Heather gripped her hard, keeping her in place. “No, wait. Look!”
Sarah looked again more carefully, taking in the slow plodding pace of those in the fields, strung out in a long ant trail, wandering, uncoordinated. She hadn’t seen them because they moved so slowly, and they were so scattered. Scattered but plentiful: dozens, maybe hundreds. There was nothing hostile about them, nothing predatory.
Instead, their approach spoke of the dull death march of cats who crawl to a place of comfort before they lie down to die.
They were heading for Alexander’s house.
IV
“Are you sure about him?” Norman muttered to Billy as they sat before the desk.
He kept his gaze fixed on the pale-faced man, sensing the others keeping their hands on the butts of their pistols. One false move, and they’d blow him away.
That would be bad. Suspect or not, Norman knew the man was important—probably their only chance of getting back home in time.
“No,” Billy said, not without a hint of venom, “but he’s not one of them.”
“Them?”
“The Bad Men. He’s on our side.”
What side would that be?
“Uh huh.” He paused, no more comforted, hovering an inch above his seat. He flinched when Billy’s fingers alighted on his hand. “Trust me,” she whispered.
Norman blinked. He didn’t know this girl, had met her perhaps three hours before.
I do know her. I’ve seen her. And through her, I’ve seen other things.
He suppressed a vague shudder and turned his eyes once more on the pale man. “Fine, we’re sitting,” he said.
The man, himself seated behind the desk, kicked his heels up onto the mahogany top. Mercurial, hard to read, his features shifted ceaselessly between extremes of sorrow and mischievous delight. He ran a hand through his hair, which didn’t yield an inch. The jagged spikes were no feature of styling but instead almost part of his skull; a jagged tear where some protuberance had been torn away—
“Spill it,” Lucian grunted. “I’ve had enough of this macabre goop. We got one mission here: get home.”
The man spread his hands in placation. “Like I said, I think a few answers are in order.”
“I don’t need any bloody answers. The time for talk is past.”
“On the contrary, talk is the flavour of the moment!”
Robert seemed to pop some spigot of self-control. “Lucian’s right. We don’t have time for this, Norman.” He nodded to the desk. “This stinks, and I can’t get distracted now. They all need us.”
Norman cut Richard off before he could join in. “ Just … wait.”
“Norm—” Lucian hissed.
“I said, wait.” Staring down Lucian was like playing chicken with a charging horse, but Norman refused to give in.
The silverback’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and sat back.
“Your name was…,” Norman said, rounding on the desk.
The stranger tipped his head, acquiescing. “Fol, of Highcourt.”
Norman made to introduce them in turn, but Fol waved a dismissive hand. “Not necessary.” A smile crept into the corners of his mouth. “I know.”
Of course you do. You’ve been watching me for a while, haven’t you? Maybe you’ve been watching us all.
“Fine, Mr Fol. I’m going to make this really clear. Whatever’s going on, whatever you’ve got planned, forget it. We’re not interested. Billy says you know a way to get us home. I’m going to take a chance, because I can’t see any other way. But if this is some kind of trick, I promise on behalf of every man, woman, and child still free in this world”—their eyes locked in sizzling stalemate—“I’ll kill you.”
Fol’s light and easy smile drooped into a stony glare with jarring rapidity. “Good,” he said. “I hope you mean that.”
Norman blinked despite himself. “Why?”
“Because you people are among but a handful who can stop what’s coming.”
“That’s why we’re trying to get home,” Richard said. “If the Alliance falls, everything of the Old World
Sarah looked again more carefully, taking in the slow plodding pace of those in the fields, strung out in a long ant trail, wandering, uncoordinated. She hadn’t seen them because they moved so slowly, and they were so scattered. Scattered but plentiful: dozens, maybe hundreds. There was nothing hostile about them, nothing predatory.
Instead, their approach spoke of the dull death march of cats who crawl to a place of comfort before they lie down to die.
They were heading for Alexander’s house.
IV
“Are you sure about him?” Norman muttered to Billy as they sat before the desk.
He kept his gaze fixed on the pale-faced man, sensing the others keeping their hands on the butts of their pistols. One false move, and they’d blow him away.
That would be bad. Suspect or not, Norman knew the man was important—probably their only chance of getting back home in time.
“No,” Billy said, not without a hint of venom, “but he’s not one of them.”
“Them?”
“The Bad Men. He’s on our side.”
What side would that be?
“Uh huh.” He paused, no more comforted, hovering an inch above his seat. He flinched when Billy’s fingers alighted on his hand. “Trust me,” she whispered.
Norman blinked. He didn’t know this girl, had met her perhaps three hours before.
I do know her. I’ve seen her. And through her, I’ve seen other things.
He suppressed a vague shudder and turned his eyes once more on the pale man. “Fine, we’re sitting,” he said.
The man, himself seated behind the desk, kicked his heels up onto the mahogany top. Mercurial, hard to read, his features shifted ceaselessly between extremes of sorrow and mischievous delight. He ran a hand through his hair, which didn’t yield an inch. The jagged spikes were no feature of styling but instead almost part of his skull; a jagged tear where some protuberance had been torn away—
“Spill it,” Lucian grunted. “I’ve had enough of this macabre goop. We got one mission here: get home.”
The man spread his hands in placation. “Like I said, I think a few answers are in order.”
“I don’t need any bloody answers. The time for talk is past.”
“On the contrary, talk is the flavour of the moment!”
Robert seemed to pop some spigot of self-control. “Lucian’s right. We don’t have time for this, Norman.” He nodded to the desk. “This stinks, and I can’t get distracted now. They all need us.”
Norman cut Richard off before he could join in. “ Just … wait.”
“Norm—” Lucian hissed.
“I said, wait.” Staring down Lucian was like playing chicken with a charging horse, but Norman refused to give in.
The silverback’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and sat back.
“Your name was…,” Norman said, rounding on the desk.
The stranger tipped his head, acquiescing. “Fol, of Highcourt.”
Norman made to introduce them in turn, but Fol waved a dismissive hand. “Not necessary.” A smile crept into the corners of his mouth. “I know.”
Of course you do. You’ve been watching me for a while, haven’t you? Maybe you’ve been watching us all.
“Fine, Mr Fol. I’m going to make this really clear. Whatever’s going on, whatever you’ve got planned, forget it. We’re not interested. Billy says you know a way to get us home. I’m going to take a chance, because I can’t see any other way. But if this is some kind of trick, I promise on behalf of every man, woman, and child still free in this world”—their eyes locked in sizzling stalemate—“I’ll kill you.”
Fol’s light and easy smile drooped into a stony glare with jarring rapidity. “Good,” he said. “I hope you mean that.”
Norman blinked despite himself. “Why?”
“Because you people are among but a handful who can stop what’s coming.”
“That’s why we’re trying to get home,” Richard said. “If the Alliance falls, everything of the Old World
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