He was still again, and suddenly it occurred to Ben that Dirk wasn’t speaking in general terms, but in very specific ones. He wasn’t talking about just everyone, but about someone definite. His eyes lifted to find the solitary figure of the River Master.
And then he thought suddenly about himself.
“Dirk, what…?”
“Shhhhhh!” The cat hushed him into silence. “Let the stillness be. High Lord. Do not disturb it. If you are able, listen to its voice — but let it be.”
The cat moved slowly off into the trees, picking his way gingerly over the damp, water-soaked forest earth. Rain fell in steady sheets out of skies clouded over from horizon to horizon, a gray ceiling canopied above the trees. Silence filled the gaps left by the sound of the rain, cloaking the city of Elderew, the houses and tree lanes, the walkways and parks, and the vast, empty amphitheater that loomed behind the still-motionless figure of the River Master. Ben listened as Dirk had said he should and he could almost hear the silence speak.
But what was it saying to him? What was it that he was supposed to learn? He shook his head hopelessly. He didn’t know.
Dirk had disappeared into the haze ahead of him, a pale gray shadow. Abandoning his efforts to listen further, Ben hurried after.
Dance
That there was something inordinately peculiar about Edgewood Dirk was no longer a matter for debate with Ben Holiday. You might have argued that all cats were somewhat peculiar and that it should come as no surprise therefore that a cat out of the fairy world would turn out to be even more peculiar than your average feline, but Ben would have disagreed. The sort of peculiar exhibited by Dirk went far beyond anything encountered in — oh, say — Alice in Wonderland or Dick Whittington, Dirk lent a whole new meaning to the word, and the most aggravating part of all was the fact that, try as Ben might, he could not decipher what it was that the beast was about!
In short, who was this cat, and what was he doing here with Ben?
He would have loved to find immediate answers to his questions, but time did not permit it. The cat was leading the way once more — presumptuous beast that it was — and he was forced once again to hurry after. Rain pelted his face in a quickening downpour, and the wind gusted in chill swipes. Nightfall was approaching and the weather was growing worse. Ben was drenched, cold, hungry, and discouraged, despite his resolve to continue, and he found himself wishing fondly for a warm bed and dry clothes.
But he was unlikely to find either just now. The River Master was barely tolerating his presence as it was, and he must use the time that remained to him to try to find Willow.
He passed through the city of Elderew, head bent against the weather, another of dusk’s faceless shadows, then plunged into the forest beyond. The lights of cottages and homes disappeared behind him, and the darkness closed about in a wet, rain-sodden curtain. Trailers of mist floated past like kite tails broken free from their winged flyers, touching and rubbing, forming into gradually thickening sheets. Ben ignored it all and pushed on. He had gone to the old pines often enough to know the way blindfolded.
He arrived at the clearing moments later — several steps behind Edgewood Dirk. He glanced about expectantly, but there was nothing to be found. The clearing sat empty, ringed by the old pines, ancient sentinels of the forest, as damp and cold as the rest of the land. He cast about briefly for tracks or other signs of Willow’s passing, but there was nothing to indicate whether the sylph had been there or not.
Edgewood Dirk paced the clearing once, sniffing at the earth, then retreated to the shelter of a pine’s spreading boughs and sat down daintily. “She was here two nights ago. High Lord,” he announced. “She was seated close to where you stand while her mother danced, then let the change take her. She left at dawn.”