“Yes,” said Derk.
“And all the dragons have vanished,” said Querida.
“They’re angry,” said Derk, “about the gold.” This was important. Scales had explained why. Derk came up on one elbow and explained to Querida. “Dragons sit on gold because they get vital vitamins from it. They haven’t been allowed enough gold for years.”
“Oh,” said Querida. “I wasn’t aware of that.” Seeing that Derk might now be attending, she went on quickly. “And there’s been the most dreadful chaos up on the battlefield. I had to send for High Priest Umru to sort it out. The Empire and King Luther declared war on one another, and the mercenaries were killing everything that moved. I don’t think there’s a single offworld soldier surviving by now. What are you going to do for an army?”
Derk did not want to hear about battles. He came off his elbow and lay back among the pigs. “Ask Barnabas,” he said bitterly.
Querida pursed her lips. She was not getting through to this man. “In fact,” she said, “there is hardly a single tour event anywhere that hasn’t broken down in some way. They depend on the Dark Lord to keep them organized.”
“I know,” said Derk.
Querida hissed with annoyance. It was true she had meant the tours to break down. She had done a great deal of work to make sure they did. But not like this, with more than half the Pilgrim Parties stranded here. “Wizard Derk …” she began.
Something heavy shuffled behind her on the terrace. “Leave him alone,” said Callette.
Querida whirled around. Her mouth dropped open. Callette’s eyes were dull and reddish. Her lion coat was sticky and staring. Under the disordered feathers of Callette’s wings, Querida could see every one of Callette’s ribs. The feathers stuck this way and that from her scrawny neck, and her whole body drooped, despairingly.
Callette said to Derk, “I’ve found out I am sorry about Kit after all.”
Querida went on gaping. It began to dawn on her that she was intruding on real grief here.
“So am I, Callette,” said Derk. “So am I.”
“I’ve no one to fight anymore,” Callette explained. Her bloodshot eye swiveled to Don. Don backed away.
As he backed, a hole appeared in the universe. It occurred with a smart popping noise, more or less where Don had been sitting, writhed a bit, and then settled to a neat arched shape. Querida was probably the only one who noticed the sudden blue light that bulged alertly from between two stones in the terrace and then faded quietly away to a thread. Everyone else was watching the hole in the universe, where Mr. Addis straightened his tie and stepped down in front of Derk’s hut.
“Good morning,” Mr. Addis said cheerfully. “There seem to have been one or two hiccups in our choreography. I’m here to sort things out.”
“Just go away,” Derk said wearily.
Mr. Addis stared down at him and straightened his tie again. “For a start,” he said, “Mr. Derk, you were required to manifest as a dark shadow, not as—er—an extra pig.” He looked up at the house, and he frowned. “This simply will not do as a Citadel. The illusion is not convincing. And”—his eye fell on the dwarfs—“there seems to have been some mix-up over the tribute as well. Mr. Derk, Mr. Chesney is already seriously displeased, and this will displease him further. We’re talking extensive fines here, Mr. Derk. Why have only one-third of our Pilgrim Parties returned home?”
“Because I’ve stopped them,” said Derk.
“Stopped them!” exclaimed Mr. Addis. “You can’t do that!”
“Yes, I can,” said Derk. “I have.”
“But you’re under contract!” Mr. Addis cried out. “Mr. Derk, I am here to tell you that Mr. Chesney will enforce that contract with the utmost severity if you fail to comply with our terms. We’re talking more than extensive fines now. We’re talking crippling.” Derk did not answer. Mr. Addis said, slowly and loudly, as if he thought Derk had become stupid, “Mr. Derk, where are our remaining Pilgrim Parties?”
“Sitting in the valley outside here, I suppose,” Derk said. “Until they show some sense and go and find something better to do.”
“Those are sixteen hundred people,” Mr. Addis told him, slowly and sternly. “Mr. Chesney will not countenance the loss of sixteen hundred people.”
“Oh, go away.” Derk turned his head and stared at Ringlet.
“Shall I throw him out?” Old George offered.
“You’ll do no such thing, my good man.” Mr. Addis held up a hand as if it were a dam to stop Old George and looked sternly down at Derk. “Mr. Derk, we are talking the loss of sixteen hundred people here.”
Derk came up onto his elbow again. Then to his knees. Finally, he stood up. Mr. Addis backed from the filthy, unshaven mess that Derk was. “Loss?” said Derk. “People? I’ve lost my wife and my son. I saw the griffin who was a son to me shot down by your soldiers. My human daughter and my griffin daughter are missing. And you talk to me of sixteen hundred tourists who aren’t even dead!”
Mr. Addis put up his hand again, damming Derk this time. “Come, come, Mr. Derk. I’m sure we can settle this in a friendly way.”
“You don’t understand,” Derk said heavily and expressionlessly. “Kit. Is. Dead. Now go away.”