This Scepter'd Isle (49 page)

The being then turned, pointed the whatever-it-was at a target at the back of the pavilion, and pulled the trigger. There was a sharp hiss and one of the stubby darts appeared in the target, sunk right up to where it widened. Denoriel gasped. Harry crowed.

"Please, Lord Denno, please?"

"What is it called?" Denoriel asked.

"A gun," the metal being said.

Gun. Denoriel was familiar with the word; it referred to various instruments of iron that threw out metal pellets, expelled with great force by the explosion of black powder. That was a mortal invention that the Sidhe wanted no part of. It was one of the reasons that they were so determined to keep their very existence a secret from mortals. But those guns were huge. This one . . . 

Denoriel put the saddle down again and held out his free hand. The metal thing put the gun into it. Denoriel turned it this way and that, careful not to touch the trigger, which he now saw was caught by a hook that would prevent it from being pressed back and allowing the gun to fire. There was nothing at all about the object to suggest it was Sidhe work. The thing had a rather crude appearance, the metal rather uneven and unfinished looking, like a casting that had not been polished.

"It isn't like any gun I've ever seen, and it doesn't use black powder," Denoriel muttered.

"So it isn't against the rules," Harry said eagerly. "I'm not allowed to use black powder yet. Sir Edward thinks I'll blow myself up or set fire to my apartment. I'm not such a fool. But this doesn't have black powder."

"How will we ever explain it?" Denoriel asked, unable to resist the pleading in the boy's eyes.

"I'll hide it unless I need it. Anyway, I can always say you gave it to me—that would be true—and that I had no idea from where you got it."

"And what do you think you'll need it for?" Denoriel asked, fighting a rearguard action against total yielding.

The boy's face grew surprisingly hard. "I'll have iron darts made for it, cold iron. I can bring one of these to the blacksmith and he can copy it. I'll say it's a game piece. And if anyone chases me ever again,
I'll shoot them with cold iron
."

And Denoriel remembered that he had seriously considered not following the cortege this time, and Harry could have been taken. Likely there was no need any more, with Oberon's blue star blazing on Harry's forehead, but there were non-Sidhe threats to the boy too. He glanced at the dart in the target. It looked as if that would have gone right through a mortal.

"What will you take for the gun?" he asked.

The first metal being had been sidling closer. Now he spoke urgently to the second.

"The boy?" the second metal creature said tentatively.

Denoriel glanced at the first being and laughed. "I have said several times that the boy is not for sale or trade. He is a free person. I do not own him. Besides which, it is the boy for whom I want the gun."

"Come with us, boy," the first metal being said. "I will give you all the guns you like, far handsomer than this one, which is a cheap thing only made for trade. Come, I will show you—"

Whereupon the second metal being swiftly touched the first on a silvery knob on one side of the sparkling band that ran around its head. For an instant the sparkles blazed into a solid band of light; then the band went dark and the creature stood still.

Had the second harmed the first? If so, the removal spell did not recognize what the creature had done as violence. Interesting. Denoriel shrugged, put the gun down on the counter, and picked up the saddle.

"Lord Denno?" Harry's voice was small and pleading. "Even if it is just a cheap thing, I'd like to have it. If we were going to stay long and could look around, maybe we could find a better one, but if you're going to take me home right away, we won't have time to look. Please."

Denoriel sighed like one much put upon. "So, how much? I have ears. I heard what your fellow being said—a cheap item for trade."

"That." The metal being pointed at the saddle on Denoriel's shoulder.

"The saddle? You want my saddle for the gun?"

The disbelief in Denoriel's voice at the offer to exchange something that was rather wonderful for so mundane an object as a saddle must have come across to the metal creature as shocked rejection at the thought of giving up his precious possession. It put a possessive finger—there were only two and a gripping thumb Denoriel noticed—on the gun, nodded decisively, and leaned forward to touch the saddle.

Harry had not attended numerous chaffering sessions with Mistress Bethany without learning something. He was going to be the stupid, eager buyer, careless of the value of what was traded. He tugged at Denoriel's hand.

"Oh, please, Lord Denno. Please. I'll get you another saddle. I promise I will, and it will be just as fine as this one that you've insisted on carrying with you wherever we've gone. Please, Lord Denno. I'll have a special saddle made for you when we get home, if you'll get me the gun."

Denoriel allowed the saddle to slide from his shoulder to where he could clutch it against his chest. He started to shake his head. Harry began to plead with him again. The metal creature began to curl its hand around the gun. Harry snatched it from the being's hand and held it up. Denoriel turned his head toward the gun and saw from the corner of his eye that sparkles were beginning to light the darkness of the band around the head of the first metal being. It had not really been harmed then, just temporarily silenced. He had better finish this business and get the gun before that one woke up completely.

As if he were doing something he already regretted, Denoriel released a great sigh and let the saddle slide further down right onto the counter. He kept one hand on it, however, the fingers curved around one edge as if he was ready to snatch it back into his arms.

"Everything goes with the gun, right?" he asked. "The pump thing, the bag of darts, and an extra square part."

Harry yipped and clutched the gun to his chest. Denoriel told him to be careful lest he shoot himself. The metal being began to expostulate about the cost of the pump and the darts. Denoriel noticed more sparkles dancing around the headband of the immobilized metal creature and that one of its hands was twitching. He shrugged, reached into his purse, and threw a golden guinea on to the table.

"Take the pump and the pouch, Harry," he said. "Unless the trader wants more. In that case, just put the gun down and let me take my saddle back. I'm sure we can spare the time later to look for another gun."

Silently the trader handed over the pump and the pouch. Denoriel stroked the saddle. Harry tucked the gun into one of the capacious pockets of his gown and followed it with the pouch. Then he took the pump in hand and started away from the pavilion, tugging at Denoriel, who gave the saddle one last stroke and then followed the boy's lead.

At the next side alley, the kitsune appeared and gestured for them to follow him into it. When they reached him he was shaking with laughter.

"That's the best example of biter bit I've ever seen," Matka Toimisto gurgled. "You two should set up a booth here. You'd be rich in no time. What with the boy's wide-eyed wonder and you looking as if your heart would break over that stupid saddle . . . That was the slickest piece of trading I've seen in a long time. And why in the twelve planes of Hell have you been carrying that thing around anyway?"

"There aren't twelve planes of Hell," Denoriel said absently, counting steps and turns and fixing them and whatever landmarks he could spot in his mind as they worked their way through the narrower, back alleys of the faire.

The kitsune frowned. "
Was
there something special about that saddle?"

"No, nothing at all. I'm glad we're taking such a circuitous route. I have a feeling there'll be a metal army on our heels soon."

"Maybe not." Toimisto shrugged, and seemed singularly unconcerned. "One thing this market does teach is that what's waste to one being is precious to another. So, why were you carrying it?"

"For the purpose it served. As an item of trade. And, kitsune, I'm not blind. This is the fourth time I've seen that weapons booth." He frowned. "We've been going in a circle of sorts."

"That's right," Matka said, agreeably. "Once passed widdershins, once deosil, then once more widdershins. Fourth time a square should open . . . ah, there it is."

Denoriel noticed that the kitsune sighed slightly with relief. Perhaps the complicated path they had taken had not been purposely to confuse him. Not that it had. Denoriel was one of the most skilled of the Wild Hunt and he could track and remember the hiding places of the slyest of mortals. He would remember the way to Magus Treowth's lodging.

This, however, did seem to be the end of the road. They crossed the square, which looked surprisingly like any square of houses of the wealthy in mortal London, and came to a tall, narrow building. Matka Toimisto knocked on the door.

A large eye opened in the wood. A mouth formed below it. "You again," the mouth said. "Go away."

"But I brought someone I know you want to see," Matka said urgently. "Look behind me." He stepped aside, but not so far aside that he could not get through the door if it opened. "Here is Lord Denoriel and the mortal boy he is guarding. They need a path into the mortal world."

There was only silence. Denoriel stepped closer. "Magus Treowth," he said. "I am sorry to trouble you, but two Gates that Magus Gilfaethwy made for me were meddled with. One destroyed itself. I did not dare try the other. I need to know if the Gates you built for me are safe to use. I cannot risk this mortal boy. He is precious."

The door popped open. The kitsune slid inside and seemed to disappear. Magus Treowth appeared halfway down a steep flight of stairs, and he was in a temper. Denoriel braced himself, but did not have a chance to warn Harry.

"Who would dare meddle with my Gates?" he roared.

Harry winced, wide-eyed, and shrank behind Denoriel.

"I don't know whether your Gates were changed or not," Denoriel said. "That's what I came here to find out. I do know that Magus Gilfaethwy blamed me for trying to repattern his Gates—which I had not done—and told me that both the Gates he had built for me had been damaged. As to who . . . I have no proof, but I believe with near certainty that it was my half-brother."

The mage glared at him, as if he suspected a trick. "Why?"

An unhappy frown creased Denoriel's brow and—somewhat to his own surprise—he felt a surge of emotional pain. "I think he wanted to kill me." He shook his head, and swallowed. There had always been an intense rivalry between himself and Pasgen, but there had been an unspoken agreement between them, or so he'd thought. After all, they were blood-kin. . . . "I knew he didn't like me—well, I don't like him—but kill me?"

But the mage snorted. "If he thought he could kill you by damaging a Gate, he's a fool and knows nothing about Gates. It's true that the Gate anchor itself would explode and burn, but anything or anyone inside the Gate would just be cast out, usually into the chaos lands."

"Truly?" Denoriel felt his frown fading. "Of course, you must know, no one knows as much about it as you do. Pasgen knows a great deal about Gates, about magic in general, much more than I do. But he couldn't have known that I'd have Harry with me, so I thought he wanted to destroy me." He smiled, feeling a great deal of relief—though for the life of him, he couldn't have told why. "My dear half-brother just wanted me to be lost for a while so I wouldn't interfere with exactly what I
did
interfere with."

"Maybe that makes sense to you," Treowth said, and sighed. "All right, come up to my workroom and I'll see what I can discover."

Meanwhile FitzRoy had been tugging at Denoriel's hand, and when Denoriel looked down at him he said plaintively, "Breakfast was a long time ago, Lord Denno. I'm hungry."

"Of course you are," Denoriel said. "I am, too." He looked up at the Magus Major. "Magus Treowth, I must feed my young charge here. Can you recommend a safe food stall, and can I purchase something for you as well as for the boy and myself?"

"Boy." Magus Treowth looked down at FitzRoy. "Yes, we can't starve the child." His head swung, his gaze fixed on the fox-man. "Kitsune, go out and bring food enough for all of us—even you, you worthless toy."

Then he gestured for Denoriel and FitzRoy to come up and opened a door on a room full of books. However, there was a table and some chairs in the center, and a gesture and muttered word sent the books spinning back onto the shelves. Another gesture brought a most peculiar thing to the table, a snarl of golden wires that offered several ends and loops which seemed to promise that if you pulled the right one the whole device would unfold into something fascinating.

"Yes, yes, boy," Treowth said in answer to FitzRoy's inquiring glance, "go ahead and try to unwind that while we wait for out dinner."

FitzRoy narrowed his eyes and tucked the pump away in one of his hanging sleeves to free both hands. He did not do the obvious thing, which was to pull a loose end. Instead he grabbed a loop and carefully pushed it back through the strands of wire that were holding it. The tangle of wires began to unfold, but only the part where the loop had been seemed straightened. The remainder looked even worse. FitzRoy took his lower lip between his teeth and began to look for another likely spot to work on.

"Now," Treowth said to Denoriel, "he won't hear us—oh, he'll know we're talking but won't make sense of what we say. How and why did Oberon mark the child?"

"You know of the FarSeer's prediction about the red-haired babe?"

"If I knew I've forgotten." The mage shook his head. "Tell me again."

So Denoriel gave a swift and abbreviated version of what the coming of the red-haired child would produce and what the failure of that child's acceding to the throne would produce. Treowth winced now and again, but didn't interrupt except to ask why, if FitzRoy was not the red-haired child, he was so important. Denoriel admitted he did not know, only that it was his duty to protect the child. "There is something about him that is important to the welfare of the babe, but we have been unable to FarSee what it is."