I found myself seated some way down the table. On either side, the men spoke only a few polite words to me. Their eyes said they shared Erin's attitude. It was funny in a way. If they had known I was a Misfit, I would be far more despised.
A while later, Erin's voice rose above the buzz of talk. 'Father, I am only saying that this desire to bond the armsmen is going too far. Surely you want to maintain some sort of standard. Yet you permit grubby gypsies to dine with us.' I had no doubt she had raised her voice deliberately.
I stood abruptly. 'Lord, my father told me enough' to make me admire Henry Druid, but I will not be insulted by a painted doll!' There was a gasp from some of the men, and Erin's pouting mouth fell open in astonishment.
There was a long silence. I did not take my eyes from the Druid's, but I was not to hear his reply since someone had begun to clap.
'Well done, Lady Erin. I salute you for your wit,' Gilbert said. He raised his mug to Erin. 'I feared our gypsy girl had lost her tongue.' He drank deeply, and a few hardy souls around him laughed.
Erin's face filled with rage, but the Druid laid a restraining hand on her arm. I wondered at Gilbert's recklessness. Why had the Druid let him make sport of Erin? It was clear Gilbert had some rank in the camp, but now I wondered exactly what his position was.
He grinned at me down the length of the table, but I did not smile back. Beside him, Erin's eyes glittered with malice. Perhaps Gahltha's cynical comment that poisoned trees bore poisoned fruit was right, for I was certain the Druid shared his daughter's prejudice.
I finished my meal, ignored by my companions. I had a fierce longing to be back at Obernewtyn where people were judged by their actions rather than their ancestry. Rushton would laugh to know how much I hungered to be home. He had seemed really disturbed by my desire to leave. With a painful lurch of my heart, I realized I missed him.
A young boy and an old man played a merry dance tune on a drum and a small flute. I was not surprised to see people rise to dance. I had never learnt how. Orphan Homes did not organize such frivolous pursuits. On both sides of me the seats were empty, my dinner companions having deserted me for less controversial partners. My outburst had made me an outcast despite my finery.
I looked up to find Gilbert standing beside my seat. 'Come, let me see if you dance as well as you talk.'
I lifted my chin, 'I wonder you dare ask a gypsy to dance.'
Gilbert frowned. 'Hatred of gypsies is a foolish, unfounded prejudice which I do not share.'
'It seems you are alone in that. Who are you, that you can safely voice such unpopular opinions?'
'I lead the armsmen. The Druid values my expertise. But I am known for my outspoken nature. It has not got me killed so far.'
I smiled a little despite myself. Another place and time, I would have liked the smiling armsman as a friend. But the knowledge that he was the leader of the Druid's fighting force made me nervous. His friendship might be no more than a strategy to put me off guard.
As if reading my thoughts, Gilbert slid into the seat beside me. 'I am my own fellow,' he said softly. 'I am no whisperer of other's secrets. If you will not talk, then dance with me,' he invited.
I found I did not want to hurt his feelings with a plain refusal. I lifted the hem of my skirt and showed him my scarred legs and feet. His face tightened at the sight of the scars. 'And I made you walk back to camp. Why didn't you say something?'
I smiled and shrugged wryly. 'You didn't seem the sort to worry about a prisoner's feet.'
'Then we will talk,' he said firmly. 'You may direct the course of our words.'
The opportunity was too good to miss. 'Tell me how you came to be here.'
Gilbert smiled and obliged. It proved an unexpected tale.
He had been born to a seafaring family in Aborium, but his father had been taken by slavers and his boat sunk. As a child, Gilbert had worked as a harbour labourer to support his mother and sister, until they died of a mysterious plague that swept the coast one year. Weary of the sea and lonely, he had gone inland to seek his fortune as a hunter. He had been searching in the White Valley when the Druid recruited him. He smiled wryly at the euphemism.
'At first I was determined to escape but what was there to escape to? I had no home to go back to and I loathe the Council. And, as you see, this is a pleasant enough life for one so skilled and useful as I.'
The Druid has a good supply of luxuries,' I said.
He grinned. The Druid has a friend in Sutrium.' He stopped abruptly and I babbled on, pretending not to have noticed his slip.
'Are there really such things as slavers?' I asked.
He nodded. There are at that, black-hearted souls. They prey on small fishing vessels like those belonging to my father, shanghai the crew and sell them. Those taken are never heard of again. I have heard it said the Council sells Seditioners they do not want brought to open trial. Who knows where they end up? It is a wide strange world.'
'But . . . what do you mean? There is only this Land and the two islands,' I stammered. The rest is Blacklands.'
Gilbert shook his head. 'A myth spawned by the Council who have a vested interest in ignorance. There are other places on the earth where the White Death never reached, or where the poisons have faded. I remember once my father told me the Land was but the tiniest portion of a huge island. It is possible there are parts of it untainted just as the Land is clean.'
I stared. 'But how is it no one knows this?'
Gilbert smiled, and it was not a pleasant smile. 'Any seafarer stupid enough to talk of such things disappears, no doubt himself sold to the slavers. It's a convenient way for the Council to rid itself of troublesome babble-mouths.'
'But why?'
The Council do not want their subjects sailing off in search of greener pastures and freer lands,' he answered simply.
I was fascinated. I had never dreamed of questioning Council teachings claiming the Land and two islands were all that remained of the world after the Holocaust.
'Why not take to the sea yourself and go where there is no Council?' I wondered.
Gilbert sighed. 'I could have done that, but a harsh law is better than none. What lies beyond our horizons are, by all accounts, wild lawless places where there has been no attempt to establish normal growth, a world where incredible mutations of plant and beast run riot. No, better to work here with the Druid to overcome the Council. Besides, I get seasick,' he added.
I laughed then sobered quickly. 'You think the Druid and his acolytes are any better than the Council?' I hardly expected an answer to such a question, but he was as outspoken as he had promised.
'I don't know. I hope so. He is hard, but there is always hope of change. At least he has standards and rules to live by.'
I looked at him sharply. 'The world is full of mutations. Who has the right to decide what is normal?'
Gilbert looked taken aback at the change in my tone. 'I do not believe gypsies are inferior,' he said, mistaking my words. 'In fact, I don't mind mutants. But don't tell the Druid. He is fanatical on the subject. Most of the others think as he does. Perhaps I'm not fine enough to distinguish between the smells of people as if they were so much spoiled meat.'
I frowned, deciding whatever the Druid knew or guessed about Misfits, Gilbert knew nothing. Perhaps only the Druid's acolytes knew about the machine blocking my abilities.
'And what about freedom? He would not let you leave here.'
The armsman smiled. 'No one keeps me where I do not want to be. But freedom is not a matter of that. You are a gypsy, so you think freedom is only the freedom to move from place to place. Real freedom is a thing no one can take from you, because it is a freedom of the spirit. I keep it here.' He tapped his head, then rose. 'I have promised a dance, but we will talk again.'
I watched him go, surprised to find myself wishing we could have gone on talking. I had meant only to extract information, but he was astonishingly free with his words and opinions, and he had allowed me to question
him without asking me questions in return. With a sudden depression, I wondered if he was as open simply because he believed himself invulnerable in the camp.
I shook my head. He was an enemy, yet I had liked him. And I was as certain he had liked me. It had never occurred to me that I might be found desirable. Yet clothed in the fine dress, I had only been able to gape at my reflection. The girl who looked out of the mirror at me with her cloud of dark silky hair and mysterious green eyes had been a dazzling stranger. Passing through a room into the Druid's dining hall, I had caught sight of myself in a long mirror and, in that moment, had the curious wish that Rushton might see me so transformed.
To my relief, the meal ended without talk of bonding. Like all farseekers, I knew bonding for me would be more than a physical communion. A mind meld would be far more intimate than any bodily merging. It would be an ultimate kind of nakedness with one of my own kind; to bond with an unTalent would be like bonding to a statue.
I found myself thinking of Gilbert as I prepared for bed. If one had to bond with an unTalent, he would at least be kind and funny. Rushton's dark, brooding face came into my mind like a dash of cold water.
Dismissing all thoughts of the nightmeal from my mind, I concentrated my senses for an attempt on the static barrier preventing me from reaching the others. Kella had been housed in a separate room so there was no chance for us to make plans.
The block lay like a wet blanket over my senses. I felt suffocated as I tried to farseek. I used more strength, but the blocking seemed to respond, strengthening in direct proportion to the force I used.
Finally I lay back with a defeated sigh. It was no use. I would have to find the machine and somehow damage it.
10
'What are ye up to, Emmon?' Rilla demanded suspiciously of a slight boy with a lop-sided grin who had entered the kitchen.
He looked exaggeratedly hurt. Th' Druid sent me to bring the gypsy called Elspeth,' he said in a wounded voice.
I had spent the morning with Kella helping to do the encampment washing. I had tried questioning Rilla, but she appeared to know no more than Gilbert about the blocking static preventing me from using my abilities. But she had told me the Druid acolytes worked in a shed forbidden to all others. Kella told me Rilla's dead bondmate had been one of the Druids slain in the last Teknoguild expedition.
'I don't think she knows much about it,' Kella had said. 'It seems as if the Druid only tells people what he thinks they need to know. Rilla has no idea the people they ran into were from Obernewtyn. But she did say the Druid suspected the explosion had been caused deliberately using a Beforetime weapon. I think his reaction to Obernewtyn means he suspected Rushton, at least.'
I wondered what the Druid wanted of me.
As we left, Emmon stole a slice of meat and got a hard smack for his troubles. Outside he rubbed his ear and grinned broadly. 'T'was worth it. Come on.' We had not gone far when I realized we were going in the wrong direction.
'Well, that's true . . .' Emmon admitted. 'As a matter of fact, I were nowt told to bring ye at once, so we've time to spare. I'd rather walk about than wash clothes or work at spellin' an' th' like. Wouldn't you?'
'Won't we get into trouble?' I asked warily.
He shook his head. 'You won't. If we gan caught, I'll say ye knew nowt of it.'
'Will you show me around? I haven't had much chance to see the camp,' I asked.
Emmon nodded enthusiastically. He marched off, at once beginning to describe the variety and uses of buildings we passed. I tried leading him to talk of the Druid, in the hope of getting a clue about the block over the camp, but he seemed to know as little about it as I did. I concentrated on memorizing the camp.
We passed a long windowless series of buildings which Emmon pronounced as storehouses.
'Where do all the Druid's supplies come from?' I asked.
Emmon grinned. 'From th' Council's own stores. Th' Council dinna know their own trusted agent is a friend and oath kin to th' Druid.'
Oath kin? That meant someone as close as blood without being related. The Druid had an oath kin on the Council. The Druid was as canny a strategist as ever. With a chill, I realized the rumours about Obernewtyn could have been generated by the Druid's friend.
'Is it true ye've been to Obernewtyn?' Emmon asked suddenly, as if reading my mind.
'True enough,' I said.
He shook his head in wonder. 'That's th' library.' He pointed to another building. It seemed his dislike of spelling did not run to books. The Druid had obviously instilled his followers with his own love of books.
'I hear Erin dinna take to ye much,' Emmon said.
'Who told you that?' I asked sharply.
Emmon smiled. 'I'll take ye to visit a friend of mine.'
Before I could answer he ran off, and I was forced to follow. I found him outside the door to a small cottage. As I reached his side, he knocked firmly on the door.
'Who lives here?' I asked. I heard footsteps inside. 'Erin's twin sister lives here,' he whispered, as the door swung open. I gave him a furious look, but it was too late. The door opened and a delicious odour wafted out.
'Gilaine, it's me. I've brought a visitor,' Emmon announced. He sniffed and sighed. 'Honeyballs.'
I stared at the girl who had answered the door.
There was no question whose sister she was. But they were as much alike as the sun and the moon. Where Erin's hair was spun gold and elaborately dressed, Gilaine wore her long, ashen tresses loose about her shoulders. Erin's eyes were bright blue, but Gilaine's were grey as clouds with the sun behind them. The greatest difference though, lay in their expressions. Erin's face was haughty and querulous, but Gilaine's was gentle, the smile on her mouth only echoing the smile in her eyes. I was immediately drawn to her.
'This is Elspeth. She's one of them gypsy folk,' Emmon said, slipping behind her into the house.
Gilaine smiled. I wondered why she did not speak. As if in answer to my thought, she raised a finger to her lips. At first I thought she was trying to tell me to be quiet, then I realized. She was mute.
'The honeyballs are burnin'!' Emmon wailed. Gilaine smiled, gesturing for me to follow her.
The cottage was tiny, consisting of three sections. A closet with a bed in it, a front hall and a cosy and relatively large kitchen. The honeyballs turned out to be tiny crisp sweets.
Mouth full, I asked Emmon why I had not seen Gilaine at the nightmeal. Emmon managed to look wrathful over bulging cheeks. 'She is nowt asked,' he said.
The old Druid was a perfectionist. He hated anything flawed. Gilaine was mute. Poor Gilaine, I thought. Seeing my look she smiled sadly and shrugged.
We stayed with Gilaine until it was time to go. I was surprised to hear Emmon confess his deception, but Gilaine only shook her head helplessly and ruffled his hair with an expression of mingled concern and exasperation.
Crossing the green to the meeting house, I spotted Jik playing ball with some younger children and asked Emmon if I could talk to him.
'Well, yer nowt supposed to, an' ye know what a stickler I am for rules. But if I was to gan over an wash my hands at th' spring, I'd nowt see what ye were up to. I'm a gullible fellow,' he said with an engaging smirk.
'Do you know where the others are being kept?' I asked Jik as soon as we could speak. There was no time for greetings.
He shook his head. 'I think they're some place outside the walls.'
'What about the block, can you feel it?'
He nodded, saying he said he had heard no talk of machines, but that the Druid's helpers had a special place to work in where no one was allowed to go.
I nodded impatiently. 'Keep an ear out but don't ask any questions that will make anyone wonder about you. Remember, you're a gypsy. Where's Darga?'
'He disappeared when they brought us inside,' Jik said, miserably.
'Darga's a smart dog,' I said. 'He's probably gone to look for the others, or Domick.'
Jik's face brightened. 'Do you think
so?'
'Come on,' Emmon called.
I patted Jik on the shoulder and ran to join Emmon.
I was taken in to the Druid by one of the acolytes. I wondered curiously if the Druid were trying to start up his own opposing order. I had the feeling the Druid's order would be as bad as the Herder Faction, whatever Gilbert believed. Entering the Druid's meeting chamber, I heard a tantalizing snatch of conversation.
A voice said, 'If she is telling the truth, I don't see any need to waste more time on the mountains. I said all along it was your old friends that we bumped into. Herders.'
'That may be, but I think it is too late to stop the soldierguards from investigating Obernewtyn.' That was the Druid. I hesitated at the door, hoping to hear more, but the Druid looked up.
'Come in, Elspeth. I want you to tell me again all you saw at Obernewtyn . . .'
I was there for the rest of the afternoon. Fortunately my story was simple and I resisted the temptation to embellish in case he asked me to repeat it again. I quickly realized what he really wanted to know was if Rushton were continuing Alexi's researches.
I was unsure how much he knew of the truth. It was common knowledge Alexi and Madam Vega had been involved in illegal research into the Beforetime, and that Rushton had stopped them, at the same time rescuing two Councilmen. At one time, Henry Druid had befriended Rushton, knowing him to be the true heir to Obernewtyn. Rushton had told him that Alexi and Madam Vega were searching for weapon machines from the past. Yet he could not know Alexi based his search on the work of his stepmother, Marisa Seraphim, a brilliant scientist devoted to studying the technology of the past. She had discovered and resurrected the Zebkrahn machine. In his eagerness to possess his stepmother's secrets, Alexi had murdered Marisa, only to find her notes cryptic and secretive. Originally the research Alexi conducted into Misfit abilities had been a cover, but he had learnt that some Misfits possessed a remarkable sensitivity to the written word, which might be used to decipher Marisa's notes, if he were able to find a Misfit with a strong enough sensitivity. He quickly found that pain enhanced sensitivity.