Fool's Errand (52 page)

Not seeming the least bit soothed, the Gorgish leader laughed nastily. “Do you think that Miter is as stupid as your hideous companion?” he demanded as Azriel looked around for the “hideous companion” to whom Miter had referred. “Do you think Miter does not know the value of the healing pool? Do you think he does not realize that to reveal its location without first receiving something of equal value is to receive
nothing?”

Persephone—who was actually beginning to wonder if Miter was telling the truth—took a deep breath and said, “Miter, I promise—”

The room erupted in shrill laughter.

“Promises are nothing but words!” heckled Miter, clutching his protruding belly and rocking back and forth in a theatrical display of mirth. “Miter does not barter with words, female! Guards, seize them!”

“What?” exclaimed Persephone in alarm as a veritable army of Gorgishmen stormed toward her and Azriel. “No, Miter—wait—”

“Miter will not wait!” cried the Gorgishman, hammering his fists upon his armrests. “Miter has decided that stoning would be too kind a death for you! You will be delivered to Miter's private chambers at once! There, Miter will finish you in a way that will make the gods themselves shudder and weep with horror and fear!”

As he wriggled forward to the edge of his seat, hopped down from his stone throne and trundled off the dais, Persephone and Azriel found themselves swept along behind him upon a tide of jeering Gorgishmen. Heart pounding, Persephone made a move for her dagger. Even as she did so, however, a loud humming noise began echoing throughout the chamber. Looking up, she saw that every last Gorgishman sitting in the stands was twirling a loaded slingshot about his ugly head.

Her dagger stayed sheathed.

In less than a minute, the tide of Gorgishmen had delivered her and Azriel to the threshold of a wooden door at least three times as tall as she was. The door immediately opened to reveal Miter with a fork in one hand.

“Miter does not wish to be disturbed under any circumstances!” Miter shrilly informed the tide as he stepped aside to allow them to shove Persephone and Azriel into the chamber. “If the female and the hideous one appear before you without Miter by their sides, bury them in a hail of stones the likes of which this realm has never seen!”

Without further adieu, the Gorgish leader grunted and strained in an effort to slam the heavy door in his tribesmen's faces. As she watched him, Persephone found that she was not truly afraid. She could not
really
believe that he meant to eat her and Azriel. And even if he did, he would find himself slit bow to stern long before he was able to turn them into stew.

“Listen, Miter—” she began as soon as the door was closed and latched.

“Quiet, female,” shushed Miter, flapping his hand at her. “Miter has something to show you and the hideous one.”

Azriel pursed his lips but said nothing. Folding his arms across his well-muscled chest, he impassively watched the Gorgish leader trot over to the fire and kneel down in front of a large piece of parchment so old that four lumps of ore had been placed on the corners to keep it from curling up on itself.

“Come, come!” ordered Miter impatiently, waving his hand so vigorously that his new ruby ring—which appeared to be at least three sizes too big for him—nearly flew off his finger.

Feeling more curious than wary, Persephone followed Azriel across the room. When she got to where Miter was kneeling, she peered over his shoulder at the piece of parchment and flinched when she recognized the place that was sketched out in impressive detail.

“That's a map of the Mines of Torodania,” she said.

“Foolish female,” sneered Miter. “Look more closely.”

Leaning over, Persephone noticed that someone had drawn an X in a dead-end chamber at the end of a shaft deep within one of the outer mines. There were words written next to the X in a messy but distinctive scrawl.

As she stared at these words, she heard Azriel inhale sharply.

“That's right,” said Miter smugly. “It says ‘Pool of Genezing.'“

“We
know
what it says,” said Persephone shortly. “And we also know that you wrote it.”

“Miter did no such thing!” screeched the little man.

“You did,” insisted Persephone, pressing her hands against her belly to keep them from trembling. “You ran into the chamber ahead of us and you took out a map you already possessed and you wrote those words—”

“I don't think so,” interrupted Azriel.

Something in his tone brought Persephone up short. “What do you mean you don't think so?” she asked, looking over at him.

“I mean, I don't think Miter wrote those words,” said Azriel, pointing to the map. “In fact, I
know
he didn't.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because those words were written by Balthazar's own hand.”

FIFTY-TWO

Eleven white beans left in the jar

P
ERSEPHONE GAPED AT AZRIEL
.

“
What do you mean those words were written by Balthazar's own hand?'“
she cried.

“Just what I said,” said Azriel in the voice of one who was having a hard time believing his own eyes.

“But … but how can you possibly know that?” blurted Persephone, panicky at the thought that he might actually have an answer. “You'd have been no more than an infant when Balthazar died. When would you have had opportunity to see anything written by his hand?”

“During his time as ambassador, Balthazar sent many letters back to the tribe,” explained Azriel, who could not seem to stop staring at the map. “Not all of those letters were lost during the massacres. Those that were saved have become a much-valued piece of the tribe's written records.”

“
AHA
!” cried Miter, sitting back on his bare heels. “It is as Miter suspected all along—you and the female are Gypsies!”

“That's right,” said Azriel, eyeing the little Gorgishman with distaste.

“Miter does not care for Gypsies,” said Miter loftily.

“And they do not care for him,” said Azriel.

Much offended, Miter muttered, “Perhaps they do not. But they must admit that Miter spoke the truth concerning the map's provenance.”

“Perhaps,” said Azriel noncommittally. “How did you come by this map, anyway?”

“Gypsies are not the only ones who received letters from ambassadors,” sniffed Miter.

When Azriel shrugged as though unimpressed by the answer, Miter scowled and shook his little fist at him.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Persephone stared at the little X that Balthazar had supposedly drawn with his own hand. She could not believe it. She and Azriel had searched so long and so hard—had risked death so many times!—only to discover that the pool might be found in the one place she feared above all others on this earth.

Verily, it appeared that the Fates had chosen to play their latest trick on her—
again
.

“Well?” she said to Azriel at length. “What do you think?”

“I don't know what to think,” he admitted, a troubled expression on his face. “What I
know
is that Balthazar wrote those words. And that at least some of what we know of his discovery of the pool fits with the mines as a possible location.”

“The mines are certainly a place of nightmares,” said Persephone bleakly, recalling this description from the conversation they'd had with Cairn and the others on the morning after their wedding. “The mines are also near enough to the sea that Balthazar could have walked there after being shipwrecked. And they are reasonably close to the estate the Khan Barka said Balthazar won from my father—the estate he'd supposedly sailed off to inspect.”

“And the frothing beast that is said to have chased him?”

Persephone swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat. “The New Men who oversee the mines keep huge, half-starved dogs,” she said in a very small voice. “The dogs are released if the New Men see workers attempting to escape or shirk or. or do anything at all that the soldiers don't care for, really.” She licked her suddenly dry lips. “I suppose these dogs could be described as frothing beasts. And, of course, it is very dark in a mine shaft, and according to Tiny, Balthazar said he was running in the darkness when he fell and suffered the injuries that so badly scarred him.”

Azriel's silence told her that he sensed her great terror at the thought of returning to the terrible place from which she'd never thought to escape alive—and also that he could not deny that it seemed as though they'd at last discovered the whereabouts of the Pool of Genezing.

“Even so,” he said as though they'd been speaking instead of reading each other's thoughts. “There would be no shame in stopping here, wife. We can return to Parthania with the map and the gift Balthazar gave your mother and offer them as proof that we found the pool.”

Miter—who'd been avidly following their exchange—opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say a word, Persephone smiled tremulously and said, “Again with the bluffing and improvising, husband?” She shook her head. “No, Azriel. If we tell the Regent the pool is in the mines the first thing he will do is dispatch soldiers to confirm that it is so. And if it turns out not to be so, he will murder Finn—and then he will murder us.”

“You know that he will probably do that anyway,” said Azriel with a gentleness that brought a lump to her throat.

“I know,” she whispered, looking down at her hands. “But as long as there is a chance that he won't, I want to press on, for I truly could not bear to die knowing that I'd lacked the courage to do the one thing that might have saved us all.”

Though Azriel said nothing in response to these words, Persephone could feel his eyes hot upon her face. Indeed, they blazed so fiercely they seemed to fill her and consume her, all at the same time.

Miter took advantage of the lull in the conversation to clamber to his feet and sidle up next to Azriel. “Listen to the cowardly female,” he urged in a whisper that he clearly believed Persephone could not hear even though she was standing right in front of him. “Let us seek out the pool and—”

“What do you mean ‘us'?” said Azriel.

Miter gasped in outrage. “Hideous Gypsy, are you such a fool that you think Miter would show you the map without expecting something in return?” he screeched, giving his foot a mighty stomp. “You will take Miter with you when you seek out the pool!”

“We will not,” said Azriel calmly.

“
YOU WILL
!” cried Miter, flapping his arms in agitation. “And you will get down on your ugly knees and thank Miter for agreeing to accompany you! or are you so stupid that you do not know that being beheaded by soldiers or devoured by dogs are the only fates you can expect if you dare to venture forth into the mines without one who knows them?”

“I know the mines,” murmured Persephone. “I … I spent months toiling deep within them—”

“Which means you saw nothing but a minuscule fraction of them,” interrupted Miter without a hint of compassion for what he knew she must have endured. “Before the despicable Regent stole the mines from Miter's people, Miter oversaw the entire operation.”

“If that is true—” began Azriel.

“
MITER HAS ALREADY SAID THAT IT IS TRUE
!”

“Then why haven't you followed the map to the pool before now?” asked Azriel.

“It would be foolhardy to undertake such an endeavour on one's own,” said Miter, rolling his eyes as though unable to believe the stupidity of the question.

“Almost as foolhardy as undertaking it with two Gypsies you just met instead of your own trusted tribesmen,” said Azriel dryly.

Instead of looking offended, as Persephone would have expected, Miter looked decidedly shifty. “Miter does not wish his tribesmen to know the whereabouts of the pool,” he explained as he drummed his fingertips together. “He does not even wish them to know that he has a map.”

“You just told them you had a map,” pointed out Persephone.

Miter rolled his eyes again. “They will assume it was a lie Miter told to trick you. And by the time they realize it was actually a lie Miter told to trick
them
, none will dare to confront Miter. Why? Because if they do, Miter may refuse to sell to them a few precious drops of the priceless healing waters that the hideous one will be hauling back for him,” he snickered.

Giving the little Gorgishman a look of utter disgust, Azriel said, “I need a moment alone with my wife.”

“Anything you have to say to the female you can say to Miter,” assured Miter.

“If you don't give us a moment alone, I'll not haul back a single vial of healing waters for you,” threatened Azriel.

Scowling and grumbling mutinously, Miter trundled off into an adjoining chamber.