The Starfollowers of Coramonde Read Online Free PDF

Springbuck and the others invaded it. May I
point out that the brim can be tilted quite low across the face?”
    Gil’s respect
for Brodur increased. They set off, their way among the strollers lit by
flaming cressets.
    Gil began,
“When Yardiff Bey bugged out in that airship of his, he had Dunstan prisoner. I
think Bey’ll hang onto him as a hedge or hostage, or for interrogation.” Their
boots crunched over the gravel path as he thought out his next words. “Thing
is, I’ve got this feeling Dunstan’s alive, y’know? So I have to find Bey
to spring Dunstan.”
    Brodur
glanced sidelong at him. “Pardon my saying this, but you are said to harbor
another reason as well. It is rumored you require vengeance.”
    Gil stopped
and faced Brodur. “You knew her too, right?”
    “Gil
MacDonald, I conspired with the Lady Duskwind. I served her, held her in
highest regard and in some measure, I tell you, she was dear to me.”
    “I’m not sure
what you’re getting at, here.”
    “That I, too,
want requital for gentle Duskwind’s death. I shall advance your purpose and
abet you in whatever manner you may need. Whatever manner. I trust I make
myself clear?”
    “Shake.” They
clasped hands, then resumed their way.
    At the end of
the Arborway a fountain played in the glare of torches. There were wide playing
fields, where children charged back and forth in giggling games of chase-ball,
hampered by darkness. Others played a new favorite, “the Game of Springbuck,”
re-enacting the Ku-Mor-Mai’s flight and eventual return. Gil could see
their bright clothes intermittently, like Chinese kites on a night breeze.
    Farther
along, adults congregated to chat, see and be seen, or just linger. Food and
drink were sold, but no other paying enterprise was permitted except
entertainment. Beyond, in a meadow, musicians at the foot of a statue of
Springbuck’s father Surehand mingled notes, accompanied occasionally by voices
lifted in song. Off to one side a puppet show was in progress.
    They passed
through groves of trees onto a greensward. Public speakers were free to address
matters of conviction or caprice here, an acclaimed innovation of Springbuck’s,
but several pikemen were stationed nearby to squelch the brawls that often
ignited from impassioned debate.
    Skirting a
quiet lake with a tiny, exquisite chapel of the Bright Mistress on its rim,
they came to another access path, and left the commons for what Gil knew was a
raunchy section of the city, Lowlintel Road.
    Lighting was
sparser, buildings more tightly packed. There were enclaves crowded together,
of people from the many subdominions of polyglot Coramonde. Here, no bedding was
aired on balconies by day, nor washing hung out at night, for fear of theft.
Both loosened swords in their scabbards. Gil made sure his cloak didn’t impede
access to the Browning.
    There were
loiterers, usually outside a hell-raising tavern or dimly lit house with a red
wreath on its door and women beckoning from the windows.
    They came to
the White Tern. Its interior was a scene of faded charms; beautiful starmolding
around the door had been allowed to crack and chip away and the rushes serving
as a floor hadn’t been changed recently. Ceiling, rafters and tiny roundel
windows were all coated with greasy smoke. Odors reported too many people, too
close, over much too long a time. There was a sweetish thickness in the air.
Gil knew it for the scent of the drug Earnai, the Dreamdrowse.
    Boisterous
arguments vied with harsh laughter. An arm-wrestling match between a Teebran
archer and an Alebowrenian bravo spurred rabid rooting and wagering. Gil
trailed Brodur into the snug at the back, and they took a booth.
    Candles
guttered low; customers were solo and silent. A harassed-looking girl brushed a
lock of limp hair from her eyes and took their order, a toss of brandy for
Brodur, jack of beer for the American. The aide made an elaborate ceremony of
inhaling the brandy, eyes closed. Gil just