Overhead the sky shone pure Wedgewood blue, although the sun had not yet cleared the peaks. Morning was a symphony of pearly light and cold as a bugger. Rimy grass crunched underfoot as Julian trudged along, shivering inside his furs and fleece-lined boots. He was in no mood or state for an argument, but he could see one coming whether he wanted it or not.
His eyes were gritty. He had slept very little, tossing the night away thinking about Euphemia prostituting herself to bloody Pinkney just for a chance to make one phone call. It made him feel so bloody inadequate, a man who couldn't defend his woman! It wasn't the ritual that was the problem—she must know at least one of the keys as well as bloody Pinky did—it was the timing. The Olympus portal connected to St. Galls in Wiltshire and a cemetery in Edinburgh and other places as well. You had to know what hour of day or night it was at Home now and when Head Office would have helpers standing by, or you could find yourself in very hot water indeed. The Committee kept all that information under its hat.
Well, it was over. Pinky had had his fun by now. And here came more trouble. Dommi was at his heels, bent almost double under a bag as big as himself. Pind'l and Ostian, Dommi's juvenile assistants, brought up the rear with the rest of the baggage. The air was sharp as swords, and yet they wore only flimsy cotton livery. Dommi was bareheaded, although the rest of him was swathed in a ragtag assembly of moth-eaten furs.
The dragon paddock lay upstream from the station, far enough off to muffle the brutes' incessant burpings. Four dragons were being loaded by a group that included two men in black turbans—simple arithmetic foretold trouble. Turbans came from Nioldom, black was the color of Zath, to be displayed with caution. The only men who ever wore black turbans were T'lin Dragontrader and his hands; it was a sort of uniform with them, dating back before T'lin's conversion to the Undivided.
Julian was in the soup because Dommi expected Tyika Kaptaan to keep his promise. A man's word was his bond, and all that. Dommi's furs must have come from the Carrot village, so the whole valley would know that he was bound for Joalvale with Tyika Kaptaan. He had roused Julian before first light, having already laid out the tyika's warmest garments, heated a tubful of water, packed the bags, summoned bearers, and prepared a hot breakfast. But two and two made four, on any world, and there were only four dragons in the pen. Olympus owned three of its own, but it was not unusual for all of them to be absent from the valley, as now. Most of those half-clad redheads bustling around would be grooms or polishers or whatever the correct name was for men who shoveled dragon shite, but the dragons themselves all belonged to Agent Seventy-seven, alias T'lin Dragontrader. And both the black-turbaned men were armed, dammit! Julian hadn't even thought of that problem.
Dragontrader himself he could override; Ursula was another matter alto-blooming-gether, especially at this time of day, after two nights without sleep. Blast Edward Exeter and his blasted prophecies! Still, a man's word was his bloody bond.
"Dommi?" he croaked.
Dommi took two fast steps to draw alongside, craning his neck to peer up at him from under the pack. "Tyika?"
"You know how to handle a sword."
A worried frown disturbed Dommi's honest freckles. "Is regretful, Tyika, that I have never had experience with weapons, excepting the short bow for bird-hunting and—"
"Don't argue. You know how to handle a sword."
"As the Tyika wishes."
Dragons were hay-eating nightmares, a cross between a rhinoceros and the Loch Ness monster, but gentle, helpful creatures in spite of it, the only species capable of crossing from vale to vale without using the standard passes. Exeter had once referred to the dragon as the Rolls-Royce of Next-door, and Julian was looking forward to his first real chance to ride one. With his entourage at his heels, he strode into the center of group. Amid a crowd of freckled, lightly clad Carrots, Ursula was well bundled up in white fur with only her face visible. She looked as friendly as a rabid bulldog, and T'lin's expression was equally hostile. They disapproved of Dommi's costume.
"Morning all!" Julian chirruped. He jumped as the two youngsters' packs hit the ground beside him, shaking the valley. Dommi lowered his more circumspectly. "You're looking very charming this morning, Mrs. Newton, an Eskimo's dream. Everything all ready to go there, Dragontrader?"
T'lin raised his massive arms to make the sign of the Undivided. "We are honored to serve, Holiness."
"Rather! Well, sharp's the word! Let's get this stuff loaded, shall we? Then we can be on our way, what?"
"Captain," Ursula growled, "what does this mean?" She spoke in English, aiming a loaded finger at Dommi.
"What? Dommi, you mean? Oh, need a valet. Can't handle buttons and all that, you know." Julian waved his right hand, making the fingers of his glove flap.
Her glower darkened perceptibly. "I am sure Dragontrader won't mind helping you dress, Captain." Was she implying that she would help him undress? From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggèd beasties . . .
"Humbug! Dommi's an excellent cook, and I'm sure he can help out with the livestock too. Can't you, Dommi?"
With great eagerness, Dommi said, "Indeed, Tyika, I had experience many years as a stripling here in the paddock, helping tending with the dragons."
"There! That's settled." Julian turned away.
"No!" Ursula barked. "This is not a Sunday school picnic, Captain Smedley. We have only four mounts. Goober Dragonherder is a skilled swordsman. So is Seventy-seven, of course, but an additional guard will be invaluable. We won't take any houseboys."
The surrounding Carrots raised their pink eyebrows at her tone, although few of them would understand the words.
"Dommi can handle a sword. Can't you, Dommi?"
Dommi favored Ursula with a gaze of earnest innocence, "Most assuredly, Entyika Newton, I was juvenile fencing champion of the village running three years in my youth, and my father sent me out to Randorvale to study with the noted blade-master—"
She uttered a snort that startled even the dragons. "Tell it to the marines, boy! We're going to Joalvale. You're going back to the kitchen. Now, Dragontr—"
"Joalvale, Entyika?" Dommi exclaimed. "But Tyika Kaptaan told me that Niolland would be your most primordial destination, because of the notorious prophecies."
Tyika Kaptaan had said no such thing and wondered if he looked as surprised as Ursula did. Dommi glanced from one to the other, apparently worried that he might have revealed a confidence.
"Prophecies?" she demanded. "What prophecies?"
Totally at sea, Julian sighed. "Oh, go ahead, Dommi. You tell her."
Domini beamed with innocent youthful pleasure at this honor and began to gabble. "Tyika Kaptaan explained to me, Entyika, how the words of the Filoby Testament can be construed to elucidate the route that Liberator must follow to reach his intended dread purpose in Thargvale, Entyika, which is where he must going be if the slaying of Zath is his object, which we are all knowing it is, yes? Likewise, Tyika Kaptaan was instructing me how there are eight references only to the Liberator and twelve to D'ward, whom we know to be the same with Tyika Kisster and also himself the Liberator, overlooking a few ambiguous abstrusenesses that may also refer but not specify by name, yes? And of the twenty, fifteen either specify a place or imply one, Tyika Kaptaan says."
Julian wondered if perhaps he had not awakened at all and was dreaming this. In that case, why was Ursula gaping like a dead fish?
"Incontrovertible it is," Dommi continued, flushed with excitement until his freckles hardly showed, "that numerous of these place-naming verses may be ordered so as to predict Tyika Kisster's chosen path, and while it is not certain that he has already left Joalland, where he was observed in motion a half fortnight ago, Tyika Kaptaan pointed out that his chances of interception to the Liberator would be magnified by regressing this indicated itinerary backward, and consequently it will be advantageous to make progression directly to Niolvale—or perhaps Jurgvale, even—and retracing his tracks before he makes them."
Ursula looked aghast at Julian. "Damn my eyes! You mean he isn't just letting the prophecies happen, he's going to fulfill them deliberately to prove he's the bloody Liberator?"
"Well, surely that's obvious, old girl?" It was obvious to Julian now that his bottle washer had pointed it out. Resourceful chap, Dommi, the perfect gentleman's gentleman. Of course Exeter would make it his business to fulfill all the prophecies—half a Liberator would be no bally good to anyone. And of course he would have to do it in some sort of geographical order, and why the blazes had the Carrots worked that out before the votyikank did?
Ursula's eyes burned dark with suspicion. "Why didn't you mention this last night?"
Julian shrugged. "I assumed you could all see it as well as I could, old girl." Nothing untrue there.
"Niolvale or Joalvale, wherever we're going, we still only have four dragons."
Not trusting his Joalian, Julian switched to Randorian, which he knew T'lin understood, and flourished his crispest military tone. "We'll head for Niolland. Dommi, get our kit loaded." Immediately a wave of gleeful Carrots swept through, bearing away all Julian's baggage—and Dommi's also, of course—to pack it in the dragons' panniers. "I'm sure someone will turn up with another mount in a day or two, Dragontrader, and your man can follow us then." Before anyone could argue further, he added, "Oh, and do get him to lend Dommi his sword, will you? No use taking along a first-class fencer without arming him."