The Dragons of Babel (24 page)

He sang the last words of the charm. Now he found himself murmuring into the queen mare's ear.

“Ohhhh, sweet lady,” Will crooned. “You and I, mother of horses—we were meant to be. Share your strong back with me, let me ride you, and I will show you such sights every time we travel together.”

He could feel the tug of his words on her. He could feel her resolve weakening.

“I'll take good care of you, I promise. Oats every day and never a saddle, never a bit. I'll rub you down and comb your mane and plait your tail. No door shall ever lock you in. You'll have fresh water to drink, and clean straw to sleep on.”

He was stroking the side of her neck with one hand now.
She was skittish still, but Will could feel the warmth of feeling welling up within her. “And this above all,” he whispered: “No one shall ever ride you but me.”

Gently, tentatively, he felt her pleasure at the thought. Joyously, confidently, he showed her his own pleasure that she felt thus about him. Selfflowed into self, so that the distinction between fey and horse, he and her, dissolved.

They were one now.

Will discovered that he was weeping. It had to be for joy, because the emotion that filled him now and which threatened to burst his chest asunder was anything but unhappi-ness. “What's your name, darling?” he whispered, ignoring the tears running down his cheeks. “What should I call you, my sweet?” But horses had no names, either true or superficial, for themselves. They lived in a universe without words. For them, there could be no lies or falsehoods, because things were simply so. Which meant that the task of naming her fell upon Will.

“I shall call you Epona,” he said, “Great Lady of Horses.”

For the first time since he could not remember when, he felt completely happy.

W
ill was in no hurry to return to the Army of Night's current bivouac. Epona was the swiftest of her breed; he would not arrive last. “Take me where I need to be,” he whispered in her ear. “But slowly.” Then he gave the queen mare her head.

They made their way through the darkness by roundabout and pleasant paths. Occasionally a lone electric bulb or a line of fluorescent tubes flickered weakly to life before them, floated silently by, and then faded to nothing behind them. Downward they went, and then upward again. Once, Epona daintily picked her way up a long-forgotten marble staircase with crystal chandeliers that loomed faintly from the shadows overhead like the ghosts of giant jellyfish.
They went down a long passage of rough stone so low that Epona had to bow her head to get through. Twice the ceiling brushed against Will's back, though he clung tightly to his mount. He was just beginning to wonder if they were lost when she emerged into a large empty space.

The roof of the cavern was not visible, but something glowed softly at its center.

It was a ship.

The ship lay near-upright, sunk to the waterline in ancient mud turned hard as rock. It had a wooden hull and its masts lay broken on the ground alongside it where they had fallen. Luminescent white lichen grew upon the wood, glowing gently as corpse-fire. It looked like engravings he had seen of galleons and carracks, and it clearly had been there for a long, long time. How it had come to its final end in a bubble of volcanic rock deep below Babel was a mystery. Doubtless there was a curse involved, a great offense, a mighty spell, and an awesome retribution. Doubtless many had died here in horror and despair… But all that was in the past, and everyone involved was dead and gone to the Black Stone long ages ago.

Epona stopped by the stern of the ship and began to graze upon the lichen growing on its rudder.

Will slid off her back.

“Why are we here?” he asked her. “This was not where I wanted you to take me.”

The mare tossed her head impatiently. Will's words meant nothing to her, of course, but she caught the note of reproach in his voice and emphatically rejected it. Feeling the tenor of her thoughts, Will cast back to his original command and realized that he had not visualized any particular place but, rather, had told her only to take him where he needed to be.

“Is this where I need to be, old girl?”

Epona crunched on a mouthful of lichen.

“Well, if this is where I need to be…” Will walked first
one way and then another, looking for an entry to the ship. Finally he scrambled up a fragment of one of the masts that made a kind of bridge from the ground to the gangway.

No lichen grew upon the deck, but an orange glimmer of lantern-light shone from a tiny window in the forecastle. Carefully, for the wood was soft underfoot and he did not trust it not to collapse under his weight, Will made his way to the fore. Something uncoiled within him and he was flooded with a dark sense of foreboding. He took a deep breath to settle himself, and then knocked on the door.

“It's not locked,” the Whisperer said. “Enter.”

Will stepped inside.

By the light of a single ceiling-hung lantern, he saw a shadowy boyish figure sitting at a desk at the far end of the cabin, reading. When Will entered, he put down the book and, rising to his feet, stepped into the light. “Hello, Will,” he said. “Do you recognize me now?”

Will cried out in terror. “You!”

Before him stood Puck Berrysnatcher.

“I see you do. Good.” The boy nodded to a chair. “Have a seat. We must talk.”

One of Will's hands clenched and unclenched spasmodically. He sat. “Are you here as my friend or my enemy?”

The Whisperer cocked his head quizzically, as if searching for a memory in some long-neglected corner of his mind. “I cannot answer that question,” he said at last. “I have been dead so long that I am no longer certain that, even to the living, such a distinction exists.”

“Why are you here?”

“I have information you need.” Puck advanced so close to the chair that his legs touched Will's knees. Bending down, he placed his arms around Will's neck. His breath was warm on Will's face. “But I want something in return.”

NO
, Will's hand wrote frantically on his thigh.
NO, DO NOT
, and
FLEE!

Terrified, Will leaped to his feet and shoved the Whisperer away.

With a slam, the boy fetched up against the wall. He smiled. “Who is that writing with your hand? Don't you think you should know?”

“You think I don't know? Of course I know!” Will cried, though up until this very instant he had not dared admit it to himself. “It's the dragon. Night after night, he crawled inside my mind, and when he had what he wanted, he left. But a little bit of him remained, an echo or an imprint. It lives in me still!”

He spun about to flee and discovered that somehow the Whisperer stood between him and the door. They wrestled briefly, but though Will had the advantage in weight and height, the shadowy child was more than his equal in strength. Wrapping his arms tightly around Will, he whispered, “The dragon's growing stronger within you. Isn't he?”

“Yes.”

The Whisperer's cheek was cool and smooth against the side of Will's face. “Oh, Will, who has ever been a better friend to you than I? Such gifts I have given you! A horse, terror, and now self-knowledge. Repay me by answering this one simple question: Who am I?”

“When we were both young,” Will said carefully, “your use-name was Puck Berrysnatcher. Later, when you rose from the dead, you called yourself No-name. Your true name was Tchortyrion originally, but when you returned you had another that I never learned. Now I know you only as the Whisperer.”

“Those are but names,” the Whisperer said scornfully. He tugged Will tighter, so that he had difficulty breathing. “From the darkness I came, knowing everything there is to know about you and nothing about myself. Why are you the only one who can see me? Why do I haunt you? Tell me.”

“You were my best friend. When the War came to our
village, you died in an accident and were brought back by the healing-women. But you'd lost a leg and for this you declared yourself my nemesis, though I swear it was in no way my doing. I was the dragon's lieutenant then and you led the greenshirties in rebellion against him. For this, he entered me and together we crucified you.”

“That is what I once was!” the Whisperer cried in anguish. “I need to know what I
am!
You have the key—I can see the knowledge within you but I cannot read it. Tell me!” “You are a memory,” Will whispered. “You are my guilt.” “Ahhh,” the Whisperer sighed. Releasing his grip, he slumped toward the floor. But when Will put his arms around him, to catch him and hold him up, there was nothing there.

D
espite his detour, Will was the first to return to camp. He had but to picture it in his mind and give the queen mare her head; she knew the fastest and safest way to go. Eventually, they emerged from the catacombs under Battery Park and were home.

Radegonde de la Cockaigne arrived second. She had come from the contested lands of the West, as had Will, but a little of the blood of
les bonnes meres
flowed in her veins and she had grown up privileged. She had been taught to ride, rather than learning on stolen time, and as a result her horse-craft was far superior to his. He was not surprised to see that she had wooed and won a particularly mettlesome steed. After her came Kokudza and Jenny Jumpup, also mounted, and then the Starveling and Little Tommy Redcap, both afoot. Some time later, Tatterwag limped in, looking embarrassed. They had gained four horses and lost not a single life.

L
ord Weary came out of Hjördis's box, buckling his belt. Will made his report.

“Any fatalities?” Lord Weary asked. Then, when Will shook his head, he said, “Let's see the horses.”

Will had commandeered a space that was said to have been used once as a holding pen for slave smugglers, and then sent forces aboveground to steal, scavenge, or, in last resort, buy straw to spread on the floor. Lord Weary touched the steel-jacketed door that Will hadn't yet ordered taken off its hinges and muttered, “Good. It'll need a bar, though.”

Then Weary saw the horses and a rare smile spread over his pale face.

“They're magnificent!” he said. “I had hoped for five, and been willing to settle for three.
Felicitas in mediaest, too
, and not just
Virtus eh?
It's a sign.”

When seen together, it was obvious that the four steeds were from the same genetic line. The heads were gaunt and narrow, with large blue veins under pale, translucent skin. Their eyes bulged like tennis balls under lids that had grown together and would never open. All glowed faintly in the darkness. Yet equally clear was it that the one was queen and the others her subjects.

Lord Weary went straight to Epona and peeled back her lips to examine her teeth. “This one is best,” he said at last. “She shall be mine.”

Will trembled, but said nothing.

“First things first. Measure her for a saddle and bit.”

“Sir!” His aide-de-camp, a haint named Chittiface, clicked his heels and saluted.

“The others, too, of course. They're still as wild as so many winds, and will need training. Have them broken and gentled. But take care to use no more force than is necessary. For they are my own precious children and I'll not have them scarred or disfigured.” He turned on Will and said, “Captain Riddle, I perceive that I have in some way offended you.”

“How can a lord offend his captain?” Will said carefully. “One might as well declare that I have offended my hand,
or that I act against the best wishes of my left leg. Can the liver and entrails resent the wise leadership of King Head?' Tis beyond my imagining.”

The stables-to-be were swarming with soldiers, many busy, but the greater number merely curious to see the horses. Will noted that all of his fellow raiders were here as well. And every one of them was pretending not to listen.

“Oh, glib, most monstrous glib indeed!” Lord Weary turned a stern face upon Will. “And yet such a litany of sighs and shudders and tics, of soft gasps and shakes of the head, of sudden winces and tightened lips and suppressed retorts have I seen from you as speaks louder than mere words ever could. You are displeased. With me.”

“If so, sir, then I apologize most humbly.”

“Humbly, sirrah? You defy me to my teeth and plead humility? I'll not have it. Lie to me a third time at your peril.”

“But—”

“Kneel!” Weary said, and then, when Will obeyed, “Both knees!”

Lord Weary was Will's liege, and Will had knelt before him often. But always, as became one of his officers, on a single knee. The ground here was wet and unclean, and the dampness soaked through the cloth where the knee touched it. There was only one reason for Will to be made to kneel on two knees, and that was so that he might be humiliated.

“Now,” Lord Weary said. “As I am your liege and you owe me obedience, speak. Tell me what I have done.”

“Lord, these words are nothing I would willingly say. But as you command, so must I obey.” Simply, then, and without recrimination, Will explained what promises he had made to Epona, and concluded, “What touches my honor is mine alone, and cannot entail yours. I ask only that you consider these matters seriously.”

Lord Weary heard him through. Then he said, “Seize him.”

Rough hands gripped Will by either arm. The soldier to his left was a new recruit, but the one to his right was Jenny Jumpup. She did not meet his eyes.

“Strip him to the waist,” Lord Weary commanded. “Give him five lashes for insolence.”