‘To the Arbai dig, I think I heard Father James say. Marjorie thinks there may be some help there.”
“Help for what?” Rigo snarled, angered that he had not been asked to go along.
“To find Stella,” the old priest said. “For what other reason?”
“Does she think I have no interest in that?” Rigo demanded. “Doesn’t she think I care?”
Father Sandoval struggled to find something that would calm Rigo’s anger. “I haven’t talked to Marjorie, Rigo. I know only what Father James told me.”
Rigo snarled again wordlessly and left the old priest while he, Rigo, wandered aimlessly in the garden, cursing to himself. When his feet brought him to Eugenie’s house, he went in, telling himself he would stay only for a short time. He wanted to be in his own room when Marjorie returned. Still, Marjorie had gone some distance, so there was no hurry. He began to unburden himself to Eugenie, telling her many things to which she murmured sympathetically without paying any attention at all.
She poured him another drink, and then several more. Rigo grew at first angrier, then sad and maudlin. He wept, and she comforted him. They found their way into the summer bedroom. Neither of them heard the aircar return in the middle hours of the night.
Father James, who had done some show riding in his youth, saddled Millefiori, the most spirited of the mares, while Marjorie, who had already saddled Don Quixote for herself and El Dia Octavo for Tony, urged Brothers Mainoa and Lourai to help her with Her Majesty and Blue Star. These two were graceful and elegant mares with habits of calm good sense. “You’ll ride these two, Brothers. All you need to do is sit on top and relax. The horses will do the rest.”
Brothers Mainoa and Lourai looked at one another in embarrassed surmise. Rillibee had ridden something a few times in his childhood, ridden at a slow walk, with someone leading the horse or donkey or whatever it had been. Brother Mainoa could not remember ever having touched a riding animal of any kind before. Marjorie had no time to reassure them. She was busy at the top of a short stepladder, putting a saddle on the great draft horse, Irish Lass.
“Who’s going to ride that?” Rillibee/Lourai asked.
“Irish Lass will carry most of our supplies. And Stella can ride her, when we find Stella.”
When we find her, Father James thought quietly to himself. If. If we find her. He had not gone back to the house he shared with Father Sandoval. He had not told the older priest he was going on this wild venture. It would be easier to ask forgiveness later than to seek permission now, permission which he would not receive.
“I have to go out into the grass for a while before we leave,” Brother Mainoa said. “Something I need to do if we want to get where we’re going.”
Marjorie stared at him, eager to be off and yet aware of what dangers lay out there. “Is it necessary?”
“If we’re going to get to bon Damfels in one piece, yes.” She gestured, biting her lip. “Hurry. If you can.” Then she stood looking after him into the darkness, wondering what he was up to.
Tony came into the stables with a pile of things which he set down on the floor, announcing, “These have to be sorted out. There’s food and some equipment. I have to make another trip/’
“Father James?” Marjorie indicated the pile. “Is there anything that we need that Tony hasn’t found?” She leaned wearily against the flank of the huge horse, asking Tony, “Did you tell your father where we’re going?”
“I didn’t find Father,” Tony reported. “I went through the house.”
“Leave him a message on the tell-me,” Marjorie said, relieved that Rigo was not shouting at them, telling them they could not go. He was probably with Eugenie, but it wouldn’t be appropriate for Tony to seek him there. “Leave him a note, Tony. Tell him we’ve gone looking for Stella, that we’ve taken the horses.”
“I did,” the boy replied. “I already did that.”
“Water bottles,” said the priest. “First aid supplies.”