"You noticed all this on one walk through Packweal?" There was wonder or disbelief in his voice, Scriber couldn't tell which.
"Well, um, no. The inspiration wasn't anything so direct. But it stands to reason, don't you think?"
They walked in silence for several minutes. Up here the wind was stronger, and the view more spectacular. Where there wasn't the sea, forest spread endless gray and green. Everything was very peaceful… because this was a game of stealth. Fortunately Scriber had a talent for such games. After all, hadn't it been the very Political Police of the Republic who commissioned him to survey Hidden Island? It had taken him several tendays of patient persuasion, but in the end they had been enthusiastic. Anything you can discover we would be most happy to review. Those were their exact words.
Peregrine waffled around the road, seemingly very taken aback by Scriber's suggestion. Finally he said, "I think there is… something you should know, something that must remain an absolute secret."
"Upon my soul! Peregrine, I do not blab secrets." Scriber was a little hurt — at the lack of trust, and also that the other might have discovered something he had not. The second should not bother him. He had guessed that Peregrine and Woodcarver were into each other. No telling what she might have confided, or what might have leaked across.
"Okay… You've tripped onto something that should not be noised about. You know Vendacious is in charge of Woodcarvers security?"
"Of course." That was implicit in the office of Lord Chamberlain. "And considering the number of outsiders wandering around, I can't say he's doing a very good job."
"In fact, he's doing a marvelously effective job. Vendacious has agents right at the top at Hidden Island — one step removed from Lord Steel himself."
Scriber felt his eyes widening.
"Yes, you understand what that means. Through Vendacious, Woodcarver knows for a certainty everything their high council plans. With clever misinformation, we can lead the Flenserists around like froghens at a thinning. Next to Johanna herself, this may be Woodcarver's greatest advantage."
"I — " I had no idea. "So the incompetent local security is just a cover."
"Not exactly. It's supposed to look solid and intelligent, but with just enough exploitable weakness so the Movement will postpone a frontal attack in favor of espionage." He smiled. "I think Vendacious will be very taken aback to hear your critique."
Scriber gave a weak laugh. He was flattered and boggled at the same time. Vendacious must count as the greatest spymaster of the age — yet he, Scriber Jaqueramaphan, had almost seen through him. Scriber was mostly quiet the rest of the way back to the castle, but his mind was racing. Peregrine was more right than he knew; secrecy was vital. Unnecessary discussion -even between old friends — must be avoided. Yes! He would offer his services to Vendacious. His new role might keep him in the background, but it was where he could make the greatest contribution. And eventually even Johanna would see how helpful he could be.
— =*=
Down the well of the night. Even when Ravna wasn't looking out the windows, that was the image in her mind. Relay was far off the galactic disk. The OOB was descending toward that disk — and ever deeper into slowness.
But they had escaped. The OOB was crippled, but they had left Relay at almost fifty light-years per hour. Each hour they were lower in the Beyond and the computation time for the microjumps increased, and their pseudovelocity declined. Nevertheless, they were making progress. They were deep into the Middle of the Beyond now. And there was no sign of pursuit, thank goodness. Whatever had brought the Blight to Relay, it had not been specific knowledge of the OOB.
Hope. Ravna felt it growing in her. The ship's medical automation claimed that Pham Nuwen could be saved, that there was brain activity. The terrible wounds in his back had been Old One's implants, organic machinery that had made Pham close-linked to Relay's local network — and thence to the Power above. And when that Power died somehow the gear in Pham became a putrescent ruin. So Pham the person should still exist. Pray he still exists. The surgeon thought it would be three days before his back was healed enough to attempt resuscitation.
In the meantime… Ravna was learning more about the apocalypse that had swept over her. Every twenty hours, Greenstalk and Blueshell jigged the ship sideways a few light-years, into some major trunk line of the Known Net to soak up the News. It was a common practice on any voyage of more than a few days; an easy way for merchants and travelers to keep track of events that might affect their success at voyage's end.
According to the News (that is, according to the vast majority of the opinions expressed), the fall of Relay was complete. Oh, Grondr. Oh Egravan and Sarale. Are you dead or owned now?
