actual subject, as both men knew, was the fact that General Hart had deliberately tried to screw up the Under-Secretary’s project and had been caught at it. Both Hart and Bascombe knew, however, that Bascombe could not come out and say that openly—if the mission failed he would take at least part of the blame, and trying to shift it to Hart would just make him look worse.
He could, however, take Hart down with him, in a variety of ways, since Hart’s sabotage had shown up so quickly. If the party had been wiped out by Shadow’s forces, both men would have been able to get out cleanly—under-estimating the enemy was a mistake, but an understandable and forgivable one, relatively minor, nothing at all like deliberately sending people to be killed.
So each man was now looking for a way out that would leave him blameless. Branding Raven as a dangerous lunatic or treacherous foreign outlaw was one possibility—in that case, Lieutenant Dibbs should be put in command and Raven arrested or killed. Denouncing Carson posthumously as a renegade was also a possibility, but if he had surviving family or friends that might be risky. And in either case, what should the survivors do next? Should they continue their mission and attempt to penetrate Shadow’s stronghold, or should they abandon the enterprise, take shelter, and wait for rescue?
That latter possibility assumed that rescue was possible. General Hart was not at all clear on how travel between universes worked; the Under-Secretary had a better grasp of the subject, but did not care to enlighten a man who was, when all was said and done, his political adversary. And even knowing what he did, the Under-Secretary was thinking in terms of reopening the space warp and lowering a line; the possibility of using wizards’ magic had not yet occurred to him.
“Whether to continue the mission,” Prossie said.
* * * *
Amy was seated cross-legged on dry, dead leaves, forearms resting on her knees, watching as Raven and the Imperials argued, and feeling sweat moisten the back of her T-shirt; it wasn’t really very hot, and she hadn’t been doing anything very active, but the thicker air seemed to make perspiration come more easily. She felt a vague discomfort in the general vicinity of her stomach, as well, and wasn’t sure whether or not that could be attributed to the climate and atmosphere.
Beside her stood Elani; Amy was staying close to the wizard, who was, after all, her ticket home to Earth, to peace and sanity and her own home.
As far as Amy was concerned, it made no difference at all who was in charge of the group, so long as Raven agreed to let Elani send the Earthpeople home.
Still, she could see that it mattered very much indeed to some people—with a shudder, she stole a glance at Colonel Carson’s body, lying undisturbed on its bed of fallen leaves.
More death. That was not anything she wanted to see. She had managed to live forty years on Earth without seeing more than half a dozen corpses, and those were mostly at funerals; she had never seen anyone die until she had stupidly agreed to step through Pel’s basement wall and take a quick look at Raven’s world.
But then there had been Cartwright, killed by Shadow’s monsters—though he might have still been alive, Amy told herself, when she escaped through the portal into the Empire. There had been Peabody, killed by the pirates aboard Emerald Princess. And others. She hadn’t seen them all die, but Pel’s wife Nancy was dead, and their daughter Rachel, and Raven’s friend Squire Donald, and Lieutenant Godwin, and the two little people, Grummetty and Alella. People aboard the Princess—she didn’t know all the names. People killed in the fighting when the Empire’s Task Force Umber came to the rescue.
And the two on Zeta Leo III who had held her prisoner, Walter and Beth—they had both been hanged by the Empire. She hadn’t seen that, it had happened after she was aboard Emperor Edward VII on her way to Base One, but it had happened, and the two of them were dead, and it was partly her fault.
It was partly their own damn fault, of course, for keeping slaves, and abusing her, and killing that other woman, whatsername, Sheila. Walter was a murderer, and Beth was his accomplice—but if Amy had kept her mouth shut, probably no one would have known that, and the two of them would still be alive in an Imperial prison camp somewhere.
If anyone asked her now, she wouldn’t testify—she was over the need for vengeance, and had had her fill of death. She looked at Carson’s body and swallowed hard, feeling suddenly queasy.
Elani looked down at her, eyes bright.
“Is aught amiss, lady?” the wizard asked.
“I don’t know,” Amy replied. She felt no need to explain her misgivings. “I just don’t feel very good.”
“Ah, certes, you’d be home, I’ll wager. Well, methinks this parley is near its end, and we’ll soon be sending you hence.” Elani’s motherly smile suddenly dimmed. “Or be it more? Have you the Sight, lady? Is danger at hand?” She raised her head and lifted a hand.
Amy started to protest, then stopped.
If Elani wanted to check for danger, it might not be necessary, but it couldn’t hurt.
* * * *
“An they summon you home,” Raven said, “’twould be simple courtesy that I call for volunteers ’mongst your men.”
“My men are under my orders,” Lieutenant Dibbs insisted loudly.
“Ah, but you’ll see that you might soon be under my orders, an your superiors so state—true?”
“Yes, sir,” Dibbs agreed, “but until I get orders to that effect, I’ll just do as I think best. And if we’re ordered home, we go home. Thorpe, any word yet?”
Prossie shook her head. “They’re still talking,” she said. “I think they’re planning to go on, but they haven’t settled the details.”
“They’ve said naught of who’s to command?” Raven asked.
“No.”
“Have you inquired?”
Prossie hesitated.
“Lord Raven,” she said, “I’ve told Carrie that we need to know who’s in charge, but she can’t just interrupt a general and an undersecretary, she can’t make them listen to her. They’ve got what they consider more important matters to settle first. If it’s any help, the Under-Secretary wants to put you in charge, but General Hart says you should be in an advisory capacity, since you’re not only not in the military, you aren’t even an Imperial subject.”
“Ah…” Raven turned away angrily, spat on the ground, then turned back. “You’ve no doubt of that, lady? That lying scoundrel Hart would have me play the native guide, and no more, and his promises that I’d command are no more than devil’s smoke?”
“I’m afraid so,” Prossie said.
“In my own land, he’d have me a mere servant to this ill-born stripling?” Raven gestured toward Dibbs with the three bandaged fingers of his left hand.
Prossie nodded.
“I’ll not have it,” Raven shouted. “I will not and I shall not!”
“So what are you going to do about it, then?” Dibbs demanded.
The rightful lord of Stormcrack Keep turned his attention from raging at the treetops to defending his right. “Silence, fool,” Raven commanded. “Hast forgotten that thy Under-Secretary would place me above thee? Durst address thus one who shall perhaps shortly hold thee in thrall?”
“I’m a freeborn Imperial citizen, sir, and I’ll speak as I please,” Dibbs retorted.
Raven grabbed at his swordless belt in frustration, and cast a glance at Susan. The revolver was no longer aimed directly at Valadrakul’s head, but it was still held securely in the lawyer’s hands.
“’Tis all…” he began.
“Raven!” Elani cried, interrupting him. “Shadow!”
Pel,