sceptre, for it was rock music they danced to—and even the tallest of them could scarcely have reached Rod's knee.
"I thought that I knew all of the Wee Folk, or at least knew of all their kingdoms," Gwen whispered, "yet ne'er have I heard of these."
"They may not have been here before," Rod whispered back. "After all, that music they're dancing to wasn't here before, either. Maybe they came with it."
The courtiers bowed and curtsied, rose and swirled, and the crimson king nodded and smiled over all, delighting in his subjects' bliss.
"Twould be shame to trouble them," Gwen whispered. "Come, my lord, let us go."
They stole away, leaving the king and all his court to their endless ball.