A Road Beneath the Sea "According to Rhantys and other scholars from the years before the Great Death, the fairies themselves claim they were not created by the gods, but that rather they 'summoned' the gods." -from "A Treatise on the Fairy Peoples of Eion and Xand" Flint picked up the broken bone-white disk in his fingers and waved it at Chert. "What is this?" he demanded, but his adoptive father was several paces ahead and couldn't see what the boy had found.
"Are we walking all the way to Silverside, old man? " Opal asked as she came up from behind them, then she saw what Flint was holding. "What do you have there, boy?" She took it from him and carefully rubbed off the dust, then held the pale half-circle up to the light of her coral lamp. "Why, look, Chert, it's part of a sea imperial. What's it doing down here instead of on a beach? Did someone drop it, do you think?"
"Must have." Chert carefully examined the rock above their heads but it looked reassuringly solid and dry. "Nothing dripping here. Besides, the sea doesn't just dribble if it finds a way in. All that water, all that weight, it'd fill the place in a heartbeat." He could not help remembering the terrible stories his father had told him about the tragedy on Quarrymen's Bank, named after the guild that had been extending their living quarters there.
The first law of Funderling Town was, and always had been, that no serious digging of any kind should ever be undertaken beneath the waterline, since one mistake would be enough to bring the sea flooding into the depths, destroying the district of the Mysteries and the temple of the Metamorphic Brotherhood, as well as everything else in the lower caverns. But on that morning sixty or seventy years earlier the Quarrymen's Guild crew had lost track of how deep they'd dug. It was discovered later that they had also cut too far out toward the edge of the great stony island of Midlan's Mount on which Southmarch stood.
That day, a rumble of dislodged stone had been followed by a shocking spear thrust of chilly seawater that knocked Funderling diggers head over heels. Within moments the tremendous flow of water began widening the crevice; the thin spurt quickly became a barrel-wide gush. The quarrymen labored fruitlessly to close the hole, fighting the overwhelming power of the sea god himself, but the excavated rooms were already beginning to fill. One of the workers defied his foreman and fled to an upper level to let people there know what was happening. Such members of the guilds as were available hurried to the spot and a decision was made by the Highwardens to seal off the entire bank. A dozen Funderlings were pulled out of the flooded level, but almost twice that number had been cut off in other side passages by the rising water and there was no time to search for them. It had been a choice, Chert's father had told him with a kind of sour satisfaction, between twenty-three men doomed by an idiot foreman or the hundreds more below sea level in all the rest of Funderling Town.
It was fortunate, in a terrible way, that the Stone-Cutter's Guild had recently allowed the judicious use of black powder in some particularly difficult diggings: if folk had needed to shift the stone by hand, Chert's father had said, there would have been no saving the lower depths at all. The trapped men must have heard a single loud thump like the very hammer of the Lord of Endless Skies as the black powder brought down the roof of the chamber next to the bank diggings. After that they would have heard nothing but their own terrified voices and the water rising to cover them.
The thought of their dying moments had given Chert nightmares throughout his young life, and even today Funderling children talked in hushed whispers about the haunted, hidden depths of Quarrymen's Bank.
"No-no, there is no hole here," Chert told his family, shaking his head at childhood memories that still made his heart flutter in his chest. He summoned a smile. "And a good thing, since we are well beneath the water and I prefer not to get damp."
"Still, that is a sea imperial the boy's found, without doubt." Opal handed it back to Flint and tousled the boy's hair. Opal knew her shells. She had always enjoyed going up to the surface during the cold season with the other Funderling women to gather mussels in the tidepools along the edge of Brenn's Bay, then bringing them home and boiling them with a hot rock. Chert loved them-they were even sweeter than the many-legged korabi, the crevice-crawlers that scuttled over the damp rocks along the Salt Pool-and Opal loved them too, but she hadn't gone out to gather any for a long time. Not since they'd had Flint to care for.
"Imperial…?" the boy said, squinting at the disk.
"That's right-because it looks like a coin, see? But it's a shell, the skeleton of a little sea beast." Chert tugged gently at the boy's elbow. "Come along and I'll tell you something about this place."
"I hope you're going to tell us that we're almost done walking," said Opal. "Who would make such a track so deep and so long? Mad folk is my guess."
Chert laughed. "Yes, we're almost done, my old darling-almost." He reached around and patted the bundle on his back. "And remember, I'm carrying the pack."
Opal scowled. "I hope you're not saying that this sack I'm carrying is light. Because it isn't."
"Of course not." He had told her not to bring half of what she'd put in it, of course, but that was like telling a cat to leave its tail and whiskers behind. How could Opal go anywhere without at least a few pots? And her good spoons, a wedding present from her mother? "Never mind," he said, as much to himself as to his family. "Just walk and I'll tell you about this track-why it's here and who made it.
"Now, back in the days of the second King Kellick, if my grandfather told me the tale rightly, there was a great Funderling named Azurite of the Copper clan, but in those days the more common name for azurite crystals was 'Stormstone,' and that's what everyone called him. Now, as I said, Stormstone Copper was a great man-a rare man-and that was good, because he was born into difficult times."
"How long ago?" Flint asked.
Chert frowned. "Well before my grandfather's day-over a century. The first King Kellick had been good to the Funderlings, honoring them in all his dealings with them, treating them no worse than any other member of his kingdom, and sometimes better, because he valued their craftiness."
"You mean craftsmanship," said Opal, puffing a little.
"I mean craftiness, which means more than just the laying of chisel to stone. It has to do with knowing. The first Kellick had been one of the few kings that valued what our folk knew. He was the only king that fought against the fairy folk but didn't treat our people like goblins escaped from behind the Shadowline." Chert shook his head. "But you're getting me distracted, woman. I'm trying to explain about these passages we're in."
"Oh! The cheek of me for interrupting you, Master Blue Quartz! Speak on." But he heard a hint of a smile in her voice. They had been walking a good part of the morning and they were all tired: the distraction was very welcome.
"So after the first Kellick died everyone thought that things would go well under his son, Barin, who seemed much like his father. And so he was, except in one way-he hated fairies and he didn't much like Funderlings, either. During his reign most of the Eight Gates of Funderling Town were sealed, leaving us only one way to go up to the surface and back-the same one we use today. And there were king's guards who stood there at that gate, day after day, searching our people's wagons and troubling them for no reason except to remind them that they were not as important as the Big Folk. It was a great shock to all the Funderlings, especially after the long and happy partnership we'd enjoyed with Barin's father.
"Well, as it turned out, Barin reigned even longer than the first Kellick, almost forty years, and although we were still given work in Southmarch, they were not happy years. Many of our people left and spread out to other cities and countries, especially here in the north where the Qar armies had burned and broken so much.
"When Barin finally died and his son came to the throne-the second Kellick, named after his grandfather-wise old Stormstone Copper met with the other leading Guildsmen and asked them, 'Do you know how the Big Folk kill rabbits? They stop up all their burrow entrances but one, then they put ferrets down the one entrance left and let them run every member of the warren to ground-does and kittens and all.'
"When the other Funderlings asked him why he was taxing them with questions about rabbits when there was a new king being crowned and much to be discussed, Stormstone laughed a scornful laugh. 'Why do you think King Barin stopped up the entrances to all our burrows?' he said. 'Because that way, if they ever want to rid themselves of us they have only to send down soldiers with spears and torches, just like they send ferrets down the rabbit holes, and that will be the end of Funderling Town. We were fools to let them do it and we are fools if we do not do something about it as soon as we can.'
"Needless to say, there was a great deal of argument-many of the others in the Guild could not believe that the Big Folk would ever harm them. But Stormstone said, 'This Kellick is not like the first Kellick, just as his father Barin was not, either. Have you not seen the way the Big Folk look at us now, the way they whisper about us? They think us little different from the fairies who are besieging the city. If they grow any more frightened, who knows what the Big Folk may do in their fright and anger?'
" 'But what can we do?' one of the guildsfolk asked. 'Do we beg the new king to change the law and allow us to reopen the other seven gates?'
"Stormstone laughed again. 'What, does the fox ask the hound for permission to run away? No. We will do what we need to do and tell no one.' And so they did what he suggested."
Chert cleared his throat. "See, we are starting to climb up again. That means we will be there soon. I admit it was a roundabout way to go, but a safe one." He put his arm on Flint's shoulder, felt his heart go a little cold when the boy quickly pulled away. "If you like, I will tell you the rest. Do you want to hear the rest?"
At first he thought the boy was ignoring him again, but then he saw a just perceptible nod.
"The Stone-Cutter's Guild did as wise Stormstone told them. They took money from the treasury and over the next dozen years found a few of the Big Folk who liked gold more than questions, and so secretly bought a number of houses in the poorest neighborhoods on the edges of Southmarch. Then they began to dig tunnels down from just beneath these properties and connect them to passages on the outer reaches of Funderling Town, out at the far ends of certain nameless roads which the Big Folk knew nothing about, and that they could not have found if they did, even with a map. At last the roads were ready. A group of our people who had permission from King Kellick the Second to be aboveground after sunset because they were working in a royal granary that was in use during the day brought an extra-large crew to work, mainly by confusing the uplander guards with much coming and going. After nightfall half of them left the granary and made their way by back alleys to the houses the Guild had secretly bought and there broke through the last cubits of earth and stone to the tunnels below. When they were finished they covered the holes in the earth with flagstone floors, each with a stone that could be lifted to reveal a doorway to distant Funderling Town.
"Not all these new passages ended in the outer keep, although that is where many were located. Some even led directly under the water to houses and other places on the mainland." He could have mentioned that he himself had traveled such a road to the Qar camp when he had taken Flint's mirror to the Twilight folk, but didn't for fear of upsetting Opal. "In fact," he went on, "it is said Stormstone even had one tunnel built that came up somewhere in the inner keep-on the grounds of the Throne hall itself!
"By the end of a few months, when our folk were finished with rebuilding the granary, they had also finished all the entrances to these New Gates, as the Guild elders called them in whispers. And ever since there have always been secret ways in and out of Funderling Town. The fairy folk stayed quiet for a hundred years or more after that, so many of the hidden passages fell into disrepair, but I'm told we have kept the houses and other places aboveground that hide them."
"You had better not be telling us this because you plan to make us walk all the way upground from here," Opal warned him.
"No. We're almost there, my love. The reason I'm telling you all this is that we're in one of those passages right now."
"Almost where?" asked Flint.
"The place we're going-the Metamorphic Brothers' temple."
"But why did we walk so far? " Flint didn't sound like he minded much: he was just curious.
"Because soldiers from upground are waiting at the regular gate and on some of the main roads of Funderling Town itself," Chert explained. "And they're all looking for a fellow called Chert and his wife Opal, as well as a big boy named Flint who stays with them."
"Those are our names," said Flint seriously.
Chert wasn't sure if he was joining in on the joke or not. "Yes, that's what I'm saying. It's us they're looking for, son-and they don't mean us anything good."
Brother Antimony was waiting for them in the middle of the path across the wide expanse of the temple's fungus gardens, his young, broad face creased with unfamiliar worry. Behind him other worried faces peered out of the shadows of the pillared facade of the Temple of the Metamorphic Brothers.
"The brothers aren't happy," Antimony told Chert. "Just to let you know. Grandfather Sulphur's been up all night bellowing that the Days of Inundation are coming soon." He nodded to Opal. "Greetings, Mistress, and the Elders' blessings on you. It's good to see you again."
Chert looked around for Flint, who had wandered off, following a cave cricket's erratic path across the garden. "Is it the boy they're worrying about? "
Antimony shrugged. "I would guess it's the other two Big Folk causing them the most fret, wouldn't you?" He laughed, but not too loud: faces were still peering out at them from the facade. "Not to mention what's happening upground, the war with the fairies and the idea we might be drawn into it. Still, some of us don't mind things being stirred up a little." He nodded vigorously. "It might surprise you, Master Blue Quartz, but the temple is not always the most exciting place to live. Not complaining, mind you, but you have certainly brought us a few welcome distractions over the last season or two."
"Thank you… I suppose."
Opal had finally recaptured the boy. Chert beckoned them both toward the temple's front door. His wife's eyes were wide as she looked up at the columned facade. "I'd forgotten how big it is!" Her pace slowed as she neared it, as if she fought a strong wind. In a sense, she did, Chert thought: the centuries of unspoken tradition that insisted the temple was only for the Metamorphic Brothers themselves and a few important outsiders.
Although Chert had been here twice before, he had not yet seen the inside, and as Antimony led them through the portico and into the pronaos hall he had to admit he was impressed by the size and craftsmanship of the temple's fixtures. The ceiling of pronaos was almost as far above their heads as the famous carved ceiling of Funderling Town itself, although not half so intricate. The temple's creators had instead taken austerity as their watchword, striving to make every line as clean and simple as possible, as had been the custom during their long-ago era. So the groined vault was decorated not with leaves or flowers or animals, but with broad lines and beautifully rounded edges. It made the hall look like something liquid that had been suddenly frozen, as if the Lord himself had poured the temple from a vast bucket of molten stone that had cooled in an instant.
"It's… beautiful," Opal whispered.
Antimony grinned. "Some like it, Mistress. Me, I find it a bit… stern. Day in, day out, it's nice to have something to look at that holds your gaze, but I find my eyes sort of slipping and sliding…"
"Antimony," someone said sharply, "have you nothing better to do than prattle?" It was the sour-faced Brother Nickel Chert remembered from his first visit, not looking any sweeter than before.
The young monk jumped. "Sorry, Brother. Of course, yes. Better things to do…"
"Then go and do them. We will call you if we need you."
Antimony, looking sad now-not so much at having been caught having a pointless conversation, Chert guessed, as at having that conversation curtailed-gave a little bow and lumbered off.
"He's a good lad," Chert said.
"He's a noisy one." Nickel frowned. He nodded briefly toward Opal and ignored Flint completely. "I suppose he told you the sort of uproar the place is in." He led them to a door in one wall of the great hall and through into a side corridor lined with alcoves. The shelves were empty but the smudged dust suggested something had rested in each and been recently moved. "We had more peaceful times before we met you, Chert Blue Quartz."
"The blame is not all mine, surely."
Nickel scowled. "I suppose not. Unpleasant things are happening all over, that is certain. These are the worst days since Highwarden Stormstone."
"Yes, I was just telling my family about him…"
"It is a pity that the Big Folk cannot simply leave us alone. We do them no harm," Nickel said angrily. "We wish only to follow our old ways, to serve the Earth Elders."
"Perhaps the Big Folk are part of the Earth Elders' greater plan," Chert said mildly. "Perhaps they are only doing what the Elders wish of them."
Nickel looked at him for a long moment. "You shame me, Chert Blue Quartz." He didn't sound happy about it. A moment later Nickel stopped and pushed open a door. The walls of the room behind it were covered with little baskets filled with glowing coral, so that by comparison to the dark hallway it seemed positively to blaze with light. "Come in and join your friends. They are here, in the library office."
It was certainly a modest room compared to the great main chamber, and that made the two men in it-Big Folk, not Funderlings-seem all the more grotesquely oversized. The physician Chaven smiled but did not get up, perhaps because he was worried about banging his head on the ceiling. Ferras Vansen, who was half a head taller than Chaven, rose into an awkward crouch and took Opal's hand. "Mistress, it is good to see you and your family again. I will never forget the meal you made for me on the night I returned-the single best thing I have ever eaten."
Opal's laugh threatened to become a girlish giggle. "I can't take much credit for that. Cooking for a starving man, well, that's like… like…"
"Catching a sun-dazzled salamander?" suggested Chert, then wished he hadn't: Opal looked hurt. "You do yourself too little credit, woman. Everyone knows your table is one of the best."
"Yes, she certainly has fed me grandly," said Chaven. "I never thought I could grow to admire a well-cooked mole so much." He smiled at Flint, who was watching the physician with his usual serious stare. "And hello to you too, boy. You're getting tall." Chaven turned back to Chert. "We wait only on the arrival of our last guest…"
The door creaked open. A worried-looking acolyte stuck his head in. "Brother Nickel?" the newcomer said. "One of the magisters from the town is here and he wants to use your study in the charterhouse for his council room!"
"My study?" squawked Nickel, then hurried out to defend his territory.
"… And that would be him," Chaven finished. "Ah, well. Magister Cinnabar and Brother Nickel will never be friends, I fear."
Chert pulled his old, blunt carving knife out of his pocket and gave it to Flint along with a chunk of soapstone to keep the boy occupied. "Let's see what you make of this," he said. "Take good care and think a little before you cut-that's a nice clean piece."
The door opened again and Cinnabar Quicksilver walked in, Nickel's strident voice echoing behind him. "He thinks he is the abbot already, that one," Cinnabar said, frowning. "Chert Blue Quartz, it is good to see you-and Mistress Opal! Have the brothers treated you well?"
"We just arrived," said Opal.
"You and the boy are welcome to wash away the road dust," Cinnabar said. "But I'm afraid I must steal your husband for a while, Mistress. Although you would be welcome, also. My Vermilion usually sees through problems in a moment that would take the Highwardens an hour."
Nickel appeared now, scowling like a man who has come home to find a stranger sitting in his favorite chair. "Have you started without me? Have you begun to talk without me? Do not forget, the Metamorphic Brotherhood is the host here."
"Nobody has forgotten you, Brother Nickel," said Cinnabar. "After all, we're are going to move this council to your study, remember?"
As the monk gave the magister a look that could have powdered granite, the physician stirred beside him. "Our talk will take much of the afternoon, I fear, and Captain Vansen and I have waited some time already. Is there a chance we could find some refreshment?"
"You may eat with the brothers at the appointed time," said Nickel stiffly. "The evening meal is only a few hours away. We agreed with Master Cinnabar to treat you as our own while you guest with us. Our fare is simple, but healthy."
"Yes," said Chaven with a touch of sadness. "I'm sure it is."
"… And so I suddenly found myself here-no longer leagues behind the Shadowline but standing in the center of Funderling Town atop a great mirror." Vansen frowned, his eyes troubled. "No, there was more to the journeying between there and here than that… but the rest has slipped away from me… like a dream…"
"It is a gift to have you with us, Captain," said Chaven, "and a gift to learn that when last you saw him Prince Barrick was alive and well." But the physician looked troubled. Chert had noticed him beginning to frown when Vansen talked of finding himself atop the mirrored floor in the Guildhall council chamber, between twin images of the glowering earth god Kernios.
Alive-that he certainly was," the soldier said. "Well? I am not so sure…"
"Your pardon," Cinnabar said, "but now you must hear my news, for it touches on the young prince. A few of us are still allowed upground into the castle to work on tasks for the Tollys, and one of those, at great risk, brought news of your arrival here to Avin Brone."
"The Lord Constable," said Vansen. "Is he well?"
"He is Lord Constable no longer," said Cinnabar, "but for the rest, you will have to discover for yourself. He sent this for you and my man smuggled it back to me."
Vansen looked over the letter, lips moving soundlessly as he read. "May I read it to you?" he asked. Cinnabar nodded. " 'Vansen,
" 'I am pleased to hear that you are safe and even more pleased to hear news of Olin's heir. I do not understand what happened or how you got here-this little man has brought a letter from another little man…' "
"I apologize for the count's manners," Vansen said, coloring.
Cinnabar waved his hand. "We have been called worse. Continue, please."
" '… But I can hardly make sense of it. What is important is that you must not come up from below the ground. T.'-that would be Hendon Tolly, of course-'has men watching me at all times, and only the fact that the soldiers still trust me and many have remained as my loyal guards have prevented T. from making an end of me.
" 'The fairy folk, may the gods curse them, have fallen quiet, but I think only to plan more evil. We can withstand a siege because they have no ships, but they have more weapons than those that one can see. They bring a great weight of fear against everyone who fights them, as you no doubt know…'
"And I do," Vansen said, looking up. "Fear and confusion-their greatest weapons."
He turned back to the letter. " 'There is still no word…' " For a moment he hesitated, as though something stuck in his throat. " '… Still no word about Princess Briony, either, although some claim she was taken as a hostage by Shaso in his escape. It does not bode well that he has been so long gone and we have still heard nothing, though.' " Vansen took a deep breath before continuing. "So that is our position. T rules Southmarch in the name of Olin's youngest, the infant Alessandros. The fairies are at our walls and as long as they remain a threat he dares not kill or imprison me. You must stay hidden for now, Vansen, though I hope one day soon to be able to greet you, man to man, to hear the whole of your story and thank you for your many services…' "
He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. "The rest is unimportant. You have heard all that matters. The Qar have gone silent, but remain. Still, the walls should protect us for a long time, even against fairy spells…"
"If the Qar want to get into the castle, they will not bother with the walls," Chert said. "They will come through Funderling Town… and through the temple here, where we sit."
Vansen stared as though he had lost his mind. "What do you mean by that?"
"What?" Nickel stood up, trembling. "What are you saying? Why would they care about us or our blessed temple?"
"It has little or nothing to do with the temple," Chert said with a scowl.
"What has it to do with Funderling Town, though?" Cinnabar asked. "Once they are over the castle walls why would they single us out?" He stopped and his eyes went wide. "Oh! By the Elders, you are not speaking of an attack from upground at all…!"
"Now you understand me, Magister." Chert turned to Vansen. "There is much you still do not know about us and our city, Captain. But perhaps it is time to tell you…"
"You have no right to speak of such things!" Nickel said, almost shrieking. "Not in front of these… Big Folk! Not in front of strangers!"
Cinnabar raised his hands. "Calm yourself, Brother. But, Chert, he may be right-this is no ordinary matter and the Guild alone should decide…"
Chert banged his fist on the table, startling almost everyone. "Don't any of you understand?" Chert was truly angry now-at the Big Folk's intrigues that had dragged Funderling Town into someone else's wars, at Nickel and the others for their craven unwillingness to see the truth. He was even mad at Opal, he realized, for bringing home Flint, the strange quiet boy who had started all this nonsense in Chert's life. "Don't you see? Nothing is ordinary anymore! Nickel, we cannot hide secrets like Stormstone's roads anymore. We cannot pretend that things are as they used to be. I have met the fairies myself-nearly as closely as Captain Vansen. I spoke to their Lady Yasammez, and she'll frighten the spit right out of your mouth. Nothing ordinary about her! My boy there brought the very magic mirror here across the Shadowline in the first place that Vansen said Prince Barrick might be taking back to the great city of the Qar. Is that ordinary? Is any of this ordinary?"
He stopped, panting. Everyone at the table was staring at him, most with amazement, Opal with concern, Chaven with a kind of enjoyment.
"I think Captain Vansen is still waiting for an answer to his question," Chaven said. "And so am I. Why do you think Funderling Town is in danger? How could the Qar come here without breaching the walls of Southmarch? "
"Chert Blue Quartz," Brother Nickel said in a hoarse, angry voice, "you have no right. We offered you sanctuary here."
"Then throw me out and I'll take these people somewhere else and tell them. Because the Qar already know, so everyone else needs to know as well. Hush, Opal-don't you start on me. Someone has to take the first step, and it might as well be me." He turned to Chaven. "But don't think I will protect your secrets, either, Doctor. I'll let you tell the story if you prefer, but if not I'll tell them what you told me."
Chaven's look of amusement faltered. "My story…?"
"About the mirror. Because that's what got me into this latest trouble, isn't it, with Big Folk guards swarming all over our town? And it was another mirror that brought my boy down here the first time-that same mirror that Captain Vansen's fairy friend carried, the one he gave to Prince Barrick. So if we're going to talk about Stormstone's roads then we're going to talk about mirrors. I'll go first. Everybody listen."
For the second time that day, he began the story. "A century or more ago, during the time of the second Kellick, there was a very wise Funderling named Stormstone…"
By the time Chert had finished, Brother Nickel had fallen into a sullen silence and Ferras Vansen was listening with his jaw hanging slack. "Incredible!" said Vansen. "So you're saying we could even use these hidden paths to cross under the water?"
"More likely the cursed fairies will use them to invade Southmarch," Cinnabar told him. "And we Funderlings will have to meet them first."
"Yes, but a road goes two directions," Vansen pointed out. "Perhaps in dire need we could escape the castle that way-is that truly possible?"
"Yes, of course." Chert was tired now and hungry. "I have done it myself. I took the half-fairy called Gil on one of the old, secret roads, right under Brenn's Bay and to the very foot of the dark lady's throne."
"So this whole rock is honeycombed with secret ways-passages I did not know about even when I was captain of the royal guard!" Vansen shook his head. "This castle is even more a-crawl with secrets than I guessed. And this very boy was sent here across the Shadowline with a magical mirror as some kind of spy for the Qar, no doubt-but right under all our noses?"
"He's no spy!" Opal said. "He's just a child."
Vansen stared hard at Flint. "Whatever he is, I still can make no sense of it all. What is happening? It is like a spiderweb, where every strand touches another."
"And all are sticky and dangerous," said Chaven.
Ferras Vansen turned and gave him a sharp look. "Ah, yes. Do not fear I have forgotten you, sir. Chert talked about you and mirrors-now it is your turn. Tell us everything you know. We can no longer afford to keep secrets from each other."
The physician groaned softly and patted his much-shrunken paunch. "My story is a long and distressing one-distressing to me, anyway. I had hoped we could find something to eat before I began, just to strengthen myself."
"I'll confess that I'm hungry too," said Cinnabar, "but I think you will talk better and more to the point, Ulosian, if you know you will not get fed until you finish. It seems there are many stories still to be told before this evening ends-so, Chaven, you first, then supper."
Chaven sighed. "I feared you'd say that."