Saburo's giant hog, saddled and caparisoned in cloth-of-gold, snuffed its broad snout along the gravel beach. The beast was two and a half meters at the shoulder. Sparrow's dog eyed it watchfully.
Miyoko led the party which had already carried Mala and Olrun to the palace in pomp and splendor. Gulls screamed above the surf, recalling the unaccustomed display to one another.
Saburo remained, and the smith who served him.
"I, ah . . . ," said the slim god. For all Saburo's power, his nervousness quivered like a flame in dry twigs.
Sparrow stood stolidly. The cat's cradle of crystal and metal spun between the smith's index fingers, wrapped in a soft purple haze.
"You did perfectly, Master Sparrow," Saburo resumed. "I—your wishes will of course be fulfilled, whatever they may be . . . within reason."
Sparrow smiled. "The princess will need a new maid," he said. "I intend to marry the current one, if she'll have me. As I think she will."
"What?" said Saburo. "Oh. Well, of course. I've—you know, I've always wished you might find some companionship among my other servants. I—I rather feared you might be lonely, to tell the truth."
The sea breeze ruffled the god's robes of layered gossamer. The undermost was the same hue as the gold saddle-blanket, and had the same metallic sheen.
The hog had found something dead at the tide line a few hundred meters down the strand. It snorted and began to bolt the carrion while gulls complained above.
"I'm not lonely," said Sparrow. "I have my work. But Olrun is a . . . worthy person. And I hope I prove worthy of her."
For the first time in Saburo's recollection, he saw what he read as softness on Sparrow's visage.
"Yes," said Saburo. He had given the maid no more notice than he had the gulls overhead. "She, ah, seemed very suitable." With his face and tone carefully blank, the god went on, "I notice that she didn't appear to have waded through mud, the way . . . ?"
The smith nodded. "I thought that I'd better keep my attention on the princess, not the skimmer controls. Mala and I walked. The others—"
The shadow of a laugh tinged Sparrow's voice, though nothing showed on his face. His toes rubbed the flank of his dog, leaving streaks of dry mud against the animal's clean black hide.
"—rode, since we had a vehicle for them."
"I," said his master, "see."
Saburo spent indeterminate moments staring at the water. The sea was gray almost to the horizon, where it changed to deep mauve.
"I was startled when the railgun projectile disrupted my sand table," Saburo said with consummate care. His eyes were focused on the horizon. "As soon as I—looked into the matter, though, I realized that it resulted from Commissioner Hansen's sense of humor. Reckless humor, I must say. But no harm done."
Sparrow shrugged. "Lord Hansen isn't reckless, milord," he said mildly. "He always thinks through his actions. As Lord North thinks through his actions . . . and I do also, milord, sometimes."
He waited for Saburo to turn and face him before adding, "Only we act anyway, after we've thought matters through. And no doubt that will some day cost us our lives, the three of us."
Saburo blinked. The remainder of his face was tight as he listened to a servant refer to himself on terms of equality with two gods. After a moment, Saburo shaped his mouth into a minute smile and said, "Yes, of course."
He glanced down the beach. The giant pig was half a kilometer away, scavenging the edge of the surf. Saburo frowned and pointed. A blue spark snapped from his finger. The animal lurched up on its hindquarters like a dog which has run full-tilt to the end of its chain. It turned and galloped back, huffing and pounding the shingle with its cloven hooves.
"There's one other thing, Master Sparrow," Saburo said. His manner was no longer hesitant, and his voice rang like thunder on the hilltops. "Though I took you into my service because of your ability to create things, I'm still amazed at the quality of the illusion you were able to project in the Princess Mala's bower."
"Illusion, milord?" the smith said. His eyes had been checking for the dog's location as the giant hog rushed toward them, but now his attention was back on Saburo.
"Yes," said the slim god. "The illusion that you had created a device to modify event waves."
A tick of Saburo's eyebrow indicated the ovoid rotating slowly between Sparrow's fingers. "That would constitute . . . godlike . . . powers. Which of course could not be permitted."
Saburo's huge mount braked to a halt, hunching its hindquarters beneath it and gouging trenches in the strand with all four hooves. Loose gravel hopped and danced. Some of it ricocheted from Sparrow's legs. The dog barked in sharp fury from behind her master.
None of the flying stones touched Saburo, though some of them rebounded from a hair's breadth short of his perfectly-shaded garments.
"I see," said Sparrow neutrally.
"There's not a problem with me, of course," Saburo continued. "But if anything of the sort should happen again, one of my colleagues might—misunderstand. And act hastily."
All the while the two men spoke, a freak of the weather caused a tiny breeze to course from the general vicinity of the device in Sparrow's hands. The wind had scoured the smith's legs clean of the mud which caked them.
Sparrow eyed his legs critically, then hung the probability generator on his belt. He reached down absently to polish his leg brace with the callused fingers of his right hand.
Gulls screamed above the surf, and the giant hog drew in snorting breaths to recover from its gallop. Sparrow's dog rubbed back and forth against her master's thighs, whining softly.
"Things like that happen," the smith said. "I couldn't prevent King Hermann from crippling me, either. Though it might have been as well for him if he hadn't."
Sparrow straightened.
Saburo gave a quick nod. "So long as we understand each other," he said. He paused, no longer imperious, and added, "Captain North is quite ruthless, you know."
Sparrow smiled. "Yes, milord," he said. "As is Lord Hansen. And I would not have brought your bride to you if I were not ruthless as well."
"You are indeed a perfect servant," the god said in a voice without any emotional loading whatsoever.
He cleared his throat. "Ah . . . ," he said. "We should be getting back. I, ah, appreciate your . . ."
The dog skipped from the shelter of her master. She made short rushes in the direction of the giant pig, now that the huge beast stood cowed and blowing.
"Shall I take you to the palace myself?" Saburo asked, changing the subject brightly.
"Thank you, milord," said Sparrow. "But my dragonfly is here—"
He gestured curtly towards the spindle-legged vehicle at the edge of the high-tide line.
"—and anyway," Sparrow continued, "I think I'll walk along the beach for a while. It feels good to walk, sometimes."
He nodded, then turned and strode away at a moderate pace. Gravel crunched beneath his ponderous steps. There was nothing in front of him but weed and spume kicked onto the tumbled stones by the waves.
After a moment, the dog noticed her master's absence and gamboled after him. She barked each time her high-flung forefeet hit the strand again.
Saburo mounted his squatting hog and took its reins in his hand. The beast rose expectantly, but Saburo waited until Sparrow was almost out of sight before he wrenched his mount and himself into the Matrix.
Sunlight on the crippled smith and his crippled dog turned their leg braces into jeweled adornments.