The Last Page (48 page)

When they threw their vision across the miles, the Pplarians found smoking skeletons in Ironside’s shipyards, sparked by the desultory stars of remote chemical welders. Beyond that, the dwindling brown piles of variation in Bilgeburg and Thief Town interfused with far-off Murkbell in a sort of sepia twilight near the wharves.

As Gadriel entered with a tray of refreshments, a zeppelin surfaced
like a whale over Barrow Hill, skin painted to advertise malted cereal. A flock of blackbirds covered its spines.

“Have you seen
Er Krue Alteirz
?” asked one of the three Pplarians at the table in slightly broken Hinter. He took his striking violet-blue eyes off the airship and glared hospitably at Caliph.

The Pplarian’s name was Kl
. Even seated at the table he seemed to tower, wrapped like his fellows in a traditional k
sh and, despite the balmy weather, clad in loose heavy robes of dark, perfumed, yak fur.

Kl
had very short blond hair that covered his milk-white scalp like peach fuzz. All three of them were tall and slender.

“I have,” said Caliph. “It was very interesting. I understand that the villain is based on historical—”

“Yes,” Kl
took over, “the sorcerer, he . . . came out of the west . . . long ago. It is a true story . . . originally. Made grand by opera.” He laughed as though something were very funny.

Caliph smiled. “Your people have a great history.”

In unison the Pplarians gave a strangely charmed reciprocal smile that twisted their mouths oddly. Caliph had spoken in White Tongue.

Kl
leaned forward. “You sound like my younger brother when you speak our language! How much do you know?”

“I studied a bit at college in the Kingdom of Greymoor,” Caliph explained.

The Pplarians nodded their heads.

“You must have learned from a Pplarian,” said Kl
. “Your sound is very natural.”

“I learned from a man named Gilban Tosh. He lived in the Pplar for many years.”

“Yes.” Kl
nodded. “I have heard of him.” He drew one of the tall purple drinks from the tray and sipped it. Overhead, crows and orchid-colored rylfs disturbed the air, flitting furtively through stiff tendrils of unnerving vegetation. Gadriel had left the room.

Kl
’s first councilor was also his wife. She looked almost exactly like her husband except her eyes were piercing lavender and her bosom stretched the scintillating fabric of her k
sh.

“How do you feel about your uncle?” she asked with straightforward curiosity that she seemed to find perfectly appropriate.

“Yes,” said Kl
, “we are very curious about him.”

Caliph inhaled deeply and wondered,
What in Emolus’ name has Lewis been telling you?

“My uncle was not a popular man for many good reasons. I don’t think
about him. It’s a shame the people of this country had to be terrorized while he was High King.”

Kl
’s wife looked deeply empathetic.

“You poor boy.”

“Nâsa,” her husband scolded her mildly, “he is the High King. He does not need our sympathy.”

“It’s fine,” said Caliph. “I have to deal with the past, just like everyone else.” He offered them a sincere favoring look. “How was your stay in Vale Briar?”