“Ah. Beautiful,” IT said, “and the workmanship is superb.”
Elodie admired the Replica anew. The whole sculpture was no more than nine inches long, three or four inches wide, solid gold, curved as Lahnt was curved, spired with Lahnt’s seven mountains in a line. The beauty lay not so much in the gold or even in the jewels that ran along the mountainous spine, but in the detail: the cliffs and crags marked with thin lines of rock fissures, the tiny evergreen forests, the specks of boulders.
“Masteress?” Elodie touched Zertrum on the Replica. “Do you think the real mountain is different now from the way it is here?”
“Mmm. It cannot—”
“Let me see, lamb.” The high brunka leaned in close. “Bees and ants! The Replica is altered. The mouth of the volcano is flatter, and right here there used to be a forest.” She pointed.
“What about the south slope?” Master Tuomo said, coming to stand next to her. “Can you see where Nockess was?”
“I can’t tell, dear.”
“Fascinating,” IT said.
Bees and guests crowded close to see.
IT tapped a claw impatiently on ITs elbow. “Step away, if you please.”
Only the high brunka hesitated.
“If you do not trust me now, Madam, you have learned nothing.”
She backed away.
Flames flickered about ITs snout. IT aimed a jet of white fire at the base of the Replica.
Elodie deduced what IT was about: saving Lahnt forever.
“Is IT . . .” Master Robbie whispered in her ear.
She smiled at him. “I think so.”
After a minute IT turned the pedestal while continuing to flame, until the fire had licked the base of the Replica all around.
Finally IT swallowed ITs flame. “High Brunka Marya, Lahnt no longer needs to hide the Replica, and you can never again be indiscreet about its location. It is now inseparable from its base. Zertrum is safe for perpetuity. You may thank me.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
The morning after His Lordship and Masteress Meenore returned to the Oase, they left again, along with Elodie, Albin, Nesspa (who would protect his master from the Potluck Farm cat), Master Tuomo, Mistress Sirka, and Goodman Dror. Mistress Sirka was going to help her beloved set up as a peddler, and they were to be wed.
The afternoon before they left, Goodman Dror explained his change of heart to High Brunka Marya in the great hall. Elodie hovered nearby to listen, in case she might someday mansion an excitable character who never knew her own mind and was easily influenced.
“I thought you loved being a bee,” the high brunka said. “I’m sorry to lose you.”
“You are?”
Mistress Sirka, standing at his side, prompted, “You didn’t like it that High Brunka Marya could stop you from helping farmers. Bees have to listen to brunkas.”
“That’s right. Mistress Sirka says a peddler is his own master.”
Elodie hid her smile. The husband of a barber-surgeon who dispensed love potions would not be his own master.
“And you adore me,” she reminded him.
He nodded. “Yes, I do.”
Perhaps it would go well. She adored him.
After this exchange, Master Robbie asked Elodie to help him shovel snow outside. Below the stairs, they began to clear a path from the stable to the cottage.
“Master Tuomo offered to be my guardian. He said a man can’t have too many sons.”
Really!
“But I’m staying at the Oase.”
She was glad. He’d be safe, and he could give his affection freely to the bees he liked; he wouldn’t be obliged to love any particular one.
“Whenever a barber-surgeon comes, I’ll watch him or her. The high brunka says I’ll have tasks, too. It will be like working at an inn, the way I used to help Grandmother.” He plunged on. “We can start an inn together someday if detecting and barbering disappoint us.”
Lambs and calves! What to say? Elodie threw snow to the side to give herself time.
She didn’t know if she’d ever see him again after they left the Oase. She liked him, too, but not enough to become an innkeeper.
What to say? She shoveled harder, her back to him.
She couldn’t answer as herself or she’d stammer in confusion. Mansion a heroine who’d know what to do. Which one?
Penelope! A heroine who excelled at putting suitors off without discouraging them.
She stopped shoveling.
Now his back was to her.
“Master Robbie?”
He turned, his face red. “I didn’t mean— You may not—”
“Hush.” As Penelope, she had dignity and assurance. “Detecting and mansioning will always please me, but someday I may be in need of an original mind. Will you come?”
“Wherever you are, I’ll come, by fast horse or quick cog.”
“Thank you.” Then, imagining Master Robbie as Odysseus, the hero of Penelope’s tale, she leaned toward him and kissed his rosy cheek.