Part 33 (1/2)

chapteR 17.

^1 arrod's impersonation was declared an unqualified success, but the cost was higher than he had expected.

His return to his own form left him weak, and all his joints ached. His ride back to the Outpost was slow and painful. He was fortunate in that no bullyboys lurked in his path: he would have been easy pickings. He spent the next two days in bed, and the aches and pains took a good sennight before they entirely disappeared. One thing was obvious to him: good as the disguise was, he could not afford to a.s.sume it too often.

Accordingly, he sent word to Moresby Yarrow to collect and hold the materials that he was acquiring and to a.s.semble the means to transport them beyond the Upper Causeway all at one time- He did not know what he would face when it came to building his monument, but he knew that he could not afford to get there and find that his body could not handle the power needed.

On the appointed day, Jarrod rode into the town in the predawn dark and tethered his horse outside Grey- gor's house. Half an hour later, the architect came down and strapped on a saddlebag. He disappeared into the house again and when he reappeared he was carrying a large, white cat. He spoke soothingly to the horse and then draped the cat carefully across the spot where the neck emerged from the shoulders.

”Now you just stay limp while I get into the saddle,”

177.

he said. ”You'll be quite safe as long as the horse stays still.”

Jarrod-the-cat wasn't convinced- He could smell the horse's nervousness. If the animal turned skittish, he had no way of hanging on except by digging in his claws and that, he knew, was a prescription for disaster. He felt and heard Greygor clamber into place. The horse, mercifully, held its stance. It was a good thing, Jarrod thought, that the yard was only half a mile away.

Greygor's hand stroked his back. ”I'm afraid you'll have to stay where you are,” the architect said. ”There isn't as much room back here as I thought there would be.”

Jarrod braced himself as the uncomfortable and un- dignified ride began. The one good thing was that, with Gregor keeping the reins short there wasn't much like- lihood that the horse would drop its head and dump him onto the cobbled street. He prayed that they would not break into a trot. The swaying of the cobblestones beneath him was bad enough. He shut his eyes and re- signed himself,

It might have been only half a mile, but the trip seemed to take half a lifetime. The yard, when they fi- nally reached it, was a lamplit bustle. It would have been very large to the full-sized Jarrod, but to Jarrod- the-cat it was vast and dangerous. It was filled with stamping draft horses harnessed to long wagons filled with timber. Other wagons were weighed down with sackcloth-covered shapes. Roof slates or bricks, Jarrod surmised as he was lifted off the horse and set down upon the ground.

The view was terrifying. It was one thing looking up at Greygor's furniture, but quite another to face this prospect. The furniture, at least, stayed still. Flaring torches threw unreliable, s.h.i.+fting patches of light. Large men with big, hard boots lumbered around cursing and

178 spitting. Horses moved restlessly, wheels creaked omi- nously. The combined noise was appalling. Orders were shouted, iron-shod hooves rang, bits jingled and, in the distance, there was the hideous barking of a dog. There was only one sensible thing to do. He turned, reared up on his hind legs, and reached for Greygor's knee with his front paws.

”Oh, we want to be carried do we,” the architect said with a grin. ”What a lazy great beast you are.”

Jarrod found the tone of voice offensive. He was not accustomed to being talked to like a recalcitrant child, but he was grateful when the man picked him up and tucked him under his arm.

Greygor led the horse across the yard toward a wagon loaded with kegs. Jarrod, eyesight uncommonly keen, saw that Yarrow was sitting up on the box beside the driver.

”The best of the morning to you, Moresby,” Greygor called out as they got close.

”And to you, friend Chatham, and to Your Excel- lence,” Yarrow replied, and ducked his head to Jarrod with an ironic smirk.

'Take the cat, would you,” Greygor said. ”It's b.l.o.o.d.y heavy.”

Yarrow complied and Jarrod found himself plumped down on the seat,

”What have you got in the back?” Greygor asked, jerking his head in that direction.

”Ale. The men'll get it after they've unloaded the wagons. You'd be surprised how much faster it goes when they know it's waiting for them when they've fin- ished.”

”Well, you won't need me for that,” the architect returned. ”I'll hitch the horse to the back and then I'll go on home. The walk will do me good. Besides, I've 179.

work to do. Seeing all this material gathered together gives me a feeling of urgency.”

”Aye, it does tend to bring an air of reality to all those pieces of paper, doesn't it? Off with you then;

we'll be off in a minute ourselves.”