Ruins

CHAPTER 8 Resentment

Umbo sat on the next-to-bottom step of the stairway where Rigg and Loaf had gone with Vadesh. He had waited at the top with the others for what seemed a long time, but finally had to see what was down here.

A long tunnel extending in two directions. When he called for Param and Olivenko to come down, they were as nonplussed as he was, until Olivenko said, “It’s a road, and this is a loading dock. They got on a vehicle here and it carried them through the tunnel.”

When Param doubted him, Olivenko pointed out the wear marks on the floor of the platform and on the floor of the tunnel.

“I thought this material was impervious,” said Param.

Umbo thought she was making a good point.

“It is,” said Olivenko. “These marks are from people’s shoes and from the vehicle itself. This is what wore off of them onto the floor.”

Umbo thought he was making a good point, too.

Then Umbo thought: What use is a stupid person like me on a journey like this? Olivenko is a scholar. Loaf is big and strong. Rigg was trained by the Golden Man. Rigg and Param are royal. Loaf and Olivenko are trained as soldiers.

And me? Yes, I can go back in time and warn myself not to do stuff I was so stupid I did it in the first place.

When Param and Olivenko went back up the stairs, Umbo stayed below, staring at the tunnel, thinking of the course his life was taking. He was glad he left Fall Ford. He was glad he had traveled with Rigg, that he had listened to Rigg’s explanation of how Umbo’s brother died. Glad also that they had learned how, together, their gifts allowed them to go back in time.

In fact, it was all such an adventure that if Umbo had heard the tale about anybody else, he would have been enthralled by all the things that went wrong and how they got out of them. Jumping off the riverboat—well, getting thrown by Loaf. Trying again and again to get into the bank to steal back the jewel—only to have it show up here in a different wallfold. Magical things. Marvelous things.

It’s a lot more fun to hear stories about other people than to live through them yourself, Umbo decided. Because when somebody told you a story, he knew how it was going to come out. He wouldn’t tell it to you if it wasn’t worth telling, if it didn’t amount to something. But when you’re living through it, you don’t know if it’s going to come out well, or even matter at all. Maybe you come all this way and the story goes on down a tunnel and you’re left behind, no longer part of it.

Maybe you came back and warned yourself and saved yourself a serious beating—but that’s what ended the story for you. No broken arm, no torn ear—but also doomed to go back out of this building and watch Param and Olivenko fall in love and get married and have babies and populate this wallfold, while you go on and on, wandering, exploring, all to no effect, accomplishing nothing because you listened to your beaten-up time-traveling self and took yourself right out of the story.

Then a light came on deep in the tunnel. There was a whistling sound. A rustling sound. Air moving through narrow spaces.

A vehicle hurtled into view, then slowed quickly to a stop. Rigg was there. So was Loaf—but Loaf had a mask on his face.

“No!” cried Umbo, leaping to his feet, rushing toward them. He had no intention beyond tearing the thing off Loaf’s face.

Rigg blocked his path. “You can’t! It would kill him!”

Umbo shoved Rigg out of the way before he registered what he said. His hands were already reaching for Loaf’s face, and Loaf in turn had his hands up, ready to fend him off, when Umbo stopped.

“Thank you for stopping,” said Rigg, who was lying on the floor of the vehicle now. “Actually, I don’t think taking off the facemask would kill Loaf, because Loaf would kill you before you got close to succeeding.”

“How did it happen?”

“Vadesh planned it all along,” said Rigg. “I think he picked Loaf as the best choice—he tried to leave me behind here at the station. He told us we were in the starship’s control room, but we weren’t. He got it onto Loaf’s face and that was it. The facemask took control of him. If you’d been there, Umbo—”

“I would have pried it off him!”

“Loaf would’ve—the facemask controlling Loaf would have torn you apart as you tried.”

And that explained future-Umbo’s condition when he came back to warn him to do nothing. Umbo told Rigg about the warning.

“Exactly right,” said Rigg. “Vadesh was going to get this facemask onto one of us, one way or another. He picked Loaf, and after it was done, Vadesh turned docile. I can command him now. If I can stand to look at him.”

“Where is he?” asked Umbo.

“When Loaf and I got on the vehicle, I told Vadesh to walk,” said Rigg. “He’ll be along in a while.” Rigg touched Loaf’s arm. “Loaf understands me when I talk to him. Or maybe it’s the facemask that understands me, using Loaf’s brain. I don’t know. I asked him if he knew me, and he didn’t answer. I don’t think he can talk. I asked him to come with me, to stand up, to do anything that showed Loaf was still in there. Nothing. But when I told him that the only way he’d get out of the starship was if he followed me, he got up and came along.”

“So you don’t know if that’s Loaf, or the facemask responding to your threat to leave him there,” said Umbo.

“I think it’s Loaf, or partly Loaf, and the facemask decided to allow it,” said Rigg. “Besides, from what you said about how your future self looked, I think it’s pretty certain Loaf still has some kind of control.”

“What makes you think that?” asked Umbo.

“Because you weren’t dead,” said Rigg. “If it was just the facemask, using Loaf’s body, using a soldier’s reflexes, and you posed a threat, he’d just have killed you. But he didn’t. He only stopped you.”

“And you think that means Loaf can still control something?”

“The facemask soldiers in the battle we saw—”

“I didn’t see anything,” said Umbo. “I was the anchor, remember?”

“Those were the original facemasks, completely in charge of their human hosts. They didn’t hesitate to kill the uncontaminated humans. But Loaf hasn’t tried to kill me.”

“What does that prove?”

“What Loaf has is a kind of facemask Vadesh has been breeding for thousands of years, to make it compatible with humans. If Vadesh didn’t screw it up, then Loaf is still in there. He might eventually get control. Or at least share control. Vadesh never had a human to try it on. So we won’t know until we see what Loaf does. But he came with me. He’s doing what I ask.”

“And you made Vadesh walk.”

“I know, it was childish of me. He’s a machine, it’s not going to bother him. But it made me feel better.”

“Breaking him into small pieces would make me feel better.”

“He’s indestructible. Plus if he dies, there are several replacements in there, with all his memories and personality already in them, ready to take over if anything damages this one.”

“So we can’t do anything to help Loaf, and we can’t do anything to hurt Vadesh.”

“Oh, there’s one way to hurt him,” said Rigg. “We could leave this wallfold, so he can’t see how his experiment turned out.”

“I suppose that’s the best we can do.”

“All the expendables talk to each other, and to the starships,” said Rigg. “So I suppose he’ll find out what happens one way or another.”

“I really liked your father,” said Umbo. “And Vadesh looks and sounds exactly like him, but he’s vile. He feels different. He did right from the start.”

“Identical machines,” said Rigg. “But I feel the same way. Maybe being without human company for ten thousand years changed Vadesh.”

“Or maybe he was already different, and that’s why all the humans in his wallfold died, leaving him without any.”

“I think you’re right,” said Rigg. “Where are Param and Olivenko?”

“Upstairs. Are we going to wait for him?”

“Vadesh? No. He probably knows another way and when we go up the stairs he’ll already be waiting.” Rigg turned to Loaf, who was just standing there, the facemask inert on his head, its tendrils wrapped around his neck, going into his nose, down under his clothing, one of them penetrating the spot just above the collarbone so that it was reaching into his flesh. “Will you come upstairs with us, Loaf?”

No response. Nothing.

Rigg turned his back on Loaf and started for the stairs. Umbo started with him, but he had to stop and see if his friend was going to follow.

Loaf took a staggering step forward, then balanced himself and walked slowly after Rigg. He showed no sign that he knew Umbo was there. That was hard to bear, but also maybe a good thing—at least Loaf wasn’t trying to attack him. There would be no broken arm or torn ear.

On impulse, Umbo fell in beside Loaf and walked along with him. Loaf showed no aversion to this. So as they climbed the stairs, Umbo slipped his fingers into Loaf’s large, man-sized hand and gripped him.

Ever so faintly, ever so gently, he felt Loaf’s grip tighten in response. A hint of a sign that Loaf was still in there. Loaf knew him. That was enough for Umbo. Enough for now, anyway.

Because if he ever became sure that Loaf was utterly gone, that his body was now completely the property of the monster implanted on his head, Umbo would find a way to kill him. If Loaf couldn’t have his own life, this creature wasn’t going to have it, either.

But Loaf was there. For now. So far.

Param had not intended to separate from the others, back outside the city. She simply got anxious, and by long habit, anxiety made her withdraw, becoming invisible to them and, best of all, ceasing to hear anything they said. They could look toward her, but she knew they didn’t see her. It was her perfect instantaneous escape.

Had she meant to escape? She hadn’t thought so; what would she be escaping from? It was inconvenient. This was not Flacommo’s house, where food would be waiting for her in Mother’s room whenever she chose to arrive there. She needed to stay with the others.

But look—they were already moving away. Leaving her behind. They didn’t care.

She knew this was unfair. To them, it would seem they had waited a long time for her to reappear. Nor did they look angry; merely surprised for a moment. She could imagine that Rigg had assumed she wanted to disappear, and he was leaving her to do so freely.

Yet it still felt to her as if they had decided she didn’t matter enough to wait for.

Of course, if she had disappeared deliberately, she might have remained invisible for a long time. She was prone to doing that, as both Rigg and Olivenko would know. So waiting would make no sense. They were behaving perfectly rationally. All she had to do was come back to the normal timeflow and call out, “Wait for me.”

But then they would ask for an explanation, and she didn’t have one, except for the embarrassing admission that the slightest anxiety could make her vanish. Such weakness!

Or they wouldn’t ask for an explanation, which might be worse, for that would mean they were being understanding, choosing not to mention her little indiscretion, like a drunk’s crude remark or an old lady’s fart.

So she hesitated longer, not knowing what to do, decided that she must decide right now, and then realized that her hesitation was her decision.

As usual, she had let fear control her.

She felt the usual wave of self-contempt, made only worse because just yesterday—if “yesterday” meant anything anymore—she had quite bravely leapt from the high rock with Umbo. But that was different; the boy was going to die if she didn’t do something. She was responsible for him. It was so much easier to be brave when you were saving someone else. But when you were the one at risk, then courage was selfish, false, dangerous, pointless. Better to hide.

Better to be left behind? Better to be hungry, unable to find food? Better to be seen as a coward, unable to cope with the slightest stress? She would never earn the respect of these people, least of all her brother. Not that she needed their respect—she was Sissaminka, wasn’t she?

Not anymore. She was nothing now. It did her no good to regard these people as lower than her station. And yet they were—every bit of her upbringing told her so. Umbo, the boy whose hand she had held, whose life she had saved and who had saved her life in turn, he was barely educated, he was the son of an artisan. Now he thought they were friends. Impossible. Yet if she was ever to have a friend, why not him?

Param saw that the others were out of sight. She did not want to lose track of where they were. She slipped back into realtime and followed softly. Her shoes clacked on the floor of the museum, so she slipped them off. Now the floor was slippery, so she dared not run. She turned a corner. There they were.

She would have to speak, to be seen, they would look at her.

She slipped back into slow time and cursed herself again for the habitual coward she was.

In a moment, Rigg and Loaf were gone with Vadesh, and Umbo followed them down the stairs almost at once.

Olivenko was alone.

Olivenko, her father’s student. A mere guard now, yes, but still an educated man, familiar with the courtesies, softspoken, kind.

She slipped back into realtime and put her shoes back on. Only a few steps and he heard her.

He said nothing, though. He merely waited, eyes averted, as she approached. He pretended to be examining one of the large machines, but she knew he was waiting for her. So sensitive, so aware of what she needed.

“Thank you for waiting,” she said softly.

“I’m glad you returned to us,” said Olivenko. “I was worried about you.”

“I was worried about myself,” said Param. It was not a thing she expected herself to say; normally, embarrassed as she was, she would say nothing. But to Olivenko, in this moment, she felt the need to tell the truth. “I’m ashamed of myself for running away,” she said. “I didn’t mean to disappear like that. Hiding is a habit.”

“A habit that kept you alive during very difficult times.”

She felt a rush of gratitude. He did not condemn her. “But it’s inconvenient now,” she said. “If I hesitate while I’m . . . like that, then things move on without me. I’m always falling behind.”

“It keeps you young,” said Olivenko.

She did not know what he meant.

“Literally,” said Olivenko. “You’re slicing time, you’re moving forward without living through the intervening moments. So for each hour that passes, you live much less than an hour. You don’t age as quickly. The more you’ve lived in hiding like that, the less time has passed for you, and the younger you are.”

“Yes, that’s so,” said Param.

“You should be sixteen, but do you think you are? Perhaps you’re only fifteen years old. Or fourteen.”

“I feel very old,” said Param. “Are you sure it doesn’t work the other way?”

He chuckled—not a loud laugh, so it didn’t sound derisive. It sounded as though he enjoyed her remark, as though he thought it was witty.

“Where have the others gone?”

“With Vadesh, to go into a starship,” said Olivenko. “Shall we find them?”

Param strode boldly forward, though she did not know where she was going. It seemed the thing to do, the antidote to her timidity of a few moments before. Soon they saw Umbo among the machines, but he was alone.

“Where did they go?” Param asked him. She made her tone peremptory, commanding, so that she would not have to deal with any questions from him about where she had gone when she disappeared.

“I don’t know,” said Umbo.

“Why aren’t you with them?” she insisted.

Then he told them that his future self had appeared to him with a warning: Stay here. Do nothing. He did not know why the warning had come, and in her impatience, and partly because she had assumed an air of command, it quickly turned into a quarrel, each accusing the other of cowardice. Param said harsh things, but so did Umbo; Umbo’s words stung all the more because she knew that they were true. And when they found the place where the others had gone down the stairs, her fear began to rise again: What was the danger that Umbo’s future self had warned against? She felt herself starting to slow down, to vanish, and so she paced back and forth, determined not to let herself disappear again. She could not let this habit master her.

Umbo went down the stairs to look for Loaf and Rigg and Vadesh. But Olivenko stayed with her.

“Why don’t you go, too?” she asked.

“Loaf can handle anything that comes up,” said Olivenko. “I don’t like the idea of any of us being alone. So I’ll stay with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Do what you want.” She sounded surly, though she hadn’t meant to.

“I always do,” said Olivenko, sounding amused.

“You think I’m funny?” asked Param.

“No, I think I’m funny,” said Olivenko. “I gallantly stay behind to protect you—but of all the people in our group, you’re the one who least needs my protection. I’m not good for much, am I? I’m not half the soldier Loaf is, and I can’t fiddle with time the way you others can. Maybe I’m along to write the history afterward. Or perhaps I’ll be the one who dies, so that you can be warned that danger has arrived. That’s how it works in stories—there’s one who isn’t really needful to the tale, and so he’s the one who gets killed first. Usually he’s forgotten; nobody even mentions him at the end.”

“That’s bleak,” said Param. But she knew what he meant. She had heard many such tales, growing up. The one who can die and not be missed. She had never thought of that. Was it her role, after all? Mother thought so.

But no. Sissaminka would be missed. Her absence would be noted. She was not one who could die without repercussions. Mother would see. She had put too much trust in General Citizen. And when word got out that Param was gone, everyone would be sure Mother and General Citizen had killed her. There would be outrage. There would be rebellion, vengeance, justice.

“You look very fierce,” said Olivenko.

“Thinking of Mother,” said Param.

“It must have been devastating,” said Olivenko, “to have her turn on you.”

“I always knew what she was,” said Param. “I shouldn’t have been surprised.” And then, quite suddenly, she found herself crying. “I don’t know why I—please don’t touch me—it’s just that I—”

“It’s all right,” said Olivenko. “You’ve been very calm through everything. You’re entitled to unwind a little now.”

“But there’s still danger, there’s still . . .”

Olivenko said nothing.

Param felt herself swaying. She put out a hand and found his arm, leaned on him. In a moment she found that he had led her to a place where they could sit on a part of one of the machines.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m glad.”

She faced him then, startled, prepared to be angry.

“Glad that you didn’t disappear,” said Olivenko. “Glad that you trusted me enough to stay.”

Param shook her head. “I can’t speed up time when I’m crying. Or slow myself down, or whatever it is I do. That’s why I learned not to let myself cry or scream. Instead I vanish. Only I’m trying not to. Trying not to let it be a habit.”

“You want to do it only when you decide,” said Olivenko.

“Yes,” said Param.

“You’re not crying now,” said Olivenko. “But you’re still angry with your mother.”

“Angry at myself for letting her take me by surprise,” said Param.

“She’s your mother. Of course her plotting against you took you by surprise.”

“She’s not my mother, she’s Hagia Sessamin. She does things for royal reasons, not personal sentimentality.”

“That’s the lie she tells herself to excuse her crimes,” said Olivenko. “You can believe her if you want, but I don’t. I think she acts only for personal reasons, and never once thinks of the kingdom.”

Param felt her anger flare up, but stopped herself from speaking sharply. How could she defend her mother after what the woman had done to her?

“It’s like your father,” said Olivenko. “The best man I ever knew. He said that he was pursuing a way through the Wall for the benefit of the whole kingdom. He talked about how the opening of the border would free everyone, widen the world. But it was all very vague. What he really wanted was to find some reason to exist.”

“He was Sissamik,” said Param. “That’s a reason to exist.”

“It’s an office. A title. He told me once—just once, mind you—that he was a mere decoration on the costume of a deposed queen. An accessory, like shoes, like a hat. If his wife ruled, he would still have no power; since she did not, he was worse than useless.”

“He was wonderful,” said Param. “He was the only one who treated me like . . .”

“Like a daughter.”

“Like a little girl,” said Param. “But yes, like a daughter.”

“He found you fascinating. ‘She’ll be Sessamin someday, after her mother, and if she has power she’ll have the power to be a monster if she wants, like her great-grandmother, the boy-killer.’ ”

“He said that?”

“It wasn’t an insult—it was one of her self-chosen titles. She killed all her male relatives so that no man could rival her daughter for the Tent of Light. She chose Knosso to be your mother’s consort, and left strict instructions that he was to be killed after he fathered two daughters.”

“Two?”

“Just in case,” said Olivenko. “Your mother bore Rigg instead, and then Knosso never quite managed to sire another child on her. So he never found out whether someone would have carried out old Aptica Sessamin’s command. There had been a revolution in the meantime, but that didn’t mean some old royalist wouldn’t try to fulfill the old lady’s wish.”

“He must have talked very candidly with you.”

“More like he forgot I was there, and talked to himself. He wanted to do something great. Maybe he did—but then he died, so he didn’t get to enjoy the fruits of his labor. He passed through the Wall, and then drowned. Was there a moment there in which he said, ‘I did it!’ and savored his triumph? Or was it all just the hands of the monsters from the sea, dragging him down?”

“I thought you said he was unconscious.”

“That’s what the learned doctors declared, but I suspect it was only to console your mother. I think he was struggling. I think he was awake.”

“How awful.”

“Awful for a few moments, and then he was dead. The cruelest means of dying still ends the same. With release.”

“Release,” said Param. “It sounds pleasant.”

“And yet I don’t want to do it,” said Olivenko. “Not now, not ever. Miserable as I sometimes am in this life, I like being alive.” He held up his hands. “I’m used to having these fingers do my bidding. I don’t even have to ask them. Before I even think of what I want, before I could put my wishes into words, they’re already obeying me. My feet, too. My eyes open when I want to see, and close when I want to sleep. Such obedient servants. I’d miss them.”

“So you think some part of you will persist after death?”

“If not, I won’t know it,” said Olivenko. “And if so, then I’ll miss my hands and feet and eyes and also lunch. I’ll miss food. And sleep. And waking up.”

“Maybe death is better.”

“Not according to the advertisements.”

“What advertisements?”

“You see? If it were better, there’d be advertisements.”

“Why bother to advertise, since everyone’s going to do it anyway?”

“I didn’t think of that,” said Olivenko ruefully.

Param chuckled, and then realized she was amused. That, for a moment, she was something like happy. “Well, thank you for that,” said Param.

“The laugh was your own,” said Olivenko. “I was merely ridiculous.”

“It was kind of you to be ridiculous for me.”

They talked on, the easy conversation of new friends, each telling about experiences that illustrated some point they were making, spinning out the yarns of their lives and weaving them together haphazardly into a sort of homespun that wrapped them both and made them feel warm. Through it all, Olivenko only rarely looked at her; whether it was deference to her rank or sensitivity to her shyness or a kind of shyness of his own, she didn’t know. But it allowed her to look at him fully, frankly, deciding that as grown men went, he was not bad looking. Manly enough in the cut of his jaw and the strength of his neck, but still with the eyes of a scholar, a kind of distance, as if he could see things that ordinary people never saw.

And what did he see? He had seen Father, and liked him, and cared about him.

And he sees me. And likes me. And . . .

Param felt herself blush a little and she turned away. She felt herself coasting along the edge of slow time, but did not step over. She remained here with him.

“Thanks for not leaving,” said Olivenko.

“You knew?” Param said softly.

“I don’t know what you thought of,” said Olivenko, “or what you saw, but you turned away and froze. Like a deer, the moment before it leaps away. I was afraid you were going to leave.”

“I might have,” said Param. “But I decided not to fear you.”

“Yes, that’s what everyone decides,” said Olivenko. “I’m not much of a soldier, not much of a guard.”

“But you’re guarding me,” said Param. “I’m not supposed to fear you.”

“Well, that’s good then,” said Olivenko. And then he went off on a story about a time when he challenged a drunk who was trying to stray into the wrong part of the city, and the drunk showed his contempt by urinating on him.

“No!” cried Param.

“Oh, we arrested him, which means we knocked him down, and the sergeant didn’t understand why I didn’t kick him there on the ground. How could I explain that I agreed with the man’s assessment of me as a soldier? The sergeant was ready to believe I was a coward, and he taunted me, saying that I liked it, come on everyone and pee on Olivenko, it won’t make him mad.”

“How crude,” said Param.

“They didn’t do it,” said Olivenko. “I gave the drunk a couple of kicks. It didn’t hurt him much, there was so much wine in him, and it got the sergeant to shut up.”

“Oh,” said Param, vaguely disappointed.

“If I had principles,” said Olivenko, “I would never have helped a couple of fugitives like you and Rigg get away.”

“Then I supposed I’m glad you don’t.”

And so it went until Rigg and Loaf and Umbo came up the stairs, and Param saw the facemask on Loaf’s head and cried out in sympathy and horror, and she felt Olivenko’s arm around her, his hands on her arm and shoulder, steadying her. “Stay with us,” said Olivenko.

“Vadesh did it,” said Rigg. “He claims this is a different type of facemask, created to blend harmoniously with humans.”

“Loaf is still alive in there,” said Umbo.

“Can’t you take it off?” asked Param.

“It would kill him,” said Rigg. “Or he’d kill us. When you reach to try to pry it off, Loaf turns into a soldier in battle. He’d break us like twigs.”

“Olivenko’s a soldier, too,” said Umbo.

“Not like him,” said Olivenko. He wasn’t going to try to pry off the facemask.

“Then what are we going to do?” asked Param.

“I think now is a good time to get out of Vadeshfold,” said Rigg. “To a wallfold that doesn’t have Vadesh in it. Or facemasks.”

“Might have something worse,” said Umbo.

“Like what?” asked Rigg. “What is worse than this?” He indicated Loaf’s face.

“Death,” said Param.

“Let’s see how Loaf votes,” said Rigg, “on whether death is worse.”

“Where will we go?” asked Param.

“I don’t know,” said Rigg. “Not back to Ramfold. And we don’t know anything about any of the others.”

“We know that sea monsters in the wallfold to the north drowned your father,” said Olivenko.

“Is that a vote to go south?” asked Rigg. “Because I’m open to any suggestions.”

“East,” said a voice that seemed to come from nowhere. A woman’s voice, and yet Param had not spoken.

“Who was that?” demanded Umbo.

“The ship,” said Rigg. He raised his voice, addressing the invisible speaker. “Any particular reason?” he asked.

“No one will harm you there,” said the ship’s voice.

“I vote for that,” said Rigg.

“Can we trust it? Her?” asked Olivenko.

“It gave me control over Vadesh,” said Rigg. “It gave me control over the Wall.”

“Vadesh said you had the power to command him, too, and look how that turned out,” said Umbo.

“If we get to the Wall and it doesn’t let us through, we’ll know that the ship was lying.”

“How can a ship talk?” asked Param.

“Ancient machines,” said Olivenko. “Your father read about them. Machines that talk, but they have no soul.”

Param looked at the machines that brooded around them, wondering if any of them could talk.

“Can you show us the way to the eastern wallfold?” asked Rigg.

Umbo snorted. “Go east,” he said.

“There are very high mountains east of us,” said Rigg. “Wherever the starships crashed, there are now high mountains, like the Upsheer Cliffs.”

“There is no road to the eastern Wall,” said the voice of the starship. “Go around the mountains to the south. Then go east to the sea. If you pass through the Wall near the sea, you’ll enter Odinfold.”

“So presumably we’ll meet an expendable named Odin,” said Olivenko. “Is he a lying snake, too?”

“They all are,” said Rigg. “It’s how they were designed, these machines that talk.”

“Well then,” said Olivenko. “Let’s go look for food and then set out on our journey. The sooner we go, the sooner we find out just what trap this mechanical voice has in store for us.”

Neither Rigg nor the voice said anything to that.

“Can Loaf make a journey like that?” asked Umbo.

“I’m not leaving him behind,” said Rigg.

“I’d stay with him,” said Umbo.

“Let’s see what he decides to do,” said Rigg. “If he doesn’t follow us, then you stay with him.”

“But then we’d be trapped here,” said Umbo.

Rigg hesitated a moment, apparently making a decision. “Any two of you can go through the Wall, whether I’m there or not.”

“When did that happen?” asked Olivenko.

“I used the jewels and gave the command,” said Rigg.

“Any two of us,” said Umbo. “But not one of us alone.”

Param saw that Rigg was embarrassed, but then he stood straighter. “I didn’t want anyone going off alone. We’re safer together.”

“But if you want to go through alone?” asked Umbo.

Rigg sighed. “Then I can do it, yes.”

Umbo was clearly angry, and Param understood why. Rigg had made these rules, giving himself a degree of freedom the others did not have.

It was Olivenko who calmed them down. “The stones are his,” he said. “Not mine. And I’m not planning to go through any Walls by myself. Is anyone else? Then I’m not bothered by not having the power to do something I don’t want to do anyway. And I’m hungry.” He stood up.

Param stood up too. Only after she was standing did she realize that by doing so, she had lent her support to Olivenko’s decision.

And what was that decision? To look for food, yes. And to go along with Rigg and the rules he had set out.

What Param didn’t know was whether that made Rigg the leader of their expedition, or Olivenko.