Eshiala rose, also, feeling grateful. She wondered what Ashia would say in her place. The mind boggled.
As they reached the door, Eigaze seemed to have second thoughts. She turned. ”What are you going to do about Ylo?”
Her husband frowned. “We need him to certify the imperor’s death.”
“I know you do. And I expect he does.”
“He isn’t going anywhere. He can barely walk.”
“He can ride, can’t he?”
Metal jangled from the direction of Centurion Hardgraa. He held a large bunch of iron keys. “The stables are secure, ma’am!”
“Ah!” Eigaze nodded. “You think that will stop Ylo, do you?”
Hardgraa scowled. “What do you suggest?”
“Me? I’m only a fat old woman, Centurion. As I recall, there are some rusty fetters down in the wine cellar, but it really is not my business. Come, then, my dear.” She ushered the impress before her.
As they went out, she heard the count say, “He is a material witness, I suppose.”
The two ladies walked together across the Great Hall. Eshiala could barely see it. Her head was spinning and she felt close to panic.
Eigaze stopped suddenly. “I have been married to that man for forty-two years, and we have never had a cross word! Now, all of a sudden, he is behaving like a drunken mule!” Her chins wobbled with outrage.
“Ylo?” Eshiala said suddenly. “If they are going to turn him in, as well, shouldn’t we warn him?”
“Bah! Ylo can look after himself.”
“But . . .” It was a terribly slim hope. “If I appealed to Ylo—”
“Never appeal to Ylo!” the countess said firmly. “He would only despise you, although he might not realize that himself. Regardless of what they think, my dear, the Ylos of this world are far more interested in the race than the prize. The worst thing you can do is to throw yourself on their mercy, because that ruins the sport. They don’t have any anyway—mercy sours the fruits of victory. With men like Ylo you must always play hard to get.”
“I don’t have time to—”
“As dear Aunt Kade always used to say, you will be gotten soon enough! Of course that’s the idea, and the only way to play the game, and you mustn’t think he’s not enjoying it just as much as you are.” Why was she standing here, in the middle of the Great Hall, babbling such nonsense? There was a curiously distracted look in her eyes. “They value what they get by what they pay to get it, even if they don’t under— . . . Ah!”
A faint Boom! rolled through the mansion.
“What was that?” Eshiala demanded, sensing a sudden gleam of satisfaction in her companion.
“The cellar door, I expect. Mistress Ukka was standing behind it. Ionfeu will be busy with his letter . . . Come!”
Eigaze set off as fast as she could move, heading for the main door like a runaway haywain. Bewildered, Eshiala followed, into sudden dazzling sunshine.
At the foot of the steps stood the gig, with a sorrel mare between the shafts. Ylo was sitting on the bench bouncing Maya on his knee. He was tickling and she was shrieking with glee.
Eshiala said, “I thought the stables—”
“Mistress Ukka had duplicate keys, dear,” Eigaze said soothingly. ”Up you get! Ylo, have you got the bags?”
“Two under my eyes and two under the seat, Aunt. Impress, is this brat housebroken?”
The countess took Eshiala by the shoulders. “Gods be with you, my dear!” There were tears in her eyes. “I divided the gold in two. Don’t let Ylo cheat!” She smiled bravely and dropped her voice to a whisper, ”And remember to play hard to get!”
“She knows that!” Ylo said. “It won’t work. Up you get, wench. I don’t think the cellar door will hold Hardgraa for long.”
Even here, out on the driveway, the cellar door could be heard protesting.
“Mistress Ukka will keep the servants away,” the countess said, forcing a brave smile, “but Ion isn’t quite deaf enough. Hurry, then!”
A kiss and a hug . . . a scramble up to the bench . . . take Maya from Ylo . . . a crack of the reins and a final wave to the old lady as the gig went bouncing down the driveway . . . bewilderment . . .
“Where are we going?” Eshiala exclaimed.
“I’m going back to Qoble,” Ylo said. “Wonderful climate and a long way from goblins. I’ve got some heiresses in mind there. You’re welcome to come along, or I’ll drop you off somewhere. Please yourself. And I don’t cheat with gold. Virtue, certainly. Always! That’s what it’s for. Gold, never.”
Escape? Hope glimmered before her like a mirage. Hope sang like a skylark, high out of reach. She saw the long wooded driveway ahead through rainbows of hope.
“But they’ll chase us!” she said.
The count would release Hardgraa. The centurion would rally the footmen and the grooms. He would be after the gig with a posse in minutes. Even if Ylo could reach the road, that would only offer a choice of Faintown or Moggly. Moggly was a dead end, and long before . . . “Where are you going?”
The gig had turned off the driveway onto a side track. “Down to the lake!” Now Ylo’s grin was pure delight. “Auntie didn’t go to Faintown. She went to Moggly. She ordered a boat.”
“Boat?”
Maya squealed in gleeful terror as the gig bounced on the ruts. Cenmere came in sight through a gap in the trees, and a small sailboat was gliding toward the jetty.
“She lied to them!” Ylo added joyfully. “The news isn’t out yet! She made it all up! We’ve got a day’s start on the panic, at least. Quite a lady, isn’t she?”
The ice had broken, and the pond was only ankle deep. “But . . .” Eshiala’s head swam with the intensity of relief. “That’s why you were such a boor to me? To deceive Hardgraa?”
Or could it have been to stop her throwing herself on his mercy? Was that what the countess had been hinting? Ylo took a corner on one wheel. “Me? Boor? That was merely a tactical feint—you don’t mean you believed me?”
She ducked as branches swept low overhead.
“You should have remembered I always lie,” Ylo said happily. ”I worked it out when the daffodils blew away. Nothing like a country walk to clear a man’s thinking! The pool had warned me off Rivermead, but it also trapped me into coming back here. Then I saw how Ionfeu and Hardgraa would react to the news.” He was too occupied with driving to look at her just then, but he smiled at the track ahead. “I realized that this was a perfect opportunity to use my damsel-in-distress gambit.”
Eshiala’s hair blew in the wind, she hugged her daughter, who was yelling with mingled joy and terror at the wild ride.
They had escaped from the trap! “Oh, Ylo! I’m so grateful!”
He flashed his most sinister grin at her. “Gratitude I can handle,” he said.
Remedies refusing:
Love is a sickness full of woes,
All remedies refusing;
A plant that most with cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.
Samuel Daniel, Love Is a Sickness
FIVE
Signifying nothing
1
“My mission is extremely urgent!” Acopulo bleated. “If you will explain this urgency, then I am sure your departure can be expedited,” Lop’quith said soothingly.
“I have told you! My business is secret!”
“How can that be? You are a priest, and while the Gods’ business is naturally confidential to the uttermost in individual cases, in general terms it concerns us all.”
Balked again!
Acopulo had been trapped in Ilrane for two weeks. Star of Morning had avoided shipwreck in Dragon Reach, although barely. Battered and leaking, she had limped into the elvish port of Vislawn. When the customs officials had come aboard, they had ransacked her from stem to stern. They had uncovered Shandie’s letters to the caliph. Star of Morning had departed without her passenger.
An elvish prison was admittedly very pleasant. When forced to build cities, elves concealed them. Vislawn was a great sprawl of islands at the mouth of the river, all its buildings hidden within trees. Acopulo had a pleasant cabana all to himself. He had a whole island all to himself. It had flowers and shade and a silver beach. The meals that were delivered twice a day were the sort of cuisine that Lord Umpily dreamed of. But a prison was a prison. Every few days, someone new would come to interrogate him. Politely, of course—an elf became ill at the very thought of whips or knuckle-dusters. The questioning took place under the trees in bowers of scented blossoms. The present inquisitor, Lop’quith, was fairly typical. He wore nothing but skimpy pants of scarlet and turquoise silk, and had no more fat on him than a dead twig. The skin stretched over his bones was a shiny gold. He claimed to be exarch of the Olipon sept of the senior branch of the Quith clan, and surrogate speaker of law for the Sovereignty of Quole—which might mean a lot or absolutely nothing. He looked no older than fourteen, but one could never tell with elves. He might be exactly what he seemed, a kid playing a practical joke on the foreigner, or he might be what he said, an important government official. In that case, he shaved his armpits.