He’d nodded. ‘So far, aye. But the Lord Shaithis has a score to settle. There was no bad blood before. It was the old game of wolf and chicken, as always. But now the chicken has clawed the wolf’s nose. He’s not just curious or greedy any more, he’s angry! Also – ‘ and he’d closed his mouth and shrugged.
Tell us the worst of it, Lardis,’ Jazz had urged him. ‘What’s on your mind?’
Again Lardis’s shrug. ‘I don’t know – maybe it’s nothing. Or maybe it’s several small things. But there’s a mist back there, and that’s something I don’t like for a start!’ He’d pointed back the way they’d come. In the distance, to the east, a wall of grey mist rolled down from the mountains, coiled itself shallowly on the forests. It swirled and eddied, lapping like a slow tide over the foothills. The Wamphyri have a way with mists,’ Lardis had continued. ‘We’re not the only ones who cover our tracks . . .’
‘But it’s still sunup!’ Jazz had protested.
‘In a very little while it will be sundown!’ Lardis had snapped. ‘And the great pass has been in darkness for a long time now. Here in the lee of these forests, there’s shade aplenty.’
Zek’s hand had flown to her mouth. ‘You think Shaithis is coming? But I’ve sensed nothing. I’ve been scanning constantly but I’ve read no alien thoughts.’
Lardis had breathed deeply, more a sigh. That’s reassuring, anyway. And if he is coming, we’ll meet on our terms at least.’ He’d glanced up into the mountains. ‘But the wolves were howling, and now they’ve stopped. And our own animals are quiet, too. See – only look at Wolf, there!’ Zek’s great wolf loped a little way apart; his ears were flat and his tail brushed the rough ground. Every now and then he’d pause and look back, and whine a little.
Jazz and Zek had looked at each other, then at Lardis. ‘But maybe it’s nothing,’ the Gypsy leader had grunted. And with another shrug he’d gone on ahead.
‘What do you make of all that?’ Jazz now asked Zek, his tone soft.
‘I don’t know. Maybe it’s just as he said. Anyway, the closer we get to sundown, the more nervy everyone becomes. There’s nothing new in that. The Travellers don’t like mists, and they like their animals frisky. Anything else is a bad sign. The current mood: it’s just a combination of things, that’s all.’ For all her brave explanation, she hugged herself and shivered.
‘Ever the optimist?’ Jazz’s smile was uncertain.
‘Because I’ve come through a lot,’ she was quick to answer. ‘And because we’re so close to the end now.’
‘Yes, you have been through a lot.’ Jazz began hauling the travois again. ‘And come to think of it, you never did get round to telling me how come the Lady Karen let you go.
‘We’ve been busy,’ she shrugged. ‘Do you still want to hear it?’ Suddenly the idea appealed to her. Maybe talking would calm her own nerves a little.
‘Yes,’ Jazz said, ‘but first there are a couple of other things that have been bothering me.’
‘Oh?’
‘Anachronisms,’ he nodded. ‘The Gypsies, this Romance-language tongue of theirs, their metal working. Unless there’s a lot of this planet I don’t know about -and I can’t see how that can be, for one side’s hot enough to fry eggs and the other would freeze you stiff – then these things I’ve mentioned are anachronisms. This world is … well, it’s primitive! But there are paradoxes. Some of the things in this world … by comparison they’re high-tech!’
Zek’s turn to nod. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘and I’ve thought about it. If you talk to the Travellers about their history, their legends, as I have done, you might find an explanation. Something of one, anyway. According to immemorial sources, their world wasn’t always like this. Wamphyri legends bear the Traveller myths out, incidentally.’
Jazz was interested. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘You talk and I’ll save my breath for hauling.’
‘Well, the Traveller legends have it that once upon a time this planet was fertile in almost every region, with oceans, ice-caps, jungles and plains: much like Earth; in fact. And it teemed with people. Oh, it had its vampire swamps, too, but they weren’t so active in those days. People knew about them and shunned them; local communities drew boundaries and patrolled them. Nothing living was ever allowed out. Vampirism was treated like rabies, the only difference being that if a man was ever vampirized they didn’t attempt a cure. There is no cure. So they’d simply stake him out and . . . you know the way it goes . . .