It was but a short walk from the Tower to Saint Katherine’s Stairs, and from there an equally short journey by wherry to the skrayling camp on the opposite bank. The camp was busier than Mal had seen it for a long time: several small boats were moored on the riverward side of the stockade, and the gates were wide open, albeit still guarded.
“Kuru-an rrish.” He made obeisance in the skrayling fashion, holding his hands palm forwards at his sides and turning his head to present his bare throat.
“Kaal-an rrish, Catlyn-tuur.”
“Adjaan-tuur is here?”
One of the guards inclined his head and waved Mal through the gate. Mal thanked him and made his way through the camp, ignoring the inquisitive and sometimes admiring looks he got from some of the inhabitants. Since meeting Adjaan he had come to understand why human males looked feminine to skrayling eyes, but it was still disconcerting.
The outspeaker herself was not in her cabin today. Eventually Mal found her seated under a beech tree at the other end of the camp, watching a group of skrayling men play a fast-moving ball game that looked like a cross between tennis and football. Adjaan hardly seemed to notice his arrival; her eyes were fixed on the players, a look of fierce concentration on her face. Mal sat down quietly next to her and waited.
After a few more tense passes, one side erupted in cheers, which Mal supposed meant they had won the game. The losers abased themselves and walked away, whilst the winners approached Adjaan. She scanned them all for several moments, and at last pointed to one of them and snapped her fingers.
The young skrayling flushed beneath his tattoos and bared his fangs in a grin. His team mates dispersed, their shoulders drooping in disappointment. Adjaan beckoned her chosen one forward and said something to him in low tones. He nodded and left, with a cocky swagger to his gait that Mal had never seen before in a skrayling. At last Adjaan turned to him.
“Kaal-an rrish, Catlyn-tuur.”
“Kaal-an rrish, Adjaan-tuur.”
“Did you enjoy the game?” She craned her neck, her eyes following the young skrayling as he disappeared between the tents.
“I… Yes, I suppose so. Though I cannot remember the rules.”
Adjaan made a face. “Do not tell my kinfolk, but neither can I. Still, one cannot argue with tradition, eh? Not when the outcome is so pleasing.”
Mal recalled something that Kiiren had once told him, about the skraylings using games and competitions to choose mates. Was that what had just happened here?
“You are well?” Adjaan asked, breaking into his train of thought. “And Erishen and Kiiren-tuur also?”
“Ah, yes, thank you, honoured one,” he said, struggling to bring his thoughts back to the matter in hand. “Or at least, so I believe. I have not heard from Sandy – I mean Erishen – for a few weeks, but my wife sent his greetings in her last letter. And Kit too.” He smiled to himself, remembering the inky scratch vaguely resembling a K at the bottom of the letter, guided by an adult’s hand.
Adjaan nodded. “You are here on dreamwalker business.”
So much for the pleasantries. “Am I so easy to read?”
“Yes.”
There was no polite answer to that. Mal had to remind himself that this was not his old friend, but a stranger who had taken over his role within the clan.
“Very well, then,” he said. “Let us get down to business.”
He told Adjaan about Selby: his capture and interrogation, and the unfortunate removal of his irons for a brief but unknown period.
“Careless,” Adjaan said. “You should have brought him to us for questioning.”
“That would have been… difficult. The Huntsmen would never have willingly handed him over to you.”
Adjaan muttered something under her breath. Mal wasn’t sure the skraylings understood the concept of swearing, but the outspeaker’s words had not sounded polite.
“And now you expect my people to… how do you say it? ‘Clean up after you’?”
“Of course not, honoured one. But I thought your dreamwalkers might have observed something.”
“When did this occur?”
“Yesterday, a little after sunset.”
Adjaan took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Mal waited. And waited. He was tempted to remove his own spirit-guard and try to follow her into the dreamlands, but suspected that would not be considered polite.
Eventually Adjaan’s eyes snapped open again.
“There was something, just the other side of the river.”
Mal’s heart sank. “What kind of ‘something’?”
“Njaaren could not be certain. Our patrols pay little attention to what goes on in the city itself, unless it appears to be a direct threat to us.”
“Please, honoured one; any information could be valuable.”
“Yesterday Njaaren saw a white light flare and dance amongst the souls within the Tower, and when it was gone, so were some of the others.”
“What others?”
“The off-duty guardsmen. They had woken.”
“That could just have been devourers,” Mal said with a shudder. He had once been chased across the dreamscape by the creatures, and seen them crash into the other dreaming minds around him, leaving nightmares in their wake.
“True. If this guiser was being hurt, as you say, the hrrith would have been drawn to him, and may have disturbed the sleep of the others. Or…” The skrayling gestured helplessly.
“Or it could have been Selby himself,” Mal said.
“Yes. It would depend upon his skill, of course. You are sure the senzadheneth here are young and inexperienced?”
“For the most part, yes. Jathekkil…” Mal forced out the name of his enemy. “Jathekkil turned to dream-magic only as a last resort, after he had failed to learn what he wanted from me through more… mundane means. I have no reason to believe that any of the others are markedly more skilful than he.”
“Then it seems unlikely he could have impressed a strong enough compulsion on any of the guardsmen.”
“A compulsion to do what?”
Adjaan shrugged again. “To do whatever he needed.”
“Like, tell the other guisers?”
“Yes. A simple image of the truth might suffice. If it was strong enough to make the man speak of it to those who might want to know.”
Mal swore under his breath, earning an icy look from the outspeaker.
“Thank you for your help, Adjaan-tuur,” he said, getting to his feet. “I will leave you to your meditations.”
He left the camp deep in thought. If only he had been able to call on the skraylings to fence Selby in, none of this would have happened. But he doubted they would have agreed to it, and in any case it would surely have attracted the attention of the others. No, the plan had been a good one, given the tools at hand. He would simply have to rethink his next move.