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than back in Simka, more melt-water streaming through the ditches.
Early in the trip, we saw farmers mending fences or hauling the winter's crop
of stones off their land; but as time went on, the men and women we passed all
seemed to have stopped work for the day. They sat silently on rocks or stiles,
perhaps smoking pipes or holding half-empty wineskins in their hands, perhaps
just staring into nothingness as the sun sank in the sky. Most nodded in our
direction as we went past some as if they knew Bing, some with an air of vague
courtesy that suggested they would nod to anyone who entered their field of
vision.
Shadows lengthened. Soon, the people we saw were more likely to be walking
home than just sitting: finished work, finished their pipes and their
wineskins, turning their backs to the road and heading toward sturdy
farmhouses.
As the sun touched the far horizon, the pavement under our wheels became
smoother so abruptly that Impervia stirred from her brooding and lifted her
head as if sensing some threat. The stillness of level asphalt. As Impervia
looked around warily, I said, "We must be getting close to Niagara. The
highway's been paved to impress the tourists."
Impervia relaxed don't ask me why. I certainly didn't feel relieved that we'd
almost reached the Falls.
In red and gold twilight, we stopped at an inn called The Captured Peacock.
Bing told us it lay on the outermost edge of "Niffles": his name for the city
and tourist area around the Falls. ("Niffles" was spelled "Niagara Falls" but
for some reason, Bing made gagging sounds when anyone pronounced the name in
full. I couldn't tell if saying "Niagara Falls" proved you were an ignorant
tourist, or if "Niffles" was a disdainful nickname by which Crystal Bay folk
belittled their big-city neighbors. Another of those regional rivalry things.)
Bing said he was happy to drive us all the way downtown, but first he wanted
to rest the horses maybe give them some water and feed. No one objected to the
break. After hours in the coach, we were glad to stretch our legs, visit the
privy, get some supper. We also realized there was no point proceeding until
we'd formulated a plan. Niffles was a huge city: 30,000 permanent residents
plus heaven knew how many tourists. Finding Sebastian and Jode wouldn't be
easy... unless Dreamsinger had already tracked them down, in which case we
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could just look for the big patch of smoldering rubble.
So while Bing dealt with the horses, the rest of us trooped into The Captured
Peacock (ducking under a lurid sign that showed such a bird with golden ropes
tied around his neck: teardrops ran from his eyes, but his tail was raised in
full display, as if he were weeping bitterly at being snared, yet still
boyishly eager to impress any passing peahens). I couldn't help recalling I'd
entered a similar drinking establishment at almost exactly the same time
twenty-four hours earlier: The Pot of Gold in Simka, where we'd joked about
quests and faced nothing more serious than drunken fishermen.
Now everything was different. Annah was here. Myoko wasn't. And no one would
ever again tease me about Gretchen, or even mention her name in my hearing.
Yesterday. More distant than the farthest star.
The Captured Peacock's interior was slightly bigger, slightly brighter, and
slightly less rancid than The Pot of Gold. Actual pictures hung on the
wall watercolor washes over black-ink renderings of the Falls from various
angles, probably created by some teenager whom everyone said was "marvelously
gifted." But the place was still just a big room with a bar at one end and
hard-to-break furniture everywhere else. Without having to speak, we
instinctively headed toward a table just past the end of the bar: out of the
flow of traffic, but close enough that one could holler drink orders directly
to the tapman. We'd sat in the same position at The Pot of Gold... and at
every other dive we visited.
The tapman nodded amicably as we walked by: a diminutive fellow with a
profuse busby of a beard as compensation for his shortfalls in height and
weight. "Evening," he said in a surprisingly deep voice. "What can I get ya?
Nice chicken stew tonight."
"Then bowls of stew all around," Pelinor said. "And four ales, one tea." Our
usual beverage order. Except that we now had Annah instead of Myoko. Pelinor
realized this a moment too late; he blustered an apology through his mustache
and asked what she wanted.
"Tea is fine," Annah said.
"Three ales, two teas," Pelinor told the tapman. A trivial change, but it
started the Caryatid crying. I knew how she felt.
While waiting for food and drink, we talked about finding Sebastian. What he
might be up to... besides getting wed to an alien shapeshifter. With Myoko
gone, I was the only one present who knew the boy in any depth; and I'd
obviously missed a lot, because I hadn't known about his psionic powers or his
relationship with Rosalind. Still, I'd talked with him many times at meals and
casual "snack-ins" where I'd invite three or four of my boys into my suite to
eat cookies, drink apple juice, and chat. No teenager ever confides totally in
an adult, especially not a shy and private boy like Sebastian; but I'd got to
know him better than most people did, and that would have to suffice.
"What did he intend to do?" Impervia asked. "What was his plan?"
"Plan?" I laughed. "Sebastian wouldn't have a plan; he was just a dreamy-eyed
kid. He'd never consider writing ahead for reservations or setting up a
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wedding in advance that would have forced him to set an elopement date weeks
before it happened, then send out letters, wait for replies..." I shook my
head. "He'd see that as far too cold-blooded. Sebastian didn't believe
anything could be sincere unless it was spontaneous."
"Rosalind was the same," Annah said. "Filled with romantic ideals of how
people should behave when they were in love. If she and Sebastian decided to
elope, they'd want to do it right away.Let's go tonight orLet's go this
weekend notLet's go three weeks from now so we've got time to book a nice
room."
"And," I added, "I doubt if Rosalind and Sebastian everhad planned ahead.
Rosalind's life was run by her mother; the girl couldn't schedule anything in
advance, because she never knew when she'd be whisked off to another
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