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they would be well treated. After they were warmed at his hearth, offered
food, water, and linen, he realized his servants had decided they should be
treated royally.
His guests looked magnificent. Lady Catherine's white linen, now topped by a
great cloak, swept the ground, and she wore bracelets and earrings of amber
the color of her hair. Sprague fastened a huge penannular brooch on a cloak in
subtly woven plaids atop a green tunic. A sword that looked like the ones
carried by Uther's guards hung at his belt.
Emrys pulled up heavy chairs for his guests at the trestle table that groaned
with food: chickens, venison, a roast of boar, bread that tempted even Emrys'
fledgling appetite, and grapes.
"I haven't been this dressed up since Bob and Pam Adams' wedding!" Sprague
announced. "When they fired up the baths, did you see how they operated? It
was just fascinating."
Catherine tapped her foot against the battered mosaic of the floor. In the
soft shoe she now wore, it wasn't as impressive as her foot stamps earlier in
the day, but she made her point.
"Now," said Sprague, "let's sit down and eat. Then, we'll make some plans."
"I have to confess," Emrys said. "I'm not really a prophet."
"That's as may be. One thing's certain: You're a scared boy, and you've got
reason to be scared. Let's look at the situation. You may not be a magician,
but you're shrewd. And any art that is sufficiently advanced is
indistinguishable from magic."
Never mind the bards. Martial himself could not have composed a better
aphorism, Emrys was sure. He waved away the servants, and cut his guests' meat
with his own hands.
The lady leaned over the table. "From what I gather that story in our own
world, as we told you, plus the scrolls and codices I see you've collected,
you're a good mathematician. What you've got here is partly an engineering
problem. For that, Sprague can help you, none better. And the rest of it is
logistics:
getting your people where you need them and making sure they have what they
need to do what they have to do."
"What we haven't got is time!" Emrys protested.
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"
We have all the time in the worlds," said Sprague. "But you're grieving,
you're way out on a limb, and naturally, at your age, you're in a hurry. You
won't believe me now, no one your age ever does, but you'd be wise to plan now
so you won't have to play catch-up later. And listen to my wife: she studied
economics at Columbia along with languages."
"Emrys, you may as well accept that moving these stones is going to take time.
The more people, the less time. That's only logical. But, if you have too many
people, you'll run into a whole other set of logistical problems: they'll get
in each other's way, and if you've picked the wrong people, from warring clans
or people who aren't honest, they'll probably start a war."
A chill ran down Emrys' spine. He had not lived among ill-wishers, either in
his grandfather's house, Vortigern's household, or now without being able to
sense no magic about it, just sharp eyes and ears when he was being spied on.
"
They're watching
," he mouthed at his guests.
Sprague raised an eyebrow, then dropped a hand to the pouch at his finely
tooled belt. He rose and went to the fire, began to chant, and extended his
hands. The fire erupted with a roar loud enough to drive the eavesdroppers
away.
"
Not the catalogue of ships again," his wife complained. "We may get a spy
who's read Homer, and then what will you do? To say nothing of what happens
when you run out of filings. No, don't tell me you've brought along iron or
magnesium filings, too."
"The thing about clichés, my dear," said the man, "is that they work."
Emrys went to the door, where one guard, more valiant than the rest, lingered
by the wall.
"Young Gildas almost pissed himself when that fire went off," the guard said,
grinning. Did Emrys really have allies among the guards? That was useful to
know. "It's worth being that close to . . . what you do to have seen the
expression on his face."
"It is forbidden to interfere when I and my guests speak together. They are
great teachers."
Emrys could practically hear the guard's jaw clench as he snapped to attention
and closed the door.
"Nice going, son," said Catherine. "But I wouldn't get any ambitions about
being a boy actor, if I were you, though. They're a dime a dozen in
Hollywood."
"What shrine is the Holly Wood?" asked Emrys. He should have known the lady
was a priestess. Since the monks had swarmed all over Britain, he had known
few Druids who dared to speak this openly.
"Never mind," she said, a little sharply. "Let's talk about logistics."
As Sprague watched with an expression of pleased no, he wasn't surprised he [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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