He assembled their packs, carefully balancing the one Genevieve was to carry. He patted her shoulder, smiling. “You go south, and I’ll go north. I’ll know the man by name or voice, and if I find he has delayed, awaiting you, I’ll send him after his daughter Imogene. Go with heaven.”
“What are you going to do, Jeorfy? I don’t like leaving you like this.”
“Well, I created myself a new identity at that key station,” he said. “And now my new self is going to recruit some helpers. And when I’ve got a few men and materials together, I’m going back into the caverns!
“Who is the new man you are?”
“Jeorfy Bliggard, from Bliggen.”
“And where will you be recruiting?”
“Somewhere. Haven’t decided yet. Somewhere that people aren’t totally happy with the way things are. Dania, maybe. I hear there’s lots of malcontents in Dania.”
“But if I need you, Jeorfy . . .”
“Ah, well, if you need me, lady, just use the archive machine. Leave a message for someone named Jeorfy Bliggard and sign it Imogene. Wherever I am, I won’t be far from the machines.”
He turned away from her, trudging northward and looking only once over his shoulder. Genevieve put the pack on her back, already arranged with the light saddle on top, and started away down the trail to the south. An hour later, she heard horses approaching from that direction and stumbled into the trees to hide from whoever it might be. Between two mossy boles she saw a disconsolate rider with his chin on his chest and a spare horse trailing behind.
Weary and distracted, she let him go on by, unthinking. Only as he retreated from her did she realize who it was and burst from the trees, crying, “Garth! Papa! It’s Imogene.”
17: Merdune Lagoon
Garth Sentith stood in his stirrups to look over the top of the last rise that separated him and his weary charge from the sloping meadows leading down to the shore of Merdune Lagoon and the town of Midling Wells. He was so long silent that the quiet penetrated Genevieve’s fog of exhaustion.
She looked up and murmured, “Have the wells run dry, the town blown away or been flooded by the lagoon?”
He turned with a little smile. “No, Imogene. The weather is good, the way is clear, and the town looks its usual sleepy self. I’m merely being cautious. Normally, I come here in midsummer during the flower harvest. There are many roses and tuberoses upon these long, sunny slopes, along with lavender and fragrant thyme, and many of my most popular scents derive from them, at least in part.”
“So they’ll be surprised to see you now.”
“A little surprised, but not shocked, for I’ve occasionally visited here out of season. And they won’t be shocked at you, either, for I’ve often spoken of my children.”
“What do we do now?”
“We ride down into the village and stop at Fentwig’s house, which is where I usually stay.”
The horses stepped to the top of the rise, and for the first time, Genevieve saw the sea. It foamed like lace at the edge of the long meadows, receding into blue haze, endless, eternal. The wind in her nostrils came from it, bringing an odor she had never smelled before: something deep, briny, primal. Her eyes remained fixed on that blue as the horse started down the long slope, and she came to herself with a start and an exclamation only when Garth took her by the shoulder.
“I asked if you were looking forward to a good night’s rest?” he said, peering into her face. “Were you asleep already?”
“Daydreaming,” admitted Genevieve. “I could use a bed, and a bath.”
“Fentwig’s House is near the bathhouse, which is clean and well maintained. I suggest you make do with a sponge bath tonight, and tomorrow visit the baths before we set sail.”
“We sail tomorrow?”
“Possibly. Or as soon as we find a boat we can hire or rent or borrow. During this cold and windy season, many of Merdune’s fishermen neglect their traps and nets in favor of work by the fireside or in the barns.”