“Four.” I named them. “From your papers I’ve established that Soulcatcher was the one named Dorotea...”
“My papers?”
“So called. Because the story of you wakening the Lady was prominent among them. It’s always been assumed, till a few days ago, that you assembled them and your wife carried them away when she thought you had died.”
“Bears investigation. I collected nothing. I risked nothing but a map of the Barrowland.”
“I know the map well.”
“I must see those papers. But first, your White Rose. Meanwhile, tell me about the Lady.”
I had trouble staying with him. He zigged and zagged, spraying ideas. “What about her?”
“There is a detectable tension between you. Of enemies who are friends, perhaps. Lovers who are enemies? Opponents who know one another well and respect one another. If you respect her, it’s with reason. It’s impossible to respect total evil. It cannot respect itself.”
Wow. He was right. I did respect her. So I talked a bit. And my theme was, when I noticed it, that she did remain tainted by the light. “She tried hard to be a villain. But when faced by real darkness-the thing under the mound-her weakness started to show.”
“It is only slightly less difficult for us to extinguish the light within us than it is for us to conquer the darkness. A Dominator occurs once in a hundred generations. The others, like the Taken, are but imitations.”
“Can you stand against the Lady?”
“Hardly. I suspect my fate is to become one of the Taken when she finds time.” He’d landed on his feet, this old boy. He halted. “Lords! She’s strong!”
“Who?”
“Your Darling. An incredible absorption. I feel helpless as a child.”
We stamped into Blue Willy, entering through a second-floor window. The snow was banked that high.
One-Eye, Goblin, and Silent were down in the common room with Darling. The first two looked a bit shopworn. “So,” I said. “You guys made it. I thought Toadkiller Dog had you for lunch.”
“No problem at all,” One-Eye said. “We...”
“What do you mean, we?” Goblin demanded. “You were worthless as tits on a boar hog. Silent...”
“Shut up. This is Bomanz. He wants to meet Darling.”
“The Bomanz?” Goblin squeaked.
“The very one.”
Their meeting was about a three-question interview. Darling took charge immediately. When he realized Darling was leading him, Bomanz broke it off. He told me, “Next step. I read my alleged autobiography.”
“It’s not yours?”
“Unlikely. Unless my memory serves me worse than I suppose.”
We returned to the compound in silence. He seemed reflective. Darling has that impact on those who meet her for the first time. She is just Darling to those of us who have known her all along.
Bomanz worked his way through the original manuscript, occasionally asking about specific passages. He was unfamiliar with the UchiTelle dialect.
“You had nothing to do with that, then?”
“No. But my wife was the primary source. Question. Was the girl Snoopy traced?”
“No.”
“She is the one to follow up. She is the only survivor of significance.”
“I’ll tell the Lady. But there isn’t time for it. In a few days Hell is going to break loose out there.” I wondered if Tracker had gotten the sapling planted. Much good it would do when the Great Tragic reached the mound. Brave move but dumb, Tracker.
The effects of his effort were apparent soon, though. When I got around to relaying Bomanz’s suggestion about Snoopy, the Lady asked, “Have you noted the weather?”
“No.”
“It’s getting better. The sapling stilled my husband’s ability to shape it. Too late, of course. It will be months before the river falls.”
She was depressed. She merely nodded when I told her what Bomanz had to say.
“Is it that bad? Are we defeated before we enter the lists?”
“No. But the price of victory escalates. I do not want to pay that price. I don’t know if I can.”
I stood there perplexed, awaiting an expansion upon the subject. None was forthcoming.
After a time she said, “Sit, Croaker.” I sat in the chair she indicated, next to a roaring fire diligently tended by the soldier Case. After a time she sent Case away. But still nothing was forthcoming.
“Time tightens the noose,” she murmured at one point, and at another, “I’m afraid to unravel the knot.”
Fifty-Four
An evening at home
Days passed. No one of any especial allegiance gained any apparent ground. The Lady canceled all investigations. She and the Taken conferred often. I was excluded. So was Bomanz. The Limper participated only when ordered out of my quarters.
I gave up trying to sleep there. I moved in with Goblin and One-Eye. Which shows how much the Taken distressed me. Sharing a room with those two is like living amidst an ongoing riot.
Raven, as ever, changed not the least and remained mostly forgotten by all but his loyal Case. Silent did look in occasionally, on Darling’s behalf, but without enthusiasm.
Only then did I realize that Silent felt more toward Darling than loyalty and protectiveness, and he was without means of expressing those feelings. Silence was enforced upon him by more than a vow.
I could not learn which sisters were twins. As I anticipated, Tracker found nothing in the genealogies. A miracle he found what he did, the way sorcerers cover their back trails.
Goblin and One-Eye tried hypnotizing him, hoping to plumb his ancient memories. It was like stalking ghosts in a heavy fog.
The Taken moved to stall the Great Tragic. Ice collected along the western bank, turning the force of the current. But they overtinkered and a gorge developed. It threatened to raise the river level. A two-day effort won us maybe ten hours.
Occasionally large tracks appeared around the Barrowland, soon vanished beneath drifting snow. Though the skies cleared, the air grew colder. The snow neither melted nor crusted. The Taken engineered that. A wind from the east stirred the snow continuously.
Case stopped by to tell me, “The Lady wants you, sir. Right away.”
I broke off playing three-handed Tonk with Goblin and One-Eye. So far had things slowed-except the flow of time. There was nothing more we could do.
“Sir,” said Case as we stepped out of hearing of the others, “be careful.” “Uhm?”
“She’s in a dark mood.”
“Thanks.” I dallied. My own mood was dark enough. It did not need to feed on hers.
Her quarters had been refurnished. Carpets had been brought in. Hangings covered the walls. A settee of sorts stood before the fireplace, where a fire burned with a comforting crackle. The atmosphere seemed calculated. Home as we dream it to be rather than as it is.
She was seated on the couch. “Come sit with me,” she said, without glancing back to see who had come in. I started to take one of the chairs. “No. Here, by me.” So I settled on the couch. “What is it?”
Her eyes were fixed on something far away. Her face said she was in pain. “I have decided.”
“Yes?” I waited nervously, not sure what she meant, less sure I belonged there.
“The choices have narrowed down. I can surrender and become another of the Taken.”
That was a Jess dire penalty than I had expected. “Or?” “Or I can fight. A battle that can’t be won. Or won only in its losing.”
“If you can’t win, why fight?” I would not have asked that of one of the Company. With my own I would have known the answer.
Hers was not ours. “Because the outcome can be shaped. I can’t win. But I can decide who does.”
“Or at least make sure it isn’t him?”
A slow nod.
Her bleak mood began to make sense. I have seen it on the battlefield, with men about to undertake a task likely to be fatal but which must be hazarded so others will not perish.
To cover my reaction, I slipped off the couch and added three small logs to the fire. But for our moods it would have been nice there in the crispy heat, watching the dancing flames.