As he walked back toward town, he saw that several of the houses were gone. No, the standing chimneys, the blackened stubs of walls, the collapsed and charred roofs showed that they had burned down.
Closer in, several of the tradesmen’s shops were boarded up, or stood empty and hollow walled. Glass windows had been broken out. Shutters had been torn off and lay on the ground.
Yet others seemed to be prosperous enough. Clearly, there was more to be learned here than whether Loaf and Leaky succeeded in conceiving a child.
Umbo saw that the shop of a garrulous old cabinet maker seemed still to be in trade. He heard the sound of a saw being drawn across wood. Inside the shop it took a moment for Umbo’s eyes to adjust, but yes, there was the old man, methodically pulling a miter saw at an exact angle across a slice of fine hardwood.
The man would not know Umbo, though he might remember seeing him. Umbo was not one to linger in a workingman’s shop, not if he had no business. Now his business was information, and he was reasonably sure the man would have it.
“I see that hard times haven’t taken you out of business, sir,” said Umbo.
The man looked up slowly. “Heard you coming. I’m not deaf.”
Since Umbo hadn’t been talking particularly loudly, he had no idea why the man had thought that Umbo might have thought that he was deaf.
“Hard times,” said the man contemptuously.
“Shops standing empty,” said Umbo. “What else am I to think?”
“Times are no harder here than anywhere.”
“Then why are those shops out of trade?” asked Umbo.
The man spat on the floor. “Think you can trap me into saying what I shouldn’t?”
“I have no trap in mind, sir. I’ve been in the forests beyond Upsheer, and kept to myself downriver.”
“You didn’t come down the river, you came along the road.”
So apparently the carpenter had not been sawing the whole time Umbo approached, since the road was not visible from the workbench.
“I walked the last bit,” said Umbo. “I’m young and my legs are quick enough. I saved myself a ping at least, which I hope to spend on my supper tonight.”
“I don’t serve food,” said the carpenter. He started to saw again.
“I didn’t think you would,” said Umbo. “I plan to eat at Leaky’s roadhouse.”
“Oh, do you?” asked the man. “Good luck with that.”
“Why?” asked Umbo, dread coming upon him. “Are they out of business, too?”
“You might say so,” said the carpenter. “Most customers prefer not to be waited on by the dead, or spend the night in the murder house.”
“Dead,” said Umbo softly.
“Then you really have been away a long time,” said the old carpenter. “Happened late last fall. Near six months ago.”
“Sickness?”
“The man, Loaf, that old soldier, he died of sickness, in a way. Came back from his travels with an ugly fungus growing on his face. Didn’t seem to harm him—if anything he was stronger than before. But he wasn’t pretty, and some traveler must have complained about a monster who had taken control of a roadhouse upriver, because soldiers came.”
“Soldiers?”
“Of King Haddamander, nobody local, you can be sure. They came here to try to get me to accuse Loaf of something. Anything. I don’t think they cared what the charge was, but they wanted some pretext, since being ugly isn’t against the law when last I heard. They didn’t like hearing that from me, so I got knocked down and kicked a little for my trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” said Umbo.
“Not your fault, unless you’re with the king, and you don’t look to be one of his, since they’re all rich—either started rich or got made so.”
“I can be sorry without taking blame, sir,” said Umbo.
“And be blamed without being sorry, nor guilty either,” said the old carpenter. “Report me for saying so if you want, I’m only a step away from not caring.”
“I’m not a spy,” said Umbo.
“Just like a spy, to say that,” said the carpenter.
“And also just like an honest man,” said Umbo calmly. “If they found no charge against old Loaf—”
“Treason was the charge,” said the carpenter. “Accused him of being the Rebel King’s Captain Toad, the one as leads raids all over Stashiland. Which was known to all of us to be a lie. Never a more doting father than that one, Loaf didn’t stray farther from the roadhouse than to buy groceries and other such supply. When could he have gone raiding? I know the Toad is supposed to be ugly but you’d think they’d want more proof than that.”
Umbo noticed that he referred to Loaf as a doting father. But the questions that raised could wait a little. “They arrested him, then?” asked Umbo.
“Arrested? You’re thinking of the old days under the Council. They don’t have trials now, nor jails, nor arrestings. At first old Loaf put up a fight but then they dragged out his wife, her so scared she was silent, if you can believe it. Once they had her down on the ground, Loaf got docile enough, though even then he didn’t beg, not for his life and not for hers. They took him out on the dock, cut his throat, and threw him in the river. We all saw—they routed us all out so we could see King Haddamander’s justice. Well, we saw it. And we saw how Leaky howled and fought, but the king’s men didn’t even argue with her, just put a sword in and said, ‘She was a rebel too, you saw her fight against the king.’ We watched it all without a word, you may be sure, because enough houses had already burned down, enough shopkeepers had already disappeared in the night with never a word, only their windows broke or shutters torn down. But when they threw the baby out the upstairs window, we turned away, we had witnessed enough for that day. I think the captain knew he’d gone too far. Didn’t want a revolt on his hands. So he let us walk away, return to our homes. But he did shout something about how the children of monsters could not be allowed to live. Not sure if he meant the monster to be Loaf, because he looked so ugly, or the both of them, because they were accused of fighting against the king.”
“So Loaf and Leaky had a baby,” said Umbo.
The old carpenter looked at him and there was something sly about him. “How could you not know that?”
“Two years gone,” said Umbo—a bit of an understatement, but close enough. He could have named the time to the hour.
“Yes, they had a baby,” said the carpenter. “About old enough to toddle about. But not able to fly, poor boy. Had no wings, not him, and so he broke on the ground, and they threw him into the river along with his ma and da. The river must be near full of the king’s justice by now. They must have a dam of such justice right across the mouth of it, down at Aressa Sessamo.”
“By Silbom,” murmured Umbo. “I didn’t know it was like that.”
“How can you get from Upsheer all the way to here, and not know how it is? Did you fly?”
“I slept, mostly,” said Umbo, “and the rivermen were not disposed to converse with me. Now I think I see why. Not knowing who might be hearing with the king’s ears, or seeing with his eyes.”
The old carpenter grunted and turned back to his saw. “Report me if you want. I’m nearly ready for the river as it is, without any help from the king’s men, nor the queen’s either. My children live far away now, but not far enough. The Wall itself isn’t far enough to suit me.”
I have a way through that Wall, thought Umbo. But not one that I can share with you. Nor would your life be all that much better if you left this wallfold.
Yes it would. Because now Umbo understood it all, or supposed that he must. Stabbing Loaf wouldn’t have killed him. The facemask would have healed him by the time he reached the farther shore. But it would have done nothing for Leaky or their son. They would be dead.
Then Loaf would have gone in search of one of the timeshapers. Then he would go out raiding in the name of the Rebel King, going back in time in order to . . .
Who is the Rebel King, if not Param’s husband? Wouldn’t that be me?