The Prodigal Troll (50 page)

"Wish me luck," he said to Tubat.

The big man screamed into his gag and strained against his bonds, kicking his feet against the pillows that surrounded him.

Bran helped Maggot put the mask over his face and then fastened on his own. He made that same gesture, with three fingers, touching between the wolf's eyes, the tip of its snout, and over his own heart. "The gods have been with us so far, my friend. Let's hope they continue to smile on us."

"And we will smile back at them," Maggot said.

Bran laughed. They climbed out the window into a little yard, pushed the shutter closed again, and let themselves out through the gate. Voices and laughter sounded from the houses, yards, and streets as they walked. Other people in costumes all moved in the same direction, weaving their way among the puddles. Stags, mammuts, and ringtails; greenbirds, redbirds, and jays; panthers, wolves, and hawks-it was as if all the creatures of the forest had turned into people and come down to occupy the city for a single night.

Maggot and Bran flowed with them toward the building that towered over all the other rooftops. They came to an open area before it where hundreds of costumed people milled about like bees at a hive. Small boys with brooms whisked the paving stones dry. Though dark outside, the courtyard of the castle blazoned light through an archway.

The light flickered on water-the castle stood like an island inside a narrow pond. The archway opened on a bridge beside a daggertoothed lion carved in stone like the statues outside Tubat's house, but much larger than life. It stood as a lion did above its fallen prey, mouth open, roaring at the scavengers-

A striking woman dressed in orange and blue fabric feathered like a sparrowhawk paused at the light-filled gate. Recognition fluttered in the pit of Maggot's stomach.

The guard said something to her; then she passed across the wooden bridge and inside. A female servant followed after her, bearing a large bundle.

The sparrowhawk was Portia, Lady Eleuate, here after all.

aggot started toward the bridge. He had nothing to give her to show his interest, but he would find something, anything. Words, if that was all he had.

Bran grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

"She's here, the woman, the only one!"

"What? Lady Eleuate is here?"

"Yes, her. She is a bird."

He took another step toward the gate, and again Bran's hand held him back. "It'll be better if we wait until the crowds are thicker. Let's not draw attention to ourselves yet."

Maggot pulled his arm free. "Is there any other way out of that house?"

"Castle. No, no one can leave except by that gate."

"It's a small cave that has no second hole to squeeze out of," Maggot said. "But I will wait here, by the bridge, watching until we go inside."

"We'll have to avoid those who know Tubat and Crimey well. Nod at anyone who speaks to you, but act as though you are talking to me and move on."

"Nod and move on," Maggot said. His head spun with the things he wanted to tell Portia. "And hope we do not have to fight."

A smile showed under the edge of Bran's mask. "Exactly."

They loitered at the fringe of the crowd. The cat mask covered all of Maggot's face except his mouth, with a flap in back that tucked inside his tunic. It limited his peripheral vision and the movement of his head, but he never let his eyes waver from the bridge. Portia did not come back out.

A horn blasted inside.

"That's the official signal for the feast to begin," Bran said. "The line will move along quickly now as the ordinary guests enter. Let's go."

As they came close, joining a crowd of others, Maggot saw that the lake was lined with stone and rimmed around the edge with a solid parapet. The torchlight mixed with the greenish glow of little demons swimming lazy circles. Long chains connected the wooden bridge to a little building that jutted out from the castle wall. A flag hung from the tooth-shaped roofline displayed a tan lion on a field of green with gold roping all around the edges. The sound of music and people's voices flowed from inside. As the people ahead of him in line pressed forward, Maggot stared over their shoulders into the castle yard, hoping for a glimpse of her.

"Writ please."

Maggot turned blankly toward the soldier-or rather knight, judging by his short braid. Bran elbowed him and pointed to the piece of paper now crumpled in his fist. Maggot passed it over.

"That's all right, Tubat," the knight said, smiling as he smoothed it out. "You're not the only one who's had a bit to drink beforehand. You'll need to leave your swords here. I know you're not one to cause trouble, but ..."

Maggot started nodding, his head bobbing up and down. Bran handed over their weapons, then shoved him across the bridge and inside.

"Hey, Tubat!" the guard shouted.

Bran tensed, but Maggot turned back. "Yes?" His voice was muffled and changed by the mask.

"You're looking awful thin," the knight said, taking a writ from the next guest. "Better get to the banquet table before it's emptythere's not much there this year!"

Maggot waved to him, then proceeded inside with Bran.

The blue sky and sudden brightness disoriented him, as if the night were made day. After a moment he realized that the blue sky was a roof stretched over an immense courtyard-pieces of cloth in wide strips were run out on posts attached to the castle's stone walls. They spanned hundreds of feet from a low wall to a high one, the whole width of the vast yard. A series of torches, in equally placed holders around the perimeter, gave off more light than the sun on a cloudy day.

Maggot turned in a slow circle. A huge building formed one wall of the courtyard, rising three stories into the air, pierced by many windows and a balustraded balcony. The gatehouse wall formed a second side, with a series of smaller connected buildings on the third, and an arched walkway on the fourth. The space swarmed with costumed people, a more breathtaking sight than the city taken as a whole.

But Portia was nowhere to be seen.

"Stop gawking," Bran said. "If she is here, she's probably cloistered inside with Lady Culufre-"

"Which building?"

"We can't go inside. If she's really here, she'll come out at some point. I'll help you look for her." Bran pointed to a group of women wearing scarlet hoods over their heads, as they walked along a row of tables set out in front of the arches. "The priestesses have consecrated the feast. Let's get something to eat, while we can."

Uncostumed servants passed back and forth bringing platters of fresh food. The largest crowd gathered there, and Maggot found it unnerving to be jostled, grabbed, spoken to, ignored, and pushed aside in bewildering swiftness, each encounter coming quickly before he could respond to the last.

"Relax," Bran whispered at his ear. "Unknot your shoulders. And stop jumping."

"I do not like all these people," Maggot muttered. Someone bumped him, and he jabbed an elbow back. "All this pushing and shoving like wild dogs at a piece of carrion."

"Our apologies for that inadvertent jostle," Bran told the angry man rubbing his ribs. He dragged Maggot away. "Keep your mouth full of food. Nod at anyone who speaks to you. If we have to we'll move off."

Maggot had never seen so much food nor smelled such a variety of it: a whole roast bison, to judge from its shape, with a fussy man to carve it; other meats, carved and served at other tables; piles of vegetables, skewered on little sticks and baked; bowls of roasted garlic soaked in oils; green and orange melons, cut in thick sweet strips that made Maggot's mouth water.

All this and more was served onto a wooden platter that Bran had handed to Maggot. They reached an end table where a servant ladled a sweet plum water into ceramic cups for them. Maggot swallowed his in one gulp and held his cup out for more, but Bran pushed him on.

"Don't drink it that fast," Bran said. "We need to keep some wits about us yet. And keep your head down."

"But I don't see her."

"What kind of bird was she?"

Maggot didn't know the word for sparrowhawk in Bran's tongue or Sinnglas's-the trolls had no name for it either, since it wasn't nocturnal-so he held his hand in front of his face. "One about this tall," he said, flustered and feeling a little light-headed. "Smells good."

"I'll be sure to keep my nose open."

They paced and ate and drank and waited. The waiting came hardest because it was not the calm waiting Maggot knew when hunting or stalking. This waiting took place amid a riot of distractions. Men played stringed instruments and blew on reeds, making sounds like birds or flowing water, only more entrancing. People clapped along. In the central space, groups formed patterns to the rhythm of the music, opening and closing like the buds of flowers. A man tossed balls in circles through the air, then flaming torches. Another walked on legs as long as a mammut was tall.

Maggot turned his head at every hint of blue or orange, but he didn't see her again. The more people drank the louder they clamored, until the din made him ache. The more he saw, the less human, the more grotesque, the people became. Those dressed as deer, who should have been graceful and fleet, stumbled and staggered under their false horns as if they'd been arrow struck. A man dressed as a stately mammut hopped about like a rabbit squealing. He and Bran stayed constantly on the edges, in the dark, where men and women ducked into niches in the wall or behind columns, bending their faces to one another. A rabbit reached between a bull's legs, parted the gray folds of her skirt, and moaned as she shoved him inside her. But nowhere in the chaos of noise and color did Maggot see his sparrowhawk.

"Do you see him?" Bran asked.

"Who?" Maggot said, and followed Bran's nod.

Someone dressed as a fox-sleek, slender, and deadly-stalked the two of them.

"It is wrong," Maggot said. "A fox would never dare to hunt either a greycat or a wolf."

"It may be wrong for other reasons," Bran muttered as he moved away. "I'm going to try to lose him."

Wolves and tawny panthers roamed in packs, and a group of the former had gathered by the kegs of drink, where they began to howl, a pitiful sound.

"Stay with me," Maggot said. "There are too many wolves about, and I might mistake someone else for you."