A thrill rose up inside me. I could almost taste the clear but flavorful tea that Lille would be determined to brew at the first inclination she had a guest.
The ladder was exactly where we left it, but had been embellished with a handrail and stouter, wider rungs. I tucked my sword through a belt loop and descended quietly, thinking I would surprise them, not that they would have heard me with all that screeching. I wondered how wise it was to leave the ladder in place with those Reaper people roaming the plains.
Replicas of gas lanterns lined a walkway leading up to the base of the ladder, illuminated by glowing clumps of root. The cottage perched on a dry ledge beneath the overhang. It was almost a perfect copy of the one they had in the ‘Burg, although its flower beds were barren and the gingerbread around the eaves and windows was a bit less frilly.
The fiddle strains persisted. It was a rare note that came out of that thing true to pitch, but the rhythm of the playing was bold and confident, never veering off the beat.
I went right up to the door and started clapping along. Bern was there, hunched over on a stool, playing as if possessed. Suddenly his eyes popped open and he lurched back. A string snapped. His bow screeched across the bridge. He slid off the stool, fiddle clattering against the floor.
“Bloody hell, boy! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking? An-an-announcing your presence? I practically swallowed my own stomach.”
He scrambled to his feet, rushed over and nearly shook my arm out of its socket before smothering me in his arms with a lengthy and hearty bear hug.
“Oh my Heavens! I thought we’d never see the likes of you again. You poor bastard. It’s so horrible to see you again, but nice as well.”
Bern was looking more disheveled than I had ever seen him, his shirt un-tucked, hair sticking out every which way. Whiskers roughened his normally clean-shaven cheeks.
“Where’s Lille?” I said.
His eyes whipped away and flitted about unable to rest on any one spot in comfort.
“I … uh … I lost her.”
“What do you mean you lost Lille? How?
He blinked away tears and wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.
“We had only begun to settle into our new place. These grey men with blotchy faces came riding in on the backs of these giant winged insects. Nasty blokes. Complete ruffians. They turned our cabin to powder, if you can believe it. And we had just gotten the roof thatched and the walls chinked.”
“I was there. I saw what was left.”
“Powder! Turned everything to powder, even our clothes. They mocked and manhandled us, treated us like vermin. Tore Lille right out of my arms. This bug took me in its jaws and dropped me in some Godforsaken bung hole. I didn’t even get to see where they took Lille or what they did with her. By the time I climbed out of that cave, they were long gone.”
“They got me too,” I said. “The same way. I was hiking up into the hills and they ambushed me.”
“Then, you know the drill. Flinging us around like livestock. The humiliation!”
“Lille’s probably out there somewhere, in one of these pits! There’s hundreds of them just like this one.”
“You think I don’t know. I’m out there every day disguised as a bloody bush, stopping every minute to scan the skies like some hare looking out for a hawk. Come here. Look.”
He led me over to his table. The smooth top was marked with charcoal sketching the location of every sinkhole in the plains.
“And this is just the immediate vicinity.” He pointed at a wall. “That’s the Eastern sector. The western sector is scratched into the ground outside. I’ve only just begun to go deeper into the plains to the north, but things get mighty sparse out there. Every day from sunup to sundown I’m out there searching. At this point I’d be grateful for a carcass.”
