The Shadow and Night (76 page)

“That's as much as I know,” he said at the end. “So I'm hunting this ship while Vero is busy organizing things in Isterrane.”

Isabella had followed the account in an attentive silence. “Thank you for explaining this,” she said. “I could guess the Gate destruction was linked to these intruders. It stands to reason. You don't get oddities in a world like Farholme. When you get two oddities, it figures that they must be related. But I had no idea that it was this bad. It has awesome implications.”

She fell silent again, and as they walked back together, he felt he could sense her mind working away, putting the pieces into place.

As he left Isabella at her parents' house, she turned to him and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Merral. I wanted to ask, but I preferred for you to tell me in your own time. Thank you so much for telling me.”

But as Merral walked home, a troubling thought seized him: had he genuinely volunteered the information, or had Isabella somehow manipulated him into giving it?

At the start of the next week, he had a terse handwritten note from Vero announcing that Perena would fly him and Brenito out in two days' time to see Jorgio. The letter concluded with
Very busy here; be good to talk with you.

Merral immediately set about making arrangements for the trip. The real problem turned out to be ensuring Jorgio's presence. In fact, Merral found it frustratingly hard to even find him. The central files listed Jorgio Aneld Serter as a “noncorrespondent,” the curious term used for people—like honeymoon couples and those seeking the discipline of solitude—who decided to forgo diary usage for a few days. Only in Jorgio's case, it seemed that he hadn't used it for twenty years. Eventually, Merral got hold of him through Teracy, the assistant manager at Wilamall's Farm, and managed to extract a promise from Jorgio that he would be there. In contrast, arranging to get a rotorcraft and pilot from Henri proved simplicity itself.

Two days later, Merral was at the strip at nine o'clock peering into the cloudless skies for any sign of the plane. It had crossed his mind that Anya might come with the party as well, and he was disquieted at finding how much he hoped that this was the case. Shortly after nine, a small courier plane flew in from the west, made a perfect landing, taxied toward him, and stopped.

Vero, carrying a briefcase, was the first to get out, followed by a tall, muscular, blond-haired young man who helped the slow and heavy figure of Brenito down the steps. Moments later, Perena and another woman in a pilot's uniform emerged. There was no Anya.

A few steps away from the plane, Brenito stopped and pulled a broad-brimmed hat down over his large head, then extended a hand to Merral.

“Well, we meet again, Forester,” he said slowly as they shook hands.

Looking at his pale, drained face, Brenito seemed to Merral to be badly shaken by events.

“Sooner than we had expected, Sentinel Brenito. But I welcome you nonetheless. There's a rotorcraft waiting over here.”

Vero came over. They hugged each other and stepped back to look at each other. Merral wondered whether his friend was thinner.

“Oh, it's good to see you, my friend!” Vero said, his brown face displaying transparent pleasure. “It really is. I have missed your insights and your leadership. And there's so much I want to show you.” Then he looked at Merral. “Is there any news?” he asked in an urgent tone.

“I'm sorry. No.”

Vero bit his lip. “Ah. I was afraid of that.” He paused. “We will talk later. Introductions first.”

He beckoned the young man forward. “Merral, this is Zachary Larraine. He's one of the team: an aide.”

Zachary, who had the sort of physique that Merral associated with those who took their athletics seriously, gave him a knowing smile.

“It's Zak. I'm from Kelendara. Heard a lot about you,” he said, his sharp blue eyes radiating a quiet self-assurance. He gave Merral the firmest of handshakes. “I'm just delighted to be involved, sir.”

Sir?
thought Merral with something approaching alarm, as Zak joined Vero in walking on either side of Brenito as he made his slow way toward the rotorcraft.

Perena then hugged Merral and introduced the second woman as Lucinda, the pilot. Lucinda smiled, shook hands, and said she was staying by the plane.

“So, Perena,” Merral said, “whose is the plane?”

She smiled. “It was going to go to the Mazarma geographic survey. It's been reallocated to us.”

“Us?”

“The Farholme Defense Unit.”

“I see.”

“It is useful. We don't have to try and squeeze on existing flights.”

“Makes sense. But how did you get it?”

They began walking slowly over to the rotorcraft.

“With some help from Gerry, I persuaded Corradon and Clemant that the intruders almost certainly had some sort of ability to travel faster than light without using a Gate. And as we all face a very tough future, the idea of having access to that ship or its technology is very attractive.”

“I can imagine.”

“But there was more. They are also fearful of the risk the intruders pose for the Assembly.”

“For the rest of the Assembly . . . ?” Then, as an understanding of what she meant came to him, Merral felt a sudden stab of alarm. “Oh! How silly; I hadn't thought of that. I had assumed that, with the destruction of the Gate, the intruders had been stopped from infecting the rest of the Assembly.”

“No, we do not have that consolation,” Perena said. “If they can achieve, say, just thirty to forty times the speed of light, then they could be at Earth within a decade. Faced with that prospect, they have given Vero more or less everything he has asked for.”

“I see. And Dr. Clemant agreed? I'm amazed; I thought we had some serious opposition there.”

“Yes, he agreed. Our doctor has taken a long, hard look at the way things are going. And he has realized that, of a number of evils, Vero's approach is the least objectionable.”

“Interesting. I am impressed at what he has achieved.”

“You have only seen the tip of things,” Perena said, gesturing toward Vero. “He's doing an amazing job. Generating orders and paperwork from dawn till late at night. Ten days ago, the FDU was just a few bits of paper and some ideas. But now, it's an organization. I'm impressed.” She paused. “Mind you, it's all a bit scary. So much is happening.”

Merral looked at her, sensing something. “Do I detect caution?”

“Ah.” She glanced at him and he caught a concerned smile. “A bit. I only wish we knew more about what we face. But that's just me. I'd see it as being like playing chess with an unknown opponent; you're careful first. But Vero . . .” She hesitated. “Vero has decided that we must move fast. We can't wait for them to make another move. And actually, I think he's right. This isn't chess.”

“No.”

The others had reached the rotorcraft, and Perena and Merral stopped just out of earshot behind them.

“And you . . . ?” Perena inquired.

“I'm sorry. Nothing to show. I've just had a long, tiring, and so far fruitless search.”

“A pity.”

“Yes. And Anya? How is she?”

“Busy. She sends greetings. The intruder genetic code is being unraveled.” She shook her head. “Unpleasant.”

“It's a pity she wasn't able to come out.”

“Yes. It would have done her good. She has been working long hours. They all have.”

“So, are you getting much flying done?”

“A little. I've got my first space trip next week. I am taking Gerry and some colleagues out to Far Station.”

“I thought her research had been cancelled.”

“It's been redirected,” Perena said, looking at Vero with an expression in which Merral felt respect and amusement were mixed. “He's got most of the physics department working for him now.”

Half an hour later, they landed at Wilamall's Farm. Merral felt relieved to see the lopsided figure of Jorgio Serter waiting patiently by the landing pad.

Jorgio wore faded green trousers and an old white shirt, and had a single red rose stuck in his breast pocket.

As if the others didn't exist, Jorgio came over to Merral and gave him one of his big and clumsy embraces. “Why, Mister Merral!” he said. “Arriving out of the sky like this.” He shook his tanned and twisted head. “
Tut.
You'll forget how to ride like that.”

“No, my old friend,” Merral answered, “I will not forget how to ride, and one day I'll come up here for a weekend and do nothing but ride.”

“And how is Graceful? You're not too busy to look after your horse, are you?”

“She is fine, stabled at the Institute, but she gets little riding from me. But let me introduce you to everyone. Vero, you know.”

In turn, Merral introduced Jorgio to Perena, Zachary, and finally to Brenito, who bowed slightly.

“If you please,” said Jorgio, with a wave of a large hand, “do come over to my cottage. I have some tea and cake. Mind you, it will be a tight fit for us all. But we will do it.”

In the end, after Zak had taken a quick look around the room and volunteered, with quiet tact, to take a walk instead, they did all manage to squeeze into Jorgio's small, sparsely furnished living room with its low wood-beam roof and its walls hung with gentle pastel abstracts.

As they drank tea and ate the cake, Brenito said, “Jorgio, I want to thank you for your help and advice to my friends, Merral and Vero.”

“Just part of my service to the King, that's all,” Jorgio said in his rough voice. “I just wish I could have saved the Gate. There've been a lot of people I heard of as are separated from loved 'uns.”

“Indeed. It's very sad. But, Jorgio, please tell me about your family. Go back as far as you can.”

So, for the next ten minutes or so, Jorgio talked in his roundabout way about his father and his grandparents, while Brenito sipped at his tea and listened carefully, occasionally making such comments as “indeed,” “really?” or “how interesting.”

There was, Merral decided, an odd affinity between the two men. It was as if they were two related plants: Brenito, the cultivated variety; Jorgio, the wild form.

Then, as their host paused for a moment, Brenito raised a finger. “Now tell me, this gift of ‘seeing things' you have. Does that run in the family?”

Merral saw Vero stiffen. Perena, squeezed unobtrusively into a corner of the room, tilted her head as if anxious not to miss a word.

“I reckon so. My grandfather—on my dad's side—could sense the weather. So they said. People would go to him 'bout that. Reckoned he was better than the forecasts. Least for this part of Menaya; forecasts don't work right here sometimes.”

“So was he considered a prophet?”

Jorgio pouted. “Now, the local congregation did say that. Crops, seasons, missing animals—they felt he knew that sort of thing. In fact, now as you mention it, I remember when I was young him saying as his grandfather had something similar.”