Midwinter

Mauritane stood unsteadily, wiping his hands on the front of his tunic. "Yes, I think you're right." He took two steps and collapsed to the ground.

* * * *

When Mauritane awoke, it was late afternoon. He found himself in a plush four-poster bed with satin sheets and more pillows than he could count. Fresh clothes lay on a chair beside him.

He dressed and washed his face in the basin by the bed. Stepping out of the room, he now felt every cut, every scrape, every bruise. He limped down a flight of stairs into a wide hall, where a family of strangers sat eating.

"You're just in time for supper," said the man at the head of the table. He rose, introducing himself as Thura, an eel importer.

"Taking you in was the least I could do," the man offered. "Eloquet is an old friend of mine."

"An eel trader, eh?" said Mauritane, sitting and filling his plate. "I used to be one of those."

There were parades and celebrations planned in Sylvan all night long. Mauritane made himself as scarce as possible, spending most of the evening trying to round up his companions. Finally, near midnight, after a long succession of speeches given by city officials and noblemen, Mauritane was left alone with Silverdun and Raieve in Thura's study.

"How do you fare?" said Mauritane, looking both of them over.

Raieve's leg was immobilized in spellwire. "I got trampled during the Unseelie retreat," she said. "I broke almost every bone in my foot, but I will survive."

Silverdun's face was badly cut; he wore a bandage that covered his left eye and most of the left side of his face. "I suppose I can't get much uglier," he said, shrugging.

"What of Satterly?" said Raieve. "Where is he?"

Mauritane sighed. "I was hoping he'd be back by now."

"We've lost two more days," said Silverdun. "First Lamb is four days away. It's at least six days to the City Emerald riding hard, and we don't even have the girl."

Mauritane nodded. "That's true," he said.

"I don't regret it," said Raieve.

"Thank you," Mauritane said. He raised his eyes and looked at her. She met his gaze and they sat that way until Silverdun grew uncomfortable and changed the subject.

"Mauritane, wake up." It was Silverdun, standing over him. Mauritane was in Thura's bed again, although this time he remembered how he got there.

"What's going on?" he said. Looking out the window, he could see that it was still night.

"There's something in front of the house you should see."

Mauritane stood and followed Silverdun out onto the terrace. There was a low rumbling noise coming from the road below. Mauritane looked down and nodded with approval.

Meyer Schrabe's 1971 Pontiac LeMans sat in front of the house, its engine producing a steady purr. Satterly, behind the wheel, was grinning from ear to ear.

"Time to go," said Mauritane, walking inside and reaching for his clothes. "We're not done yet."

steel

Mauritane had never dreamed that anything, especially a huge metal.wagon, could go so fast. The speed at which they flew along the Mechesyl road was awe inspiring. Satterly, he noticed, had never looked as comfortable as he did now, guiding the vehicle with his wrist over the steering wheel.

"We could go faster," Satterly shouted over the rush of wind, "but if there's ice on the road we'd be in big trouble."

Mauritane nodded, thankful that this was as fast as it got.

Satterly had thoughtfully provided a number of thick blankets to drape over the steel parts of the car, but even so Silverdun had managed to burn himself on a mirror housing. He'd forgotten the thing was steel and not silver, the former being virtually unknown to him, and had rested his hand on it by mistake. Mauritane had seen steel before, in a demonstration of human swordsmithing at the academy, and had never forgotten the fiery slickness of those polished blades.

"How did you find fuel for this thing?" Mauritane asked. Part of him wished that the moveable covering for the automobile were not broken-the wind at this speed was fierce and relentless-but another part was glad for the distraction and embraced the briskness of it.

"I was looking at one of those kerosene lamps in the temple," Satterly said. "And I remembered reading that the first automobiles in my world were run on kerosene. But it didn't work very well. There was another by-product of the kerosene-making process that they'd been mostly throwing away, until they realized it was perfect for an automotive fuel. I asked one of Eloquet's men where they got their kerosene, and he pointed me to the Lamplighters Guild in Sylvan."

Satterly pumped his feet, moving the lever at his right in rhythm. The car lurched and roared even louder as they started up an incline.

"It turns out that the Lamplighters Guild keeps a lot of this stuff aroundthere isn't even a word for it in Common-and they use it as a solvent. It's good at getting grease off of your hands. I paid them four silver khoums for about forty gallons of it. That'll be more than enough to get us to the City Emerald."