THIRTY-SIX

To the Foot of the Mountain

That night, I dreamed again about the parents I had never known. They were scolding me for leaving my conch in the half-track and telling me that I couldn’t marry Perkins because he was old enough to be my father. Then I was dreaming of Kevin Zipp, who said he had come to say goodbye and to tell me to not lose sight of all that is good. After that, I was chasing after Curtis and the half-track, and when I stopped and turned around, five Hotax were staring at me with their small piglike eyes; one was holding a surgeon’s saw and another, a bag of kapok stuffing and a sewing needle. I turned to run but found I couldn’t, and that’s when I was shaken awake.

It was Addie. She put her finger to her lips and beckoned me to the rhododendrons that hid the entrance to the cave. She gently pushed the branches apart to reveal two pale blue Skybus trucks stopped on the road next to the waterfall. The drivers seemed to be comparing notes about the journey, and from the way in which their large four-wheel-drive trucks were parked, one seemed to be heading off toward the Cadir range, and the other, mud-spattered and dusty, seemed to be returning.

As we watched, they shook hands, climbed into the cabs of their trucks, and drove off in the directions I had predicted. I looked at Addie and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. She had no idea what they were doing here either.

“There are no manufacturing facilities out here,” she said, “or at least, nothing that I know about.”

“Smuggling?” I said.

“It’s possible,” said Addie, striding across to the tire tracks. “The Mountain Silurians used to illegally export spices, but if they are still doing it, why use Skybus vehicles?”

“I’ve counted at least six while I’ve been in the empire,” I said, “all heading to and from the border. Aviation parts, you say?”

“So I’m told,” said Addie, squatting down to study the tracks, “but I’ve never looked inside the trucks, so don’t know for sure. Notice anything odd?”

We were at a muddy section of the road, and Addie was pointing at the tracks. Those from one truck were deep and well defined, while the others hardly made an imprint.

“One truck is heavily loaded and the other not,” I said. “So what?”

“Because,” said Addie, “the one that’s heavy is going toward the mountains—and the lighter of the two is coming out.”

“These vehicles are delivering something to the Idris Mountains,” I said slowly, “but it doesn’t make sense that the cargo would be airplane parts. What could it be?”

“I don’t know,” said Addie, “but I’d like to find out.”

“What about Curtis and the half-track?” I asked.

“Just there,” said Addie, pointing at a ghost of an imprint on the dusty roadway, “and by the look of it, he passed through here yesterday afternoon about midday. If he stopped for the night, he may be only six or seven hours’ drive ahead.”

“It’s not so much his capture or punishment I’m interested in,” I said, “even though such a thing would be welcome. I’m really after the half-track, or to be more exact, my bag and what’s in it.”

It was the conch, of course, the Helping Hand^™—I’d get hell from Lady Mawgon for losing it—and the letter of credit to negotiate for Boo’s release.

“We better get a move on, then,” said Addie.

Perkins rubbed his head when I woke him. His increased age had established itself more firmly overnight. His voice was deeper, his face more lined, his hair grayer—and he was painfully stiff after the cold night in the cave.

“Welcome to the club,” said Wilson, “and don’t worry if you start forgetting the names of things or are less sharp than you once were. You may even have trouble . . . have trouble, um—”

“—finishing your sentences?” put in Perkins.

“Exactly so. All entirely normal. But with age comes wisdom.”

“I think wisdom comes with years, not age,” replied Perkins sadly. “I’ve managed to separate the two. I think I’m going to be old without wisdom.”

“If that is the case,” said Wilson, “you won’t be alone.”

Addie suggested we let the Skybus trucks have a half-hour start so we would not be observed, but it took that long to get the goats herded into the trailer anyway. They had a certain bounciness about them that didn’t permit easy herding.

“They’re called ISGs,” explained Addie once we had finally rounded up the goats and coaxed the ancient Jeep’s engine into life, “for International Standard Goat. They’re a sort of one-size-fits-all goat that does everything pretty well: lots of milk, soft fur, and excellent meat. The ISG was the legacy of Emperor Tharv’s father, who was convinced that what the world needed was animal standardization. He managed to standardize the goat, honeybee, badger, and hamster, and was working on the entire class of birds when he died.”

“It’s why so many birds are small and brown,” explained Wilson, “so he had moderate success.”

We drove for two hours, stopping to fill the Jeep’s leaky radiator three times, and climbed steadily up the rough, winding trail. Once we were on the high Plynlimon pass, we stopped to stretch our legs, change drivers, and make a short devotion to the shrine dedicated to the once-popular but now little-known Saint Aosbczkcs, the Patron Saint of Fading Relevance. This done, we surveyed the scene before us.

Below us the road slowly wound down through bumpy foothills toward the fertile valley floor, a random patchwork of natural woodland and open grassland. But beyond this valley and dominating our view was the place where the Leviathans’ Graveyard and Sky Pirate Wolff’s hideout were most likely to be hidden: Cadir Idris.

The mountain was more spectacular in real life than in any picture. Sheer walls towered vertically from the valley floor, presenting a dizzying pinnacle of gray rock that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. Waterfalls cascaded out into space from high on the sheer rock walls; the water dispersed into clouds that clung to the lower reaches of the mountain. Although believed to be the second-highest mountain in the Ununited Kingdoms, after the peak named T4 in the Trollvanian range, the exact height of Cadir Idris had never been determined. The summit was always surrounded by clouds, making a triangulation survey impossible. Between six and seven thousand feet was a pretty good guess. At sunrise, the shadow of the rock extended across three kingdoms.

“From here on in, we’re in Mountain Silurian territory,” said Addie.

Perkins spelled himself a hand telescope by creating two O shapes with his index fingers and thumbs and conjuring up a glass lens in each. Early versions of the spell had required an operator to focus the telescope manually, but later releases had autofocus as standard, with a zoom feature and auto-stabilization a useful add-on.

“I can see the half-track. Looks like it’s a couple of miles from the base of the mountain. Think he’s still got your conch?”

“He didn’t try to sell the Helping Hand^™ in Llangurig,” I said, for if he had, he’d have made several times the price of a handmaiden, “so I’m hoping.”

Perkins scanned the parts of the road that were visible among the low hills and wooded areas. “The Skybus truck is not far behind him.”

Because the vehicles were still moving, apparently neither of them had encountered the Mountain Silurians, or if they had, goats had been successfully bartered and passage had been allowed.

We moved on soon after, and as we descended into the dense woodlands of the Mountain Silurians’ land, we could see how the increased rainfall made everything lush and moist. Bottle-green moss grew in abundance on the rocks and trees, lichen clung doggedly to anything it could find, and we were constantly fording small streams and rivers.

All this time, the overwhelming size of the bleak pinnacle of rock that was Cadir Idris loomed over us menacingly. A better place for a pirate hideout would be impossible to imagine.

“Where are the Mountain Silurians?” asked the princess. “I thought you said they were fearless tribespeople who would kill us all for amusement unless we gave them goats.”

“I was wondering that myself,” said Addie. “To get this far into their territory without being threatened with dismemberment and asked to pay tribute is unusual. I hope nothing’s happened to them.”

“I’m hoping something has happened to them,” said the princess. “Any jeopardy we can avoid is one more step toward survival.”

“I’ll just be glad to sit quietly somewhere with my pipe and slippers,” said Perkins, coming across a bit fiftyish, “and read the paper.”

“You don’t have a pipe,” I pointed out, “or slippers.”

“Or a paper—but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Slow down, Addie,” I said. We had nearly caught up to the Skybus truck, which was stopped in a clearing ahead of us. Addie pulled the Jeep off the road and parked behind an oak tree. The Skybus driver had climbed out and was stretching his legs, then reached into his cab, took out a roll of toilet paper, and walked off into the forest.

“Stay here,” said Addie. She jumped out of the jeep and darted forward noiselessly, stopped, looked around, and then moved forward again. Within a moment she was at the back of the truck, had opened the rear doors, and looked inside. Just as quickly, she shut the doors and slipped into the undergrowth. The driver returned and then drove off toward the mountain. Half a minute later Addie rejoined us. She didn’t look too happy.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Not really,” she said, pointing behind us, “and we’ve got company.”

I turned to find that a dozen or more warriors astride Buzonjis had crept up on us silently, and were now fewer than twenty paces away. Each warrior was large, tanned, and amply but not skillfully covered in blue war paint. Every one was armed with a short sword and a lance, its steel tip piercing the top of a human skull. Traditionally, heads were harvested by lance in battle, and remained there as a trophy. The warriors were scowling at us in the most unpleasant and unwelcoming way I had ever witnessed. I heard Wilson swallow nervously.

We didn’t need to guess who they might be. These were the feared Mountain Silurians.