It resumed snowing that night. Real snow, half a foot an hour
and no letup. The racket raised by the Guards as they strove to
clear it from doorways and the carpets wakened me.
I had slept despite the Limper.
An instant of terror. I sat bolt upright. He remained at his
task.
The barracks was overly warm, holding the heat because it was
all but buried.
There was a bustle despite the weather. Taken had arrived while
I slept. Guards not only dug but hurried about other tasks.
One-Eye joined me for a rude breakfast. I said, “So
she’s going ahead. Despite the weather.”
“It won’t get any better, Croaker. That guy out
there knows what’s going on.” He looked grim.
“What’s the matter?”
“I can count. Croaker. What do you expect from a guy with
a week to live?”
My stomach tightened. Yes. I had been able to avoid thoughts of
the sort so far, but . . . “We’ve
been in tight places before. Stair of Tear. Juniper. Beryl. We made
it.”
“I keep telling myself.”
“How’s Darling?”
“Worried. What do you think? She’s a bug between
hammer and anvil.”
“The Lady has forgotten her.”
He snorted. “Don’t let your special dispensation
erode your common sense, Croaker.”
“Sound advice,” I admitted. “But unnecessary.
A hawk couldn’t watch her more closely.”
“You going out?”
“I wouldn’t miss it. Know where I can get some
snow-shoes?”
He grinned. For an instant the devil of years past peeped forth.
“Some guys I know—mentioning no names, you know how it
is—swiped a half dozen pairs from the Guard Armory last night. Duty
man fell asleep on post.”
I grinned and winked. So. I was not seeing enough of them to
keep up, but they were not just sitting around and waiting.
“Couple pairs went off to Darling, just in case. Got four
pair left. And just a smidgen of a plan.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’ll see. Brilliant, if I do say so
myself.”
“Where are the shoes? When are you going?”
“Meet us in the smokehouse after the Taken get off the
ground.”
Several guards came in to eat, looking exhausted, grumbling.
One-Eye departed, leaving me in deep thought. What were they
plotting?
The most carefully laid plans . . . Like
that.
The Lady marched into the mess hall. “Get your gloves and
coats, Croaker. It’s time.”
I gaped.
“Are you coming?”
“But . . . ” I flailed around
for an excuse. “If we go, somebody will have to do without a
carpet.”
She gave me an odd look. “Limper is staying here. Come.
Get your clothing.”
I did so, in a daze, passing Goblin as we went outside. I gave
him a baffled little headshake.
A moment before we lifted off the Lady reached back, offering me
something. “What’s this?”
“Better wear it. Unless you want to go in without an
amulet.”
“Oh.”
It did not look like much. Some cheap jaspar and jade on brittle
leather. Yet when I secured the buckle around my wrist, I felt the
power in it.
We passed over the rooftops very low. They were the only visual
guides available. Out on the cleared land there was nothing. But
being the Lady, she had other resources.
We took a turn around the bounds of the Barrowland. On the river
side we descended till the water lay but a yard beneath us.
“Lot of ice,” I said.
She did not reply. She was studying the shoreline, now within
the Barrowland itself. A sodden section of bank collapsed,
revealing a dozen skeletons. I grimaced. In moments they were
covered with snow or swept away. “Just about on schedule,
I’d guess,” I said. “Uhm.” She moved on
around the perimeter. A couple times I glimpsed other carpets
circling. Something below caught my eye. “Down there!”
“What?”
“Thought I saw tracks.”
“Maybe. Toadkiller Dog
is nearby.” Oh, my.
“Time,” she said, and turned toward the Great
Barrow. We put down at the mound’s base. She piled out. I
joined her. Other carpets descended. Soon there were four Taken,
the Lady, and one scared old physician standing just yards from the
despair of the world.
One of the Taken brought shovels. Snow began to fly. We took
turns, nobody exempt. It was a bitch of a job, and became more so
when we reached the buried scrub growth. It got worse when we
reached frozen earth. We had to go slow. The Lady said Bomanz was
barely covered.
It went on, it seemed, forever. Dig and dig and dig. We
uncovered a withered humanoid thing the Lady assured us was
Bomanz.
My shovel clicked against something my last turn. I bent to
examine it, thinking it a rock. I brushed frosty earth
away . . .
And dived out of that hole, whirled, pointed. The Lady went
down. Laughter drifted upward. “Croaker found the dragon. His
jaw, anyway.”
I kept on retreating, toward our
carpet . . .
Something huge vaulted it, trailing a basso snarl. I flung
myself to one side, into snow that swallowed me. There were cries,
growls . . . When I emerged it was over. I
glimpsed Toadkiller Dog clearing the carpet in retreat, more than a
little scarred.
The Lady and Taken had been ready for him.
“Why didn’t somebody warn me?” I whined.
“He could have read you. I’m just sorry we
didn’t cripple him.”
Two Taken, probably of the male vice, lifted Bomanz. He was
stiff as a statue, yet there was that about him which even I could
sense. A spark, or something. No one could have mistaken him for
dead.
Into a carpet he went.
The anger in the mound had been a trickle, barely sensed, like
the buzzing of a fly across a room. It smacked us now, one hard
hammer stroke reeking madness. Not an iota of fear informed it.
That thing had an absolute confidence in its ultimate victory. We
were but delays and irritants.
The carpet carrying Bomanz departed. Then another. I settled
into my place and willed the Lady to hurry me away.
A spate of snarling and yelling broke out toward town. Brilliant
light slashed through the snowfall. “I knew it,” I
growled, one fear realized. Toadkiller Dog had found One-Eye and
Goblin.
Another carpet lifted. The Lady boarded ours, closed the dome.
“Fools,” she said. “What were they
doing?”
I said nothing.
She did not see. Her attention was on the carpet, which was not
behaving as it should. Something seemed to pull it toward the Great
Barrow. But I saw. Tracker’s ugly face passed at eye level.
He carried the son of the tree.
Then Toadkiller Dog reappeared, stalking Tracker. Half the
monster’s face was gone. He ran on three legs. But he was
plenty enough to take Tracker apart.
The Lady saw Toadkiller Dog. She spun the carpet. Systematically
she loosed its eight thirty foot shafts. She did not miss. And
yet . . .
Dragging the missiles, engulfed in flame, Toadkiller Dog crawled
into the Great Tragic River. He went under and did not come up.
“That’ll keep him out of the way for a
while.”
Not ten yards away, oblivious, Tracker was clearing the peak of
the Great Barrow so he could plant his sapling.
“Idiots,” the Lady murmured. “I’m
surrounded by idiots. Even the Tree is a dolt.”
She would not explain. Neither did she interfere.
I sought traces of One-Eye and Goblin as we flew homeward. I saw
nothing. They were not in the compound. Of course. There had not
yet been time for them to snowshoe back. But when they had not
appeared an hour later, I began having trouble concentrating on the
reanimation of Bomanz.
That started with repeated hot baths, both to warm his flesh and
to cleanse him. I did not get to see the preliminaries. The Lady
kept me with her. She did not look in till the Taken were ready for
the final quickening. And that was unimpressive. The Lady made a
few gestures around Bomanz—who looked pretty moth-eaten—and said a
few words in a language I did not understand.
Why do sorcerers always use languages nobody understands? Even
Goblin and One-Eye do it. Each has confided that he cannot follow
the tongue the other uses. Maybe they make it up?
Her words worked. That old wreck came to life grittily
determined to push forward against a savage wind. He marched three
steps before registering his altered circumstances.
He froze. He turned slowly, face collapsing into despair. His
gaze locked on the Lady. Maybe two minutes passed. Then he looked
the rest of us over and considered his surroundings.
“You explain, Croaker.”
“Does he speak . . . ”
“Forsberger hasn’t changed.”
I faced Bomanz, a legend come to life. “I am Croaker. A
military physician by profession. You are
Bomanz . . . ”
“His name is Seth Chalk, Croaker. Let us establish that
immediately.”
“You are Bomanz, whose true name may be Seth Chalk, a
sorcerer of Oar. Nearly a century has passed since you attempted to
contact the Lady.”
“Give him the whole story.” The Lady used a Jewel
Cities dialect likely to be outside Bomanz’s capacity.
I talked till I was hoarse. The rise of the Lady’s empire.
The threat defeated at the battle at Charm. The threat defeated at
Juniper. The present threat. He said not a word in all that time.
Not once did I see in him the fat, almost obsequious shopkeeper of
the story.
His first words were: “So. I did not entirely fail.”
He faced the Lady. “And you remain tainted by the light,
Not-Ardath.” He faced me again. “You will take me to
the White Rose. As soon as I have eaten.”
Nary a protest from the Lady.
He ate like a fat little shopkeeper.
The Lady herself helped me back into my wet winter coat.
“Don’t dawdle,” she cautioned.
Hardly had we departed when Bomanz seemed to diminish. He said,
“I’m too old. Don’t let that back there fool you.
An act. Going to play with the big boys, you have to act.
What’ll I do? A hundred years. Less than a week to redeem
myself. How will I get a handle on things that quickly? The only
principal I know is the Lady.”
“Why did you think she was Ardath? Why not one of the
other sisters?”
“There was more than one?”
“Four.” I named them. “From your papers
I’ve established that Soulcatcher was the one named
Dorotea . . . ”
“My papers?”
“So called. Because the story of you wakening the Lady was
prominent among them. It’s always been assumed, till a few
days ago, that you assembled them and your wife carried them away
when she thought you had died.”
“Bears investigation. I collected nothing. I risked
nothing but a map of the Barrowland.”
“I know the map well.”
“I must see those papers. But first, your White Rose.
Meanwhile, tell me about the Lady.”
I had trouble staying with him. He zigged and zagged, spraying
ideas. “What about her?”
“There is a detectable tension between you. Of enemies who
are friends, perhaps. Lovers who are enemies? Opponents who know
one another well and respect one another. If you respect her,
it’s with reason. It’s impossible to respect total
evil. It cannot respect itself.”
Wow. He was right. I did respect her. So I talked a bit. And my
theme was, when I noticed it, that she did remain tainted by the
light. “She tried hard to be a villain. But when faced by
real darkness—the thing under the mound—her weakness started to
show.”
“It is only slightly less difficult for us to extinguish
the light within us than it is for us to conquer the darkness. A
Dominator occurs once in a hundred generations. The others, like
the Taken, are but imitations.”
“Can you stand against the Lady?”
“Hardly. I suspect my fate is to become one of the Taken
when she finds time.” He’d landed on his feet, this old
boy. He halted. “Lords! She’s strong!”
“Who?”
“Your Darling. An incredible absorption. I feel helpless
as a child.”
We stamped into Blue Willy, entering through a second-floor
window. The snow was banked that high.
One-Eye, Goblin, and Silent were down in the common room with
Darling. The first two looked a bit shopworn. “So,” I
said. “You guys made it. I thought Toadkiller Dog had you for
lunch.”
“No problem at all,” One-Eye said.
“We . . . ”
“What do you mean, we?” Goblin demanded. “You
were worthless as tits on a boar hog.
Silent . . . ”
“Shut up. This is Bomanz. He wants to meet
Darling.”
“The Bomanz?” Goblin squeaked.
“The very one.”
Their meeting was about a three-question interview. Darling took
charge immediately. When he realized Darling was leading him,
Bomanz broke it off. He told me, “Next step. I read my
alleged autobiography.”
“It’s not yours?”
“Unlikely. Unless my memory serves me worse than I
suppose.”
We returned to the compound in silence. He seemed reflective.
Darling has that impact on those who meet her for the first time.
She is just Darling to those of us who have known her all
along.
Bomanz worked his way through the original manuscript,
occasionally asking about specific passages. He was unfamiliar with
the UchiTelle dialect.
“You had nothing to do with that, then?”
“No. But my wife was the primary source. Question. Was the
girl Snoopy traced?”
“No.”
“She is the one to follow up. She is the only survivor of
significance.”
“I’ll tell the Lady. But there isn’t time for
it. In a few days Hell is going to break loose out there.” I
wondered if Tracker had gotten the sapling planted. Much good it
would do when the Great Tragic reached the mound. Brave move but
dumb, Tracker.
The effects of his effort were apparent soon, though. When I got
around to relaying Bomanz’s suggestion about Snoopy, the Lady
asked, “Have you noted the weather?”
“No.”
“It’s getting better. The sapling stilled my
husband’s ability to shape it. Too late, of course. It will
be months before the river falls.”
She was depressed. She merely nodded when I told her what Bomanz
had to say.
“Is it that bad? Are we defeated before we enter the
lists?”
“No. But the price of victory escalates. I do not want to
pay that price. I don’t know if I can.”
I stood there perplexed, awaiting an expansion upon the subject.
None was forthcoming.
After a time she said, “Sit, Croaker.” I sat in the
chair she indicated, next to a roaring fire diligently tended by
the soldier Case. After a time she sent Case away. But still
nothing was forthcoming.
“Time tightens the noose,” she murmured at one
point, and at another, “I’m afraid to unravel the
knot.”
It resumed snowing that night. Real snow, half a foot an hour
and no letup. The racket raised by the Guards as they strove to
clear it from doorways and the carpets wakened me.
I had slept despite the Limper.
An instant of terror. I sat bolt upright. He remained at his
task.
The barracks was overly warm, holding the heat because it was
all but buried.
There was a bustle despite the weather. Taken had arrived while
I slept. Guards not only dug but hurried about other tasks.
One-Eye joined me for a rude breakfast. I said, “So
she’s going ahead. Despite the weather.”
“It won’t get any better, Croaker. That guy out
there knows what’s going on.” He looked grim.
“What’s the matter?”
“I can count. Croaker. What do you expect from a guy with
a week to live?”
My stomach tightened. Yes. I had been able to avoid thoughts of
the sort so far, but . . . “We’ve
been in tight places before. Stair of Tear. Juniper. Beryl. We made
it.”
“I keep telling myself.”
“How’s Darling?”
“Worried. What do you think? She’s a bug between
hammer and anvil.”
“The Lady has forgotten her.”
He snorted. “Don’t let your special dispensation
erode your common sense, Croaker.”
“Sound advice,” I admitted. “But unnecessary.
A hawk couldn’t watch her more closely.”
“You going out?”
“I wouldn’t miss it. Know where I can get some
snow-shoes?”
He grinned. For an instant the devil of years past peeped forth.
“Some guys I know—mentioning no names, you know how it
is—swiped a half dozen pairs from the Guard Armory last night. Duty
man fell asleep on post.”
I grinned and winked. So. I was not seeing enough of them to
keep up, but they were not just sitting around and waiting.
“Couple pairs went off to Darling, just in case. Got four
pair left. And just a smidgen of a plan.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You’ll see. Brilliant, if I do say so
myself.”
“Where are the shoes? When are you going?”
“Meet us in the smokehouse after the Taken get off the
ground.”
Several guards came in to eat, looking exhausted, grumbling.
One-Eye departed, leaving me in deep thought. What were they
plotting?
The most carefully laid plans . . . Like
that.
The Lady marched into the mess hall. “Get your gloves and
coats, Croaker. It’s time.”
I gaped.
“Are you coming?”
“But . . . ” I flailed around
for an excuse. “If we go, somebody will have to do without a
carpet.”
She gave me an odd look. “Limper is staying here. Come.
Get your clothing.”
I did so, in a daze, passing Goblin as we went outside. I gave
him a baffled little headshake.
A moment before we lifted off the Lady reached back, offering me
something. “What’s this?”
“Better wear it. Unless you want to go in without an
amulet.”
“Oh.”
It did not look like much. Some cheap jaspar and jade on brittle
leather. Yet when I secured the buckle around my wrist, I felt the
power in it.
We passed over the rooftops very low. They were the only visual
guides available. Out on the cleared land there was nothing. But
being the Lady, she had other resources.
We took a turn around the bounds of the Barrowland. On the river
side we descended till the water lay but a yard beneath us.
“Lot of ice,” I said.
She did not reply. She was studying the shoreline, now within
the Barrowland itself. A sodden section of bank collapsed,
revealing a dozen skeletons. I grimaced. In moments they were
covered with snow or swept away. “Just about on schedule,
I’d guess,” I said. “Uhm.” She moved on
around the perimeter. A couple times I glimpsed other carpets
circling. Something below caught my eye. “Down there!”
“What?”
“Thought I saw tracks.”
“Maybe. Toadkiller Dog
is nearby.” Oh, my.
“Time,” she said, and turned toward the Great
Barrow. We put down at the mound’s base. She piled out. I
joined her. Other carpets descended. Soon there were four Taken,
the Lady, and one scared old physician standing just yards from the
despair of the world.
One of the Taken brought shovels. Snow began to fly. We took
turns, nobody exempt. It was a bitch of a job, and became more so
when we reached the buried scrub growth. It got worse when we
reached frozen earth. We had to go slow. The Lady said Bomanz was
barely covered.
It went on, it seemed, forever. Dig and dig and dig. We
uncovered a withered humanoid thing the Lady assured us was
Bomanz.
My shovel clicked against something my last turn. I bent to
examine it, thinking it a rock. I brushed frosty earth
away . . .
And dived out of that hole, whirled, pointed. The Lady went
down. Laughter drifted upward. “Croaker found the dragon. His
jaw, anyway.”
I kept on retreating, toward our
carpet . . .
Something huge vaulted it, trailing a basso snarl. I flung
myself to one side, into snow that swallowed me. There were cries,
growls . . . When I emerged it was over. I
glimpsed Toadkiller Dog clearing the carpet in retreat, more than a
little scarred.
The Lady and Taken had been ready for him.
“Why didn’t somebody warn me?” I whined.
“He could have read you. I’m just sorry we
didn’t cripple him.”
Two Taken, probably of the male vice, lifted Bomanz. He was
stiff as a statue, yet there was that about him which even I could
sense. A spark, or something. No one could have mistaken him for
dead.
Into a carpet he went.
The anger in the mound had been a trickle, barely sensed, like
the buzzing of a fly across a room. It smacked us now, one hard
hammer stroke reeking madness. Not an iota of fear informed it.
That thing had an absolute confidence in its ultimate victory. We
were but delays and irritants.
The carpet carrying Bomanz departed. Then another. I settled
into my place and willed the Lady to hurry me away.
A spate of snarling and yelling broke out toward town. Brilliant
light slashed through the snowfall. “I knew it,” I
growled, one fear realized. Toadkiller Dog had found One-Eye and
Goblin.
Another carpet lifted. The Lady boarded ours, closed the dome.
“Fools,” she said. “What were they
doing?”
I said nothing.
She did not see. Her attention was on the carpet, which was not
behaving as it should. Something seemed to pull it toward the Great
Barrow. But I saw. Tracker’s ugly face passed at eye level.
He carried the son of the tree.
Then Toadkiller Dog reappeared, stalking Tracker. Half the
monster’s face was gone. He ran on three legs. But he was
plenty enough to take Tracker apart.
The Lady saw Toadkiller Dog. She spun the carpet. Systematically
she loosed its eight thirty foot shafts. She did not miss. And
yet . . .
Dragging the missiles, engulfed in flame, Toadkiller Dog crawled
into the Great Tragic River. He went under and did not come up.
“That’ll keep him out of the way for a
while.”
Not ten yards away, oblivious, Tracker was clearing the peak of
the Great Barrow so he could plant his sapling.
“Idiots,” the Lady murmured. “I’m
surrounded by idiots. Even the Tree is a dolt.”
She would not explain. Neither did she interfere.
I sought traces of One-Eye and Goblin as we flew homeward. I saw
nothing. They were not in the compound. Of course. There had not
yet been time for them to snowshoe back. But when they had not
appeared an hour later, I began having trouble concentrating on the
reanimation of Bomanz.
That started with repeated hot baths, both to warm his flesh and
to cleanse him. I did not get to see the preliminaries. The Lady
kept me with her. She did not look in till the Taken were ready for
the final quickening. And that was unimpressive. The Lady made a
few gestures around Bomanz—who looked pretty moth-eaten—and said a
few words in a language I did not understand.
Why do sorcerers always use languages nobody understands? Even
Goblin and One-Eye do it. Each has confided that he cannot follow
the tongue the other uses. Maybe they make it up?
Her words worked. That old wreck came to life grittily
determined to push forward against a savage wind. He marched three
steps before registering his altered circumstances.
He froze. He turned slowly, face collapsing into despair. His
gaze locked on the Lady. Maybe two minutes passed. Then he looked
the rest of us over and considered his surroundings.
“You explain, Croaker.”
“Does he speak . . . ”
“Forsberger hasn’t changed.”
I faced Bomanz, a legend come to life. “I am Croaker. A
military physician by profession. You are
Bomanz . . . ”
“His name is Seth Chalk, Croaker. Let us establish that
immediately.”
“You are Bomanz, whose true name may be Seth Chalk, a
sorcerer of Oar. Nearly a century has passed since you attempted to
contact the Lady.”
“Give him the whole story.” The Lady used a Jewel
Cities dialect likely to be outside Bomanz’s capacity.
I talked till I was hoarse. The rise of the Lady’s empire.
The threat defeated at the battle at Charm. The threat defeated at
Juniper. The present threat. He said not a word in all that time.
Not once did I see in him the fat, almost obsequious shopkeeper of
the story.
His first words were: “So. I did not entirely fail.”
He faced the Lady. “And you remain tainted by the light,
Not-Ardath.” He faced me again. “You will take me to
the White Rose. As soon as I have eaten.”
Nary a protest from the Lady.
He ate like a fat little shopkeeper.
The Lady herself helped me back into my wet winter coat.
“Don’t dawdle,” she cautioned.
Hardly had we departed when Bomanz seemed to diminish. He said,
“I’m too old. Don’t let that back there fool you.
An act. Going to play with the big boys, you have to act.
What’ll I do? A hundred years. Less than a week to redeem
myself. How will I get a handle on things that quickly? The only
principal I know is the Lady.”
“Why did you think she was Ardath? Why not one of the
other sisters?”
“There was more than one?”
“Four.” I named them. “From your papers
I’ve established that Soulcatcher was the one named
Dorotea . . . ”
“My papers?”
“So called. Because the story of you wakening the Lady was
prominent among them. It’s always been assumed, till a few
days ago, that you assembled them and your wife carried them away
when she thought you had died.”
“Bears investigation. I collected nothing. I risked
nothing but a map of the Barrowland.”
“I know the map well.”
“I must see those papers. But first, your White Rose.
Meanwhile, tell me about the Lady.”
I had trouble staying with him. He zigged and zagged, spraying
ideas. “What about her?”
“There is a detectable tension between you. Of enemies who
are friends, perhaps. Lovers who are enemies? Opponents who know
one another well and respect one another. If you respect her,
it’s with reason. It’s impossible to respect total
evil. It cannot respect itself.”
Wow. He was right. I did respect her. So I talked a bit. And my
theme was, when I noticed it, that she did remain tainted by the
light. “She tried hard to be a villain. But when faced by
real darkness—the thing under the mound—her weakness started to
show.”
“It is only slightly less difficult for us to extinguish
the light within us than it is for us to conquer the darkness. A
Dominator occurs once in a hundred generations. The others, like
the Taken, are but imitations.”
“Can you stand against the Lady?”
“Hardly. I suspect my fate is to become one of the Taken
when she finds time.” He’d landed on his feet, this old
boy. He halted. “Lords! She’s strong!”
“Who?”
“Your Darling. An incredible absorption. I feel helpless
as a child.”
We stamped into Blue Willy, entering through a second-floor
window. The snow was banked that high.
One-Eye, Goblin, and Silent were down in the common room with
Darling. The first two looked a bit shopworn. “So,” I
said. “You guys made it. I thought Toadkiller Dog had you for
lunch.”
“No problem at all,” One-Eye said.
“We . . . ”
“What do you mean, we?” Goblin demanded. “You
were worthless as tits on a boar hog.
Silent . . . ”
“Shut up. This is Bomanz. He wants to meet
Darling.”
“The Bomanz?” Goblin squeaked.
“The very one.”
Their meeting was about a three-question interview. Darling took
charge immediately. When he realized Darling was leading him,
Bomanz broke it off. He told me, “Next step. I read my
alleged autobiography.”
“It’s not yours?”
“Unlikely. Unless my memory serves me worse than I
suppose.”
We returned to the compound in silence. He seemed reflective.
Darling has that impact on those who meet her for the first time.
She is just Darling to those of us who have known her all
along.
Bomanz worked his way through the original manuscript,
occasionally asking about specific passages. He was unfamiliar with
the UchiTelle dialect.
“You had nothing to do with that, then?”
“No. But my wife was the primary source. Question. Was the
girl Snoopy traced?”
“No.”
“She is the one to follow up. She is the only survivor of
significance.”
“I’ll tell the Lady. But there isn’t time for
it. In a few days Hell is going to break loose out there.” I
wondered if Tracker had gotten the sapling planted. Much good it
would do when the Great Tragic reached the mound. Brave move but
dumb, Tracker.
The effects of his effort were apparent soon, though. When I got
around to relaying Bomanz’s suggestion about Snoopy, the Lady
asked, “Have you noted the weather?”
“No.”
“It’s getting better. The sapling stilled my
husband’s ability to shape it. Too late, of course. It will
be months before the river falls.”
She was depressed. She merely nodded when I told her what Bomanz
had to say.
“Is it that bad? Are we defeated before we enter the
lists?”
“No. But the price of victory escalates. I do not want to
pay that price. I don’t know if I can.”
I stood there perplexed, awaiting an expansion upon the subject.
None was forthcoming.
After a time she said, “Sit, Croaker.” I sat in the
chair she indicated, next to a roaring fire diligently tended by
the soldier Case. After a time she sent Case away. But still
nothing was forthcoming.
“Time tightens the noose,” she murmured at one
point, and at another, “I’m afraid to unravel the
knot.”