“Why?” asked Umbo, dread coming upon him. “Are they out of business, too?”
“You might say so,” said the carpenter. “Most customers prefer not to be waited on by the dead, or spend the night in the murder house.”
“Dead,” said Umbo softly.
“Then you really have been away a long time,” said the old carpenter. “Happened late last fall. Near six months ago.”
“Sickness?”
“The man, Loaf, that old soldier, he died of sickness, in a way. Came back from his travels with an ugly fungus growing on his face. Didn’t seem to harm him—if anything he was stronger than before. But he wasn’t pretty, and some traveler must have complained about a monster who had taken control of a roadhouse upriver, because soldiers came.”
“Soldiers?”
“Of King Haddamander, nobody local, you can be sure. They came here to try to get me to accuse Loaf of something. Anything. I don’t think they cared what the charge was, but they wanted some pretext, since being ugly isn’t against the law when last I heard. They didn’t like hearing that from me, so I got knocked down and kicked a little for my trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” said Umbo.
“Not your fault, unless you’re with the king, and you don’t look to be one of his, since they’re all rich—either started rich or got made so.”
“I can be sorry without taking blame, sir,” said Umbo.
“And be blamed without being sorry, nor guilty either,” said the old carpenter. “Report me for saying so if you want, I’m only a step away from not caring.”
“I’m not a spy,” said Umbo.
“Just like a spy, to say that,” said the carpenter.
“And also just like an honest man,” said Umbo calmly. “If they found no charge against old Loaf—”
“Treason was the charge,” said the carpenter. “Accused him of being the Rebel King’s Captain Toad, the one as leads raids all over Stashiland. Which was known to all of us to be a lie. Never a more doting father than that one, Loaf didn’t stray farther from the roadhouse than to buy groceries and other such supply. When could he have gone raiding? I know the Toad is supposed to be ugly but you’d think they’d want more proof than that.”
Umbo noticed that he referred to Loaf as a doting father. But the questions that raised could wait a little. “They arrested him, then?” asked Umbo.
“Arrested? You’re thinking of the old days under the Council. They don’t have trials now, nor jails, nor arrestings. At first old Loaf put up a fight but then they dragged out his wife, her so scared she was silent, if you can believe it. Once they had her down on the ground, Loaf got docile enough, though even then he didn’t beg, not for his life and not for hers. They took him out on the dock, cut his throat, and threw him in the river. We all saw—they routed us all out so we could see King Haddamander’s justice. Well, we saw it. And we saw how Leaky howled and fought, but the king’s men didn’t even argue with her, just put a sword in and said, ‘She was a rebel too, you saw her fight against the king.’ We watched it all without a word, you may be sure, because enough houses had already burned down, enough shopkeepers had already disappeared in the night with never a word, only their windows broke or shutters torn down. But when they threw the baby out the upstairs window, we turned away, we had witnessed enough for that day. I think the captain knew he’d gone too far. Didn’t want a revolt on his hands. So he let us walk away, return to our homes. But he did shout something about how the children of monsters could not be allowed to live. Not sure if he meant the monster to be Loaf, because he looked so ugly, or the both of them, because they were accused of fighting against the king.”
“So Loaf and Leaky had a baby,” said Umbo.
The old carpenter looked at him and there was something sly about him. “How could you not know that?”
“Two years gone,” said Umbo—a bit of an understatement, but close enough. He could have named the time to the hour.
“Yes, they had a baby,” said the carpenter. “About old enough to toddle about. But not able to fly, poor boy. Had no wings, not him, and so he broke on the ground, and they threw him into the river along with his ma and da. The river must be near full of the king’s justice by now. They must have a dam of such justice right across the mouth of it, down at Aressa Sessamo.”
“By Silbom,” murmured Umbo. “I didn’t know it was like that.”
“How can you get from Upsheer all the way to here, and not know how it is? Did you fly?”
“I slept, mostly,” said Umbo, “and the rivermen were not disposed to converse with me. Now I think I see why. Not knowing who might be hearing with the king’s ears, or seeing with his eyes.”
The old carpenter grunted and turned back to his saw. “Report me if you want. I’m nearly ready for the river as it is, without any help from the king’s men, nor the queen’s either. My children live far away now, but not far enough. The Wall itself isn’t far enough to suit me.”
I have a way through that Wall, thought Umbo. But not one that I can share with you. Nor would your life be all that much better if you left this wallfold.
Yes it would. Because now Umbo understood it all, or supposed that he must. Stabbing Loaf wouldn’t have killed him. The facemask would have healed him by the time he reached the farther shore. But it would have done nothing for Leaky or their son. They would be dead.
Then Loaf would have gone in search of one of the timeshapers. Then he would go out raiding in the name of the Rebel King, going back in time in order to . . .
Who is the Rebel King, if not Param’s husband? Wouldn’t that be me?
Or has Rigg decided to claim the throne as firstborn child of Knosso Sissamik and Queen Hagia Sessamin?
Why not the Rebel Queen? Had something happened to Param? Or was this one of the places that preferred a King-in-the-Tent to a Queen?
But no, that wasn’t why it all seemed wrong to Umbo. This whole thing was not possible because as long as there was a timeshaper in the world, this would not be allowed to stand. All of them were friends of Loaf’s. Once they learned what Haddamander Citizen had done, one of them would have gone to Loaf and Leaky and warned them to take their son and flee.
Umbo’s first thought had been that Loaf, with his facemask, must have been the person who, serving the Rebel King, had given rise to the stories of Captain Toad. But the only way Loaf could have traveled back in time to lead raids against Haddamander Citizen would have been with the help of a timeshaper, and any timeshaper would already have prevented the deaths of Leaky and her firstborn son.
So Captain Toad could only have been Rigg. Descriptions of his facemask would match Loaf’s well enough to explain the soldiers’ certainty that they had found their man. It would not excuse what they did, but it would explain why Loaf was targeted for retribution.
Umbo understood it all now, or enough of it. Now it was time to set about undoing this disastrous outcome. If he could save his reckless younger brother, he could save his most beloved friends.
Someone came to the door of the carpenter’s shop. The carpenter nodded.
Fearing a trap, Umbo whirled around. But it was only a woman. By no means old enough to be the carpenter’s wife. She held a bundle under one arm.
Not a bundle. A baby. Wrapped so as to look more like a package than a child.
“You have to take him,” said the carpenter.
Umbo said nothing.
“The soldiers didn’t know about their second child,” said the carpenter softly. “Leaky couldn’t nurse, so the boy was at Dariah’s house during the roadhouse working hours. Only the older boy was home, because he was early weaned. We’ve kept this little one safe and not a soul has breathed a word, but he’s a danger to us all the same.”
“Why are you telling me?” asked Umbo. “How can you trust me?”
“Do you thin
k I don’t know you?” asked the carpenter. “So many times you stayed with Loaf and Leaky.”
“In the old days I did,” said Umbo. “But as I said, not for—”
The carpenter grew fierce. “If I was going to betray you, it would have been King Haddamander’s men, and not Dariah at the door. We know who the Rebel King is, Queen Param’s husband, the true master of Stashiland. The bane of the Sissaminka. I’ve said it. If you have to kill me now, do what you must. But take this child, the last that’s left of Loaf and Leaky. And then go on until you bring down this evil king and serve him as he served Loaf and Leaky and their older boy.”
So I am the Rebel King. But how do they know it? What have I been doing during these years? How could my face be known to them? Or how could they guess that the boy who periodically stayed with Loaf and Leaky was now the Rebel King?
If they know, others know. General Citizen must have learned of the connection between me and Loaf—that was why they died, not because of mistaken identity.
But now, this baby. How could Umbo explain that he didn’t need to take the baby, that he would merely go back in time and prevent the murders in the first place?
Then again, how could he know that if he went back and warned them, it might not prevent the birth of this child after all. They might have some child, but once they left Leaky’s Landing, as they surely would, their second child would not be conceived at the same time, and the same sperm was unlikely to fertilize the egg. Umbo would save Loaf and Leaky, and might save their firstborn, if he had already been conceived, but this child would never come into existence.
Umbo reached out his hands and took the child. The baby was not a newborn, as he had expected—but of course he wasn’t, Leaky had been killed nearly half a year ago, and so the newborn had grown since then. “Not weaned?” asked Umbo.
“You’ll have to find somebody,” said the woman, Dariah. “He’s a good baby. Sleeps well. Eats hearty.”
“You’re willing to let him go?” asked Umbo.
“To save his life? How could I say I love him if I did otherwise?”
The baby regarded Umbo steadily. There was intelligence in his gaze, but no fear and yet also no particular eagerness to please.
“What’s his name?” asked Umbo.
“Do you dare to use it?” asked the old carpenter.
“I should know it, all the same,” said Umbo.
“They were strange folk,” said Dariah. “Their own names were proof of that. So I guess nobody was surprised when they named their first boy Round, the name of a shape. And then they named this one Square. But I’ve never called him that.”
“What do you call him?” asked Umbo. “What name has he heard?”
Dariah looked embarrassed. “Well, because his father was named Loaf, you see. I just started calling him Biscuit. Not a name, just a pet name, a silly play name.”
“It’s the name he knows. I’ll call him by neither one for now, but I’ll remember both, and one day he’ll know.”
“I think you’d better go,” said the carpenter. “There are spies in this village, as in all villages. You were no doubt seen coming here, and I know Dariah and the baby would have been seen. They might know all about this baby, and it might be bait for a trap.”
Umbo thought of going back out on the road with a baby in his arms, walking the mile or so back to the copse where he had made the jump in time. If there really was a trap, there was a chance of an arrow out of hiding. Even if he and the baby were uninjured, he might have to make a jump in time right in front of would-be captors. If he and the others had kept the secret of time-shifting all this time, it would be a shame to let it be discovered by their enemies.
“I know a way of escaping,” said Umbo, “that won’t require me to go back out on the road.”
The carpenter nodded. Dariah’s eyes grew a little wider. And brighter.
“We’ve heard that you can disappear, sir,” she said. “Go invisible, like smoke in a high wind.”
“I don’t want you to see what happens,” said Umbo. “You should have a look of honesty in your eyes when you say, ‘The boy who visited here only asked questions about Loaf and Leaky, and then he left, I don’t know how or where he went.’”
“They’ll ask about the baby,” said the carpenter.
“Dariah, everyone knows you were wet-nursing for someone,” said Umbo. “Can’t you say the family sent for the baby and you gave it back?”
“We’ll say something,” said the carpenter. “You pay no heed to that, it’s our affair. With luck nobody saw you or Dariah today, and there’ll be no questions.”
“I hope you don’t end up paying a price for this,” said Umbo.
“Put Queen Param in the Tent of Light in her mother’s place, and your own skinny buttocks on King Haddamander’s horse, and it will be worth whatever price we pay,” said the carpenter.
“St. Silbom care for the baby, and the Wandering Saint bless you on your road,” said Dariah. Then she bent and kissed the baby again.
“Stay here and chat together for a while,” said Umbo. “Perhaps share some bread, so there’s a reason for you to have lingered here. I’ll go out through the back room.”
“I keep that door locked against thieves,” said the carpenter.
“Then you must have locked it again after I left,” said Umbo. “If anyone asks.”
What Umbo wanted to ask was for a time, not long after the moment when Umbo took his walk away from Leaky’s roadhouse, when nobody would be present in this shop, so he’d have a safe moment to jump back to undiscovered. If he had Rigg’s and Noxon’s gift, he could look for paths and pick a time when the carpenter stepped out. Instead, he’d have no choice but to guess and hope he picked a good moment. If he guessed wrong, then he’d jump again so quickly that the observer wouldn’t know for sure what he had seen, if anything at all.
He walked into the back room, which was mostly used for storing boards and tools and hardware, and closed the door behind him. He looked for a place that would be unlikely to have furniture moved into it during the intervening years, and settled on a spot just inside the locked outside door.
Then he jumped back to a time six hours after the moment he had come from. It had been first dark when he left; now it was the deepest of dark night, a few hours before dawn. He stood in silence, holding the silent baby in the dark, listening. An old man’s breathing from a room upstairs. The breath of sleep.
Umbo had assumed he would have to go out the front, but no. This was a simpler time, before General Citizen had imposed his authority as King Haddamander. There was no lock on the back door, only a simple latch, clearly visible in the ringlight coming through a high window, which had been left uncurtained and unshuttered.
He raised the latch. It was a fine carpenter’s latch, and a fine carpenter’s door. Everything moved silently and smoothly. Umbo closed the door behind him and then carried the baby behind the row of shops to where the alley debouched into the square. Umbo did not hurry and did not act furtive. He walked easily and naturally to the roadhouse door.
It was barred, of course—no reason to invite thieves or burglars. Ordinarily, Umbo would simply have jumped the fence around the kitchen garden, but that wasn’t likely to work out well with a baby in his arms. Umbo walked around the corner of the fence to a spot not visible to passersby on the square, nor from any windows in the nearby shops and houses. Then he shifted himself back to the afternoon, a few moments after he walked into that copse a mile or two out on the south road.
Now the roadhouse was open for business, people coming and going, and this early in the night it was safe for him to pull the rope that rang a bell in the kitchen, announcing a delivery.
He could hear Leaky start cursing in the kitchen. Then she bellowed out the back door. “Come back tomorrow! No more deliveries tonight!”
“
I’ll just leave it at the gate then!” he shouted back.
At once the kitchen door flew open and Leaky’s heavy footsteps strode along the path. “I can’t believe what I put up with!” she was shouting, but when she opened the gate she looked worried. She must have recognized his voice. Her eyes took in the bundle in his arms.
“You have not had time to get a girl this pregnant since you left this house,” she said softly.
“This would be pretty pregnant,” Umbo agreed.
“Come in, you daft boy,” said Leaky. “I assume that as a kidnapper you don’t wish to be observed?”
“Not a kidnapper,” said Umbo, “but yes, I’d like to get upstairs without anyone noticing this package.”
She led him into the kitchen, where she wrapped the baby loosely in a washed floursack and handed him back to Umbo. “Take that upstairs and leave it in my room, but mind you I know where everything is!” She spoke loudly enough that Umbo knew she was giving him a reason to hurry upstairs, and enough of an explanation for the bundle in his arms to satisfy the eaters and drinkers who might see him come out of the kitchen and hurry up the stairs.
Umbo unwrapped the baby. The flour sacking came in handy, because little Biscuit stank and all Umbo could think to do, lacking a fresh diaper, was to take off all the baby’s clothes, tear the sack in half, wipe him thoroughly with one half, and then using the other to wrap him more or less securely. Through it, Biscuit watched Umbo’s eyes, only occasionally glancing around the room. Umbo kept up a murmuring commentary.
It was a couple of hours, and the room downstairs was markedly quieter, when the door flew open and Leaky stalked in, half-dragging a frightened young woman behind her.
It was Dariah.
Umbo almost spoke her name, but recovered in time. This was Dariah before she ever heard of Biscuit.
“This is Dariah,” said Leaky. “She has a new baby of her own, and look at those teats. She could feed four babies this size.”
“I don’t think I—”
Leaky didn’t let Dariah finish. “You’re perfect for a wet nurse and you need the money,” said Leaky. “If you don’t like it, you can quit, but not tonight, and not till I find somebody else, understood?”
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