Across the Largo

by Mitchell Atkinson

  ***

  She knew there would be a large, imposing gate at the head of the palace. She knew there would be many guards posted there and that, seeing her, they would stand at attention, that she would command their fear. She approached the gate, careful to hold her head high and not make eye contact with any of the guards. Raahi had been adamant about this.

  “Princess Yaris!” A man wearing a thick metallic mask walked up from the gate and knelt in front of the princess. “What has befallen? Why are you outside the gate?”

  Esmeralda took a deep breath, looked over the sentry’s kneeling frame. “I am outside the gate because I want to be, slave! Open. Now. I am expected within. I haven’t played Ko yet tonight.”

  “Yes, princess.” The sentry rose, backed away and turned a huge iron crank; the gate swung wide.

  The Black Palace loomed monstrous across the court. Its black walls, smooth as a still pond, echoed her footsteps as she ran across the stone path to the open doors. Once in the palace, Esmeralda was accosted by a number of deeply concerned people in clean, white uniforms. They fussed horribly over her, checking her for bruises and cuts, asking all sorts of strange and unnecessary questions. Someone tried to redo her hair, while a man with a long nose and broken spectacles examined the hem of her gown.

  “Stop!” Esmeralda said, trying to sound as snotty as possible. “I have to go to the flute Ko. Let me be!”

  The servants each stopped what they were doing and kneeled down, staring at the floor. Esmeralda left them and headed for the stairs leading to the princess’s bedchamber on the other side of the palace.

  She walked through two rooms filled with fine furniture and gold fixtures. It seemed every place she looked there were diamond chandeliers and ostentatious fireplaces. The palace appeared populated only by servants, all impeccably dressed in white uniforms. They all had dark, weary eyes and bent backs. None smiled. She reached the staircase that led to the princess’s bedchamber and began to ascend.

  “Yaris.” A voice called from behind her.

  Esmeralda turned and saw a spider of a man dressed entirely in black; he supported a shock of ebony hair, white at the temples, and wore a pair of round, smoked spectacles. This was Marshal Thoth, chief of the Emperor’s “miscellaneous” affairs. Raahi had shown Esmeralda his picture and told her to try, if at all possible, to avoid him.

  “Madam, your father craves a word.” Thoth said in a dry and cracking voice.

  “I have to get…”

  “Now, now, now. Only now will do.” Thoth took Esmeralda by the arm and began to lead her quickly toward a golden door at the far end of the room.

  “I am the Princess!” Esmeralda wailed. “I need take no orders from you!”

  “You are the Princess; your father is the Emperor.” Thoth’s smile dripped acid. “Your orders come from Harao. Just like everyone else’s.”

  Harao. The name was seldom used anywhere within the borders of Song. He was the Emperor and that was enough. Such a thing had no need of something so personal as a name. The Emperor, the Green Hand, Lord of Wolves and Panthers—these he was called. But seldom his name was used. How could such a one as this acquire a name? What mother would give it to him?

  Thoth led Esmeralda through several turns and down several strange hallways. She had not studied much more than the route from the main palace gate to the princess’s bed chamber, and she was at this point hopelessly lost. The Palace was one gilded hallway and marble-floored atrium after another. Each more useless than the next. They walked through giant doors leading to giant rooms without occupants. The only people Esmeralda saw were a few huddled and frightened servants, all of whom avoided looking her in the face. The place was not beautiful, even though it was meant to be so, not dark on the inside as were its intimidating exterior walls. Meant to be bright and glittering and impressive, the palace’s innards were morbid, rotten.

  Eventually, they crossed the circular floor of a very large atrium that had a pair of floor-to-ceiling doors at one end upon which was carved a complex symbol in green. The Royal Seal. Stationed about the circumference of the atrium and on either side of the doors were sentries wearing polished, metallic masks. Their eyes were obscured—shadows—and they seemed in this state to be without souls.

  Thoth rapped on one of the great doors and looked down at Esmeralda. “Well, I have delivered you. Now he can do with you as he wishes.”

  “What is going on in there?” Esmeralda said more timidly than she might have.

  “The same thing that happens every night.” Thoth looked at her strangely. “Celebration.”

  The door opened from the inside revealing a world of color, scent, and sound. The room pulsed and churned with extravagantly clothed bodies, each engaged in bizarre frivolity. Clowns on stilts breathed fire over the heads of dancers, acrobats, jugglers and magicians—all performing at once over the expansive floor of the banquet hall. The place was awash in course laughter and the occasional, shouted vulgarism. Huge, black cats—panthers—prowled about, all their potential menace ignored by the banqueters. At the far side of the room, across that ocean of spectacle, a great rectangular table spread nearly from wall to wall. On either side of the central seat were a number of women, fierce eyed, all dressed identically in green and black. Esmeralda knew the collective name for these women: the Attendants. They were guardians of the highest caliber. The most dangerous people in the world. Each focused on the center of the table, their sharp eyes watching for the slightest hint of displeasure or desire from what was seated there.

  The Emperor. He was cloaked in darkness embroidered in gold. His right hand was gloved green, and in it he held a scepter with a huge emerald at its head. He was very thin, his gaunt face incongruent with the surrounding excess. Also, Esmeralda noticed that, though this seemed to be a banquet, no food was placed in front of the Emperor. Neither did the Attendants to either side of him have anything to eat. Perhaps they had just finished.

  “Finally!” The Emperor’s voice was a bitter sizzle high and low at once. He held up his green-gloved hand and the hall fell completely silent. Motionless. “Daughter dearest, nearest my heart, where have you been?” The Emperor smiled from the mouth down; his eyes were set in stone. His teeth were perfectly aligned and blindingly white.

  Esmeralda hesitated.

  “Can you not speak?” he shouted. “Do you have no memory in that head of yours? Can you tell me where you have been this very night?”

  “Outside,” Esmeralda managed to say.

  “Come here.” The Emperor motioned to the area directly in front of the table.

  Esmeralda began to move across the crowded room. As she approached the mass of performers, they made a path, slinking to either side. Each held his or her head down so that Esmeralda saw none of their eyes. She could not get a sense of whether they felt sorry for her, whether they would be mocking her under their breath, or whether—and this seemed the most likely—they were simply going through the motions because this kind of thing happened all the time. She caught the eyes of one of the panthers, lying now on its side and staring up at her, the only moving thing in the room. Esmeralda noticed an emptiness behind the yellow eyes of the beast. Or, if it was not emptiness, it may have been what remained of its wild and true past, the remnant of the broad days when it roamed and hunted and was free. She felt a deep sympathy for the panther, probably once beautiful and fierce, now so deflated, so weary.

  “You look enchanting this evening,” the Emperor said as she approached the table.

  “Thank you,” Esmeralda answered quickly.

  “Very polite this evening too.” The Emperor scraped his long, black thumbnail across his jawline. “You’ve been out setting fires?”

  “No, father.” Esmeralda found it difficult to look the Emperor in the face. “None were found.”

  “The Watch hasn’t reported back yet. How would you know whether any fires were found out there?”

  Esmeralda answered quickly, ins
tinctively. “Because I did not set any.”

  The Emperor’s face darkened a moment. “Where is the flute?” he spat.

  “In my bedchamber. Where it always is.”

  “Wonderful. Are you going to serenade us tonight? Are you going to perform your usual concert of silent stupidity?”

  “I will try,” Esmeralda said. “I know it never plays, but I can try again.”

  “It never plays? No. You never play it.” The Emperor’s face was thick with disdain. “Because you are a failure. And what is this groveling, weak-stomached tone from you tonight? What has gotten into you?” He faced the Attendant immediately to his right. “Not one week ago, this diffident girl before us tells me, to my face, she will pull out my heart someday. Took more than a few lashes for that. But today it’s all respectful deference.” He looked at Esmeralda. “Tell me, do you not still hate your father?”

  “I just might,” she said.

  The Emperor’s smile was nearly sincere. “And my heart? You think you’ll pull it out?”

  “Someday.”

  The Emperor raised his scepter high into the air and slammed its emerald head into the table. Thunder rippled through the room, and a burst of green light wrapped around his dark form for an instant. The entertainers, instantly on their knees, cowered on the floor behind Esmeralda, while the Attendants leaped to their feet, drew short, straight knives—one for each hand—and waited on the word of their master.

  “That’s a little more like it! Get to your room,” the Emperor said. “Get that trinket from its case and come back here. There is something I don’t like about you tonight. Something in your scent. You come directly back. On the quick. I may have some questions…deeper questions for you.”

  As Esmeralda turned to leave, the Emperor called out. “Thoth, escort my daughter. See to it she finds her way back here. And, of course, that she doesn’t get lost between here and her room.”

  She walked quickly out of the oversized doors with Thoth close behind her. What could the Emperor have meant? She feared the worst, that everyone already knew she was an impostor. They had spies in Song, in the Counsel. They were playing with her and would soon give up the game. But how could they know? The Emperor had many powers, but he was not omniscient. Spies in Song? Was such a thing possible?

  Thoth walked beside her without speaking a word. His face and demeanor were empty of emotion; she could only place her anxieties there and wait to see if they were made real. When they reached the door to the bedchamber, he motioned silently for her to enter and stood outside as the door closed, his face still blank and bleached of purpose.

  Esmeralda found herself alone in a room full of fine silk pillows and golden trinkets of all kinds. The ceiling was about fifteen feet high, and from its center hung a shimmering, crystal chandelier. She looked around, unsure of where the flute would be hidden.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Hello?” Esmeralda called, uncertain.

  “It’s Mr. Penrose, Highness,” A muffled male voice called from opposite the door. “May I enter?”

  “Enter,” Esmeralda said.

  The door swung wide, and a tiny old man with no hair and a bent back stepped through. He wore a clean, white uniform, almost like a tuxedo, and white gloves. His eyes were watery and didn’t seem to focus well. When he spoke, his droopy jowls bounced in the air.

  “Highness, you are requested to bring the flute down to the throne room. Your father wishes to hear you attempt to play.”

  “I know,” Esmeralda said quickly. “Thoth is waiting outside to escort me to the banquet hall.”

  Mr. Penrose bowed low. “Of course, princess. I wouldn’t presume to know something that you don’t. Your blood commands absolute superiority of knowledge over me. I only hope to remind you, so that you stay in the favor of our great lord the Emperor.”

  Mr. Penrose had the saddest voice Esmeralda had ever heard. He stared at the ground when he spoke to her; the heavy lids of his eyes twitched as she spoke.

  “Mr. Penrose, where is the flute Ko?”

  “Why, here in your bedchamber, Highness. Where it has been for some thirteen years now.”

  Esmeralda desperately wanted to be nice to this very weary man. She wanted to make him young and healthy again, to restore everything that had been taken from him throughout the cruel days of his life serving the Emperor. “I know,” she said much too sweetly to be pretending to be the princess, “but where in the room is it? I can’t remember.”

  Mr. Penrose looked at her curiously for a moment, seemed to remember something and pushed his eyes to the floor. He walked across the room and opened a closet that held a rectangular glass case. Under the glass a long crystal flute lay—silent and clear as clean water.

  “Ko, your Highness.”

  “It’s beautiful.” Esmeralda momentarily forgot the role she was playing. “Would you like to pick it up?”

  “Highness?” Mr. Penrose said, confused.

  “Have you ever held it?” Esmeralda asked.

  “Of course I haven’t, your Highness. I…” A suspicious look crossed Mr. Penrose’s face. “Do you wish in some way to test me, your Highness? I pledge my service and fealty to you and the Emperor.”

  Mr. Penrose kneeled slowly on his aging and uncooperative knees. Esmeralda ran over to him.

  “No,” she said. “I just thought you might like to see it.”

  She opened the glass case and removed the flute. It was as light as air. She held it out to Mr. Penrose, and he slowly took it.

  He looked up at her, his already watery eyes welling with tears. “What has come over you, Highness?”

  “I don’t know,” Esmeralda said.

  Mr. Penrose placed the flute down and stood, brushing off the front of his pants. He ignored the water on his cheeks, perhaps in an effort to forget that it was there. “Thank you, Highness. That was…strange. Now I will leave you, if that is alright. Only please head quickly to the banquet hall. Your father expects you.”

  Mr. Penrose hurried out of the room. Esmeralda watched him go.

  She knelt down and picked up the flute, its crystal skin warm in her hands. The room filled with a thousand whispers as she did, all without enunciation and in the same voice. She strained her ears, but made out no words.

  “Hello,” she said.

  The whispering ceased.

  “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  “Are you Ko?” Esmeralda waited. No response came.

  A flash at the window. She held the flute close to her chest and went to inspect the disturbance. The palace courtyard had been infiltrated by twenty or so scurrying black figures, each carrying long, curved blades that blinked firelight as they ran. Behind them, the palace fence was missing an eight-foot section. Small fires were spreading throughout the area. Alavariss was a dry land.

  The dark figures tore with amazing speed across the courtyard. They leaped onto the walls and by some unknown means began to scale the slick, black façade like lizards. They all seemed to be heading for Esmeralda’s window. Horrified, she ran to the closet containing Ko’s empty case and squeezed inside, clutching the flute to her chest. Outside, she heard heavy forms climbing into the room. She tried to calm her trembling hands, to regulate her breath.

  Sounds of snuffling and heavy panting filtered through the door, as if a great greedy wolf was searching the room. Esmeralda sat in the dark, hoping it would pass her by, or that perhaps it wasn’t looking for her at all and would soon exit into the palace beyond.

  The closet door swung wide. On the other side, a thing stood on two legs, staring down. It might have been a man, if not for the slivers of crimson it had for eyes, and if not for its strange, angular cheeks and wolf’s nose. It grabbed Esmeralda and dragged her out of the closet. She struggled in the creature’s grasp, tearing her gown and falling to the floor.

  “Leave me alone!” she screamed.

  It shuffled toward her; she kicked at its legs. “Go away.”<
br />
  Thoth burst through the door and headed straight for the beast. He held a short sword confidently and called out with a steady, emotionless voice. “Let her go!”

  The creature leaped. Spinning to his left, Thoth struck out at the same time with the blade, sinking it deeply into the creature’s side. Unfazed, it grabbed at Thoth’s throat. Without a blink, Thoth pulled the knife from the thing’s rib and cut it across the wrist and the throat in two quick motions; Thoth then took a hop backward and kicked the creature squarely in the chest, sending it out the window. Esmeralda looked up at the man standing in the center of the room; he was not even breathing hard.

  “Let’s go,” Thoth said, holding out his hand.

  Four more of the creatures burst through the window in quick succession. Thoth attacked, made quick work of the nearest of them, but he was soon overwhelmed. One of them tossed him across the room as if he weighed nothing, his face deeply clawed in the process.

  Esmeralda screamed.

  The nearest creature let out a frustrated growl and reached into a pouch that hung at its hip. It flung a thick, yellow powder into Esmeralda’s face. She quickly sneezed once and began to feel very dizzy. She was lifted up and stuffed under the arm of the powerful beast. Across the room, she saw Thoth’s newly-wounded face, twisted by rage and helplessness.

  Darkness took her.

  7. Yaris, Robert and Unfortunate News.

  “You really can stop screaming any time,” Robert said.

  Princess Yaris was seated in a wooden chair in the corner of the dingy, little room. Her hands and feet had to be bound, though they all agreed that gagging her would be cruel. Robert wondered about the true definition of cruelty. The travelers had holed up in a tiny ramshackle building in one of the slums of Alavariss immediately west of the palace. The street was full of bleak chatter and shifting eyes searching for pockets to pick. Dorthea and Raahi sat at a table at the far end of the room. Down the hall, three of the Elite Guard, Song’s best soldiers, busied themselves in different ways. Robert stared at Yaris.

  “I’m thirsty,” she snipped, momentarily halting the screams.

  “Would you like a glass of water?” Robert asked.

  “No, I wouldn’t. Slave. I would like a glass of apple wine. We keep it in my father’s cellars at the palace. The good bottles have been aged hundreds of years.”

  Robert called over to Raahi. “Do we have any apple wine, aged hundreds of years?”

  “No.”

  Robert shrugged his shoulders. “I guess water is all we have for you.”

  “Your Highness,” Yaris said.

  “What?”

  “When you speak to me, you must address me as your Highness.” Yaris raised her right eyebrow and stared imperiously.

  “I don’t think I am going to do that.” Robert smiled.

  “Ugh,” Yaris groaned, “how can you be so pathetic and stupid? Don’t you people know what will happen to you once my father finds that I am gone?”

  “What’s that?” Robert asked.

  Yaris smiled pearls. Her eyes lit up. “He’s going to hunt you all down like animals. Like worthless dogs. He’ll have you sent to the gallows at the center of Alavariss. Everyone in the city will assemble in the square; even the dungeons will be emptied for your execution. You’ll be beaten for hours, for days, and, at the end, my father will allow me the honor of giving you a tiny kiss before the noose drops.”

  Robert looked her in the eyes. She flinched a little. She was afraid. He could see it somehow, as clear as day. This was the most frightening moment in her life. “No one is going to hurt you,” he said slowly. “You are going to be returned to your home soon. You don’t need to be scared.”

  Yaris’s eyes went huge, and she drew a sharp breath. “Slave!” she screamed. “None of you had better even dream of hurting me. I am Princess of all Alavariss. My father is Emperor of the World. Slave! You think you have a right to look me in the face? I am heir to the Green Throne, holder of Ko. You should kneel down…”

  Yaris began to cry; the words sloppily ran together.

  “…beg for forgiveness, and I, I, may only send you to the dungeons and the dark for the rest of your ugly, little life. My father is a god among men. My mother was the fairest woman ever to hold breath. I am, I am, I am…”

  Yaris closed her eyes and sobbed slowly.

  Robert got up and left. He felt strangely sorry for her. Dorthea and Raahi were so deep in conversation that they had hardly noticed Yaris’s little outburst. He decided not to disturb them. He went down the hall to see what the soldiers were doing. There were three of them all dressed as Alavarisian peasants. They had assembled in a large room in the back of the building and were practicing some form of hand-to-hand combat. Two of the guards attacked the third. He was a bit larger than the others and had tremendous skills. Raahi had called him captain earlier. His head was completely shaved, his dark skin tight over the back of his skull. The two attacked from opposite directions, there was a great flurry of activity, too quick to sort out, and the attackers went flying. The captain rolled his shoulders and motioned for them to begin again.

  Robert sat and watched them go through several of these encounters, the captain always soundly deflecting his attackers. After a while, he noticed Robert standing in the doorway and stopped the exercise.

  “Hello, young man,” the captain said. “You want to try?”

  Robert swallowed. “Oh no, sir, I don’t think so. Looks rather, uh, involved, and I have shaky knees, you know. Never had the knees for fist fights. My father says bad knees run in my family. He can hardly play squash. But, hey, look at me, I’m rambling. No. I mean no, I’ll leave it to you.”

  The captain smiled. “My name is Ngare. My friends here are learning the humility that accompanies loss to their betters. What we are doing is not so difficult. Come here.”

  Robert walked forward, incredibly uncomfortable. “Should I remove my glasses? They’re pretty expensive. Last year, I broke my glasses playing chess.”

  Ngare ignored him. He went over to a large duffel bag sitting by the wall and pulled out a long, wooden staff. “This is a bo. You use it to convince your opponent that he has made an error in judgment. Here.”

  Robert took the piece of wood in his right hand. “Not as heavy as it looks.”

  Ngare patted his shoulder. “That is because you are so strong.”

  “Must be it.” Robert chuckled.

  Ngare stood before him. “Now, we are good men, good soldiers, so we rarely have to attack. We are not aggressors. You must learn then how to defend first. Let us say that I am me and you are you.”

  “Got it,” Robert said.

  “Now if I run up on you…” Ngare moved quickly toward Robert, grabbing the end of the staff. “Okay, wait. Open your eyes.”

  Robert did so. “Sorry. Got nervous, I guess.”

  “Well, you can’t defend yourself if you will not look at your opponent. Here…”

  Ngare proceeded to show Robert all sorts of things about how to hold his feet and where to put his hands on the staff. Robert felt that his progress was dreadfully slow, but even when the other Elite Guard left the room for boredom, Ngare took no notice and continued his instruction. Robert was strangely conflicted at learning something so physical; on the one hand he was sure he was doing terribly, but on the other, he feared he was really enjoying himself. Ngare taught him that all aggressors make themselves vulnerable, that it is easiest to defend and that a good defense will crush a superior attack.

  “Alright, wait here,” Ngare said, leaving the room.

  He returned with one of the other soldiers. A stocky, sharp-eyed man, he walked with a certain sureness of gait that Robert found unsettling.

  “Sir?” The man regarded his captain.

  “I want you to attack Robert,” Ngare said.

  “Oh no!” Robert blurted. “That isn’t necessary. I mean, I appreciate everything you are doing for me here, but attacking is not, I mean,
shouldn’t I earn some kind of a belt first or something?”

  “Get ready.” Ngare’s voice was stern.

  Robert hurried to put his feet in the right position. He flexed his hands against the wood of the staff. It felt warm against his palms. He rolled his shoulders, just as Ngare had, and narrowed his gaze at the attacker. The air in his lungs was electricity.

  “Ready,” Robert said.

  The soldier took three deep breaths and shot across the room, hands raised in attack position. Robert concentrated on the lesson Ngare had given him. He had to kneel as the attacker came forward, placing the length of wood just so. Patiently, he dipped low, swinging the staff against the knees of his opponent, and in one quick thrust rose up to his full height, lifting the staff as high as possible over his head. The soldier let out a surprised scream as his feet left the floor.

  Robert was laughing. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but it felt right. “Oh, that was…tense. Ngare, did you see it?”

  “Yes, of course I saw it. Very good,” Ngare said. “Remember to set your feet. Once you decide where to make your stand, you must be resolute.”

  “I will,” Robert said.

  Yaris’s screams erupted again down the hall. All three men groaned.

  Sensing his lesson had ended, Robert went to see what the bother was. Raahi sat in front of the princess, holding a plate of food in one hand and a spoon in the other. It appeared that he had attempted to feed Yaris.

  “Are you mad?” the princess shrieked horribly.

  “Oh, Raahi,” Robert said in disbelief.

  Raahi looked up at the newcomer. “We tried unbinding her hands, but she just threw food everywhere. Look.”

  He pointed to Dorthea. The front of her overalls was stained with a dark substance.

  “Yaris, come on,” Robert said. “Are you hungry or what?”

  She screamed. No words, just ear-splitting sound.

  “Oh, my.” Raahi stood up and backed across the room, shaking his head.

  Robert held his hands up in a defensive gesture. “It’s like I’ve got vertigo.”

  Yaris’s face flushed as the air, laced with horrible sound, escaped her body. She held a high and quivering note for a period that felt like hours. And finally, having, banshee-style, screamed longer than previously thought humanly possible, she took a huge breath.

  “What kind of food is it anyway?” she asked quietly.

  “It’s veggie chili,” Raahi said. “Dorthea’s recipe. It’s delicious. Please.”

  Yaris opened her mouth. Raahi gave her a bite. She slowly chewed, thoughtfully appraising.

  “Passable,” Yaris said curtly. “Slave food…but passable.”

  “Passable,” Raahi said, spoon in hand. “Well, try to pass another bite.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Ngare came running up from the back, a short blade in his right hand. He motioned everyone to the back of the room, crouched low behind the door and returned the knock. Three strikes. From the other side, a voice said: “The Land at peace sings.”

  Ngare swung wide the door, revealing a woman in tattered, black robes holding her side in obvious pain. She walked shakily into the room and found an unoccupied chair.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said. “Completely unexpected. They weren’t in great numbers, but they caught the Alavarisian sentinels completely by surprise. We only had a few Elites watching the gate…they…I’m sorry sir.”

  Ngare focused his deep, black eyes on the distraught guard. “Speak plainly. What happened?”

  “They used a blasting powder of magnificent strength. Put a hole in the fence. No one ever bold enough to attack the Palace itself; they weren’t expecting it…”

  Ngare knelt down so that he was eye-level with her. “Tell me.”

  “The Phoon. The Dark Ones. They took her. They took the Doppel.”

  “Impossible,” Raahi said, breathless.

  “I fought them. I saw their eyes. The Phoon. They swept in with a small garrison. About twenty-five. They took the fence out and went straight for the princess’s bedchamber. She was the purpose of the attack, there can be no doubt. They…”—the wounded Guardian shifted her position, groaned a little for the pain—“…took her and created a horrible smoke. The haze covered their retreat. I don’t think even the Palace Watch could track their escape.”

  “Oh, save us,” Dorthea said.

  “What does this mean?” Robert asked.

  Raahi looked at him, unable to say anything.

  Princess Yaris chortled. “It means I left on a good day.”

  Dorthea walked across the room, sending Yaris a hateful look. She grabbed Robert by the arm and took him down the hall.

  “It’s best we leave certain talk to the higher-ups,” she said when they were alone. “Besides, I just might put that pissy little girl through a wall, she keeps talking the way she does.”

  “What’s going on?” Robert asked. “Is Esmeralda safe?”

  Dorthea looked at him kindly. “If what they’re saying in there is true, then no, she isn’t safe at all.”

  Robert strongly suppressed an annoying urge to cry. “What are the Phoon?”

  “Bad things. I only know the word from stories. The kind of stories you tell little kids and afterward they can’t sleep at night. The Phoon are like human people but gone wrong somehow. They live in a wild country outside Alavariss. No one knows what they are or what they want or even where they come from.”

  “Will they kill Esmeralda?” Robert asked.

  Dorthea took a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I haven’t ever heard of them doing what they’ve done tonight. Way I figure it, one little girl would be just like any other to one of them.”

  “What can we do?” Robert asked.