“Yeah, well, Daddy’s not here. And I’m not sure even Sinistrad would have had much control over this storm.”
Haplo caught hold of the boy around the waist, lifted him bodily, and ran to the first cart, the dog bounding along behind.
Limbeck and his fellow warriors had already reached theirs. The dwarves lifted the contraptions, scooted underneath them with remarkable speed. The carts dropped down on top of them, hiding the dwarves from view, protecting them from the fierce storm.
The sigla on Haplo’s skin glowed bright blue, formed a protective shield around him that kept the rain and hail from hitting him. Wherever the Patryn’s arm or other part of his body contacted Bane, the boy, too, was protected, but Haplo couldn’t hold him close and still get him inside the cart.
Haplo fumbled at the contraption in the darkness. The sides of the cart were slippery, he couldn’t get his fingers beneath the metal edge. Lightning lit the sky, a hailstone struck Bane on the cheek. The boy clapped his hand over the bleeding cut, but didn’t cry out. The dog barked back at the thunder, as if it were a living threat the animal could chase away.
Finally, Haplo managed to raise the cart high enough to thrust Bane inside. The dog slithered in with the boy.
“Stay put!” Haplo ordered, and ran back to his ship.
The dwarves were already trundling over the ground, heading toward safety. Haplo marked the direction they were taking, turned back to his business. Swiftly, he traced a sigil on the ship’s outer hull. It flared blue, other sigla caught the magical fire. Blue and red light spread in patterns over the ship’s hull. Haplo stood in the driving rain, watched carefully to make certain the magic covered the ship completely. A soft blue light gleamed from it. Nodding in satisfaction, certain now that no one—elf, human, or dwarf—could harm his vessel, Haplo turned and ran back to the cart.
Lifting it up, he crawled inside. Bane was huddled in the center, his arms around the dog.
“Go on, get out,” Haplo told the animal, who vanished.
Bane looked around in astonishment, forgot his fear. “What happened to the dog?” he cried shrilly.
“Shut up,” Haplo grunted. Hunched almost double, he planted his back against the top of the cart. “Get underneath me,” he told Bane.
The child wriggled his way awkwardly under Haplo’s outspread arms.
“When I crawl, you crawl.”
Moving clumsily, with many halts and starts, falling over each other, they lumbered along. A hole cut into the side of the cart allowed Haplo to see where they were going, and it was a lot farther off than he’d imagined. The coralite, where it was hard, was slick from the water; in other places they sank elbow deep in mud, floundered through puddles.
Rain beat down, hailstones clattered on top of the metal cart, making a deafening racket. Outside, he could hear the dog bark back at the thunder.
” ‘Lectricity rods,” muttered Haplo.
CHAPTER 12
WOMBE, DREVLIN LOW REALM
“I’M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU ANYTHING ABOUT THE STATUE!” stated Jarre. “It will only cause more trouble, I’m sure of it!”
Limbeck flushed in anger, glowered at her through his spectacles. He opened his mouth to deliver a pronouncement on Jarre, a pronouncement that would have not only ended their relationship but got his spectacles smashed in the bargain. Haplo trod discreetly on the dwarfs foot. Limbeck understood, subsided into a smoldering silence.
They were back in the BOILER ROOM, Limbeck’s apartment, now lit by what Jarre called a “glampern.” Tired of burning Limbeck’s speeches, and equally tired of hearing that she could see in the dark, if only she put her mind to it, she had gone off, after Limbeck’s departure, and appropriated the glampern from a fellow warrior, stating it was for the High Froman’s use. The fellow warrior, as it turned out, hadn’t much use for the High Froman, but Jarre was stoutly built and could add muscle to her political clout.
She walked off with the glampern—a castoff of the elves, left over from the days when they paid for water with their refuse. The glampern, hanging on a hook, served well enough, once one got used to the smoky flame, the smell, and the crack down the side that allowed some sort of obviously highly flammable substance to drip out onto the floor.