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problem at a time. Can you work this magic the necromancer proposes?"
"Yes," said Alfred softly, subdued. He sighed. "Yes, I believe I can."
"You can work the magic?" The voice was Balthazar's. "Is that what you are
talking about?"
"Yes," Alfred said, flushing.
Balthazar's black eyes narrowed. "With what or with whom do you commune,
Brother?"
The dog, not liking the man's tone, raised its head and growled.
Alfred smiled, reached out to pat it. "Myself," he said quietly.
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Balthazar insisted on taking all of his people with them.
"We will seize control of the ship, begin to work on it immediately," he told
Alfred. "The strongest among us will stand guard for any attack. Barring
interruptions, we should be able to leave Abarrach in a relatively short
time."
There will be interruptions, Alfred said silently. Lord Xar will not let you
go. And I cannot go. I can't leave Haplo behind. Yet I can't stay. Xar is
hunting me, to lead him to the Seventh Gate. What do I do? What do I do?
"What you must," Haplo answered calmly, quietly.
And it was then Alfred realized Haplo had a plan.
Alfred's heart quivered with hope. "You have an idea . . ."
"I beg your pardon?" Balthazar turned to him. "What were you saying?"
"Shut up, Alfred!" Haplo ordered. "Don't say a word. It's nothing firm yet.
And circumstances may not work out. But, just in case, be ready. Now, go wake
up Marit"
Alfred started to protest, felt the heat of Haplo's irritation wash over
him an uncomfortable and uncanny experience.
"She'll be weak, but you're going to need help and she's the only one who can
provide it."
Alfred nodded, did as he was told. The Sartan were gathering together their
few belongings, preparing to move out. Word had spread among them rapidly: a
ship, escape, hope. They spoke in awed tones of fleeing this dread land, of
finding new lives in beautiful new worlds. It was all Alfred could do to keep
from shrieking in frustration.
He knelt down beside Marit. She slept so peacefully, so deeply, it seemed
criminal to wake her. Looking at her, untroubled as she was by dreams or
memories, he was suddenly and shockingly reminded of another Hugh the
Hand free of the burdens and pain of life, finding a haven and a sanctuary in
death . . . until wrenched back . . .
Alfred's throat constricted. He choked, attempted to clear his throat and at
the strange sound, Marit woke up.
"What? What is it? What's wrong?" Patryns are accustomed to waking instantly,
mindful always even in slumber of the danger that surrounds them in the
Labyrinth. Marit sat up, her hand fumbling for her weapon, almost before
Alfred could comprehend that she was awake and moving.
"It's . . . it's all right." He hastened to reassure her.
She blinked, brushed back her hair. Alfred saw, again, the sigil on her
forehead. His heart sank. He'd forgotten. Xar would know . . . every move . .
. Perhaps he should tell her.
"Don't say a word," Haplo counseled him swiftly. "Yes, Xar knows, through her,
what is happening. But that may work to our advantage. Don't let him know you
know."
"What is it?" Marit demanded. "Why are you staring at me?"
"You . . . look . . . much better," Alfred managed.
"Thanks to you," she said, smiling, relaxing. When she did, he saw that she
was still ill, still weak. She glanced around, was immediately aware of the
sudden activity.
"What's going on?"
"Kleitus is attempting to steal the ship," Alfred explained.
"My ship!" Marit stood up swiftly; too swiftly. She almost fell.
"I'm going to try to stop him," Alfred said, rising awkwardly himself.
"And who's going to stop them?" Marit demanded, with an impatient, sweeping
gesture that encompassed all the Sartan in the cave. "They're packing up!
Moving out! In my ship!"
Alfred didn't know what to say; Haplo gave him no help. Alfred blinked at her
like a baffled owl and stammered something unintelligible.
Marit strapped her sword around her waist. "I understand," she said to him,
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calm, grim. "I forgot. They're your people. Of course you'll be glad to help
them escape."
"Keep quiet . . ." Haplo cautioned.
Alfred clamped his lips shut tightly, to avoid temptation. If he opened his
mouth at all, even to breathe, he was afraid the words would come spewing out.
Not that he could actually tell Marit anything constructive. He didn't know
what Haplo was plotting.
Alfred had the strange impression of Haplo's mind racing down a track, like
the flash rafts of the Kicksey-winsey, the great iron carriages that scuttled
along on iron rails, powered by the lightning of the 'lectric zingers. Alfred
was being carried along with it and he feared he was going to be in for an
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