The Keeping Place Page 10

  “What has you so pale and thrilled?” Garth demanded, coming to join us.

  “Gypsies,” Louis said, giving me a sharpish look as if to ask if that was still what we were talking about.

  “Ah well, they’re fascinating enough for a study all on their own,” Garth grunted. “I should certainly like to speak with that fellow you met. What was his name? That Twentyfamilies pretending to be a halfbreed.”

  “Swallow,” I said. “He only called himself that when he was disguised as a halfbreed, though. I don’t know his real name, nor much else about him except that he is the son of the leader of the gypsies.”

  Garth shook his head. “It is a dangerous game he plays, given that purebloods are supposed to be estranged from halfbreeds.”

  “Did you ever find out anything about that Govamen mark the Twentyfamilies wear?” I asked.

  “Not much, save that it is called a tattoo. Such marks were mainly decorative in the Beforetime, though occasionally they signified allegiances just as our guild bands do. Possibly the gypsies descend from those who supported Govamen and decided to adopt their mark.”

  “But why Guanette birds?”

  “Perhaps the Govamen people thought the birds striking. Who can know? But they were at hand, because Govamen was experimenting on them.”

  My heart jerked in my chest. “Are you certain of that?”

  “I am,” he said. “Jak came upon some mention of the experiments in the plasts. There may be more about it once we get into the records kept in the basement.”

  The Teknoguildmaster was staring into the fire now, his eyes full of reflected orange light. “On the next expedition to the lowlands library, I will instruct my people to look specifically for mentions of Govamen and the Reichler Clinic and also of the city under Tor—which seems to have been called Newrome,” he murmured dreamily.

  “You mean to mount another expedition to the lowlands, then?”

  He gave me a bland smile. “I thought quite soon, while the weather is fine and people are too busy planting and basking in the warmth to be suspicious of travelers or to spend time gypsy baiting. I will be proposing it at the next guildmerge.”

  “Rushton will be back by then, and I can’t see he will gainsay it, though he might have a word to say about this business of diving,” I added tartly.

  Garth leaned forward. “Did he say what Brydda wanted?”

  I repeated the brief message and my interpretation, with which he concurred.

  “I am not sorry that we are out of this brewing confrontation,” Garth said. “War is a terrible waste of time and life. When I think of the Council and this Malik, I fear that people learned nothing from the destruction of the Beforetimers.”

  “’Twas a lethal lesson that killed all its pupils, so none were left to teach the lesson on,” Louis said.

  I shivered as a breeze stole under my hair to the back of my neck, and Garth shrugged massively and said, “War or an accident. Either way, they did it with their weaponmachines.”

  “Were there many accidents with weaponmachines?”

  “Well, there were accidents and things made to seem so,” Garth said. “Accidents the books say, but you can feel the writers believe they were often deliberate attacks blamed on weaponmachine errors so countries did not have to take responsibility for the killing and destruction they had wrought. We know that the Beforetimers were doing a lot of writing and talking about how such incidents might be monitored and punished….”

  “Computermachines,” I murmured.

  Garth’s brows rose. “Yes. There was talk by the World Council of all the computermachines concerned with defense being linked into one great, neutrally located computer with the power and intelligence to evaluate information and retaliate against any country that attacked another, whether the aggressor claimed it was an accident or no. The Sentinel project, it was called, if my memory serves.”

  The man in the flying machine had spoken of the Guardian program, but it had to be the same thing.

  “What did the Beforetimers fight over?”

  “Land mostly, or for coin or power.”

  “Not religion? Dameon told me that the Sadorians are descended from Gadfians, and I read that Gadfians wanted to kill anyone who didn’t believe in their Lud.”

  Garth’s eyes sparkled with interest. “So the Sadorians hatched out of that fiery egg, did they? Yes, the Gadfians were very violent and ruled by their religious mania—which was also, in a way, a desire for power.”

  I told him in more detail what Dameon had said of the connection between the Sadorians and Gadfia, and he wagged his head judiciously. “It fits neatly with what we have been learning. It seems the world was mostly divided into five powers in the Beforetime, and Gadfia was one of them—the largest in terms of land and people, but it was very poor in resources. We believe that our Land was once part of another of the five powers called Uropa. If Dameon is right in saying this land mass links with Gadfia, then we have further proof of that, for we know that Gadfia bordered Uropa—or it did before one of those ‘accidents’ turned the border land between them into an impassable Blackland. Jak says both nations were probably quite glad to have that buffer between them, which makes me wonder if one or the other was responsible for it. Of course, that border area had once been a country, and every single person in it died….”

  And was that country called Turka? I wondered. “Garth, do you have any idea of the location of the very first Reichler Clinic? The site that was destroyed?”

  “It was in Uropa, near to a place called Inva, which was the capital of Old Scotia.”

  “Was this Scotia mountainous?” I demanded.

  Garth nodded. “Very much so. But Hannah did not hail from there. She was not even Uropan. She belonged to another of the five powers, Tipoda—an awkwardish melding of very different islands and cultures on the other side of the world. But Tipoda and Uropa were allies, probably because both their peoples, as well as the peoples of Mericanda, spoke the same language—urolish. They hadn’t always, though. In ancient times, there were hundreds of languages, particularly in Uropa.”

  “Strange to think of people living in adjoining lands not being able to understand one another,” I mused.

  “Indeed. It is very possible that the different languages led to misunderstandings that, at least in part, ended in the five powers being established and only three main languages being spoken. Other than urolish, Gadfians spoke gadi and Chinon spoke chinanka. But even with only three, trouble invariably erupted regularly on borders where one language group met another, because the language difference was only an obvious mark of vast cultural differences. You might talk to Fian about that; he has some interesting ideas. We do know that Gadfia and Chinon each had as many people as there were in all three urolish-speaking powers put together.”

  “How does anyone know how many people were in Chinon if their borders were closed?”

  Garth smiled approvingly. “Chinon continued to send diplomats to meet with the other powers, because all of the countries traded with one another. There were people in each of the powers who made it their business to understand the other two languages because of the advantages it would afford them in trade, or for diplomatic reasons.”

  “Do you know anything of a Beforetime people called Tibans?”

  Garth frowned and sank into his multiple chins for a moment. “I seem to remember some mention of a small mountainous land called Tiba, which was swallowed up by the Chinon Empire. Would that be what you mean? But that was long before the five powers were established.”

  He was looking at me so oddly, I felt he would ask me at any moment what book I had got that from, so I cast about for a diversion. “I wonder why the Sadorians speak as we do if they started out speaking gadi.”

  “Maybe your Sadorian friends would know. Otherwise, you might talk to Fian. Always assuming that his adventures in Sador and his enthusiasm for the deeps have not erased his previous interest in languages.” His eyes fl
icked in amusement to the young highlander, who was still enthralled in his guildmates’ talk of diving.

  We fell into a companionable silence, lulled by the buzz of their talk and the crack and hiss of the fire. I stared up at the dark mass of Tor and shivered.

  “You are cold,” Garth said. “You should get some sleep, and so must I.”

  He heaved himself to his feet with a grunt, threw the piece of wood he had been using as a bolster onto the fire, and bid everyone good night.

  I considered a walk to see how the horses fared, but a brief probe revealed that they were all asleep, so I said good night, too, and climbed into my bedding. I missed Maruman coiled onto my stomach and hoped he was not annoyed with me for leaving without saying goodbye.

  My last sight before drifting to sleep was of the flames licking the night sky between me and the teknoguilders, still deep in their conversations.

  I woke with a faint start to broad daylight, surprised to realize I had not dreamed for the first time in many days. I sat up and found I was alone except for Miryum, who was squatting by the fire, feeding it twigs with a faraway expression on her wide, flat face. I yawned aloud to let her know I was awake.

  “Garth told me not to wake you,” she said, as if expecting me to reproach her.

  I stretched languorously. “I have not slept so soundly in ages.”

  “It is always easier to sleep away from Obernewtyn,” Miryum murmured, hanging a pot above the flames. “Here, on the rare nights you dream, the dreams are comfortably dull.”

  I stared at her. “Are you saying the dreams you have here are different from those at Obernewtyn?”

  “Of course. And it’s getting worse. I think dreams are grown vivid and strange at Obernewtyn, because so many Misfits dwell there.”

  I thought of what Maryon had said about her guild finding it hard to futuretell clearly and wondered if there could be a connection between this and what Miryum was saying. Then there were my own dreams. I had never experienced so many dream-memories from the distant past. I had put it down to my dwelling on the past in my waking hours, but what if it was more than that?

  I made up my mind to speak to Maryon as soon as I returned. Perhaps her guild’s dreamscapes would give us some clue as to what was going on. Very likely she had no idea there was a difference in the way people dreamed away from Obernewtyn, since she and those of her guild seldom traveled.

  “Do you want some food?” Miryum asked.

  I groaned and pressed my stomach. “I ate too much last night to feel hungry now. But if there is choca…”

  She nodded at the pot swaying languidly over the flames. “It is brewed already. I did not think you would say no to that.” She poured a mug of the frothy brown mixture, and I sat up, wrapped in my blankets, to drink it. The grass sparkled with dew, and the day seemed to glisten. Gahltha and the other horses were grazing peacefully by the water’s edge, and I had a brief, vivid memory of the day we had gone on rafts into the mountains to escape Henry Druid’s armsmen. Gahltha’s fear of water had forced us to leave him, and he had fled into the highest mountains to escape what he perceived as his shame and perhaps to seek his death. Instead, he had met the Agyllians.

  “I will stay on here until the teknoguilders return for the moon fair,” Miryum said abruptly. “The other coercer-knights will escort you back to Obernewtyn.”

  I sighed inwardly. I would have been glad to ride with just Faraf and Gahltha for company, but to say so would have offended the coercer-knight’s very substantial sense of dignity, so I merely thanked her. She set about washing up the few firstmeal pots and dishes, and I drained my cup, saying I would have a quick bath before going into the caves.

  Carrying a towel and fresh clothes, I went to relieve myself in the refuse pit that had been dug some way from the campsite. After shoveling fresh earth over the pit, I ran to the water’s edge. Throwing off my night shift, I immersed myself in the icy river water, gasping at the chill and taking care not to go deep enough for the current to catch hold of me. I splashed about lazily, enjoying the sparkle of sun on water and wishing somewhat wickedly that Rushton was with me and naked, too.

  That thought was so pleasant, I daydreamed of it, and imagined pressing myself against him and feeling his hard hands on my hips.

  A concerned call from Miryum recalled me to myself. Hastily, I got out, dried, and dressed, and returned to the campsite.

  “I thought you had drowned,” Miryum said repressively.

  I ignored her disapproval as we went together into the mountain, but my lightheartedness dimmed as shadow swallowed daylight.

  The Teknoguildmaster greeted our approach with an echoing shout of welcome and helped me from the raft. “Come and see how it works, Elspeth. Zadia and Yokan are down already, but Qwinn is just about to dive.”

  Fian was watching the two teknoguilders monitoring the hoses. They paid no heed to us at all. Qwinn was being helped into his suit.

  “Give me the glows,” he said to his aide.

  The younger teknoguilder handed him two small bulbs. Qwinn clipped them deftly to his weight belt, drew on gloves and goggles, and sheathed a knife in a knee pouch.

  “Be careful,” the Teknoguildmaster said, passing him a breathing tube. There was a loop of rope around it, which Qwinn slipped over his head. After a brief general nod, he backed down the mound, pulling the tube after him. As he vanished into the water, I seemed to feel myself sinking into that chill depth.

  “How did you learn that the building had shifted?” I asked.

  “Some of my people dug down after we learned of the basement storage and found the bottom was broken away. We knew the building could not have shifted too far from the base, since it was still intact. But it will be no easy matter to locate the base, even though we know pretty much where it must be. It is such a mess down there, and add to that the pitchy darkness and the forest of water weed, grown to fantastic heights….”

  “Surely th’ basement would have been crushed when the buildin’ tore apart?” Fian said.

  “Since the upper levels are intact, it is very likely that the base is as well,” Garth explained. “It was buried in the ground before the city was flooded, and it will have been heavily reinforced to bear the weight of its upper levels. The chambers themselves may even be dry if they were sealed and secured. The real problem will be getting in.”

  “How long has this diving been going on?” I asked.

  Garth tilted his head and gave me a faintly challenging look. “We began preparing the apparatus over a year ago. We have been diving since thaw, mostly to test the equipment. Our initial intention was casual exploration, but then we learned about the Reichler Clinic’s basement storage.”

  “All this preparation, and you never spoke of it to guildmerge?” I asked with only a tinge of mockery. “What if something had gone wrong?”

  “All life is danger, and you cannot be judging every action by that alone,” he responded, a trifle brusquely.

  “You can make that point at the next guildmerge.”

  Garth heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I would have made a report in time; I hope you know that.”

  I said nothing to that, aware that he would have done so only when he had something valuable enough to prove that the end justified the dangerous means.

  “I will let Rushton know that you will present a report to guildmerge once you find this cellar, before you do anything,” I said pointedly. He nodded with obvious reluctance. Having forced this concession, I left to return to Obernewtyn.

  Though I thought nothing would drag Fian from the dive site, he wanted to come back with me. Miryum had coercively summoned the coercer-knights, and under cover of their preparations for departure, she begged me to find some way of dealing with the Sadorian that would not drive him to suicide.

  “You want to refuse him, then?” I asked, still sensing an ambivalence in her.

  She flushed. “I was…charmed, I admit, by the idea of a man coming so far for me. But
my life is given to Obernewtyn and our cause here.”

  I wanted to say what I had learned—that happiness must be taken when it is offered. But some wisdoms can only be recognized if they are come upon after a hard climb. I promised I would do my best to have a solution when she returned to Obernewtyn.

  As we mounted, Faraf came over. She was still limping slightly, and it had been decided that she must rest and return when the others did. “We have not had much chance for thinktalk,” she sent regretfully.

  “Very soon we will walk into the high valleys and think/run together, little sistermind,” I promised, stroking her mentally and physically.

  She nuzzled my knee and sent shyly that this would please her very much.

  “She is sweethearted as Avra,” Gahltha sent privately as we turned our backs on Tor. I waved to the little pony and Miryum until the trees blocked them from us, wondering to the black horse if Avra had foaled yet.

  “Not yet,” Gahltha sent with such certainty that I asked how he could be sure. He answered that heart-mates could always sense how the other felt if they wished. This made me ache anew for Rushton. The bird-borne missive from him had eased my anxieties, but it was a long way from Sutrium to Obernewtyn.

  No one was in sight when we rejoined the main road. A smudge of smoke from Guanette was the sole reminder that we were not all alone in the world.

  The air was very clear, and as we turned our noses to the high mountains there were rank upon rank of them visible for once, and behind them, what appeared to be banks of clouds were in fact more mountains.

  Gahltha dragged my thoughts down to earth, sending that the horses wanted to stretch their legs. We rode at an exhilarating pace for some time, trotted a bit, and then galloped again. It was only early afternoon when we stopped to rest at a public spring just before the turnoff to Darthnor. The horses were thirsty, and there would be no more drinkable water until we had got through the pass. Technically, we were on public property, but boundaries had a way of shifting when gypsies negotiated them, and the memory of Bergold and his sister prompted me to set a watch. Half the coercer-knights posted themselves in trees, perching in branches that gave them a good view of both the road and the turnoff.