Sir Philip appeared puzzled. "In the event they are not subdued upon our arrival, my men will handle them without difficulty."

Lord Phineus nodded his approval, though he was hopeful the precautions would not be necessary.

"They'll be begging for water soon," said Sir Emerik from the ground, observing the low water levels above the falls.

But Lord Phineus was not listening to Sir Emerik. "At times like this I almost wish we had shown them how to read. This would have been so much easier if we could have sent a note, don't you think?"

The dark humor troubled Sir Philip but seemed not to bother Sir Emerik.

"To your posts, then," said Lord Phineus. "When we're close enough for them to hear, we must tell them that their lives will not change. They are still our subjects and they will remain in their villages, or else pay a heavy price."

Lord Phineus would give the instruction to those in the Village at the Grove, Sir Philip to those in the Village of Sheep, and Sir Emerik would do the same in the Village of Rabbits. Sir Emerik was glad to be already halfway to his post without much more riding ahead of him.

"Sir Philip," said Sir Emerik. "Might I get a bit more instruction on the keeping of this beast before you go off?"

"Give the man some help, Sir Philip," Lord Phineus told him. "Stop and see me as you pa.s.s to the other side. I may have more for you to do."

Lord Phineus kicked his horse and galloped away. Seeing him majestically astride the charging animal gave him the aura of an even greater power that sent a shiver down Sir Emerik's spine.

When Lord Phineus was gone, Sir Philip turned to Sir Emerik. "How you could have waited until now to master the simple skill of riding a horse is beyond me." Sir Philip shook his head in disgust. "Quickly now! You'll have to get on first if you want me to help you."

"I have a better idea," said Sir Emerik. "Why don't you come down here. I have something I want to discuss with you. Something private."

Sir Philip came down from his horse, at once exasperated and intrigued by Sir Emerik's invitation.

"You've done a fine job putting this all together, Sir Philip," complimented Sir Emerik. "Very impressive, I must say."

The feeling was not mutual. Sir Philip wanted nothing more than to be rid of Sir Emerik. Seeing him sitting on a horse with his hair burned off only confirmed his suspicion that the man was a fool and didn't belong in the inner circle at all. Sir Emerik was quickly losing respectability, and soon he would be on the outside looking in.

"What is it you have to say, Sir Emerik? We have important business to attend to and I must be getting on."

"I have some information that I think you might find interesting," Sir Emerik offered.

They were still a hundred feet above the ground of Tabletop, and Sir Emerik beckoned Sir Philip to walk with him nearer to the edge. Sir Philip followed, not entirely willingly, but his interest had been piqued. The two men stood very close to the edge of the Highlands, only a few feet away.

"What kind of information do you have?" asked Sir Philip.

"When I was in the village just yesterday, I found the boy Edgar and the missing page."

"You what?"

Sir Emerik carefully followed the script he'd made in his mind. "Sir Philip, you and I both know that Lord Phineus is simply too powerful. You will never be able to surpa.s.s him, nor will I. But together we could bring him under our control. Or better still, we could move him aside."

Sir Philip was unmoved. He realized then that the poor man had become desperate for power he could never have. Unseat Lord Phineus? It was unthinkable, and it was outright madness coming from someone as inept as Sir Emerik. But Sir Philip was a clever man, and he sought to use the situation to his advantage.

"What have you learned that Lord Phineus couldn't already know?"

This is perfect, thought Sir Emerik. He is even more a fool than I imagined.

"First, you must swear that it is you and I, then, against the one man. Am I right?"

Sir Philip nodded, but he gripped the spear in his hand tightly, prepared to take Sir Emerik prisoner the moment the treachery was complete.

"I read the missing page, and I know where the boy went."

Sir Emerik held back from telling more, for suddenly he felt sure that Sir Philip would betray him. There was something in the man's eyes and the way he held his hand on his spear. For his part, Sir Philip's cleverness was no match for Sir Emerik's powers of perception-and he had underestimated his opponent in the matter of ambition.

Sir Emerik leaned his shoulder out over the edge.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Sir Philip.

"That noise from down below. They are right beneath us!"

Sir Philip made the catastrophic error of turning to look below, and for a split second his watchful eyes were not on Sir Emerik. It was then that Sir Emerik moved swiftly behind him and pushed Sir Philip with a sudden, vengeful force of strength. Sir Philip's eyes grew wide with shock. He managed to swing his spear towards Sir Emerik as he tried to catch his balance, teetering on the very edge of the Highlands. But it was too late. Sir Emerik lunged once more, and Sir Philip fell backward into the open air.

Sir Emerik watched as the body careened off the cliff, Sir Philip's limbs thrashing ghostlike in the wind until he slammed into the ground at the bottom.

Now there is only one to contend with, and I shall reach the very top.

Sir Emerik gathered himself, went about the tricky business of getting on his horse, and rode away toward his post, where he would find forty men waiting for him.

CHAPTER.

22.

AN OLD MAN WITH DROOPY EARS.

The sensation of being chilled to the bone woke Edgar up. A blanket had been placed over him, but he was still shivering quietly. The cold air in the Flatlands radiated from the ground and held firm until mid-morning, when the rocky land finally warmed up, and one could walk barefoot and almost enjoy the coolness.

The ache in Edgar's shoulder had pa.s.sed from sharp pain into a dull soreness. But his finger-or the place where his finger used to be-was another matter. It radiated a striking hot pain. Edgar felt the place where the finger had been. Someone had put a bit of worn cloth around the stump.

Edgar let his eyes dart back and forth across the rock ceiling above, certain that he was underground. He felt a panic rising in his throat. He'd slept in the open of the grove under a canopy of trees his entire life, but this new place was like being in a black coffin that he could not escape. He would gladly listen to Mr. Ratikan yell at him if only he could go home. For the first time in his life, he regretted that he'd learned to climb.

Edgar knew that lying on his back was the worst place to be when he was about to start crying. Even the tiniest tear that escaped his eye would run straight and fast down the side of his face right into his ear. Edgar remembered this from the days when, as a young boy, he would sometimes feel lonely after the others had gone home. He had made a rhyme for himself that he would say, looking up at the night sky with thousands of leaves dangling overhead.

There's n.o.body here, only me and the trees.

I can swing if I want, as much as I please.

There's no one to see me, no one is near.

No need to cry, no reason to fear.

He would grab hold of a limb over his head, swinging back and forth and saying the words until the wind dried his eyes and he grew tired once more. By the time he lay back down, he'd usually forgotten what was bothering him.

And so as he lay there with his hand throbbing and his head full of dark thoughts, he began to whisper the old rhyme as he turned his head slowly in the gathering light of the room.

Edgar was not underground, as he had supposed. He was in a large cave, and the light he saw streaming ever-brighter into the s.p.a.ce was morning coming on in the Flatlands. The cave was a place of natural earth and stone with a high ceiling, sloping down to a long tunnel at one end, and it was shaped, Edgar thought, much like a ripe fig cut lengthwise and laid flat. Edgar was lying in the wide end. He was looking toward a round circle of light at the narrow end of the room, wondering how he might escape, when there came a black figure into the distant entryway. It moved slowly closer to him.

Edgar stared at the ceiling once more, his heart racing, and felt the odd tickle of water inside his ears. By that time, the figure had found his way to the foot of Edgar's bed.

"You're not used to the cold," the voice said, unrolling another blanket over Edgar.

Edgar risked opening his eyes, the way children do when they want others to think they're asleep. It was just enough to see through the forest of his eyelashes and the watery blur of his tears.

The man was standing just above Edgar. Edgar couldn't make out the features of the face before him, but he was oddly comforted by the man's presence. Edgar had long been able to sense danger when it was close, and though he still trembled, he felt rea.s.sured.

Edgar blinked two or three times and then looked directly into the face of the man hovering over him.

"So you've decided to wake, then, have you?" said the man. "I was beginning to wonder if that fall had put an end to you after all."

"Who are you?" whispered Edgar.

"I'm Vincent. We met last night, though I can see how you might not remember. You were, shall we say, in a bit of a predicament."

Edgar had a vision of himself plummeting to the ground, and now recognized the man who had been there when he awoke.

"What is this place you've taken me to?"

Vincent craned his neck about the stone room and looked back at Edgar apologetically.

"I'm afraid this is where I live. It's the only place I'm aware of where the Cleaners can't get in. Nasty creatures."

Cleaners. Edgar recalled the awful monsters he'd seen in the darkness. He'd thought they were only in his nightmares.

"What are those things?"

"You have a lot of questions! But I have one for you, and I believe it's well past my turn." He had his concerns about anyone visiting the Flatlands.

"Why have you come here?" Vincent's brows slanted downward. "And how have you come here?"

Edgar was about to answer when both he and Vincent were distracted by the sound of someone-or something-moving outside the cave. Shadows snaked on the wall near the light at the opening of the cave, and Edgar instantly became alarmed.

"I thought you said those creatures couldn't get in here!" Edgar tried to sit up, wincing in pain as he pushed down on the injured hand. But to his relief, it turned out to be a human figure that was approaching.

"Ah, Vincent! Where have you been all night?" the figure called out. "I was worried about you. I do hope you managed to bring us something to eat. I've been out walking since before dawn and I'm feeling sure of it now, I just-"

The man broke off suddenly when he came close enough to notice Edgar lying on the bed. There was a deep and long silence as the man stared at the boy in wonder. He was old, older than anyone Edgar had ever known, and as he stood there gazing into Edgar's eyes Vincent broke the silence.

"I found him on the hunt, coming down the side of the cliff."

The old man had a big round nose and prominent ears that hung low from a head covered in gray hair. When Vincent spoke, the old man looked at him, quickly and incredulously, and his ears flopped back and forth. He looked back at Edgar with sparkling hazel eyes too young for the face that contained them.

"What is your name?" asked the man. He was keenly interested in both the person before him and the way in which he'd arrived in the Flatlands.

"My name is Edgar."

Only a deeply drawn breath penetrated the silence. The old man reached his hand out and placed it on Vincent's arm.

"Leave us," he said. Vincent went without protest, and when he reached the entrance to the cave the old man called to him. "And bring two plates of Black and Green."

When Vincent was gone, the old man crossed the room and returned to the side of the bed with a stool to sit upon. He was visibly moved as he beheld the fragile boy before him: the swollen eye, the missing finger, a body so thin it made him embarra.s.sed of his own comparatively normal weight.

"I simply cannot imagine how you've come to find your way here," he said, his voice full of compa.s.sion. He was a fidgety man full of energy that he liked to expend most of all by talking. And so he blurted out his next surprising words in his usual manner-quickly and clumsily, bursting with emotion.

"It's me, Edgar. Don't you remember? I brought you here all those years ago. It's me, Luther-Dr. Luther Kincaid."

The two looked at one another, both of them feeling conflicted for entirely different reasons. Edgar could not bring himself to believe it was possible. Could this really be the man Edgar had lodged in his memory for so long? What was he doing in the Flatlands? Why did seeing him stir such a strange mix of emotions? Anger: How could he be so close and leave me alone for so long? How could he lead me down such a treacherous path? Uncertainty: Not only does he not love me, but it seems he wants to kill me! Joy: I've found him at last. He cares for me; he must care for me.

And as for our complicated and brilliant Dr. Kincaid, a whole different set of feelings and questions pressed upon him: Wonder: How could this boy have come here? It's absolutely impossible and yet here he is. Happiness: He is alive (injured for certain and far too skinny, but alive). Guilt: He will hate me for what I've done. He should hate me. How can I possibly explain?

"Come with me, Edgar," said Dr. Kincaid. "Let's go outside where it's warm and you can get something to eat. We can talk all day if we want to."

Edgar sat up with some help from Dr. Kincaid. He wobbled back and forth as he tried to escape his blankets.

"Put this on, won't you?" Luther had quickly fashioned a sling for Edgar's arm, and the two of them had an awkward time getting it on, for the shoulder still ached. It felt better in the sling, though the relief only served to remind him that his hand hurt even worse. Dr. Kincaid tried to refocus Edgar's attention on more positive changes.

"You've grown!" he said, seeing that Edgar was now nearly as tall as he was, and realizing for the millionth time that he himself was a very short old man.

"Is it really you?" asked Edgar, tears welling up again as he tried to comprehend the man who had reentered his life.

Dr. Kincaid put his arm around Edgar to steady him and was at once overcome with emotion. He really was a blubbering old fool, the truth be told, and so he hugged Edgar as a grandfather might a grandson he hasn't seen in a year or two or three.

It was a strange and confusing reunion of two souls, and it would take the better part of the morning for them to understand what had happened and why.

CHAPTER.