When I turned back to Delph, he was gone. I glanced over at Duf, who still stood there gaping at where the carriage had been.
‘Where did Delph go?’ I asked.
‘Mill, most likely.’
‘So, what sort of work does Delph do for Morrigone?’
Duf looked at the ground, stubbing a rock with his heavy boot. ‘Lifting stuff, I ’spect. Delph does that real good. Strong as a creta he is.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I replied, trying to think what Delph really did for the coins.
‘What happened to Delph when he was six sessions, Duf?’ I asked.
He immediately looked away. ‘You best get yourself off to Stacks, Vega. If another Wug don’t show up for the hand stamp, no telling what Domitar will do.’
‘But, Duf?’
‘G’on, clear off, Vega. Just let it be.’
He strode off leaving me standing there. I kicked a few clods of dirt back into the hole. I did have some time before Stacks, so I decided to go to Quentin Herms’s cottage.
I hurried along, keeping a watchful eye out for signs of that mighty blue carriage. I thought back to what I might have said to Morrigone that would make her believe I had told her something useful. She was so smart that perhaps it was what I didn’t say.
There was a low fence of piled stone that ran around the small patch of weedy grass that constituted Quentin’s property. I jumped over this and landed lightly in the side yard before scampering over another low wall and dropping to the ground. Directly ahead was the cottage. It was made of stone and wood, with dirty windows. The rear door was only a few feet away. I ran to a window on the side of the cottage and peered through it. It was dark inside, but I could still see if I pressed my face firmly to the glass.
From this window I could see most of the inside of the place. I moved to another window, which I judged would let me see into the only other room there. This was Quentin’s bedroom, holding a cot with a pillow and blanket on it. I looked around but I saw no clothes. I tried to remember if Quentin had been carrying a tuck with him when he went into the Quag, but I couldn’t be sure.
I took another deep breath and headed to the rear door. It was locked. That was not surprising. I defeated the lock with the little tools I had fashioned at Stacks. I was becoming quite a cracking lawbreaker. I opened the door and moved inside, closing it behind me as quietly as I could manage.
I was now standing in the main room of Quentin’s cottage. This was also his library, for there were some books on a shelf. It was also his kitchen, for there was a fireplace with a blackened pot hanging in it. And it was also where he ate his meals, for there was a small round table with one chair. On it was a wooden spoon, fork and knife on top of a plate made of copper. All neat and orderly, just like my friend had been.
As my eyes adjusted to the poor light inside, I lifted one book off the shelf. It was a book on ceramics. I knew for a fact that Quentin hated working in ceramics. I did all the finishing on ceramics at Stacks because of that. So why would he have such a book?
I opened it. The first few pages did indeed deal with ceramics, and I looked at sketches of plates and cups in various colours and styles. But as I kept turning the pages, I found something else. A book inside a book.
The title page brought a chill to my skin: Inside the Quag. This inner book was not printed. It was handwritten in ink on neatly cropped parchment. I turned through some of the pages. There were words and precisely hand-drawn pictures. And the pictures were truly frightening. Some were of creatures I had never seen before. They all looked to be things that would eat you, given the chance. Some made the garm look downright cuddly.
This had been clever of Quentin, since I would be the only one to know of his dislike of ceramics, and thus be suspicious of his having such a book.
Surely Quentin must have written this. The conclusion spawned from this was equally shocking: he must have gone into the Quag before I saw him do so.
I slipped the Quag book out of the other and stuck it in my cloak pocket.
The next moment I heard a key turning in a lock to the front door of the cottage.
I slipped behind a cabinet and held my breath. Someone came into the room, and I heard the door close. There were footsteps and low murmurs, which made me realize there was more than one Wug about.
Then a voice grew loud enough for me to recognize and, with its rise, my heart sank to the floor.
It was Jurik Krone.