“High Brunka,” Master Tuomo said, “what do you think of Sirka as the thief?”
“Dear Master Tuomo . . .” The high brunka sounded weary. “One or two of you took it, which includes you, Mistress Sirka, sweet. But I haven’t singled you out. However, I’m willing to entertain accusations.”
To Elodie’s surprise, Dror-bee—Goodman Dror now—spoke. “I have one, but he’s just a boy.”
Elodie felt Master Robbie straighten next to her.
Goodman Dror continued. “I doubt he did it. You must know, Marya. You, too, Deeter and Master Uwald.”
Master Uwald snapped, “That has nothing to do with this.”
“What, er, Grand?”
“Nothing. Never mind.”
“What, High Brunka?”
Her face was regretful. “Pup, your grandfather was the original thief.”
Lambs and calves!
“He was?”
Did he really not know? Elodie wondered.
Deeter-bee said, “History rarely circles back so neatly.”
“Why didn’t Grandmother tell me?”
“He’s too young to steal anything.” Ursa-bee glared at Goodman Dror.
“I didn’t say he did it!”
“Of course he didn’t.” Master Uwald stood, then sat. “The subject is closed. Robbie, eat your pottage.”
Master Robbie whispered urgently to Elodie, “I’m not a thief.”
What if he is? she thought.
She could barely credit it, and she wondered if Goodman Dror had told about the grandfather just to make everyone forget Master Tuomo’s accusation.
Still, what if Master Robbie had placed the handkerchief that weeps in the Turtle Room? He might have known about it and stolen it before the high brunka showed it to him and Master Uwald. The Oase’s relics weren’t a secret. Or his accomplice might have taken the handkerchief before they became partners. Master Robbie would be an excellent choice as the one to place it and start it weeping—agile, quick, light on his feet.
But why?
With the money from the Replica, he wouldn’t have to live with Master Uwald.
Ludda-bee said, “Johan, you are an ugly sight, chewing with that tooth medicine bumping up and down in your cheek. You should take it out at mealtimes.”
He did nothing! Elodie thought indignantly.
Johan-bee’s face reddened alarmingly. “No matter what, you make fun of me. A mountain may explode, but you still mock me.” He reached for the wheel of cheese and threw it at Ludda-bee, who raised her arm just in time.
High Brunka Marya cried, “Johan, no one means—”
“Hold your tongue, Marya!”
Elodie gasped.
He continued, “You never helped me.”
“I want you to help yourself.”
“And now I am.” He heaved the tureen of pottage across the table.
Luckily, the pottage had cooled. Elodie’s cloak was spattered. Oatmeal and beans pocked Master Robbie’s face, cap, and shoulders. The tureen itself hit Master Uwald in the shoulder.
Everyone but High Brunka Marya jumped up and backed away. Even Deeter-bee moved swiftly. Johan picked up the long bench, too long for him to control, and swung it wildly. People dived under the table or ducked. Elodie grabbed Master Robbie’s hand as Albin pulled her out of range.
Calmly but loudly, the high brunka said, “Stop this, Jo—”
The bench continued its wild sweep and cracked her on the head. She fell.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Four herders surrounded the trapped man. One tipped a flask into his mouth so he might drink. Masteress Meenore flew lower, and all looked up, their mouths O’s of astonishment. Surprise gave way to speed. Except for the trapped fellow, they fled, although the snow hindered them. They stumbled or fell entirely but were up again instantly, propelled by fear.
IT landed and tried to ignore the growling mountain.
The trapped herder shouted wordlessly, then coughed as ITs scent reached him. He choked out, “Don’t . . . eat . . . me!”
ITs smoke went from blue to red, shame to anger. “That is what you fear at this juncture? You are hoping for one sort of death over another?” IT lumbered to the boulder and tried to lift it, but the boulder—squarish, taller than a man, shot through with orange veins—weighed too much.
“You’re saving me?” The man let out a moan of pain.
Panting, IT puffed out, “First I must slice off slabs to lighten your captor. You will have time to enjoy my perfume.” Enh enh enh.
The task would take an hour or more. ITs tail twitched impatiently.
“I am about to flame at the boulder, not at you.”
Deep in ITs chest, ITs fire bellows expanded and contracted. A thick jet of white shot across a corner of the boulder.
Fire and smoke! This rock was dense. IT swallowed ITs flame to look. The line etched into the stone penetrated only about half a foot.
“We will be together for a while, Goodman . . .”
“Hame.” His voice sounded strained. The pain must have been intense.
“And I am Masteress Meenore.”