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Authors: Jody Lynne Nye
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to pliability, although it would have changed back to normal once his influence had passed.
Roan dropped to his hands and knees on the path, hoping the springy grass would have retained some impression from passing feet. Too resilient, alas. Wait—here, in the border of sandy soil along the edge of the walkway was a twisted smear, proof of passage of the bearer with slippery shoes. Roan crawled close for a good look. Yes! There were faint tracks on the grass turning toward the maze. Roan sprang up to follow them. The case for an airship began to look better and better.
As if the scientists had ceased to care about pursuit, the marks of a dozen pairs of feet appeared in the border and printed in sand on the grass within ten yards of the first. At the sculpted archway into the maze, which was clipped out of dark green hedges eight feet high and woven with creepers bearing huge fuchsia flowers, Roan trotted through and found fresh tracks of two pairs of feet, paces identical in length, carrying something heavy. The lighter tracks that followed obliterated parts of the prints, but most of them were intact, and undoubtedly heading inward. Roan followed the trail into the maze, turning where the grass was trampled, until he found himself standing before the fountain and the small marble bench that marked the center.
The grassy sward was free of marks of any kind. The trail had ended. They must have taken to the air here. Their transport had awaited them while they made their presentation to the king, knowing all the time that their experiment would be for bidden. How could no one have noticed such a thing? Roan sat down heavily on the bench in the shade of an alabaster statue with blank eyes, and wiped the sweat from his forehead and neck. Leave it to the scientists to invent a reliable airship and keep the news to themselves. That invention would have been welcomed as being of real use. Now the king would have to scramble a flying beast of some kind to pursue them, and hope that it didn’t eat the rescue party on the way.
The sculpted hedges around him, having sensed his presence in the manner of plants used to construct mazes, were busily shifting position and color to confuse the pattern. In a moment, he’d have to figure out afresh how to get out of the maze. That’d be no trouble; he’d done it thousands of times over the years. But as one low-lying, red-leafed bush moved past him and started to change to green, Roan saw something flutter. He sprang up, and chased the shrub until he could seize the fragment from among the thorns on top. It was a thread, of the pale gray-blue that the Ministry of Science favored for formal attire and the party had all been wearing in court. In another moment, the bush’s natural chameleonic properties would have hidden the clue forever.
The thread had been on the far side of the shrub from the clearing, outside of the path, as if someone’s garment had caught on the thorns when they stepped over it. That meant the scientists hadn’t left by air, at least not from here. The entire trip through the maze had been a blind meant to confuse anyone who followed. The shifting bushes would have hidden any evidence in a matter of hours. Roan was lucky that the bush hadn’t moved far from its original position when the scientists had been there. Only a stroke of good fortune had prevented the disappearance from the center of the maze from being a unsolved mystery. No, wait, Roan admonished himself. Think! That would have meant that the trail leading into the maze would also have been altered—and it hadn’t been. Brom had assumed someone would follow them, and wanted him to believe they had vanished from here. They’d caused the maze itself to hold its place until someone else came, so all the clues would be in place. Roan wondered that Brom could be so profligate with influence. The crucible was a new power in the land, one that had to be reckoned with. Brom and his minions must be
Roan dropped to his hands and knees on the path, hoping the springy grass would have retained some impression from passing feet. Too resilient, alas. Wait—here, in the border of sandy soil along the edge of the walkway was a twisted smear, proof of passage of the bearer with slippery shoes. Roan crawled close for a good look. Yes! There were faint tracks on the grass turning toward the maze. Roan sprang up to follow them. The case for an airship began to look better and better.
As if the scientists had ceased to care about pursuit, the marks of a dozen pairs of feet appeared in the border and printed in sand on the grass within ten yards of the first. At the sculpted archway into the maze, which was clipped out of dark green hedges eight feet high and woven with creepers bearing huge fuchsia flowers, Roan trotted through and found fresh tracks of two pairs of feet, paces identical in length, carrying something heavy. The lighter tracks that followed obliterated parts of the prints, but most of them were intact, and undoubtedly heading inward. Roan followed the trail into the maze, turning where the grass was trampled, until he found himself standing before the fountain and the small marble bench that marked the center.
The grassy sward was free of marks of any kind. The trail had ended. They must have taken to the air here. Their transport had awaited them while they made their presentation to the king, knowing all the time that their experiment would be for bidden. How could no one have noticed such a thing? Roan sat down heavily on the bench in the shade of an alabaster statue with blank eyes, and wiped the sweat from his forehead and neck. Leave it to the scientists to invent a reliable airship and keep the news to themselves. That invention would have been welcomed as being of real use. Now the king would have to scramble a flying beast of some kind to pursue them, and hope that it didn’t eat the rescue party on the way.
The sculpted hedges around him, having sensed his presence in the manner of plants used to construct mazes, were busily shifting position and color to confuse the pattern. In a moment, he’d have to figure out afresh how to get out of the maze. That’d be no trouble; he’d done it thousands of times over the years. But as one low-lying, red-leafed bush moved past him and started to change to green, Roan saw something flutter. He sprang up, and chased the shrub until he could seize the fragment from among the thorns on top. It was a thread, of the pale gray-blue that the Ministry of Science favored for formal attire and the party had all been wearing in court. In another moment, the bush’s natural chameleonic properties would have hidden the clue forever.
The thread had been on the far side of the shrub from the clearing, outside of the path, as if someone’s garment had caught on the thorns when they stepped over it. That meant the scientists hadn’t left by air, at least not from here. The entire trip through the maze had been a blind meant to confuse anyone who followed. The shifting bushes would have hidden any evidence in a matter of hours. Roan was lucky that the bush hadn’t moved far from its original position when the scientists had been there. Only a stroke of good fortune had prevented the disappearance from the center of the maze from being a unsolved mystery. No, wait, Roan admonished himself. Think! That would have meant that the trail leading into the maze would also have been altered—and it hadn’t been. Brom had assumed someone would follow them, and wanted him to believe they had vanished from here. They’d caused the maze itself to hold its place until someone else came, so all the clues would be in place. Roan wondered that Brom could be so profligate with influence. The crucible was a new power in the land, one that had to be reckoned with. Brom and his minions must be
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