The Children of the Sky

Ravna and Jefri exchanged glances. Usually, they would stop just outside of town, and wait for some local landowner to make them a deal; often that could take a day. Amdi’s plan would save time, but it would leave them with the dubious diplomatic skills of Remnant Screwfloss. Just now, that worthy was atop the wagon and apparently following the conversation: “Amdi go ahead.”

Jefri looked out at the traffic jam around them. “Okay, Amdi. But keep it simple.”

“I will. One show, stipulated payment. And then we’re gone in the early morning.”

“Be careful,” said Ravna. Maybe she had encouraged him too much.

“Hei, I’ll be fine without Ritl!” Amdi was already running on ahead of their wagon, and shouting something to one of the few official-looking packs in sight.

•  •  •

This might be a frontier village, but it was not small. Amdi eventually returned with directions, guiding them to a pavilion by the town square. “The local boss calls this place ‘The Northernmost End of Civilization.’” Amdi laughed. “Woodcarver would not be amused!”

Ravna walked around their wagon, taking in the view of downtown. Woodcarver had her sculpture, but this was the first place on Tines World where Ravna had seen heroic statuary. Each work depicted a single pack in some grandiose pose, climbing tall on itself to wave around swords and shields. According to Amdi, they all represented the local boss, “Prince Purity.” The pack was no Innmaster; Purity ruled from a huge castle of whitewashed stone. The structure sat on a rise north of town. It was impressive, until you noticed that most of the whitewash covered naked bedrock with a relatively small building at the top. Amdi shrugged. “Except for the wealth that Tycoon’s trade has brought, I figure this guy is phony. Most of the construction I see is new. I’ll bet that ten years ago, Northernmost was a tiny village.”

Jefri was looking around, nodding. “And we know that fifty years ago, this was uninhabited badlands.”

“Purity claims to be a continuous hereditary ruler, back to times of legend.”

“Hmm,” said Jefri. “We’ve seen that sort of lie in some downcoast kingdoms. Woodcarver wannabes.”

Nevertheless, modern-day Northernmost was a bustling place. Across the square, carpenters were putting up wooden stands for tonight’s show—but every other wide-open place was occupied by street vendors. The guy with the “fine cloaks” was selling to packs who were already climbing onto the finished benches. Lots of heads were looking at the shadowed pavilion where the humans were standing.

The parts of Amdi that were in the open gave this audience a grand wave, but his voice stayed local: “This looks like a small version of the South End marketplace, doesn’t it?” He came all back into the pavilion and began putting on Chitiratifor’s glitzy uniform. “Nevertheless, this is the first place we’ve visited where the people actually seem to be intimidated by who’s in charge.” Despite his somewhat ominous words, Amdi sounded chipper. Maybe that was because Screwfloss had tethered Ritl by the kherhogs, well beyond the range of mindsound.

“Do you think he might renege on paying us?” said Ravna.

“Ah,” Amdi said as he fiddled with his last cloak. He hadn’t yet donned the fake tines; that would be the final touch, just before showtime. “He’s more villainous than anyone we’ve run into since we escaped Chitiratifor. On the other hand, I showed him our safe passage from Tycoon. And you know how the airship was flying around here last night? Well, I told him we had Woodcarver’s protection, too.”

“What did he say to that?”

“He tried to laugh it off, but I could tell he was taken aback.” Amdi looked up at Ravna and Jefri. He seemed to notice their anxious looks for the first time. “If he knew Tycoon was after us, we’d be locked up already. I figure if we can keep him wondering, we’ll be okay.”

•  •  •

The show was their best yet. Part of it was the enthusiastic audience. The rumors of the wondrous two-leg circus had had longer to ferment here than anywhere else. And part of it—the strangely pleasurable part—was that all the performers, in some sense even Ritl, had truly gotten their act together.

Ritl started things off, chased by a comically inept Screwfloss. Every time Screwfloss’ leash-carrying member got close, Ritl would skitter away, sometimes to stand mockingly near one of Screwfloss’ others, sometimes to run along the stands and carry on nonsense conversations with the nearest of the audience. The second time around, Ritl found the member-wide servant steps that led to the ruler’s personal seats. Ritl danced along the ledge of the royal box, orating.

Jefri leaned close to Ravna. They were still both hidden from the crowd. “Those are statesmanlike noises,” he said, grinning. “Ritl is coming on like a visiting monarch. I think she’s promising the sun and the moon if the prince will meet her … requests? demands?”

Ravna wasn’t quite so amused. “I just hope she doesn’t get us executed.”

“Well, there is that.”