non-Murgo woman?
Absurd!
“We have some real beauties here in Sulturn,” the Sendar said.
“My friend was in a hurry, so he didn’t have time to introduce himself
to the lady in question, but when he found that I was coming here, he
begged me to find out what I could about her–where she lives, what her
name is, whether she’s married–that sort of thing.” He tried to smile
again, and this one wasn’t any better than the first had been.
“Did he describe her to you?” the Sendar asked. What a dunce! Even
if the Murgo’s transparent fiction had been true, he’d have had a
description.
In his case, however, he had no problem at all. Ctuchik had probably
engraved a portrait of Polgara on the inside of his eyeballs.
“He said that she was quite tall and very beautiful.”
“That describes a lot of the ladies here in Sulturn, friend. Did he
give you any other details?”
“She has very dark hair,” the Murgo said, “but the thing that really
stood out in my friend’s mind was the fact that she’s got a white
streak in her hair–just above her brow.”
The Sendar laughed.
“That’s easy,” he said.
“Your friend’s been taken with Mistress Pol, the aunt of Darion the
cabinetmaker. He’s not the first, but you might as well tell him to
try his luck somewhere else.
Mistress Pol’s not interested, and she goes out of her way to let
people know that. She can blister the bark off a tree from half a mile
away.”
I swore under my breath. I was going to have to have a talk with Pol
about that. What good did it do to hide if she didn’t change her name,
her appearance, or her temperament?
I didn’t really need to stay any longer. The Murgo had what he wanted,
and so did I. I pushed back my bowl of watery turnip stew, got up, and
left.
The streets of Sulturn were nearly deserted, and a chill, gusty autumn
wind howled around the corners of the solid stone houses. Heavy clouds
covered the moon, and the few torches that were supposed to illuminate
the streets were flaring and guttering as the wind tore at them. I
didn’t really pay too much attention to the weather, though. I was
more interested in whether there might be another Murgo following me. I
doubled back several times, circled around through the narrow, nearly
dark streets, and came to Darion’s cabinet shop from the far side.
It was after nightfall, so the shop was closed, but the lights in the
windows of the living quarters upstairs clearly announced that Darion
and his family were home. I didn’t pound on the door. There wasn’t
any point in disturbing the neighbors. I picked the lock instead, went
inside, and blundered around in the dark until I found the stairs. I
went up them two at a time, fumbled around until I found the lock on
the door at the top, and picked that one, as well.
The door opened into the kitchen, and I’d have recognized it as
Polgara’s even if I’d entered it somewhere on the far side of the moon.
It was warm and cheerful, and it was arranged in that familiar way all
of Polgara’s kitchens have been arranged. Pol and her little family
were eating supper at the kitchen table when I slipped into the room.
“Poll” I hissed sharply.
“We’ve got to get you out of here!”
She came quickly to her feet, her eyes blazing.
“What are you doing here, Old Man?” she demanded. So much for
disguises, I guess.
Darion stood up. I hadn’t seen him since he was a child. He was quite
tall, and there was a certain bulkiness to his shoulders that reminded
me of Dras Bull-neck.
“Who is this man, Aunt Pol?” he demanded.
“My father,” she replied shortly.
“Holy Belgarath?” His voice was startled.
“That “holy” might be open to some question,” she said dryly.
“I told you to stay away from me, father.”
“This is an emergency, Pol. We’ve got to leave Sulturn right now.
Have you ever thought of hiding that white lock? It makes you awfully
conspicuous, you know.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s a Murgo at an inn not a half mile from here. He’s been asking
after you. Worse yet, he’s been getting answers. He knows exactly
where you are. Gather up what you need, and let’s get out of here. I
don’t know if he’s alone or not, but even if he is now, he won’t be for
long.”
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
Darion’s eyes went very wide.
“Aunt Poll” he gasped.
“How much does he know?” I asked, pointing at Darion.
“As much as he needs to know.”
“That’s a little vague, Pol. Does he know who he is?”
“In a general sort of way.”
“I think it’s time for a few specifics. You’d better pack a few
things.
We can buy more in Kotu.”
“Kotu?”
“There are too many Murgos snooping around here in Sendaria. It’s time
for you to move to one of the Alorn kingdoms. Throw some things
together while I explain the situation to Darion and his wife.”
“I still think you should have killed the Murgo.”
“This is Sendaria, Pol, not Cherek. Dead bodies attract attention
here. As soon as you’re ready, I’ll go buy some horses.”
“Get a wagon instead, father. Selana’s pregnant. I’m not going to let
you bounce her around in a saddle.”
“Congratulations, your Majesty,” I said to Darion.
“What did you say?”
“Congratulations.”
“No, the other–that “your Majesty” business?”
“Oh, Polgara!” I said irritably.
“This is ridiculous! How many other facts haven’t you told him? Start
packing, and I’ll explain things to him.” I turned back to the heir.
“All right, Darion, listen carefully–you, too, Selana. I won’t have
time to repeat this.” I glossed over a number of things. As you may
have noticed, this is a very long story. After about fifteen minutes,
though, Darion and his wife at least knew that he was the heir to
Iron-grip’s throne and why we had to avoid Murgos.
“I can’t just leave my shop behind, Ancient One,” he protested.
“I’ll set you up in business again once we get to Kotu. You’ll have to
abandon this one, I’m afraid.”
“Go get a wagon, father,” Pol told me.
“Where am I going to be able to buy a wagon at this time of night?”
“Steal one, then.” Her eyes had gone flinty.
“I’ve got a two-wheeled cart,” Darion said.
“I use it as a handcart to deliver furniture. It’s a little rickety,
but it’s got two shafts. I suppose we could come up with some way to
hitch a horse to it. It might be a bit crowded, but the four of us
should fit in it.”
I suddenly laughed.
“How very appropriate,” I said.
“I didn’t quite follow that.”
“A very old friend of mine used to travel around in a rickety
two-wheeled cart.” Then I had an idea–a very good one, even if I do
say so myself.
“I think a fire might be useful here,” I suggested.
“A fire?”
“You’re going to have to leave all this behind anyway, Darion, but we
can still get some use out of it. A burning house causes a lot of
confusion and attracts crowds of gawkers. That might just be the thing
to distract the Murgo long enough to give us the time to get away.”
“All my things are here!” Selana protested.
“All my furniture, my bedding, my clothes!”
“That’s the nice thing about leaving town in a hurry, dear child,” I
told her gaily.
“You get all new things when you get to where you’re going. I’ll buy
you whatever you want when we get to Kotu. Frankly, I’d burn down this
whole town if it’d help us evade that Murgo.”
“I don’t think it’ll work, Ancient One,” Darion said dubiously.
“I’m fairly well known here in Sulturn, and somebody’s bound to see us
leaving.”
“I’ll hide you three in the back of the cart,” I told him.
“The only thing people are going to see is a humorous fellow in a
rickety cart.”
“Would that work?”
“It always has in the past. I’ll go get my horse while you three
finish packing.” I went back downstairs and up the street to the inn.
I stopped briefly to glance into the common room on my way to the
stables. My Murgo was still there, and the tipsy Sendar was still
talking to him. The Murgo evidently didn’t intend to follow up on the
information he’d received until morning. This was all working out
better and better.
Polgara had improved on my plan during my absence. She had been very
subtle about it, since I hadn’t heard a thing, and if I hadn’t heard
it, I was sure that the Murgo–or Grolim, or whatever he was–hadn’t
heard her either. Three complete human skeletons were huddled together