The Seeker - Isobelle Carmody [118]
She nodded, still wary.
“Where is he?” I asked, for surely I would have seen him if he were in the camp.
“Druid sent him to Sutrium/lowlands. Druidbusiness.”
I noticed the dark-haired girl watching us curiously. We had been silent too long. In another moment, she would begin to wonder who I was and why she had not recognized me. I was putting Gilaine in danger and said as much to her in a low voice.
Rising, I sent a final, vital question. “Where is the blocking machine?”
She frowned. “Machine?”
“The block on our minds. Surely you can feel it?”
“Feel what?” Gilaine sent.
Confused, I sent a brief impression of the block.
“Oh, that,” her mind sent, amused. “No machine. Lidgebaby.” She pointed to a cot near one of the walls. “Lidgebabymind.”
My mouth fell open. The incredible numbing effect blanketing the camp that had resisted all my strength was the uncontrollable mental static of a Misfit baby!
11
SOMETHING WOKE ME.
It was a dark night, with no moon showing beyond the window glass. Rain was falling softly on the roof of the washhouse and its adjoining sleeping chambers.
Then I heard a voice, calling softly. “Elspeth?”
I sat bolt upright in bed, afraid to answer in case it was a trap. Trying to think how a real gypsy would react, I climbed out of bed and went across to the window.
“Who’s out there?” My voice came out low and anxious, not quite a whisper.
“Shh!” the voice hissed urgently.
Apprehension prickled along my spine. “What do want? Who are you?”
There was a pause, as if the caller was wary, too.
“I come from a friend,” the voice whispered at last, reluctantly.
I frowned. “I have no friends here.”
Again there was a pause. “Gilaine,” the voice grated, with a hint of irritation.
I bit my lip and peered into the rain-streaked night, wishing there was a moon. Whoever was out there had the perfect cover. I could see nothing.
“I have a key to unlock your door,” the voice said.
I made up my mind. If it was a trap, I would blame gypsy curiosity.
A moment later, there was a faint click, and the door opened to reveal a man wearing a dark hooded cloak pulled low across his face. Pulling my own cape hastily over my nightdress, I padded out barefoot, closing the door behind me.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“My name is Saul. And you don’t need to know any more than that,” he added brusquely.
We hurried along, keeping close to the walls, cloaks flapping in gusts of wind that blew along the dark, empty streets. Coming to a cobbled square, Saul stopped, intently scanning the square and the streets leading into it. Trees growing up through the cobbles flung bare branches about, sighing mournfully. After a long moment, he flicked his hand curtly and strode directly across the square.
On the other side, I stopped. “Wait a minute. This isn’t the way to Gilaine’s house.”
“It is the way to mine,” Saul answered.
His house proved to be as small as Gilaine’s but looked dark and deserted. He opened the door, and light spilled out onto the wet ground. Dark heavy curtains had hidden the light from prying eyes. Reassured, I followed him inside.
Removing his cloak, Saul shook it and hung it on a peg in the wall. Studying him covertly in the light, I decided he was handsome in a cold sort of way. He was tall but too thin, and his skin was pale. His hands were as long and slender as a woman’s, his facial features sharply defined beneath a fringe of straight light brown hair. He looked at me fleetingly with eyes the color of mud-stained ice. I smiled tentatively, but he did not respond. I pretended to stumble as I followed him along the hallway, clutching at his arm to steady myself.
I had a brief impression of an intelligence bordering on brilliance, resting on a frighteningly unstable personality.
“Get out!” commanded an icy mental voice. He pushed me away with a look of revulsion.
I followed him wordlessly into the kitchen, knowing I had seen such stress before in people unable to tolerate the realization that they were Misfits. I guessed Saul had been