One day's journey out upon the sea, they spied bright-striped sails on the horizon, traveling steadily though they hung slack in the motionless air.
"That's another slaveless galley," said Smith, waving away the butterflies that danced before him. "Maybe we should hail them for news."
Within an hour they were close enough to distinguish the clanking oars of the other vessel, louder even than their own, and in yet another hour they saw the revelers dancing and waving to them from the other vessel's deck.
"Ai--aiiiii!" shouted a fat man, pushing back the wreath of roses that had slipped over one eye. "What ship is that? Where d'you hail from?"
"The
Kingfisher's Nest
out of Salesh, from the Rethestlin!" bawled Smith. "What ship's that?"
"The
Lazy Days
out of Port Blackrock! Have you heard the news, my friend?"
"What news? Is the war over?"
"Duke Skalkin choked on a fish bone!" the man cried gleefully. "His son signed the peace treaty the next day!"
"A little death can be useful now and then," muttered Lord Ermenwyr.
"The blockade's gone?"
"All sailed home!" the man assured them, accepting a cup of wine from a nubile girl. He tilted his head back to drink, then pointed at the
Kingfisher's Nest,
shouting with laughter. "You've got butterflies too!"
"They flew down the river with us," Smith said, turning his head to look up at the ranks of white wings perched all along the yards. He looked back at the
Lazy Days.
"You've got a couple, yourself. Where'd they come from?"
"Nobody knows! They've been floating along in swarms!" The man peered closer. "Say, what the hell kind of crew have you got?"
"We've just come from a costume party," Lord Ermenwyr told him.
"So, we can go straight home along the coast, then?" Smith asked hurriedly.
"It's clear sailing all the way!" The man made an expansive gesture, slopping his wine.
And so it proved to be, over a sea smooth as a mirror, under a sky of pearly cloud. If not for the unbroken line of the coast that paced them, they might have been sailing in the heart of an infinite opal. Warm rain fell now and then, big scattered drops, and the sea steamed. They passed through clouds of white butterflies making their way along over open water, seemingly bound on the same journey.
Many settled on the spars and rigging, despite Lord Ermenwyr's best efforts to bid them begone.
"Oh, what've you got against the poor little things?" said Lady Svnae crossly, as she spooned poppy-petal jam on a cracker for Smith.
"They stink of the miraculous," growled her brother, pacing up the deck with his fists locked together under his coattails.
They rounded Cape Gore without incident, and by dawn of the next day spotted the high mile-castles of Salesh, with its streets sloping down to the sea and the white domes of the Glittering Mile bright along the seafront. So calm the water was, so glassy, that they were obliged to keep the boiler full the whole way, and never ran up a stitch of canvas.
But as they rounded the breakwater and came into the harbor, Smith gave the order to cut power and come in on the tide alone. Willowspear threw open the stopcock, and steam escaped with a shriek that echoed off the waterfront. The thrashing oars shuddered to a halt; but when the echoes died an unearthly silence fell, and they might have been a ghost ship gliding in.
"Oh, my," said Lady Svnae, shading her eyes with her hand.
White butterflies, everywhere, dancing in clouds through the sky, flickering on the branches of trees like unseasonable snow. They were thick on the rigging of every ship in the harbor. They lighted on the heads and arms of the citizens of Salesh, who were standing about like people in a dream, watching them. Nobody paid much attention to the
Kingfisher's Nest
or her outlandish crew as they moored and came ashore.
"This is a portent of something tremendous," said Willowspear, striding up Front Street.
"It's the heat wave this summer," said Lord Ermenwyr, glaring about him at the fluttering wings clouding the sky above the marketplace. "Unusual numbers of the nasty things hatched, that's all. Wait up, damn you!"
"He does have a wife to get back to, you know," Lady Svnae chided him.
"We will carry you, Master," Cutt offered.
"Yes, perhaps that's best," said Lord Ermenwyr, and when Cutt bent obligingly he vaulted up to his shoulder and perched there, sneering at the butterflies that swirled about his head. "On, Cutt!"
"Do you often get butterfly migrations at this time of the year?" Lady Svnae inquired of Smith.
"Never that I remember," he replied breathlessly. "How long has this been going on?" he inquired of a shopkeeper, who stood staring at the white wings clustered upon his hanging sign.
"They came in the night," he replied. "The watchman saw them flying in from the sea. He said it looked like the stars were leaving Heaven and coming here!"
"It's a sign from the gods!" cried a city runner, swinging her brazen trumpet to dislodge butterflies.
" 'Sign from the gods'! Poppycock," said Lord Ermenwyr, and then "Aaargh!" as Cutt bore him through a particularly thick cloud of floating wings.
"At least I don't see any signs of riots," said Smith.
"No," Lord Ermenwyr replied, twisting on Cutt's shoulder to peer up the hill. "I note Greenietown's all hung with mourning over Hlinjerith, however."
"I just hope they know it wasn't us," said Smith.
"Oh, they know who did it," said Lady Svnae grimly. "Mother's people don't have runners, but you'd be amazed how fast news travels through the bowers. It's a good thing you--"
They had turned up the last curve that led to the Grand-view, and there the butterflies were thickest of all, drifting and sailing between the buildings, whitening the gardens. At the Grandview itself they beat against every window, patiently walking up the glass, seeking a way in.
"They'd better not be infesting my suite," Lord Ermenwyr said.
"Hush," said his sister.
"Something
unusual is going on. Look!"
They saw Willowspear, far ahead of them now, reach the street door and throw it open. He ran inside without bothering to close the door, and butterflies streamed in after him.
"Come on!" cried Svnae, and, putting her arm around Smith, she half carried him with her, racing up the street. Lord Ermenwyr shouted an order and Cutt, Crish, Clubb, Stabb, Strangel, and Smosh thundered after them, and the white wings parted like cloud as they ran.
The lobby was empty of guests but full of butterflies, drifting gently up the staircase in an unceasing eddy. A man came out of the bar and stared at them. It was Porter Crucible.
"Nine Hells, Boss, what happened to your arm?" he cried.
"It's a long story. What's been going on here?" asked Smith.
"Everything's gone to bloody rack and ruin," Crucible replied gloomily. "Hardly any guests at all. We've had to cancel the seafood specials in the restaurant on account of the fishermen jacked the price up to five crowns a pound. We'd have gone out of business if it wasn't for Nurse Balnshik dancing for the gentlemen in the bar." His gloom rose momentarily. "What an artist! And now our Burnbright's having her kid upstairs. Was that the greenie we heard go running up there?" He looked out at the lobby. "Where'd all these butterflies come from?"
"Beats me," said Smith.
Lord Ermenwyr scrambled down from Cutt. "Stay," he told his bodyguards. Without another word he, Smith, and Lady Svnae mounted the staircase.
They brushed through white clouds as they climbed, and came to the narrow little attic room where Burnbright and Willowspear lived.
There, at last, the air was clear; but only because hundreds of butterflies had settled, opening and shutting their wings, on the bedstead. Burnbright was sitting up in the bed, clutching a bundle to her shoulder as she kissed Willowspear, who was on his knees beside the bed with his arms around her.
There was no other furniture in the room, so Balnshik and Mrs. Smith were seated on the floor, with a bottle of Silverbush between them.
"That kiss has been going on for forty-five seconds now," observed Mrs. Smith. "They'll have to come up for air sooner or later. Oh, my poor Smith!" She struggled to her feet. "Your arm!"
"It's well lost," he replied, kissing her. "I'm going to have a replacement made of silver and gold with emeralds, and it'll do tricks."
"But you told me you'd bring him back safely, you horrid little man!" she said to Lord Ermenwyr. He shrugged and lit up his smoking tube with a fireball. It was immediately seized from his grasp by Lady Svnae, who looked outraged.
"You can't smoke in a room with a new baby!" she admonished.
"So you're an expert on the damned things too?" Lord Ermenwyr raged, his eyes beginning to stand out of his head.
"Master, you mustn't shout," said Balnshik, uncoiling from the floor gracefully and grabbing him. "Welcome to Salesh, Mistress," she added to Lady Svnae, before bending Lord Ermenwyr backward in a kiss that silenced him.
Burnbright and Willowspear had broken their embrace at last. They were huddled together, looking at the tiny red infant dozing unconcernedly in her lap.
"He doesn't look anything like you," she fretted. "Except I think he has your mouth. And your nose. And maybe your eyes, but he hasn't opened them yet. You want me to wake him up? I'm sorry he's not--you know--like you."
"I'm not sorry," said Willowspear. "Not at all. Hello, Kalyon!"
"And then again, maybe we won't have to get him registered as a resident Yendri," Burnbright added hopefully. "That'd be nice, wouldn't it? All the demonstrations and fighting stopped last week. Just stopped, boom. So maybe things will be better now anyway."
"Hush, child, you're waking my grandbaby," Mrs. Smith scolded. Kalyon Willowspear was worming about in his blankets, drawing his fists up to his chin, grimacing extravagantly. He opened his eyes.
They were remarkable eyes. They were a misty green, like Hlinjerith in its glory.
"Oh, look!" screamed Burnbright gleefully. Startled, the baby flung out his little arms, starfish hands opened wide.
Immediately the butterflies rose and descended, hundreds attempting to settle in his two hands. They spilled through his fingers. They circled his head. The adults watched in frozen silence a long moment.
"Oh, gods," said Mrs. Smith huskily, beginning to cry. "The poor little thing."
"Aren't we all supposed to fall to our knees at this point and sing a hymn or something?" Lord Ermenwyr inquired wearily.
"No, no!" said Lady Svnae, tremendously excited. "Don't you see what all this portentous stuff means? This is obviously what those prophecies were all about! This is the one Mother's restoring Hlinjerith for! This is the Beloved with his imperfections forgiven!" She peered at him. "Though I'm surprised he came back in that color."
"I bloody well know what it means," wept Mrs. Smith. "Better than you do, my girl. He'll never have a moment's rest. The same old story's beginning again."
"No," said Smith. "This is a new story beginning."
He looked down at the stump of his arm, and thought:
Well lost. I'd give the other one too, if that's the price of hope. The shadow has passed from the door.