Summary : The merry band heads off to Wollock in search of their quarry. Steven learns some things he never knew about his loved ones.

THREE TEAMS of sturdy horses were picketed nearby, and they all helped to harness them to the wagons.

"I'll put the fire out," V said and fetched two pails of water from a small creek that trickled nearby. The fire hissed when it met the water, and great clouds of steam boiled up toward the low-hanging tree limbs.

"We'll lead the horses to the edge of the woods," Wolf began. "I'd rather not saddle up now and catch my teeth on a branch."

The horses seemed almost eager to start and moved without needing prodding along a narrow track through the dark forest. They stopped at the edge of the open fields, and Wolf looked about carefully to check if anyone was in sight.

"The coast seems clear," he said. "Let's get moving."

"Hey," Amethyst called out. "Good friend, smith."

"It's Bismuth."

"Right," said Amy. "Come ride with me. I'll bet a conversation between honest men is much preferable to a night spent enduring the insults of an over-clever Q'zarnian."

Amethyst finished that sentence blowing a raspberry at V.

If V noticed the gesture, she seemed not to care.

"As it please you, friend Amethyst," Bismuth politely replied.

"Please, just call me Amy," said Amy with a smile.

"I'll lead," V spoke suddenly as she went over to the front. "I'm familiar with the back roads and lanes in this part of the country. I'll put us on the high road beyond Upper Geralt before noon. Bismuth and Amethyst can bring up the rear. I'm sure between them they can discourage anyone who might feel like tailing us."

"All right," Wolf agreed.

He clambered up onto the seat of the middle wagon, reaching down his hand to assist Aunt Pearl's ascent.

Steven quickly climbed up onto the wagon bed behind them both, nervous that someone might suggest that he ride alongside V. It was all very well for Mister Wolf to say that the two they had just met were friends, but the fright he had just suffered in the wood was far too fresh in his mind to make him anywhere close to comfortable with them.

The sacks of musty-smelling onions were lumpy, but Steven soon managed to push and shove a kind of half-reclining seat for himself among them just behind Aunt Pearl and Mister Wolf. He was sheltered from the wind, Aunt Pearl was close, and his cloak, spread over him, kept him warm. He was altogether comfortable, despite the night's events and he soon drifted into a half-drowse. The dry voice in his mind suggested briefly that he hadn't handled the situation back in the woods very well, but soon it too fell silent, and Steven slept.

He wasn't sure how many hours had passed when next he woke, but he was glad that his feet, now sore from the events of the night before, did not have to be called upon to do any further walking that day. Stretching, he readjusted himself upon the onion sacks to try to find a more comfortable position to doze, though between the bumping of the rickety wagon along the cobblestones and the chatter of people outside, it soon became clear that sleep wasn't going to be an option.

"What if he hasn't passed through Wollock?" Aunt Pearl asked Wolf in a low tone.

It occurred to Steven that in all that excitement, he never actually found out what exactly it was they were seeking. So he kept his eyes closed under the pretense of sleep and listened.

"Don't start with 'what ifs'," said Wolf irritably. "If we sit around saying 'what if', we'll never accomplish anything."

"I was only asking," Aunt Pearl replied sourly.

"If he hasn't gone through Wollock, we'll turn south- to Mavros. He may have joined a caravan there to take the Great North Road to Wal'kofte."

"And if he hasn't gone to Mavros?"

"Then we go to Canaar."

"And then?"

"We'll see when we get to Canaar." His tone was final, as if he didn't want to discuss the matter further.

Aunt Pearl drew in a breath as though she wanted to deliver some final retort, but apparently decided against it and settled back on the wagon seat.

To the east ahead of them, the faint light of dawn touched the hovering clouds that crested over the mountain peaks, and they moved on through the tattered, windswept end of the long night in search for something which, though he could not even identify it, was so important that Steven's entire life had been uprooted in a single day.

It took them four days to reach Wollock at their pace, a time for which Steven's feet were very grateful. The first day went quite well, since, though it was cloudy and the wind kept blowing, the air was dry and the roads were good. They passed quiet farmsteads and an occasional farmer bent to his labour in the middle of a field. Inevitably, each man stopped his work to watch them pass. Some waved, but some did not.

And then there were villages, clusters of tall houses nestled in valleys. As they passed, children came out and ran after the wagons, shouting and tumbling over themselves with excitement. The villagers watched, in idle curiosity, until they realised that the wagons were not going to stop, and then they sniffed and went about their business.

As the afternoon of that first day lowered toward evening, V led them into a grove of trees at the roadside, and they made preparations for the night. They ate the last of the ham and cheese Wolf had filched from Alger's pantry and then spread their blankets on the ground beneath the wagons. The ground was hard and cold, but the sense of being on some grand adventure tided Steven through the discomfort of it all.

The next morning, however, it began to rain. It started out fine and misty, the kind Steven would run about in delight as a child, but as the morning wore on, it settled into a steady drizzle. It didn't really bother Steven, except for the fact that the damp weather accentuated the musty smell of the onion sacks to unbearable heights. He huddled miserably between them, cloak pulled tight around him.

This adventure was rapidly losing it's allure.

The road became muddied and slick, and the horses struggled for every inch they gained up each hill and had to be rested often. On the first day, they had covered the better part of nine leagues. After the rain however, they were lucky to make five.

To the ire of all involved, Aunt Pearl's demeanour soured with the weather, and she became more waspish and short-tempered as time wore on.

"This is idiocy." she snapped at Wolf about noon on the third day.

"Everything is idiocy if you choose to look at it in the proper light," he replied wistfully, knowing full well the reaction it would elicit.

"Why wagoneers?" she demanded. "There are faster ways to travel- a wealthy family in a proper carriage, for instance, or Imperial messengers on good horses. Either one would have us in Wollock by now."

"And left a trail in the memories of all these simple people we've passed so wide, even a Drakan could follow it," Wolf explained patiently. "By now, Myr would have long since reported our departure to his employers. Every Isyaki in Delmarvia will be looking for us by now."

"Why are we hiding from the Isyaki, Mister Wolf?" Steven asked suddenly, hesitant to interrupt, but impelled by curiosity to try to penetrate the mystery behind their flight. "Aren't they just merchants, like the Shwareans and the Q'zarnians?"

"The Isyaki have no real interest in trading, Steven," Wolf explained. "Indratu are merchants, but the Isyaki are warriors. The Isyaki pose as merchants for the same reason we're posing as wagoneers- so that they can move about more or less undetected. If you simply assumed that all Isyaki are spies, you wouldn't be too far from the truth."

"Haven't you anything better to do than ask all these questions?" Aunt Pearl asked petulantly.

"Not really," Steven replied without thinking, then realising instantly afterward the mistake he'd made.

"Good," she said. "In the back of Amethyst's wagon you'll find a stack of dirty dishes from this morning's meal. You'll also find a bucket. Fetch the bucket, draw some water from the stream up ahead, then go back to Amethyst's wagon to wash the dishes."

"In this weather?" Steven objected.

"Now, Steven." she asserted firmly.

Grumbling, he climbed down off the slowly moving wagon.

In the late afternoon of the fourth day they came over a high hilltop and saw below the city of Wollock, and beyond it, a laden grey sea. Steven caught his breath. To his eyes the city seemed massive. It's walls were thick and high, and there were more buildings within those walls than he had ever seen in his entire life.

But it was to the sea that his eyes were drawn. There was a sharp tang to the air. Faint hints of that smell had been coming to him on the wind for the past league or so, but now, inhaling deeply, he breathed in the perfume of the salty sea air for the first time in his life. His spirit soared.

"Finally," Aunt Pearl said.

V had stopped leading the wagon and came walking back. Her hood was pulled back slightly, and the rain ran down in rivulets down her nose to drip from its pointed tip.

"Do we stop here or go on down to the city?" she asked.

"We go to the city," Aunt Pearl said immediately. "Sleeping in a wagon is sooooo disgusting. And I'm not going to sleep for another second in one when there are perfectly nice inns nearby."

"Honest wagoneers would seek out an inn," Wolf concurred. "and a warm taproom."

"Yes, my thoughts exactly." Aunt Pearl agreed.

"We have to try to look the part." Wolf shrugged.

And down they went, the horses' hooves slipping and sliding as they braced against the weight of the wagons.

At the city gate, two watchmen in stained tunics and donning rust-speckled helmets came out of the tiny watch-house just inside the gate.

"What's your business here in-" one of them began to ask V as he walked up to her.

V, her face upturned and her eyes wide, pouted her lips and pressed her arms together. This had the rather noticeable effect of compressing her frame and thrusting her chest forward. Up until that point, Steven had maintained a strict avoidance policy when it came to V, but it was at this time that Steven's interest in V was particularly piqued. So too, apparently, was the guard's.

"Oh my good ser, please permit my passage here," she wheedled. "I am Helena Belladonna of Goku, a poor Q'zarnian merchant, hoping to do business in your wonderful city."

The man, clearly focused on something else, had trouble coordinating his tongue with his thoughts.

"We, uh, need to see... your uh.. trunk. I mean the wagons! Trunk of your wagons, what's... in uh.. them." he practically drooled.

V giggled in response, a pleasant, playful noise, her body shuddering slightly with the sound.

"Of course, dear ser. I implore you to be quick though," she bent slightly toward him as he went, "I'd like to get out of this rain soon."

Steven noticed how the water caught on the front of her tunic, how each droplet it absorbed seemed to reveal more of the figure it hid. Her cloak drawn behind her, she let the rain fall freely onto her, squinting upward at the clouds absently, seemingly oblivious to the effect her damp clothing had on the two watchmen athwart her. He turned away, redfaced, and red-blooded.

He doubted they'd even made a thorough search as the man approached V again just as quickly as he'd left her.

He observed some sort of exchange of coins occur between them, and some parting remarks.

"Such a paltry fee!" gasped V in mock incredulity. "Are you sure this is allowed?" she asked shyly, biting her lip and looking to the other guardsman as though fearing reprisal.

"It's alright, fair maiden, I'm sure of it." the bumbling watchman reassured her. "This'll be our little secret." He winked.

V made to giggle again, returning the gesture with a seductive glint in her eye.

With that, she sashayed away, her flank bouncing with each sultry step. The wagons were moving again.

"Child's play," she remarked as she saddled up back alongside Amethyst.

"Maybe you should do it for a living then," Amethyst remarked.

"Tried. Didn't take." V replied.

Amethyst stared at her for a long while.

"Pfffft-HAHAHAHAH," she laughed boisterously. "Did you actually think-?"

"I mean, I don't know!" Amethyst replied, her purple face stained scarlet. "Girl of your talents..." she murmured under her breath.

"Oh you great big lug," V chided, punching Amethyst playfully in the side. "You know I'm not into that." she said in a half-smile.

Amethyst, her face still beet red, declined to comment further.

From the hilltop, Wollock looked quite splendid, but Steven found it much less so as they clattered through the wet streets. The buildings all seemed the same with a kind of self-important aloofness about them, and the streets were littered and dirty. The salt tang of the sea which Steven had grown so fond of was tainted by the smell of dead fish, and the faces of the people passing them by was grim and unfriendly. Steven's first excitement began to fade.

"Why are all the people here so unhappy?" he asked Mister Wolf.

"They have a stern and demanding God." Wolf replied.

"Which God is that?" Steven asked.

"Money," Wolf said. "Money is a worse God than Black Diamond herself."

"Don't fill the boy's head with nonsense," Aunt Pearl said. "The people aren't really unhappy Steven, they're just all in a hurry. They have important affairs to attend to and they're afraid they'll all be late, that's all."

"I don't think I'd like to live here," Steven concluded. "It seems like a bleak and unfriendly kind of place." He sighed. "Sometimes I wish we were all back at Alger's Farm."

"There are worse places than Alger's, " Wolf agreed.

The inn V chose for them was near the docks, and Steven wondered if it was because she knew he liked the smell of the sea. The inn was a stout, sturdy thing, with stables attached and storage sheds for their wagons. Like most inns, the main floor was given over to the kitchen and the large common room with its rows of tables and large fireplaces. The upper floors had sleeping quarters for the guests.

"It's a serviceable spot," V announced as she came back out the wagons after speaking at some length with the innkeeper. "The kitchen seems clean, and I saw no bugs when I inspected our beds."

"I will be the judge of that," said Aunt Pearl as she climbed down from the wagons.

"As you wish, great lady." said V with a polite bow.

Aunt Pearl's inspection took far longer than V's, and when she returned it was nearly dark in the courtyard.

"Adequate," she sniffed, "but only barely."

"It's not as if we're planning to settle in for the winter, Pearl," Wolf said. "At most we'll only be here for a few days."

She ignored that.

"I've ordered hot water to be sent up to our chambers." she announced. "I'll take the boy up and wash him while you and the others see to the wagons and horses. Come along now, Steven." And she turned and went back into the inn.

Steven wished fervently that everyone would stop referring to him as the boy. He did, after all, he reflected, have a name, and it was not all that difficult to remember. He was gloomily convinced that even if he lived to have a long grey beard, they would still speak of him as the boy.

After the horses and wagons had been attended to and they had all washed up, they went down again to the common room and dined. The meal certainly didn't match Aunt Pearl's, but it was definitely a step up from onion stew. Steven absolutely abhorred onions at this point, and was quite certain he'd never be able to look at one again for the rest of his life.

After they had eaten, the grown-ups loitered over their ale pots, and Aunt Pearl's face crinkled in disapproval.

"Steven and I are going up to bed now," she said to them. "Try not to fall down too many times on your way up."

Wolf, Amethyst and V all laughed at that, but Bismuth, Steven thought, seemed a tad ashamed.

The next day, Mister Wolf and V left the inn early and were gone all day. Steven had positioned himself in a strategic spot in hopes he might be noticed and asked to go along; but alas, he was not; so when Bismuth went down to look after the horses, he accompanied him instead.

"Bismuth," he said after they had fed and watered the animals and the smith was examining their hooves for cuts or stone bruises, "does all this seem strange to you?"

Bismuth carefully lowered the leg of the patient horse he was inspecting. "All what, Steven?" he asked, his plain face sober.

"Everything," Steven said rather vaguely. "This journey, Amethyst and V, Mister Wolf and Aunt Pearl- all of it. They all talk sometimes when they don't think I can hear them. This all seems terribly important, but I can't tell if we're running away from someone or towards them."

"It's all confusing to me as well, Steven," Bismuth admitted. "Many things aren't what they seem-not what they seem at all."

"Does Aunt Pearl seem different to you?" Steven asked. "What I mean is, they all treat her as if she were a noblewoman or something, and she acts differently too, now that we're not on Alger's Farm."

"Mistress Pearl is a great lady," Bismuth stated. "I've always known that." His voice had that same respectful tone when he spoke of her, and Steven instinctively knew that it was useless to try to coax any admission about her unusual behaviour out of him.

"What about Mister Wolf?" Steven asked, switching tracks. "I always thought he was just some old storyteller."

"He doesn't seem like an ordinary vagabond," Bismuth admitted. "I think we've fallen in with some very important people, Steven, on important business. It's probably better that simple folk like us not ask too many questions, but rather to keep our eyes and ears open."

"Will you be going back to Alger's Farm when this is all over?" Steven inquired, choosing his words carefully.

Bismuth considered that, his gaze distant over the rain-swept courtyard of the inn. "No," he said finally in a soft voice. "I'll follow as long as Mistress Pearl allows me to."

On an impulse, Steven reached out and patted the gentle smith's shoulder. "Everything's going to turn out alright, Bismuth."

Bismuth sighed. "Let's hope so," he said and turned his attention back to the horses.

"Bismuth," Steven asked, "did you know my parents?"

"No," Bismuth said. "The first time I saw you, you were a baby in Mistress Pearl's arms."

"What was she like then?"

"She seemed angry." Bismuth began. "Angry and bitter and fierce. I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite so angry as the day I saw her with you. She talked with Alger for a while and then went to work in the kitchen- you know Alger. He never turned away anyone in his whole life. At first she was just a helper, but that didn't last too long. Our old cook was getting fat and lazy, and eventually she went off to live with her youngest daughter. After that, Mistress Pearl ran the kitchen."

"She was a lot younger then, wasn't she?" Steven pressed.

"Nope," Bismuth said thoughtfully. "Mistress Pearl never changes. She looks exactly the same now as she did back then."

"I'm sure it only seems that way," Steven said. "Everybody gets older."

Bismuth chuckled. "Not Mistress Pearl."