The beasts of Barakhai

Chapter 14

COLLINS' watch read 5:00 p.m. when he rode Falima across the well-cropped grassy field that separated the outer curtain wall from the forest. He tucked the watch into his pocket, wishing he could have left it behind with Zylas. Pulling out impossible technology at the wrong time might give him away, but he relied upon it to determine a proper and consistent pretend switch time, to keep track of Falima, and to have a clear idea of how long the whole process was taking him. The black fur beneath him was disorienting after several days of riding a golden buckskin. Having never heard of bleach, his companions found it impossible to lighten Falima's coloring, so had chosen to make her body the same coarse ebony as her mane, tail, and points. Apparently, jet black was one of the most common horse colors in Barakhai and should not attract undue attention.

At switch time, Falima would make herself scarce. The dye might carry over into her human form, though probably not with much consistency. Apparently, some items in the pack would allow her to touch up blotches or to change her appearance in other believable fashions. Collins hoped he would recognize her, though it did not matter. His escape plan and hers did not hinge upon one another.

Sheep looked up as they passed, baaing noisy greetings. The goats proved more curious, approaching them to sniff, bleat at, and chew the cloth shoes his companions had provided in place of his Nike look-alikes. The horse's ears went flat backward, and she emitted occasional warning squeals that sent the goats scattering, though they always returned. The cows paid them no attention at all.

As they crossed the plain, Collins got a clear view of the outer wall, and he steered Falima toward the attached roofed structure that clearly represented the gatehouse. A massive construct of plank and rope pressed against the stone wall, apparently the drawbridge. Collins pulled up in front of the gatehouse, at the edge of the moat. Insects skittered over the surface of the water, leaving star-shaped wakes. Far beneath them, fish glided through the transparent pond, apparently accustomed to having no place to hide.

The gatehouse consisted of two of the round towers that interrupted the wall at regular intervals, with a straight stretch of stone no wider than the drawbridge between them. On the roof of each tower stood two guards dressed in white-chested aqua tunics, the top portion decorated with designs that looked like thinly stretched clover to Collins. Black belts held their uniforms in place and supported long, thin swords in wooden sheaths. All four watched Collins' approach with obvious interest, though they raised no weapons. One called down in a strong, female voice, "Who's there?"

Collins had initially assumed they were all men, so the speaker caught him off guard.

When he did not answer immediately, the woman's partner boomed out, "You were asked a question, good sir. Are you deaf or rude?"

Collins dismounted and bowed, hoping they would attribute any violated protocol to his foreignness. "Just tired, sir. I am Benton." It seemed ironic that he would use the full name he had so many times asked others to shorten. He had often wished his parents had named him Benjamin, like every other "Ben" he had ever met. His current friends had assured him that Benton fit this world much better than Ben; and, by using his real name, he would not forget it, as he might a pseudonym, in the heat of a chaotic moment. If he accidentally did call himself "Ben," it would follow naturally as a proper shortening or interrupted utterance. "And this…"He made a flourishing motion toward Falima, "is Marlys." It was another alias he would remember, though he knew it made things harder for his companion. He dared not use anything approaching her real name, as it might trigger suspicion. "We've traveled a long way under less than ideal circumstances."

"From where?" the woman asked, and the others leaned forward for the answer. Now, Collins was able to get a good look at all of them. Mail peeked from beneath their collars and sleeves, and helmets pinned down their hair. Their faces ranged from the male partner's dark brown to the woman's cafe au lait to the paler khaki of the guards in the other tower. Wisps of sable hair escaped onto one man's forehead, but the others kept their locks bunched beneath arming caps and metal helmets.

Collins used the town name Ialin had given him, "Epronville. We've come to do our shift for the king."

"Where are your colors?" one of the pale men asked.

Anticipating the question, Collins had a ready answer. "Bandits. That was part of our less than ideal circumstances."

The woman's partner snorted. "Bandits robbing guardsmen. You're right. You do need a shift here. Some competent training."

Collins feigned affront. "Do you think we don't feel foolish enough? You have to rub our noses in it?" He wondered how the slang would translate. "Perhaps you'd like to bring the whole guard force out here to point fingers and laugh at us?"

He simulated the guards, jabbing a digit toward Falima. "Ha ha ha, simple rube guards can't even keep themselves safe from bandits." He dropped his hand. "And, by the way, don't bother to mention we faced off six of them."

The dark man made a gesture of surrender. "Take it easy. I meant no disrespect." The tight-lipped smirk he tried to hide told otherwise. He turned and disappeared from the tower.

Keeping his own expression neutral, Collins congratulated himself on his acting. He had managed to divert the guards from the issue of the missing colors. The fact that it made him look weak did not bother him at all.

The fourth guard reappeared at his position. Then, a ratcheting, clanking noise ground through Collins' hearing. The drawbridge edged downward, adding a squeal of massive, rusty hinges to the din.

"You'd best move back," the woman instructed. "Or you might get crushed."

Collins led Falima away from the moat, hoping his failure to exercise the proper caution would pass for small town ignorance rather than a complete lack of knowledge about castles. He knew Barakhai had only one such fortress, that the dwellings of the outlying superiors consisted only of mansions with the barest of defenses. When he considered their system, it seemed miraculous that they managed even that much. At most, the people had only eight hours a day to accomplish any work along with such necessities as eating and general personal care.

Suspended by two sturdy chains, the drawbridge dropped across the moat with a thud that shook the ground. Falima loosed a low nicker, prancing several more paces backward.

"Easy girl." Collins rubbed her neck soothingly, feeling the warm sweat that slicked her fur. He glanced surreptitiously at his palm, worried the moisture might disturb the dye. Though caked with dirt and foamy horse sweat, his hand remained free of black smudges. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Gripping the lead rope more tightly, Collins drew Falima to the drawbridge. She eyed the board warily. Collins stepped up first, hoping that would ease her concerns. One front hoof rose, then settled on the wood. The other followed. She took a step forward, hoof clomping on the board. Another carried her directly over the moat, and a hollow sound rang through the drawbridge. With a snort and whinny that left Collins' ears ringing, she stumbled back to solid ground.

Afraid the horse's lurching might toss him into the water, Collins skittered after her. "Falima, honey, it's all right," he whispered. "It's all right. You need to come."

Falima trumpeted out another whinny.

"Not much overlap," one of the guards guessed.

"Some." Collins remembered what Zylas had told him. "But she's still pretty young."

One of the guardsmen took pity on the weary travelers. "First time across is always difficult. Just keep trying. If necessary, I'll get someone in switch-form to show her across."

"Thank you." Collins did not try to lead Falima again but just stood at her head murmuring reassurances and stroking behind her ears. He knew horses would go almost anywhere if they saw another horse safely make the journey ahead of them. A friend had once told him she trained colts to cross streams and puddles by having them shadow a staid old trail horse. "Ready, Marlys?" he finally said out loud, suddenly wishing he had chosen another name. It seemed to stick in his mouth, desperately out of place. It reminded him of how he and his elementary school friends had become so used to Michelangelo referring to a mutant ninja turtle, they giggled wildly when it came up on an art museum field trip.

One hand grasping the rope at the base of Falima's chin, the other clutching the cheekpiece, he urged her forward with him. He did not know how people encouraged horses in Barakhai; but, back home, the position gave him unprecedented control over an animal large enough to crush him. He remembered a favorite saying of an old girlfriend, "He who has the horse's head has the horse." It applied to leading horses, grooming and immunizing, as well as reining, but he could not help getting a The Godfather-like image of the amputated head resting in someone's bed.

With Collins close and urgent, Falima raised a foreleg high, then placed it on the drawbridge.

"Good girl," Collins encouraged. "Good good girl."

Falima took another step, the thunk of its touch sending a quiver through her. This time, she did not attempt to withdraw, but took another hesitant step onto the surface.

"Come on, honey. You can do it." Collins reverted to a pet name, which allowed him avoid the whole "Marlys" issue. He hoped Zylas and Ialin had called it right when they claimed Falima understood enough in horse form to get the gist of the plan. He kept imagining her becoming human surrounded by king's guards with no memory of how she got there and, in a wild blithering panic, giving them all away. Surely, they had talked to her before the change, while he slept. Surely nothing. So many of his friends' motives appeared bizarre or inscrutable, it seemed senseless to even speculate.

Collins continued to cluck encouragingly as Falima took more steps onto the drawbridge. Head bowed nearly to her knees, she studied the surface and her own hooves as she moved, her steps never growing confident. At least, she continued forward. In fact, her pace quickened as she clearly attempted to get past the portion of ground that felt and sounded unstable to a horse's ears.

When they came to the part of the drawbridge on the far side of the moat, Falima's demeanor returned to normal. She clopped through the opened double doors and into the gatehouse with little more than a glance.

The woman guard and one of the men from the other tower met them in the span. Doors shaped like cathedral windows opened onto the towers, while a heavy set of ironbound oak doors blocked further entry in the direction of the castle.

The man raised his right hand in greeting. "I'm Mabix. Welcome to Opernes Castle, home of King Terrin and Queen Althea, high rulers of Barakhai."

Zylas had prepared Collins with the names, though the albino had warned him to stay alert for changes. The royals did not discuss coups and ascensions with the regular folk as a rule, though the information eventually reached even the lowliest outcaste.

King Terrin and Queen Althea. King Terrin and Queen Althea. Collins worked to fix the titles in his mind, only then realizing he had completely forgotten the name of the man in front of him. For a moment, he teetered on the decision of whether to let it pass and fake it or ask for a repeat. Then, deciding it best to look the fool now rather than later, he pressed. "Thank you, kind sir, but I'm afraid I didn't quite catch your name."

"Mabix," he repeated without offense. "This is Lyra."

The female guard dipped ever so slightly to acknowledge the introduction. Though a motion of respect, it fell short of an actual curtsy which, Collins presumed, she reserved for royalty. "Lyra," Collins repeated. "Mabix."

"Now," Mabix said, getting down to business. "If we could just see your writ."

Collins fought a grin. Other than a utility knife, the saddest bit of rations, and a ragged change of clothes, the presumably forged paper was the only thing his friends had given him.

"Or," Lyra added with just the barest hint of suspicion, "did the bandits get that, too?"

"Over my dead body," Collins said, hoping it sounded as emphatic in Barakhain as English. He thrust a hand into his tunic and emerged with the crumpled paper covered with flowery scribbles. The spell that allowed him to speak fluently apparently did not extend to the written word. With my luck, it's probably really gibberish. A sudden thought rose. Or worse, calls the king a pickle-nosed bastard.

Mabix examined the paper, Lyra looking over his shoulder.

They both nodded. Now, Collins got a good look at their uniforms, the patterned white ending just below their breastbones. Joined by impressively straight stitching for a world without machines, the aqua material fell just past the knee. Mail showed at the collar and arms, while high boots of stiffened cloth covered their legs. They wore bowl-shaped metal helmets.

Once they had the writ, the two relaxed visibly, which left Collins wondering where Zylas had gotten it. Because his friends had initially rescued him in animal form and they switched naked, he had seen all their personal belongings in the saddlebags he found tied to Falima that first day. Vernon had packed them much fuller; but, if the mouse/man had stuck in such a thing, it meant they had known how he would infiltrate the castle ever since they left the cabin. He wondered why they had not discussed it with him sooner. They also didn't let me know the gender of an elder who turned out to be a dragon until I saw her with my own eyes. Why does this surprise me?

Lyra and Mabix pulled closed the massive doors through which their guests had entered. As they banged shut, a ratcheting sound echoed through the small enclosed room, the drawbridge lifting. Other than a bit of diffused sunlight filtering through cracks in the wooden construction, the room went dark. Falima danced, whinnying her discomfort. Collins patted her, whispering nonsense in a steady patter while Lyra and Mabix slid the bolt on the door behind them and pushed the panels open. Light rushed in, accompanied by the sweet odor of young plants and the mingled sounds of answering neighs, whines, barks, and human voices.

Falima squealed out another whinny, the shrill sound reverberating painfully in the still mostly enclosed area. She charged for the outside, and Collins let her go. Peering beyond her, he saw an emerald stretch of well-grazed grasses crisscrossed by pathways. Several horses, a few mules, and a goat placidly ate, though the nearest ones looked up as Falima joined them. She snorted, nostrils widened as if to suck in all the unfamiliar smells, then lowered her head to graze.

Collins glanced around as the guards ushered him into the outer courtyard. Now, he could see the towers that looked round from the outside had flat backs that turned them into semicircles. Behind the wall-wide crenels and merlons lay battlement walkways paced by guards in the same uniforms as his new companions. Small buildings lay pressed against the wall, their construction wooden except for the stone backings they borrowed from the wall itself. Shingles or thatch topped them. Directly ahead, Collins saw another double-towered gatehouse, larger than the one they had just exited. Another crenellated wall ringed the still distant castle.

Lyra rushed ahead to the second gatehouse. Mabix looked at Falima. "She can stay here if she wants."

Collins considered. He liked the idea of her only needing to escape one wall should he fail at his mission. "That's up to her," he said casually. "She's due to change shortly and should be quite capable of making the decision by herself." He removed the rope halter and placed it in the pack, debating whether or not to remove the whole thing and carry it himself. Not wishing to burden himself when Falima remained clearly untroubled by it, he left it in place.

"So what's the news from Epronville?"

"From-?" Collins stopped himself from saying "where?" "-Epronville?" He laughed to cover his mistake. "Never much happening there." He could have kicked himself. He felt trapped by the easiest, most casual and obvious question in the universe, one he had even anticipated. Larger concerns and the need for haste had made him forget the problem he had initially raised. Now, his ignorance undid him, leaving him unable to even fabricate a credible answer. He had little idea of the size of Barakhai, let alone its various towns and cities, could not guess how intimately they intertwined, and what might serve as news. In some cultures, information about who had married whom or which babies had survived the winter was welcome knowledge as far as a man could travel. "At least compared with here."

Uncertain whether his last comment had helped or only dug him deeper, he switched to a different tactic. "No matter what I say, Marlys will contradict me." Those were the first words since he arrived at the castle that rang surprisingly true. "I'm always wrong."

Mabix chuckled. "Sounds like you two are married."

"Marlys and me?" Collins was as struck by the next words that escaped his mouth as Mabix was amused by them. "What a horrible thought."

Now Mabix laughed openly. "Often that which a man protests the most will or should come to pass." He winked, and Collins was again struck by the similarity of that gesture to his own culture. "At least according to women."

Lyra returned, the gatehouse doors now open ahead. "What was that?"

Mabix shook his head. "Nothing you need to hear."

Lyra sighed, speaking in a tone that implied confidentiality, though Mabix could surely hear her. "Something between men, no doubt. I'm tired of that."

For the first time, it occurred to Collins that he ought to see as many female guards as male since, presumably, the horses gave birth to as many fillies as colts. He made a mental note to ask Falima about it later, though he managed to devise a possible answer from his own experience. Likely, the women spent more of their human time house- and child-keeping. Or, perhaps, the women did more of the routine guard chores that did not involve the possibility of direct combat. The less industrial and enlightened a society, in general, the less it could afford to emancipate its women without endangering its survival.

Lyra led them through the second gatehouse and into the courtyard that surrounded the castle. Here, he saw less grass, though a few horses did graze around the scattered buildings. Gardens took up most of the space, paths winding between them. A vast variety of vegetables flourished in crooked rows, and Collins saw none of the tended panoramas of flowers he expected from his visits to the arboretum. Each and every patch grew edibles of some type, from herbs to roots, fruit trees to vines. He did find some attractive blue flowers, but these grew in a planned line, obviously the source of some delectable seed. Perhaps vilegro. Collins remembered the name of the plant Falima had turned into a sweet treat called gahiri. Here, too, buildings cropped out from the wall, kennels, guardhouses, and stables in remarkable abundance.

All of that flashed across Collins' sight in the instants before his attention became riveted upon the castle. Like some massive university, it stood grandly, towering over its walls and gardens. Sun rays skipped across its surface, igniting glimmering lines of quartz and mica. The four square towers at the corners stood like sentinels, their tops crenellated with antlike figures of guards pacing atop them. A stone-cut stairway led into the open door.

Falima clomped through the gatehouse to pull up beside Collins. While he studied the structure, she grazed with an aloofness indicative of indifference.

Mabix spoke, "Magnificent, isn't it?"

Only then, sound returned to Collins' world, and he heard the background noises of giggling children, conversation, and animal sounds of a myriad types. In response, he only nodded.

Lyra drew up. "So, what's the news from Epronville?"

"Fine," Collins murmured, still staring.

Mabix laughed. "You'll get more from her when she switches, I'd warrant. This one seems due for some sleep." He jerked a thumb toward Collins, which finally seized his attention.

"Sleep's fine." Collins yawned broadly, remembering Zylas' advice. "But I'd rather some food. I switch soon, too, and I'd like to grab a bite of something substantial before I'm committed to grass."

Mabix and Lyra nodded vigorously. "I'm with you on that one," the woman muttered. He had clearly struck a chord.

"That's where the dogs have the advantage." Lyra headed toward one of the barracks. "Though I don't know many who'd admit it so freely."

Collins supported the confession for the purposes of creating camaraderie with those who believed themselves his peers. "Right now, I'm so hungry I could eat a…" He doubted the spell would translate as "horse," but he dared not take that chance. "… tree."

Mabix completed what was, apparently, a common saying, "… two shrubs, three beehives, and a garden."

"That, too," Collins added, to his companions' amusement. He found himself liking them and hoped his theft would not reflect badly on them or cost them their jobs.

The man inclined his head toward one of the buildings. Reminded of their purpose, he and Lyra started walking. Collins and Falima followed.

They stopped in front of one of the guardhouses, animals noting their passage with curious looks. Collins felt like he had entered a dim, creepy house where the eyes of pictures seemed to fix on anyone who passed. "Bring your pack," Mabix said. "I'll show you to your quarters." Without waiting for Collins to obey, he shoved open the door and entered. "Hope you two don't mind sharing."

Collins tried to sound matter-of-fact. "Not at all." He supposed it made sense to part-time animals that they house men and women in the same barracks, even the same rooms. He wondered how many accidental marriages and out-of-wedlock births this created in buildings at least half full of stallions. He undid all the clasps, clips, and ties with Lyra's assistance, shouldered the pack, and trotted after Mabix.

The door opened onto a common room strewn with clothes, bits of food, and half-finished games of chess and dice. Crude, mismatched furniture, mostly constructed from crates and barrels, interrupted the vast chaos. If not for the lanterns instead of overhead lights and the lack of a television, it could have passed for the recreation room of most men's dormitories. Smaller doors led off in several directions. Crossing the room, Mabix knocked on one of the doors before opening it.

Through the portal, Collins saw a square, windowless room the size of a large bathroom. Three rolled up pallets leaned in one corner, a pile of chamber pots in the other. A chair crafted from a quarter-cut barrel stood pushed against a wall. A cushion affixed to a circular piece of wood lay on the floor beside it, apparently the seat.

Mabix squeezed past Lyra and Collins in the doorway, picked up the cushion, and pointed into the seat. "You can store your gear here."

Where? Collins followed Mabix and examined the chair. He saw a hole where his backside would usually go, creating a good-sized hollow that ended with a thick wooden bottom. Clearly, it served as a neat storage area as well as a piece of furniture once the cushion was balanced on top of the opening. About to say something about the cleverness of its inventor, Collins held his tongue instead. For all he knew, everyone had these in their homes.

Mabix noticed Collins studying the arrangement. "Convenient, huh?"

"Very." Collins let a bit of his respect seep into his tone.

Lyra added, "Craftsman who came up with that design won himself a permanent place on the king's staff.

Mabix bobbed his head. "A Random, too. On the king's staff. Can you believe it?"

"Wow," Collins replied, holding back a storm of questions he could never ask his Random companions. He swung the pack to the floor, feeling trapped. He had to leave it so Falima would have clothes and access to the makeup, but he hated to risk losing it. Suddenly, he realized he had no reason to hide that piece of information. "You know, I think I'd better put it back on…"He caught himself about to say "Falima." "… on Marlys. She gets cold easily and likes to dress as soon as possible." He had originally planned to say she felt uncomfortable naked among strangers but liked what came out of his mouth better. How do you like that? I can think on my feet. A less wholesome thought followed, Or am I just becoming a better liar? Winning over Korfius and Vernon had certainly given him plenty of practice.

Collins looked at the pack, as if noticing it for the first time. "She's due to switch pretty soon." He wondered if he had just made a crucial blunder. As partners, they ought to know one another's habits well enough that he would never have removed the pack in the first place.

But, if Lyra or Mabix thought the same way, neither revealed it. They headed back outside without another word or anything Collins would consider knowing glances. Falima grazed placidly among a small group of horses and one mule. As he reattached the pack, Collins found himself wondering about the long-earred animal. In his world, they came from breeding a donkey with a horse and were always sterile. He wondered how that applied here and how it affected the creature's human form.

Stop it! Collins blamed nervousness for his thoughts taking off in a trained but unhelpful direction. Focus! Casually, he poked a hand into his pocket, seized his watch, and glanced surreptitiously at it around folds of fabric. It now read 5:50 p.m., only ten minutes before Falima's switch. He needed to draw the guards away from her so she could have the privacy necessary to affect her disguise. "Now, about that tree I plan to eat…"

Mabix laughed, taking the hint. "I'll walk you to the dining hall. It's getting on toward dinner anyway, so you'll have a chance to meet a good bunch of the guards and staff."

Lyra made a throwaway gesture, and Mabix nodded. "She needs to return to her post." He took Collins' elbow, steering him toward the castle as Lyra headed back toward the gatehouses. "I'll have to get back myself, as soon as I've got you settled in. Can you do all right on your own?"

Still stuck on the realization that he would share the dining hall with a crowd, Collins forced a nod. "I'll do fine." He hoped he spoke truth. He was hungry, but he would have to feign starvation. So long as he had his mouth full, he would not have to answer questions. He only hoped dinner would not consist of a plateful of bugs as large as puppies. His mind conjured images of enormous beetles, crisply browned, legs stretched upward with turkey caps on all six drumsticks.

Mabix stopped suddenly, halfway down the courtyard path to the castle. "Didn't you say your partner would switch soon?"

The query put Collins on his guard, though it seemed foolish to lie. "Yes. Yes, I did."

"Won't she want to join us for dinner?"

Collins thought it best to leave Falima alone, at least for the change. "No," he said, fighting down an edge of terror. "No, she… she doesn't like to eat right after. The combination of rich food piled on a bellyful of grass." He wrinkled his features. "Bothers her."

"Interesting," Mabix said with the air of one who has found himself in the same situation many times but never had a similar experience. "But maybe it's different for us daytime humans. That's never bothered me."

"Me either," Collins agreed. "But it bothers her."

Mabix accepted that explanation, and Collins hoped he would not have to make up many more. The more implausibilities he forced them to consider, the more suspicious they would likely become. Though he enjoyed having a reasonably kindred soul, he was just as happy that Mabix would have to leave. Spreading his stories farther apart might make them harder to penetrate.

Mabix led Collins up the castle stairs, muddy with shoe and boot tracks, to the open door. Voices wafted through, a disharmonious hum of myriad conversations. Suspended by chains, a wooden cross-hatching hung overhead like the sword of Damocles. Collins' new knowledge of languages allowed him to give it a name, a raised portcullis. He had seen them before, in every swashbuckling movie that required a castle. Always, the heroes, from the Three Musketeers to Robin Hood dived beneath the closing grate at the last possible second, while guards' swords rattled futilely on the portcullis behind them. The very object meant to trap them saved them instead.

The door opened onto a spiral staircase that wound clockwise upward and also went downward. Cold funneled from the lower areas where Collins knew the dungeons and storerooms lay. Mabix took him up, past one landing with a set of doors opening on either side. Collins knew the right one led to the kitchens, the left to workshops. The noises grew louder as they continued their ascent, and Mabix stopped at the next set of doors. He opened the right one, revealing a vast dining hall, its grandeur surpassing Zylas' description. At the far end of the room, a smaller table stood on a dais. At it sat ten people in splendid silks and satins, their robes trimmed with gold lace-work or embroidery. The women wore nappy dresses and capes, the men fine tunics and sashes, doublets, and robes.

Three massive tables stretched between the door and the occupants of the dais, filled with people whose dress, demeanor, and appearance spanned a gamut that would once have seemed to Collins beyond possibility. Dogs of varying shapes and sizes wound freely around the diners or hovered beneath the tables. Tapestries and banners hung from every wall, their colors a rainbow mix of pattern and picture. Above them, cathedral-cut open windows revealed a balcony blocked by waist-high handrails. Men and women in matching aqua-and-white plaid looked down over the diners, clutching oddly shaped instruments and conferring with one another. "Impressive, isn't it?"

Mabix's description jarred Collins from his daze. He made no apology for staring. He was supposed to be an awestruck bumpkin. "Wow." It finally occurred to him to evaluate the food he had trapped himself into eating with gusto. He could not see what occupied the gold and silver platters of the head table, but the regular folk scooped a gloppy substance, with hands and spoons, from what appeared to be stale slices of bread that served as plates. Servants wove between the tables, refilling goblets, and plopping down fresh bowls of stew for the guests to ladle onto their bread plates.

"That's King Terrin at the head table," Mabix said, gesturing toward the central figure, a burly man with wheaten ringlets and a full beard." In order, that's the constable, the pantler, an adviser, the butler, the queen's steward, the prince, the queen, the king again, a princess, another princess, the king's steward, another adviser, the children's steward, the ewerer, and one more adviser."

The list came too fast for Collins to follow, but that did not matter. He did not intend to remain here long enough to care who he had seen and met.

"Find a seat on one of the benches at any trestle table. Whoever's next to you can help you with the proper procedures."

Collins nodded. "Thanks." He suspected he could teach them a thing or two about manners. Unlike those at the head table, the commoners lacked forks. They all used spoons and fingers, even in the communal bowls holding the only course. They shared goblets as well. Though he had no intention of eating a bite of what he imagined was a worm stew drenched in spider guts, he did take a seat for the sake of appearances. He chose the place between a demure woman in a stained white apron and a thin man animatedly engaged in conversation with the guard on his other side.

Mabix stepped around to a cluster of uniformed guards sitting at the center table. He chatted with them briefly, then they turned toward Collins. Pinned by their stares, he froze, abruptly afraid; but Mabix's cheerful wave dispelled his tension almost as soon as it arose. Of course, he would have to tell someone about Falima's and my arrival.

A boy rushed in to place a slice of bread in front of Collins. Dark and stiff with blue-green mold along one edge of crust, it did nothing to stimulate his appetite. The same boy laid out a spoon beside it.

"Thank you," Collins said.

Blushing, the boy bowed, then hurried to assist another diner.

Mabix trotted from the room, back onto the staircase, then disappeared.

The musicians launched into an upbeat song, and the conversations died to a hum. Harp, lute, and fiddle braided into a sweet harmony filled with riffs and runs. Collins looked at the bread plate, then at the woman beside him. "Excuse me," he whispered. "Where would I find a rest room?"

Silently, the woman lifted a hand to point beyond the royal diners. Only then, Collins noticed a door in the far wall that surely led to one of the garderobes Zylas had described. She hissed back, "If you don't want to walk past the royals, there's another one in the library. Just go out the main door, across the landing, and through the cross door. The only other exit from the library is the garderobe."

"Thank you." Collins rose and headed back the way he had come. Once in the staircase, he crossed to the library door. He had his hand on the ring before he remembered his interest in the rest room was only diversionary. What better time for exploring than when most of the staff and royals are gathered in the dining room?

Quickly, Collins scurried up the stairs. He reached the next landing, heart pounding, and paused to regroup. A tall window overlooked the castle grounds, a ledge jutting from it. He perched on it, glancing down at the courtyards. Horses sprawled, bathing in the sunshine while others quietly grazed. A gardener pulled weeds, feeding them to a spotted goat as he worked. A pair of dogs frolicked with a young colt, barking at its heels. It charged them, as if to crush them beneath its hooves, then turned aside at the last moment, leaving the dogs to whirl and charge after it again. Collins tore his gaze from the scene to turn his attention inward. The doors on either side should open onto the servants' sleeping chambers, which meant he had one more floor till he came to the first warded area. He resumed his climb.

The next landing also held a window overlooking a slightly different view of the courtyards. A calico cat curled on the ledge, the resemblance to Collins' first pet uncanny. Like Fluffy, this cat had one black ear and one white, its body covered with blotches on a chalky background, tail and paws darkly tipped. The memory brought a smile to his lips. "Here kitty, kitty," he said softly. "Here girl." The scientist in him came out to wonder whether the same rules of genetics applied here. He knew cats carried color genes on their X-chromosomes and, at most, two different hues on each X. Since males only had one X and females two, and calicoes had three colors by definition, all calicoes were either female or the uncommon XXY, a usually sterile male mutation.

The cat lifted its head.

Collins approached gently, fingers extended. The cat sniffed curiously. He lowered his hand to its back, making a broad stroke. The cat arched, a purr rumbling from it. It jammed its head into his cupped hand.

Smiling, Collins stroked the entire length of the cat, enjoying the soft rush of fur beneath his palm. He missed having a cat terribly. Studies showed that petting an animal naturally lowered blood pressure and relieved stress. He could scarcely recall a time when he needed a natural tranquilizer more. He scratched around the animal's ears, ruffling its fur into a mane. Its purr deepened to a roar.

Only then did Collins realize what he was doing. Oh, my God, I'm stroking a human woman! He cursed his lack of caution. Caught up in his memory of Fluffy, he had completely forgotten that no creature here was what it seemed. He withdrew his hands, and the purr died immediately. The cat bounded down from its perch with a thud that made him cringe, then twined itself against and through his legs.

Collins back-stepped. "That's it for now, kitty. I've got work to do." Reaching for the door ring, he pushed it open. Every cat he had ever owned had to run through any newly opened door no matter where it led, but this one did not attempt to enter the royal bedchambers. Warded against switchers, it would not allow her entry. Seeing no movement inside, Collins headed in, pulling the door shut behind him. His heart rate quickened again, and any stress-easing that petting the cat might have achieved disappeared. His pulse pounded in his temples, and sweat slicked his back. He had just reached the point of no return. No logical explanation could cover him now.

Much smaller than the great dining hall, the room contained a curtained bed with a shelved frame, a chest, a stool, and a chandelier with a dozen white candles. A massive tapestry depicting a hunt covered most of one wall. Collins dredged up the description of the crystal: a smooth oblong rock the size of a peach with five, smooth edges of different sizes, milky blue in color. The room held few enough furnishings that it would not take long to search.

Collins walked first to the bed, suddenly struck by something that had gotten only his passing notice when he had glanced at it. A hunting scene? It seemed an impossible thing for a society that considered the killing of animals murder. He jerked his attention back to the tapestry. It was clearly old, a museum piece faded nearly beyond recognition. Washed to shades of gray, its figures blurred into the background. Yet Collins had managed to take away a solid impression, and he struggled now to find the details that had previously caught his eye. Men on horseback raised spears, while a pack of dogs harried some huge, indiscernible animal.

You don't have time for this, Collins reminded himself. Tearing his gaze from the tapestry, he opened one of the drawers. Stacks of neatly folded tunics in a variety of colors met his gaze. He felt under and between them for a hard lump, glad for its size. Anything smaller might require him to rifle the room, which would definitely cast suspicion. If possible, he wanted to get the stone without anyone noticing it, or him, missing.

Drawer by drawer, Collins checked through the king's clothing, intensely aware of every passing second. He had no more than an hour to search before he either had to furtively withdraw or find a hiding place and hope he had a chance to look again, perhaps at another meal. A better thought came to him. While they're sleeping. He shoved the last drawer shut and cast his gaze around the room again. It seemed worth losing a few minutes of trying to find the magical stone in order to locate a haven. The drawer-base meant no room beneath the bed, and its position flat against one corner gave him no space to squeeze beyond the curtains. Even if the chest did not surely contain something, it would prove a tight squeeze even for his skinny frame. Two other doors led out of the king's chamber.

Footsteps thundered on the staircase, growing louder. They're coming. Terror scattered Collins' wits, and he bolted for the far doors in a desperate scramble. Seizing one at random, he shoved it opened and hurled himself through. He skidded across a polished clay floor. His shoulder slammed into a low shelf. He sprang to his feet, braining himself on an overhanging lip. He bit off a scream, teeth sinking into his tongue. Dizziness washed over him in a blaze of black-and-gray spots. He caught a blurry glimpse of what he had hit, a wooden board atop a bench with a hole cut into the wood. Bathroom. He whirled to face four men with drawn swords.

Collins' skin seemed to turn to ice. His head throbbed, and he tasted blood. He retreated, raising his hands to indicate surrender. Wood pressed into the backs of his calves, and he stopped, forced into a sitting position on the bench. "I won't fight. Don't hurt me." His vision cleared enough to reveal faces familiar from the dining hall, including the goldenrod hair and beard of Barakhai's king.