man’s form. He was of medium height and build, far too small to be Voorhes-but that did
not necessarily mean he wasn’t sent by Voorhes. Almost as though reading her mind, the
man said, “Voorhes has nothing to do with this. I just want to talk with you.”
“I suppose you have that notarized in writing.”
Out of the corners of her eyes, Vonnie could see two men edging slowly toward her from
opposite sides. She braced herself for a fight, but pretended for a moment not to notice
them as the man in the shadows said, “Five minutes of your time is all I ask.”
“Oh? And what about them?” She pointed suddenly at the men approaching her.
As soon as they were aware she’d seen them, they stopped their advance and looked
into the shadows for guidance. The man who’d spoken gave a sharp laugh and said,
“Smooth, boys, you can go. I can handle this myself.” Then, to Yvonne, he continued,
“They’re just my bodyguards-follow me everywhere. Sometimes they get a little
overeager. What do you say?”
Vonnie watched the two men retreat again, and decided to take a chance. “Khorosho,”
she said, walking forward into the shadows. “I’ll talk. But only five minutes.”
Up close, the man was no one she recognized-but with twenty thousand people in the
village, that wasn’t peculiar. His face was badly pitted from acne in his youth, and there
was a long knife-scar down the right side of his face.
“The word I hear,” he said softly, “is that you and Voorhes don’t get along.”
“We’ve had a few run-ins,” Vonnie admitted.
“I also hear,” the man continued smoothly, “that Tshombase turned you down for a job.”
Vonnie shrugged, but said nothing.
“Let me be blunt, then. I’m not as bigoted as Tshombase is. I’m looking for good people
no matter how long they’ve been here. From what they tell me, you handle yourself pretty
well. How would you like a job with me?”
“Doing what””
The other gave a brief laugh. His laughs were harsh and unpleasant; Vonnie didn’t like
them at all.
“Let’s just say I’m not happy with his administration, and I think it’s time we had a change
of government. A clever lady like yourself could rise high in a new regime.”
So-when she least expected it, here came an offer to join in the midst of intravillage
politics. Vonnie reminded herself that all the exiles here had been convicted of treason,
and therefore had a predilection for games of intrigue and treachery.
The plot to overthrow Tshombase would be a dangerous one at best-but if it succeeded,
they would be inside the village’s power structure and able to unwrap the mystery
surrounding the escapes from Gastonia. Time was definitely running out before the
Emperor’s abdication and Edna’s ascension to the Throne; Vonnie knew that she and
Jules would have to do something to force some action.
“I’d have to talk it over with my husband,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “He and I
work together as a team. You’ll either have us both or not at all.”
“Agreed.”
“He’s off on a hunt right now. He’s supposed to be back tomorrow night. We’ll discuss it
then and let you know.” “Khorosho.” The man nodded and began retreating down the
alleyway.
“Wait,” Vonnie called. “What’s your name? How do I get in touch with you again?”
“You don’t,” the man said. “I’ll contact you.” And he turned a corner and disappeared.
Vonnie debated with herself whether she should tail him, but decided against it. If she
should be seen following him he wouldn’t trust her, and this promising opportunity would
be lost forever. He wanted her on his side; he’d keep his promise and contact her again.
Bundling herself against the wind, she headed for home. There was a bad storm heading
in from the west-and that was the direction where Jules’s group had headed. Vonnie
hoped her husband would be safe out there, unprotected from the weather.
The storm hit the hunting party in late afternoon, when the teams were scattered out to
search for wallowers. A more prudent hunt leader, seeing the signs of impending trouble,
might not have split up his men with such a gale coming in; but the leader of this
expedition was edgy. They had only caught one wallower in four days of hunting-not a
very impressive record. The men under him were grumbling that the small catch would
mean less money for them, and they were taking their discontent out both on each other
and on him. He looked at the sky and saw the storm clouds gathering, but his
mind-hoping to get in at least one more try this afternoon before heading back to the
village tomorrow-allowed him to miscalculate its effects. He estimated it would be a
weaker storm than it was, and that it was traveling too slowly to reach them before
nightfall. He decided to press his luck and try for one more hunt. The men grumbled; they
too could see the approaching storm-but like their leader, they were hoping they could
catch at least one more wallower before the end of the expedition.
The country through which they were traveling was a frozen marsh, a terrain ideally
suited to the wallowers. These were large moose like creatures with enormous sets of
antlers and broad paddle feet to help them in their half-swimming movement through the
mixture of mud and ice that comprised the marsh. Jules’s team consisted of himself and
two other men, Phillips and Li. Like the other teams, they had been sent out to look for
wallowers-and if they saw any, they were to herd them into the center of the large circle
encompassed by the hunters, where the group as a whole would bring down the large
creatures.
The storm struck them without warning. One moment they were facing a chilly breeze,
typical of almost any afternoon on Gastonia-and the next, they were in the midst of a
raging blizzard, pelted by hailstones the size of marbles and blinded by the fury of the
driving gale that blasted them with a curtain of sleet. The sky grew dark as the sun was
totally obscured by the thick black storm clouds, and there was an ominous rumbling
overhead.
“Stay together!” Jules yelled, hoping to make himself heard above the rush of the wind.
“Grab hands, or we’ll be separated.” He wasn’t sure, at first, that the other men had
even heard him-but then, out of the snow, Li grabbed his hand and Jules held on tightly
with an acrobat’s grip that was virtually unbreakable. On the other side, he could barely
make out Phillips grabbing Li’s hand. The three of them formed a chain, with Jules in the
lead.
“We must try to get back to camp,” Jules bellowed. Beside him, Li nodded agreement
but Phillips, only slightly more than a meter away, made no reaction-the storm was so
loud he hadn’t heard. Nevertheless, Jules started off in the direction of the camp; Li
would tend to the job of pulling Phillips along.
They stumbled off through the storm back the way they had come. The hail had given
way quickly to snow, but it was scarcely a relief. The freezing gale went right through the
men’s furs, chilling them to the bone. Jules had to squint to keep the wind out of his eyes,
and tiny snowflakes were sticking to the lashes, making it even more difficult to see
where he was going. The stinging cold made his eyes water, and the tears froze on his
cheeks. He kept his gaze steadfastly glued to the ground in front of him; lifting his head
too straight only made the effects of the wind that much worse.
Their previous footprints were all but obliterated from the storm, and Jules had nothing
but his own inborn sense of direction to tell him whether he was going the right way. At
this point he wasn’t even sure it mattered; there would be little protection even in camp
against a storm this severe. He knew, though, that in a situation like this he had to keep
moving; to stand still, to give in to the blizzard, would be to invite a lonely, frigid death.
Jules had too many things left to do in his life before surrendering it that easily.
The ground beneath him was covered by a layer of snow, which in turn was covered by a
thin crust of ice. The men’s boots made a crunching sound as they trudged step after
weary step into the teeth of the gale. Jules’s eyes were closed almost completely
now-but even had they been wide open, it’s doubtful he would have seen the edge of the
marsh, covered over as it was with the same layer of frost as the snow.
With one step, instead of his boot sinking through snow to solid ground, it broke through
the ice layer and sank thigh deep into the freezing mud of the fen. Jules toppled off