Master Uwald patted his lips with the tablecloth, leaving a lip-shaped, beet-colored stain. “How clever, to turn Mistress Elodie’s accusation away from you.”
Elodie nodded slowly, remembering ITs big head. “I will continue. Like Mistress Sirka and Goodman Dror, Goodman Albin came to the Oase with no knowledge of the whereabouts—”
“Uwald . . .” Master Tuomo’s voice was quieter and more controlled than usual. He half stood to reach across the table and tap Master Uwald’s left hand, which was on his bowl. “Did you lose Nockess in a wager?”
Master Uwald put down his spoon with care. “Certainly not.” But he didn’t meet Master Tuomo’s eyes either.
“Masteress,” Master Robbie said, “I’d like to deduce.”
“Proceed.” Would he help his guardian who loved him? Or would he prove what Elodie now felt certain to be true, that Master Uwald was one of the thieves?
“Yes, son?”
“Master Uwald told me he’d never lost a bet since Grandmother refused him. ‘Lucky in gaming, unlucky not to have her,’ he said. Another time, he said he had her now in me. I deduce he isn’t lucky at gaming any—”
Master Uwald talked over Master Robbie. “I won every wager against your masteress, Mistress Elodie, didn’t I?”
“My sons!” Master Tuomo reached across the table and pulled Master Uwald up by his shoulders. “If you killed them—”
“Tuomo!” Master Uwald cried.
Deeter-bee and another bee pulled Master Tuomo back, although he struggled against them.
Master Uwald whispered, “Your sons are fine.”
“Say again?”
Master Uwald sat slowly with both hands on the table to lower himself. “I sent them to Ilse’s wedding and told them not to tell you. I would never hurt your sons. Robbie, I’m not so bad as that.”
It was an admission. Master Uwald was the thief.
He went on, “I tried to give the servants and herders a holiday, too, but you—”
“When did you lose Nockess? Where?”
“The night after the message came that Lilli died. I rode out to clear my mind and met travelers on the—”
“I gave my life to your land.” Master Tuomo had switched from one grievance to another.
Who was Master Uwald’s accomplice?
And where was the Replica?
High Brunka Marya groaned. In a weak voice she said, “Johan? Did you hit me?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Masteress Meenore landed in a barren field about a quarter mile above a chasm. Plumes of smoke rose from fires that dotted the slopes.
IT surveyed ITs near surroundings. In this field, the snow remained in patches, but most had melted, leaving a meadow where only stones grew.
Earlier, IT had flown up the mountain almost to the terrifying peak, which belched flames but little molten rock—so far. From the heights, IT had descended gradually, to and fro, back and forth. Often, no matter how low IT glided, enough smoke smothered the ground to conceal a mob of ogres. IT had ignored the human cries that assailed ITs ears. If IT stopped for everyone in need, IT would never save His Lordship.
Count Jonty Um wouldn’t be looking for anyone or calling out. Perhaps IT could call him. IT trumpeted,
“There was a dragon called Bertram
who flew a long, long way to Zertrum
then tumbled in a deep abyss
and landed with a hoot and a hiss,
that foolish, silly, idiot, heedless, nincompoop dragon called Bertram!”
IT hardly heard ITself over the fire crackle and the crash of tumbling rocks, but, unable to devise a better plan, IT sang again, knowing, as it bellowed and bellowed, that nincompoop Bertram was really Meenore.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Johan-bee rocked rapidly heel-to-toe and stared fixedly straight ahead. “Yes, I hit you. I didn’t mean to.”
Master Uwald held out his arms. “Son . . .”
Master Robbie shook his head violently.
Mistress Sirka helped High Brunka Marya stand up.
“Slowly, please, dear.” She leaned against the barber-surgeon. “I’m dizzy.” Small rainbows flowed from her fingers. She shook her hands and the rainbows subsided.
Ludda-bee jumped off the high brunka’s stool. “Here.” She began to ladle everything into a bowl.
Master Uwald crooned softly in a longing tone, “Son . . . Son . . . . Son . . .”
Master Robbie looked just as he had when Elodie first saw him: pink-tipped nose, red-rimmed eyes, hands on his mourning beads.
“Keep the stool, Ludda,” High Brunka Marya said. “I’ll just fall off. The bench will be better. And I can’t eat yet.”
Everyone shifted, and Mistress Sirka eased the high brunka onto the bench next to Goodman Dror, at the end farthest from the door and Johan-bee, who remained at his post. High Brunka Marya seemed to have forgotten about sealing the door with her rainbow.
Mistress Sirka sat at the very end, so that the high brunka was wedged between her and Goodman Dror. The barber-surgeon smiled triumphantly around the table. “I healed a brunka!”
“Johan,” High Brunka Marya said, “I am disappointed in you. You behaved like an unruly ram, no matter how provoked you were. And now, why the longbow and sword?”