"I wonder if she's coming," Platt muttered as he stared out the citadel door.
He rubbed his hands together nervously. The backs of his fingers were ulcerated from poor diet and poor hygiene. "The moon's dark tonight," he added.
He turned around. "That's what you said, isn't it?" he demanded. The only light in the citadel came from the small lamp near the doorway. "At the new moon?"
Gravel ticked as a pile collapsed on itself. Its internal structure had been modified by the template into which Sparrow's mind forced it.
"Sparrow, damn you!" the attendant shouted. He strode toward the barrier. "Answer me, you half-man!"
The smith's dog backed against the stone wall, growling. Sparrow rose onto the support of his hands. "Wha . . . ?" he muttered. "Wh . . ."
"Where is she?" Platt said.
Sparrow chuckled like a falling tree.
The crackling, crunching sound went on too long for the attendant's temper. Platt tried to shout over the laughter, but the smith's deep lungs were too powerful.
"I want to know what you're making these past nights," Platt demanded in the final silence. "It's not armor. I know it's not armor."
"It's a gift," Sparrow said. "Aren't the king and queen happy with the gifts I made them?"
The smith's hand hovered over the pile of material on which he had been working in his trance. For the moment he did not disturb the covering of excess material to check his progress.
"How the hell would I know?" the attendant muttered sullenly. "D'ye think they talk to me except to curse?"
Platt's weasel eyes focused on the prisoner again. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm to make sure you don't do anything but what the king tells you. You'll stop it now, or—"
Sparrow smiled. "Our guest is here, Lord Platt," he said.
Platt turned. "The hell she is," he snarled.
As he spoke, Princess Miriam flung back the half-closed door and cried, "Platt, you filthy fool! Why didn't you put a lamp outside the door? Did you think I was going to come here with a train of linkmen?"
"M-m-m princess!" the attendant blurted. "I didn't—"
"Close and bolt the door, Platt," Sparrow said/ordered. "The city's full of warriors tonight. We don't want them disturbing us while I provide for the lady princess."
"Yes, that's right," the young woman agreed haughtily.
Instead of dealing with the door herself, Miriam stepped aside so that Platt could get by to accomplish the menial task. She wore white suede boots. They were muddy to the ankles. "And you—Sparrow. Be quick about it. I don't want to spend any longer in this disgusting place than I have to."
Miriam was wrapped in an ankle-length cloak of mottled sealskin; a matching shako covered her head. Although she wanted to avoid attention in the dark streets of the city, she still wore the glowing ornaments Sparrow had made for her. Every time the princess tried to remove the loops of light, they slipped back through her fingers to continue their slow, lovely spirals around her neck.
"Put more fuel on the hearth, Platt," the smith ordered. "The lady princess wants to be comfortable while she waits."
"I want—" Miriam snapped.
"The wait," Sparrow continued with an easy power that overwhelmed the girl's sharper accents, "will be only as long as necessary."
He smiled again. "You brought the mirror, lady?" he asked.
"Of course I brought the mirror!" Miriam said. "Why else would I be here? And I brought—"
She swept back the sealskin. She wore a jumper of scarlet linen over a blue silk tunic which showed its sleeves, high neckline, and hem. The mirror was on its neck chain.
A skin of wine hung from a broad shoulder strap, waist-high where the princess' cloak had concealed it.
"—this," Miriam continued. "As if I were some sort of servant!"
She slung the wineskin toward Sparrow. It struck the bars with a squishy sound and flopped to the floor. The stopper remained seated in the wooden mouthpiece.
The attendant knelt by the hearth on one wall of the building. It had no hood or chimney. Fagots of pine popped and sizzled, multiplying the amount of light within the citadel but throwing shadows in ghastly patterns as well.
Platt stared at the wine with eyes turned orange by the reflection.
Sparrow grinned. "It's necessary, lady princess," he said. "Now, give me the mirror."
The attendant jumped to his feet. "I'll take it to him!" he said sharply. His eyes were still on the wineskin.
Miriam made a moue of distaste. She lifted the mirror over her head and headgear, then held it out to her side without looking to see Platt's scabrous hands take it from her.
Platt minced toward the barrier and knelt so that his body was between the princess and sight of the wineskin. As the attendant slid the mirror through the barrier, his free hand slipped toward the wineskin.
Sparrow took the mirror. "Why don't you open the wine and try it, Master Platt?" he said in a playful voice.
"What?" Miriam cried. "I didn't bring—"
She broke off. The attendant was already guzzling at the mouthpiece. A drop of the strong red wine spurted across his cheek. He squeezed the fluid out of his whiskers and licked the edge of his hand to lose as little as possible.
"It's all right, lady princess," the smith said. His voice was gentle, but there was a current underlying it that made his dog's hackles rise. "You will see."
Sparrow removed rods and small wedges of less definable shape from their concealment among his piles of raw materials. He began to arrange them into a linked pattern on the floor of his cell.
"What are you doing?" Princess Miriam demanded. She looked at the attendant, then glanced in the direction of the door. Platt had barred it securely.
"I have everything under control now, lady princess," Sparrow said. "You will see."
The smith shuffled purposefully around the confines of his cell. He had made himself thick leather kneepads for walking. Gravel between the pads and the stone floor must still have been painful, but he showed no sign of discomfort.
Platt noticed that the princess was no longer watching him. He lifted the wineskin surreptitiously to his mouth.
Sparrow put the mirror in the center of the partial objects he had already arranged. He covered the array with carefully-chosen bits of ore and scrap metal.
"What are you doing?" the princess demanded. She stepped closer to the bars and tried to peer past her own shadow.
"What is necessary, lady princess," the smith said flatly. "When I have completed it, then you can tell me how much to your taste the result is."
"You'd better make my mirror work again!" Miriam said in a venomous whisper.
Sparrow smiled at her. He lay back on his bed of furs. His eyes remained open, but after a moment they glazed as the master smith's mind slipped into the Matrix.
The man and woman on the other side of the bars watched Sparrow. Platt glanced sidelong as he squirted more wine down his throat.
Though the rekindled hearth was warming the room quickly, Princess Miriam shivered and pulled her sealskin cloak more tightly around her.