Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [86]
After a long soak, Teg came out dressed in a thick robe, his hair wet and smelling sweet. Rosette was dressed the same and propped up in bed, Drayco at her feet. ‘How are you going with it?’ he asked.
‘It’s hard.’
‘Give us a clue?’
She scooted over, patting the covers. ‘Ten letters. Ends with n. Dromedary thoughts.’ She knited her brow. ‘Who writes this stuff?’
‘A Treeon wordsmith named Julian de Normeny. Timbali-trained.’ He got into bed next to her. ‘It’ll be a challenge.’
‘No kidding. Dromedary?’ Rosette said. The page was backed by a thin book resting on her knees. She hunched over it, her writing lead poised. ‘That’s a type of goat, isn’t it?’
‘Not quite a goat. Dromedaries have different feet—pads not cloven hooves—and they’re huge, taller than horses. They run wild on the Ubi Plains.’
‘With the hump on their backs? Yellow coats?’
‘That’s the one. They chew their cud, though, like goats and cows.’
‘So it’s a ruminant?’ Rosette said, counting the letters on her fingers.
‘Oh, good one. Does it fit?’
She clicked her tongue. ‘Too short.’
‘Rumination!’ Teg snapped his fingers. ‘Thinking things over!’
‘Ten letters. Perfect!’
‘What’s next?’
They worked the puzzle until it was finished, the soft sounds of Drayco’s sleep filling the room. Rosette pulled back the covers and crawled in, scooting towards the wall to leave room for Teg.
‘Come on. Keep me warm. I’m so tired.’
‘I thought you weren’t going to sleep until you were dead.’
‘I changed my mind. I want to sleep now.’
‘And in the morning?’
‘To Corsanon, by coach please. I’m tired of walking too.’
Teg settled in beside her and she sighed.
Is the listener still with us? Rosette asked.
I can’t feel her if she is.
Me neither. She yawned.
I think the crossword put her to sleep.
‘I think so too.’
‘Rosette, what would happen to Gaela and Earth if there were no Corsanon wars?’ He whispered the words in her ear, her long hair tickling his nose.
‘We would never meet, for one.’
‘And the spell?’
‘It would still be in the bottom of the gorge.’ She spun around, her nose bumping his. ‘Teg, that might be it.’
‘You think Makee’s going to go looking for the spell?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘But she can’t get to it. It’s buried under fathoms of water.’
‘Unless she plans on changing the course of the rivers.’ She sat up. ‘Or she’s worked out how to shift into a water serpent.’
‘Tricky, in any case. What’s our plan?’
Rosette slid back under the covers. ‘Same, Teg. We search for Jarrod. But we also keep our eye on the temple politics, and we keep an eye out for La Makee.’ She rolled back to the wall. ‘Let’s have breakfast early, in the main hall.’
‘More reconnaissance?’
‘Exactly. We’ll add it all up on the way to the city.’
He lay next to her; the rhythm of her breath was soothing until she suddenly gasped.
‘Quick, Teg! Feel this.’
Before he could respond, she planted his hand on her belly. He felt the movement, like a puppy wriggling under a blanket. He smiled, holding her until she fell asleep.
Xane led Grace in a smart trot, his legs working hard to keep abreast of the mare as he circled the parade ground. She was a tall horse, bred from a particularly spirited line of Desertwinds—the breed most favoured for the arid lands around Corsanon. If it weren’t for the five rivers that overflowed from the Dumar Gorge each spring, no crops would grow and no city would have sprouted either. But even with the rich water source, a half-hour’s ride in any direction brought endless sand dunes, dry prairie and rocky gullies lined with prickly pear cactus and rolling tumbleweed. The Desertwinds were champion steeds for such terrain, long on endurance and elegant as well. Grace’s hooves clicked over the hard-packed clay, her black mane and tail floating on the breeze. She was showing off today, trotting with exaggerated steps, her neck arched and nostrils flaring. Xane was pleased. She made him look good.
‘Tack her up, lad. I want to see her at the gallop,’ Willem said.
He was hoping for that. ‘Aye, sir.’
He eased her down to a walk, puffing as