The Parsinor’s name was Draegar. He was apparently a friend of the Myunans’ Uncle Emos and their parents. Hilspeth could not help but notice his lack of surprise at the fact that these two children were wandering around without adult supervision, a couple of days’ walk from where they were supposed to be. The two shape-changers had made excuses and pretended to be coy and innocent but he was having none of it. Draegar obviously knew them quite well. He was suspicious of Hilspeth, and did not try to hide it.
‘Their uncle will be beside himself with worry,’ he rumbled. ‘He knows what they’re capable of.’
‘Do they wander off a lot, then?’ Hilpeth asked.
‘Stop talking about us as if we’re not here,’ Taya snapped. ‘We’re not babies.’
‘Normally after they have done something they are likely to be severely punished for,’ Draegar supplied.
‘Sometimes we wander off just because we want to,’ Taya interrupted again. ‘What’s wrong with that?’
The Myunans were trudging ahead of the other two along the street. Draegar had suggested they start back towards Uncle Emos’s farm. The shape-changers had tried to object, but his tone had left scant room for argument. Hilspeth was walking with them as far as the outskirts of town, hoping she might convince the Parsinor to help her get to Shessil.
As they made their way along the street, she had time to get a closer look at him. His shell and the other armoured parts of his body were knobbly and sand-coloured, well suited to the desert where the Parsinor tribes made their home. His skin was a redder shade of the same colour. His eyes were lined with long, curving lashes that she supposed were for keeping out the dust and sand; his nose was quite flat and he could close his nostrils when he needed to. His ears were tiny and they too could close up. His wide skull was covered with thick tendrils of braided hair. His feet, with their two sets of ankles, were long and wide and encased in the same hard shell; his hands and arms were huge, even in proportion to the rest of his body, and you were left in no doubt about his strength. He carried a battle-axe and a broadsword in sheaths on his back.
‘Have you any idea what they’ve done this time?’ she pressed. ‘I think they’ve been messing around down in the sewers. There’s a chance that Shessil Groach was tangled up in all of this because of them. Couldn’t you help? Just help me get inside that building.’
‘We didn’t do anything!’ Lorkrin protested. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’
‘It gets worse every time.’ Draegar shook his head. ‘And interfering strangers don’t help. You would do well to steer clear of them in the future. They are a mischievous pair of rascals, but Emos is a close friend and I would not have any family of his put in danger by letting them mess with soldiers. The Noranians rule this land, and they are a hard race. They are not people you want to cross. Noranians have no honour; they act out of greed and self-interest, but they have power. You do not. Whatever it is you want from them, these children are not going to be involved. And for your own safety, I suggest you let it go.’
Lorkrin had stopped to look at a stall displaying monstrous animal puppets. Draegar prodded him and he started walking again.
‘I can’t do that. Shessil is a friend of mine,’ Hilspeth continued. ‘And they’re holding him prisoner. I think he has been a prisoner for years and he doesn’t even realise it.’
‘Then maybe it would be better if he never did,’ Draegar commented.
‘I know how he bloody feels,’ Lorkrin muttered.
Groach sank deep into the suds of the bath and groaned as all the bruises and stiffness faded from his body. He lathered up his face and took a straight razor from the wooden cup on the side, starting at his right sideburn and shaving down his face. He missed the thick beard he had worn before his escape, but it felt good and cool and neat to be clean-shaven. He considered for a moment the possibility of growing a moustache, but decided against it and shaved the stubble off his upper lip with a few short strokes. Botanists wore beards; it was a kind of unspoken rule. Except for the women, of course, unless they were very unfortunate. But he felt he had grown since his escape, that he was something more than just a botanist now.
He thought about Hilspeth, still being held in the barracks. Picturing her lively, brown, freckled face, he wished he could see her again, and hear her voice, and he realised he was frightened for her, locked up in those cells. At least that Grulk was dead. He should have felt sorry for the woman soldier, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sorry at all.
The other men who had been arrested for looking like him had been released; that only left Hilspeth. But he was sure he could get her let off – she hadn’t done anything wrong anyway, and he was quite an important man now. He had made the esh-bound bubule bloom, and now he was being taken home to the project, in the city-state of Noran. This house was conveniently close to the part of the esh where the esh-bound bubule grew, but the main workshops, greenhouses and tanks were in Noran itself.
Apparently, all his friends had already left for the city, and, this evening, he was to be taken to join them. He looked forward to the reunion. He wondered how that stubborn old dog Hovem was doing, and Rufred, and Carston, the lunatic. The stories he had to tell them! They would never believe him. But they would believe him about the Harvest Tide. He would make them believe. Picking up the scrubbing brush and the nailbrush, he played boats in the soapy water.
There were four guards standing around him as he waited in the hallway later in the afternoon for the wagon that would take him to Noran. Six more stood to attention outside. He wondered what all the security was for – surely not for him? It did not make sense.
Mungret walked down the corridor towards him.
‘Have you got everything, Shessil? Are there any notes or samples you might need to bring? It’s a long drive to Noran.’
‘No, I don’t think so….’ He shifted the rucksack of clothes and the few personal things that he owned on his shoulder. ‘We’re driving all the way? Isn’t it quicker by esh? Oh, I left my notes at the Moffets’ house in Crickenob, but I don’t need them. I can do without.’
‘We’ll have them picked up anyway,’ Mungret assured him. ‘The Moffets did you say? In Crickenob? And to answer your question, the esh is not the safest place to be right now.’ He indicated to one of the guards to take Groach’s bag. Groach obediently handed the soldier his luggage and found he now had nothing to do with his hands, so he stuck his thumbs in his belt and stared at his feet.
A soldier who was keeping watch at the door gave a signal. Mungret straightened Groach’s tunic collar and brushed down his shoulders.
‘Now, just act yourself. Don’t try and impress him. He doesn’t like that. Address him as ‘Prime Ministrate’, and do not speak when he is speaking. Answer him promptly, and keep your answers short and to the point. Don’t make any sudden hand movements – his bodyguard will be watching, and he is very protective. Too protective sometimes. Be polite at all times, and do not raise your voice above a civil speaking tone. Now, go.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Groach protested. ‘Are you telling me I’m meeting the Prime Ministrate? I thought I was going back to Noran.’
‘You are going back to Noran with the Prime Ministrate,’ Mungret said in his ear as he pushed him out the door. He was led by a soldier out to a waiting carriage. Its door was held open by a huge creature with a mane of orange hair tied back in a ponytail, and three pairs of nostrils, one above the other. It had yellow skin and stark, ice-blue eyes with no pupils. Groach regarded the creature with fear as he clambered inside the vehicle.
‘He is a bit of a monster, isn’t he?’ said a warm voice from the interior of the carriage. ‘Don’t let Cossock bother you, Shessil. He’s a Barian, a frightening-looking brute, but an honourable one. He’s a good man to have on our side.’
At the back of the lush, purple, velvet-lined cabin sat a handsome, athletic-looking man in the black and gold robes of government. He shook Groach’s hand with a firm grip and motioned him to sit opposite him. The door closed, and through the back window, Groach could see Cossock jump aboard the vehicle. And Cossock could see him. Noticing the smaller man’s nervousness, the Noranian leader reached back and closed the curtains on the window, blocking the bodyguard out.
‘Do you know who I am, Shessil?’
‘Em … the Prime Ministrate?’
‘That’s right. I am Rak Ek Namen. I have a lot of titles. If Mungret were here, he would no doubt list them all, but Prime Ministrate is the only one that matters. At least to me.’ Namen folded his hands across his lap, and Groach found himself in the full glare of those intelligent eyes.
‘You solved the esh-bound bubule problem, didn’t you, Shessil?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you know Groundsmaster Hovem was dead?’
‘What? … No! What happened? How did he die?’
‘A terrible accident. When the bubule in the tank you had been working on bloomed, he tried to lower himself in to take samples. He slipped, smashing the tank in his fall. The whole thing came down on top of him. It was a horrible sight.’
Groach felt a lump rise in his throat. To hide the tears welling in his eyes, he turned to take in the passing buildings that led to the outskirts and walls of Hortenz. He was not sure how to feel. He was shocked; it did not seem real. And it had been his tank. If he had not run away, Hovem might still be alive.
‘You mustn’t feel responsible,’ Namen reassured him. ‘It was an accident.’
‘I suppose,’ Groach whispered.
‘He was devoted to the project. He would have wanted you to continue your work.’
‘Yes, I suppose he would. Of course, we have to go on.’
‘So I can count on you to continue? I can tell we’re almost there – it’s almost within reach.’
‘Yes, it is,’ breathed Groach. ‘Prime Ministrate, can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course, Shessil.’
‘What is almost within reach? What is all the work for? What will you do with it?’
‘I’m glad you asked,’ Namen sat forward and unfolded his hands. ‘Let me tell you how it’s going to be. Let’s talk about the future. I’m sure a man of your intellect will appreciate it.’
Taya and Lorkrin were walking ahead of Draegar and Hilspeth. They were both feeling thoroughly miserable. Taya’s colour had even turned slightly bluer than normal. Their uncle would be absolutely furious with them when they got back to his house. They were sure to be punished, probably by being made to weed the garden and paint fences and things like that. There always seemed to be loads of work that needed doing whenever they had been up to anything. On top of this, they were beginning to feel ashamed of what they had done to Shessil back in the sewers. Then there was the fact that Shessil still had the quill from Uncle Emos’s studio, and that there was a large hole in the town of Hortenz that somebody would have to fix. The more they thought about it, the worse the whole affair seemed, and the worse it seemed, the more they each wished they could do something to make things better.
The sound of heavy engines behind them made the group look back, in time to step off the road into a doorway to get out of the way of a convoy of military vehicles. Two armoured battlewagons passed, followed by a luxurious wooden-panelled coach with a liveried soldier driving, and a huge yellow-skinned warrior sitting on the back, staring at them as he rode past. They were charging out the gate in the town wall ahead, at high speed.
‘There’s Shessil!’ exclaimed Taya over the noise of the wagons. Lorkrin and the others followed her pointing finger and sure enough, there he was, visible through the window of the coach.
‘That’s the Prime Ministrate’s vehicle,’ Draegar told them. ‘This is the main road to Noran. They’ll be taking him back to the city.’
‘We have to help him,’ Hilspeth urged him, her voice tinged with desperation.
She was surprised at the passion she was feeling. Shessil was little more than a stranger to her, and she wasn’t sure she even liked him that much, and he was definitely a bit odd for her taste. But he was interesting too, and she couldn’t deny that seeing him stand up to that soldier with nothing but a pot of tea had made an impression.
‘You do what you like,’ Draegar answered. ‘The children are going back to Emos. If you’re smart, you’ll leave well enough alone, get on with your life and let your friend get on with his. You are not cut out for crossing the Noranians.’
‘How noble of you,’ Hilspeth smiled bitterly. ‘I’m touched by your concern.’
Draegar said nothing. His face was impassive as he watched the last of the convoy roar past.
The two children carried on walking. Taya caught a look on her brother’s face as his eyes followed the dust cloud of the vehicles.
‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ she asked, careful that the two grown-ups behind them did not hear.
‘We wouldn’t have a hope of getting him out,’ Lorkrin mumbled as if trying to convince himself of something. ‘I wonder why he’s so important. Didn’t look very important to me.’
‘We might be able to help him escape with Draegar’s help,’ his sister pondered aloud.
‘Except that Draegar just wants to take us home.’
‘We’d go home afterwards. It’s just this thing we have to do first.’
‘Right, but he won’t see it that way.’ Lorkrin shook his head. ‘Although, we would be sort of doing it for our honour, wouldn’t we? He’s always talking about honour. Especially when it’s about him getting into fights. Maybe he’d understand.’
‘Yeah, he’s always getting into fights over honour. Why not this time?’
‘Aww … he’ll never go for it, Taya.’
‘No. But if we tried it anyway, he’d help, wouldn’t he?’
Lorkrin regarded his sister with narrowed eyes.
‘You mean, if we were rescuing Shessil and Draegar just happened to be there, he’d have to help us to rescue Shessil?’
‘Right.’
‘But we’d have to get him there first. He’d never just let us follow the wagons.’
‘No,’ Taya continued. ‘But if we catch up with the wagons, he’ll have to catch up with us.’
‘And this road winds about a lot. If we go across country, we should be able to get ahead of them.’
‘Right.’
‘Right.’ They walked on in silence for a bit.
‘So,’ Taya clucked her tongue, ‘how do we get away from Draegar?’
Now that she knew where Shessil was heading, Hilspeth carried on out of the town with the others. She would walk as far with them as possible. Despite not wanting to involve the two young Myunans, she still hoped she could persuade Draegar to help her. They were now passing through a cornfield, the corn on either side of the road almost as high as her head, and the wind rustled gently among the stalks with a whispering noise. Ahead of them, a large flock of sheep was coming down the road, guided by a stout shepherdess and her three dogs. Draegar and Hilspeth moved to the side to let them pass, but the two children, walking a good way out in front, stayed in the middle of the road. Draegar called out to them to move aside for the animals, annoyed that they should be so rude, but just as he did, they ducked down into the flurry of bleating wool that filled the road from one side to the other.
The Parsinor stopped when he saw this, and waited for the two shape-changers to reappear. When they did not, he strode towards the sheep. Wading into the flock, he searched ever more frantically for the children. But he found nothing, and let out a bellow of frustration. The sheep panicked and scattered in all directions, dashing into the tall cover of the corn. Draegar tried to catch sight of the Myunans, defying the shepherdess who was hurling abuse at him.
‘You stinking pig’s bladder!’ she shouted at him while whistling directions to her dogs. ‘Raised on a vegetable patch, were you? Sand in the skull – it’s the same with all you bleedin’ Parsinors!’
‘Madam …’
‘Don’t you madam me, slug-breath. It’s market day today, and thanks to you I may have nothing to sell,’ – a pause to give a whistle – ‘you drizzle of ditch-water…’
‘Madam,’ Draegar was struggling to get a word in, while still searching for the two escapees.
‘… like something that was dragged from the bottom of a bog, if you ask me,’ – whistle and a yodel – ‘… stupid and pig-ugly to boot, cost me my stock, will you? You great lump of dried manure.’
‘Shut up, you old bat!’ Hilspeth barked. ‘The man is trying to apologise.’
The shepherdess, her greying hair askew, and wrinkled face like a crumpled paper bag, stopped in mid-insult as if she were only noticing Hilspeth for the first time. Draegar, who had given up trying to find the shape-changers, took advantage of the relative silence.
‘Madam, I am very sorry for the trouble I have caused. I will, of course, help you get your sheep back. Though I must say that you have a mouth like a sewer, I am not a man who shirks responsibility for his actions. Please forgive me my mistake.’
The woman uttered some crude grunt, then, avoiding his earnest expression, she stiffly nodded her head. Draegar gazed helplessly out across the cornfields at the lines of movement that marked dozens of straying sheep and, somewhere, a couple of straying young scamps, and he sighed. Turning to Hilspeth, he told her:
‘Just so you know. I blame you for this.’
Hilspeth rolled her eyes and snorted.