Cho guided them straight to the museum doors. The sign carved on one of the stone pillars supporting a porch overhang read “Artifacts of Antiquity.”
At the bottom of a wide set of steps, Cho stopped. He smiled as he surveyed the front of the building. “I helped gather some of the items in exhibits here.” He placed a hand on Dukmee’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be able to remember things.” His hands dropped to his sides as he stared down at the stone step before them. His head wagged from side to side in slow disgust. “Fish!”
Blowing out a blast of air, he put a foot on the first step, then withdrew it. He patted his beard, straightened his pointy hat, and twitched the folds of his robe. He then turned a critical eye on Dukmee.
“How did you get so dirty?” Cho followed his words with a flurry of activity. The old man slapped away the dust on Dukmee’s robe. He finger-combed the younger man’s hair, which instantly fell into neat locks. The last gesture toward restored decorum involved swiping his hand across Dukmee’s face.
His face felt wet. Dukmee repeated Cho’s final motion across his forehead, nose, cheeks, and chin. Not wet. But his skin no longer felt like sandpaper, dry and covered with grit.
“There you are.” Cho took Dukmee by the arm and walked with him up the stairs. “Now we’re both fit to be introduced to the head curator. Not Diggertommy — he died years ago. Current man’s named Hartenbar.”
They entered the building to find solemn silence, dim lighting, and cool but slightly stale air. Various items showed artistic talent in lighted glass cases or hanging on the walls under directed light.
Several people roamed the rooms. One man had three boys in tow and explained to them in a hushed voice the importance of the item they stood before. A very old woman leaned on the arm of a younger version of herself as they moved to a bench where they could rest and look at a massive painting.
A man in curator robes came out of a side room. He altered his course the moment he saw Dukmee and Chomountain by the door.
“Welcome. I’m Curator Hartenbar.” His low, mellow voice hardly stirred the air. He gestured toward a raised table with an open book and a pen. “Are you first time visitors? We’d like you to sign our guest book.”
“I am,” said Dukmee, and went to leave his signature. The amount of information asked for surprised him.
Name, place of birth, date of birth, currently residing in, occupation.
For name, he put Dukmee R’Binion S’Cratmoor D’Latheren. He was born on Richra, and he decided that was all the authorities at the museum needed to know. He put the pen back in its holder and turned to see Cho clasping the curator’s hand as that man sputtered.
Chomountain smiled kindly. “Settle down, now. Collect yourself. I’m not in the least offended, and the pleasure is mine in making your acquaintance.”
With his complexion growing redder and redder, Curator Hartenbar shook Cho’s hand. Sweat poured down the small man’s forehead and off the nape of his neck, wetting his neat hair so it hung in spikes over his collar. He looked as if he’d faint.
Moving quickly so he could catch him if he should pass out, Dukmee took a position beside the curator. “Is something wrong?”
Grinning with great satisfaction, Chomountain nodded toward the curator. “We’ve found one!”
Dukmee raised his eyebrows. He searched his mind for an idea. To what did Cho refer? “The stone?”
“No.” He pulled one hand out of the man’s grasp and pointed to him. “He recognized me. It took him a second or two. But he sees the robes, and he sees me.”
Giving a slight bow in the curator’s direction, Dukmee spoke sympathetically. “He’s an eyeful, isn’t he? But we’ve got to find a certain stone, and we’re hoping you know where it might be.”
The man took a deep breath and seemed to be coming out of his stuttering awe of the right hand of Primen.
“Yes, yes, I’d be glad to help.”
Dukmee decided he’d do the talking. The man tended to quiver whenever he looked at Cho. “We’ve been to the ruins in Bright Valley.”
“The Whirl Temple.”
With effort, Dukmee damped down his excitement. The man was already aware of the background. He saw the curator’s confidence take hold.
“We are looking for a stone, actually two stones, but the archives say that one of the stones was taken to the Artifacts of Antiquity in Higtrap.”
The man was nodding. Could he possibly know where the stone was? Dukmee had assumed it would be shelved in some underground storage space beneath the museum.
The curator turned. “Follow me. We have an exhibit of the Whirl Movement. You’ll be interested in several of the artifacts.”
They walked past the old woman and her daughter. The curator turned a corner.
“Ah!” Cho clapped his hands together.
Dukmee suppressed the smile that came bubbling out of his astonishment. The walls were covered with drawings of the temple and the surrounding city as they must have looked before they became ruins. In glass-covered displays, many objects lay on rich materials to show off their fine points. Placards gave the particulars of each piece.
Curator Hartenbar crossed the room to a shadowbox display on the wall. “I believe this is the stone you are referring to.”
Dukmee took slow steps, examining the item as he drew closer.
“Well, Dukmee?” Cho’s voice sounded as if laughter hid beneath his calm. “Is this our prize?”
“I believe it is, sir.” Dukmee stopped in front of the glass. He removed the orb from his pocket and held it up. The globe glowed, and images within spun. They came to a halt with one image focused in the center. “Confirmed. The orb authenticates the stone.”
Cho was at his shoulder, looking at the stone and not the globe.
“How can it be so simple, sir?” Dukmee put the orb back in his pocket. “Isn’t this too easy?”
The right hand of Primen sighed, but still the feeling of pleasure, even delight, permeated his demeanor. “Odd, isn’t it? We often expect problems and trials, only to find Primen, to the contrary, has laid a straight path over an easy terrain.”
HIGTRAP ONCE AGAIN
People on the trade road below stared up and pointed. Bixby waved from Totobee-Rodolow’s back. Cantor looked indecisive, then lifted his arm to wave as well. He frowned as Bridger, flying beside them, also flapped a hand in greeting. Sometimes Bridger’s sociable inclinations didn’t suit the dignity of a realm walker and that irritated her friend.
Cantor’s mild treatment of his dragon pleased Bixby. She knew Cantor found it hard to fault his dragon friend. Bridger’d been injured by the beast, neary fallen to his death, and was still too weak to carry a burden. Hopefully Dukmee and Chomountain could complete his healing.
Bixby grinned and glanced over her shoulder. They’d be a sight to see any place they went. Behind her and Cantor, three additional mor dragons flew side by side. Lupatzey, Ethelmin, and Rollygon had joined them in the mission to turn back the invaders.
Vankorge’s decision to remain behind had surprised her. As the head of the clan, he claimed his highest priority was the need to hold the mor dragon’s place of importance on Effram. Also, should the invaders reach their valley, someone in command would be needed to rally a fighting force of resistance, and Vankorge held a position of authority among the other breeds of dragon in Effram as well.
“There’s Higtrap.” Bixby pointed to a city on the horizon. Totobee-Rodolow veered to the left, with the others following.
Patches of land big enough for five dragons to land were scarce. The surrounding area contained scattered woodlands with clusters of houses in between. Some crop fields could have been used, but Bixby knew Cantor would never order them to land where they would destroy a farmer’s hard-earned harvest.
They finally set down on a small village green in a community pressed up against Higtrap’s high wall.
Cantor slid off first, as soon as he landed. Bi
xby held Jesha in her arms as she dismounted Totobee-Rodolow.
Lupatzey and Ethelmin chattered with excitement, remarking on the weather, the scenery, the buildings, the people, and anything else that crossed their minds. Rollygon acted more dignified, but Bixby knew that he teemed with wonder and curiosity within. His aura gave him away. It was clear these three mor dragons had never been off of Effram.
As the atmosphere of the quiet village shifted, Bixby dug in her hamper with one hand. Jesha encumbered her search, but the cat did not want to be let down. Finally finding the crown she sought, Bixby settled it on her head and put the directional diadem it replaced in the bag.
People streamed from every street to circle the town square and stare at their visitors. Under the curious eyes of the villagers, Lupatzey and Ethelmin ceased their string of disjointed remarks. At the back of the crowd, a disturbance churned, demanding to be let through.
The commotion erupted at the front of the circle in the form of the mayor and two township officers. With her ability to discern personality and auras increased by the crown, Bixby recognized their characters immediately. One nervously fought down his fears. The two others controlled blatant curiosity. The shortest man, also the biggest around and dressed in a suit designating wealth and prestige, took three steps forward.
He stood still for a second, glanced over his shoulder, frowned, and made a hurrumphish sound in his throat. A man Bixby had overlooked wiggled around one of the officers, came to stand at the mayor’s side, and announced, “Ormando Gefffs, High Mayor of Logtrap.”
He bowed and moved one precise step back. Bixby shook her head at the ceremony, but from her experience growing up in all sorts of cultures, she knew some protocol just couldn’t be explained.
Mayor Gefffs took off his hat and bowed. He bent at the waist as far as his round middle would let him, his long black tresses falling forward in two sheets beside his head. The mayor straightened. Shaking his hair back, he replaced his hat, and strode across the well-groomed plot of grass to stand before Cantor. He removed his hat once more, gave a smaller, tight bow, and offered his right hand to shake.
Cantor hadn’t had the upbringing Bixby had enjoyed. Three years ago, when they first met, she’d hidden her scorn toward his court manners, or lack thereof. She smiled to herself. No one could call Cantor D’Ahma a country rube now. Her mother would probably still like to take him in hand, but she was very picky.
His bow matched the mayor’s precisely, establishing through rules of etiquette that the two men were on equal terms. Cantor had to bend to shake the much shorter man’s hand, yet he did it with grace, not wounding the mayor’s fragile ego.
Watching their auras, Bixby surmised that Cantor was slightly irritated by this delay. The mayor was nervous, perhaps worried should he do something that would not sit well with the authorities within the city. Bixby reached for Cantor’s thoughts and found him considering ways to turn this meeting to their advantage.
“We welcome you to Logtrap.” The mayor indicated the villagers surrounding them. The people nodded, but their faces reflected awe and wariness rather than welcome. Here and there, an adventurous soul looked eager and curious.
Jesha’s growl rumbled low in her throat.
Whispering in her ear, Bixby sought to soothe the cat. “You don’t like these people? Let’s wait and see what they do.” She stroked Jesha’s fur.
“My name is Cantor D’Ahma. My traveling companions and I are to meet Chomountain and his companion within the city of Higtrap.”
“Chomountain?” Mayor Gefffs’ face purpled. “The missing right hand of Primen? Surely you jest.”
“Chomountain has emerged from a long sabbatical.” Cantor’s calm, authoritative tone impressed Bixby. She hoped the mayor and these villagers were equally impressed. “He again moves among the realms to do Primen’s will and bless the people.”
“He’s not been here.” The mayor still held his hat in one hand. He moved as if to return it to his head and then didn’t. He looked around at the citizens of his township and gathered in a great breath. With that breath, his aura firmed and darkened. The mayor was not pleased. He flicked a glance at the two officers.
One came forward to stand at the mayor’s side but a half step back. The other disappeared into the crowd.
Bixby would have followed him with her mind, but she had on the wrong crown. He slipped away, and she couldn’t latch on to him.
Oh well, she had enough to keep track of here. The three inexperienced dragons fidgeted, their nerves getting the better of them. A quiet yet deep rage boiled within Totobee-Rodolow.
The mayor lifted his chin. “Chomountain has not been here.”
“We are to meet him in Higtrap, not here.” Cantor’s voice and face showed little interest in the mayor’s ill humor.
“If Chomountain had been in Higtrap, Logtrap would have been aware. We are not so disregarded by those within as to be totally forgotten when significant events occur.”
“I have no doubt of the regard given to you by the rulers of Higtrap. However, Chomountain might not have made his presence known.”
Bixby mentally clapped for her friend. Oh, he did sound like a diplomat fully trained at court.
The mayor grumbled. “Now you slight the intelligence of my neighbors. They possess the acumen to recognize the right hand of Primen.”
The presence of someone who had just joined the watching villagers sent a shiver of recognition down Bixby’s spine. She glanced over the crowd, trying to locate him. When she did, a small gasp caught in her throat.
“Cantor, a councilman from the guild is here.”
He didn’t acknowledge her, but she knew Cantor had heard. His aura shifted to a higher level of alertness.
“It’s the councilman I gave the message to, the one who was supposed to alert the others that the guild building was about to explode. I thought he’d been killed in the blast.”
Bixby sent a message to the five dragons. “Be ready to leave. One of our enemies is here.” She impressed his image on them all so they would recognize him and be able to follow his movements should the situation get out of hand.
When she turned her attention back to Cantor, he was bowing, shaking hands, and obviously about to lead her and their companions away.
The crowd parted, and they walked one by one out of the town square and down a village street lined with small shops. The doors of these establishments closed just before they came to them. Shades were lowered, curtains drawn, and “Open” signs moved out of the windows.
Bixby put Jesha down. The cat tripped back to her dragon and leapt up onto his shoulders. Bixby skimmed ahead to walk beside Cantor.
“Feeling welcome?” Humor laced his tone.
“Not particularly.”
“Tell me what you discerned of their auras.”
“For the most part, the villagers were interested in an out-of-the-ordinary occurrence.” Bixby did another sweep of the street. In the square, there had been a crowd. Now there were but a few citizens, and those ducked out of their way. She picked up a common thread. A warning had been issued to stay away from the dragons and their company.
“And?” Cantor prodded.
“The villagers at the green were reluctant to participate in anything that would disturb the calm of their lives. A half dozen yearned to go with us, thinking an adventure would be better than their dull existence.”
Cantor nodded. “Typical reaction.”
“The people we see now are constricted by a mandate spread by word of mouth.”
Cantor gave her a swift glance.
“They are to avoid contact with us.”
He pursed his lips. “And the mayor’s aura?”
“He’s finding his persona of influential citizen hard to maintain. He gained his office by fraud. Now, he wishes he’d never succumbed to the temptation. Being mayor brings responsibilities he had not foreseen, and the Higtrap politicians demand a lot in return for their support.”
>
“Do you know where that officer went?”
“I just caught a glimpse of their thoughts, but I know the officer who stayed joyfully accepted his role. He didn’t envy the other man’s mission to inform the city guard of our arrival. In his mind, the least amount of communication with them, the better.”
As they moved farther from Logtrap and closer to Higtrap’s gate, they joined a thicker procession of people. Some carried wares to sell. Others had enough to warrant a donkey and cart. All seemed to be in a rush.
Bixby glanced over her shoulder and shivered.
Cantor darted a look at her face. “The councilman?”
“He has someone following us, but I haven’t been able to pick out which man it is.”
“Look for a woman.”
Bixby grinned up at Cantor. It was a good suggestion. Her skirts billowed out as she turned around. With light steps, she approached Totobee-Rodolow. “May I ride?”
“Of course, darling. Having you perched on my neck is like wearing another jewel.”
Bixby skimmed up the dragon’s scales and took a seat on her head between gem-encrusted horns. Wrapping her knee around one to anchor her, she leaned back against the other.
Totobee-Rodolow laughed. “Sidesaddle?”
“I can watch before and behind us. I’m looking for a spy from the guild.”
“I thought you might be. That unpleasant man who almost got you killed was at the village. I wonder what brings him to Derson.”
“Could he be trying to capture Dukmee and Cho?”
“Really, child, must you forget your protocol? Chomountain is to be given his full title, and whenever he’s mentioned with others, his name should go first.”
“I know that, Totobee-Rodolow, but you haven’t met him. He doesn’t stand on ceremony. He’s easier to approach than my own father.”
Totobee-Rodolow clicked her tongue and gave a disapproving shake of her head. “Have you spotted the spy?”