Wheel of the Infinite by Martha Wells Read Free Book Online Page A

sensed her presence immediately, turning to come at her with its hands upraised and wooden fingers curved into claws. It ran at her, and she thumped it in the chest with her staff, sending the light body tumbling back. Firac dropped his net over it, and in another moment, Maskelle, Firac, and Gardick were dragging the creature offstage. The audience applauded happily.
    Rastim and Old Mali ran around behind the other wagons to join them, and between the five of them they managed to drag the thing back to Rastim’s wagon and bundle it back into its crate without drawing any unwelcome attention. Almost everyone in the post must be watching the play by now and assuming any odd activity to be connected with it.
    Maskelle drew the seals again, in wax and in coalblack, trying to ignore the knocking and rustling inside the heavy box.
    “How did it get out?‘” Gardick demanded, still breathing hard from the struggle. The puppet had managed to bite his hand and Old Mali was digging the splinters out for him.
    The noises quieted as Maskelle made the final sign and she sat back on her heels. “See where the last seal was scrubbed off? It made someone do that and then made him forget what he did. With the unpacking you all were doing for the play, it could have been anyone. It’s not such a hard thing, when someone’s opening boxes, to make him open just one more.”
    “Not such a hard thing,” Firac muttered uneasily. “Then why didn’t it do it before?”
    Maskelle glanced at Rastim’s worried face. “It’s getting stronger.”
    Gardick swore and Firac moaned. “But we’re closer to Duvalpore and the chief priest,” Rastim said quickly. “In a few days it’ll all be over.”
    Gardick said grimly, “If we’re still alive then. Ow!” The last was to Old Mali, who must have dug a bit deeper than strictly necessary for the last splinter.
    “What we need,” Maskelle said, cutting across the growing argument, “is a lock with a key. I’ll keep the key.”
    “Use the one on the moneybox,” Firac suggested. “There won’t be much to steal, not after we pay our fees here.”
    Swearing under his breath, Rastim fetched the lock and Maskelle fixed it on the box’s latch. Further discussion was put off by Doria and Therasa, repeating their last exchange at a shout so Firac and Gardick would hear their cues. Everyone bolted off and Maskelle followed more slowly, shaking her head. She would like to think that the puppet’s escape was the source of her earlier disquiet, but she had the feeling it was only a portion of it and the greater part was still to come.
    Maskelle went back to her position at the rear of the audience. She looked for her swordsman, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 3
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    Near the end of the performance, when most of the Ariaden were on stage, something drew Maskelle’s eyes to the bank below the outpost. The light from the lamps along the balconies didn’t fall there and the shadows were deep. . . .
The light
. Maskelle sat up abruptly. There should be smaller lamps attached to the pilings, so a boat passing down the river during the night wouldn’t be in danger of striking them. There had been lamps, the last time she had noticed.
    She got to her feet, her knees cracking in protest at her long immobility, and made a wide circle around the audience, out of the torchlight. The boatmen were playing dice with the Mahlindi’s guards and drivers in the very back, and none of them looked up as she passed.
    It was very dark near the bank, the shadow of the outpost blocking what little moonlight escaped past the clouds. She only knew how near she was by the sound of the river and the mud squelching underfoot. She found the water steps that led down to the bridges under the post, crept down them to the first piling. She ran her hands around the rough splintered surface until she felt the cracked globe of the lamp; the glass was still warm.
    So something came out of the river