Tav had promised to be in Bellwether before supper.
That had seemed reasonable when Bellwether was the only place he had promised to be.
Now there was a basket of pump fittings strapped behind his hover bike’s saddle, a sack of flour wedged beneath it, and a handwritten message in his vest pocket for a woman whose nephew had apparently bought something described only as “an unfortunate quantity of whistles.”
Tumble stood beside the bike, chewing.
“We’re making excellent time,” Tav told him.
The six-legged mount looked toward the sun.
“Compared with someone who hasn’t left yet.”
Tav crouched beneath the bike’s broad chassis and checked a copper coupling. The four lifting plates tilted in response to his hand on the control lever, stirring little curls of dust.
The machine was built for his considerable weight. Its arched spine, wide saddle, and thick ceramic plates had carried him across half the Farwind.
Today, however, the rear pressure needle sat higher than he liked.
He moved the flour onto Tumble’s pack saddle.
“There. Sensible adjustment.”
Tumble immediately leaned toward the sack.
“Transportation. Not compensation.”
Beyond them, pale grass unfolded in the evening shade. Orra’s ring had begun to appear overhead, a thin silver curve above the rust-colored mesas.
Then Tav heard a whistle.
One short note. A pause. Two more.
He straightened.
That pattern belonged to the trail markers along the wash. Wind turned their little brass rotors, and each marker gave a different call. Travelers followed them when dust hid the road.
This sound was coming from below the road.
Tav shut off the bike.
Tumble stopped chewing.
They listened.
The whistle sounded again, followed by a small voice.
“Hello?”
Tav walked to the edge.
A narrow service cart lay tipped against a stone shelf halfway down the wash. Beside it stood a young traveler in a blue work coat. She had one hand wrapped around a shrub and the other around a brass whistle.
Two squat, woolly animals huddled behind her.
“Anybody hurt?” Tav called.
“No. But the ground keeps moving.”
A little stream was eating at the bank beneath the shelf. Somewhere upstream, yesterday’s rain was still making its way down.
Tav lowered himself onto his stomach, keeping his weight well back.
“I’m Tav. What’s your name?”
“Neri.”
“Right, Neri. Stay where you are. Those your animals?”
“My aunt’s foldlings. I was taking them home.”
One foldling pressed its face into the back of her coat.
“The little one’s afraid.”
“Fair opinion,” Tav said. “I’m not impressed with this parking spot myself.”
Neri gave a brief, shaky laugh.
Tav studied the bank. Too steep for walking. Too loose for Tumble to climb down safely.
The bike could hover over the shelf.
He had lifted heavy loads before. Neri was small. The foldlings were small. He could bring them up in one trip.
“Let’s get you somewhere flatter.”
He tied a safety line from the bike’s rear frame to a thick stone anchor beside the road, checked the knot, and laid out his rescue sling.
Tumble watched him.
“Plenty of lift,” Tav said.
The mount blinked.
“That wasn’t a request for an engineering report.”
Tav eased the bike over the edge. Its plates adjusted independently, catching the uneven ground beneath them. Steam breathed from the rear valve.
He settled beside the shelf and looped the sling around a foldling, explaining each movement to Neri before he made it.
The animal was heavier than it looked.
Quite a bit heavier.
“That coat’s doing some ambitious advertising,” he murmured.
Neri climbed onto the saddle ahead of him. Tav secured both foldlings in the low cargo cradle and checked that no foot or tuft of wool was near a moving plate.
Then he opened the lift valve.
The bike rose.
For three encouraging seconds.
A sharp knock sounded beneath the saddle. The rear plates shuddered. The pressure needle climbed, and Tav immediately eased the valve shut.
They settled back onto the shelf.
Dust sifted past them.
Neri turned.
“Was that supposed to happen?”
“No.”
He looked at the cradle, then at the dial.
“I thought I had enough lift for everyone. I was wrong.”
“Can you fix it?”
“I can get us out. It’s going to take more than one trip.”
Below the shelf, a piece of bank slid into the water.
Tav reached for the signal horn clipped to his vest.
Across the wash, beyond a stand of pale grass, a maintenance windmill turned above a roof. He sounded three long calls.
For a moment, nothing answered.
Then a lantern swung from the distant porch.
Tav waved his hat.
Neri watched the porch light.
“Someone heard?”
“Someone with better evening plans. We’re about to ruin them.”
The person who arrived was a wiry mechanic named Sella, carrying a coil of rope and wearing an expression Tav knew well.
It usually appeared just before she handed him a bill.
She looked down at the loaded bike.
“Tavarion Rusk.”
“Evening, Sella.”
“You counted the passengers?”
“I did.”
“Weighed them in your imagination?”
“Apparently mine’s a very light imagination.”
Sella knelt beside the stone anchor.
“What do you need?”
Tav felt his shoulders loosen.
“A second line on the front frame. I’ll bring Neri up first. Then the foldlings separately. Keep the bike level if the rear plates hesitate.”
“Done.”
“And would you mind moving the fittings basket?”
She peered at him.
“You left cargo aboard?”
Tav glanced behind the saddle.
The basket sat exactly where he had tied it that morning.
He closed his eyes for half a second.
“Yes. I did.”
“Pass it up.”
No lecture. Just a rope lowered into his waiting hands.
He sent the basket first.
Then Neri.
With the cargo cradle empty, the bike lifted smoothly. Sella kept the front line taut while Tav guided it over the lip.
Neri stepped onto the road and immediately turned back toward the wash.
“The little one won’t let you catch him.”
“We’ll take our time,” Tav said.
“There isn’t much.”
He looked down at the shrinking shelf.
“No. So we’ll use it carefully.”
The larger foldling came up without complaint.
The smaller one wedged itself beneath the overturned cart.
Tav crouched a little distance away.
Above him, Sella held the lines. Neri called softly from the road. Tumble lowered his head over the edge and made a deep, rolling sound in his throat.
The foldling’s ears lifted.
Tumble called again.
Tav stayed still.
After a moment, a woolly nose emerged.
“There you are,” he said quietly.
He offered his open hand. The foldling sniffed it, then stepped close enough for him to settle the sling around its body.
They rose just as water washed beneath the cart’s wheels.
Tav kept his eyes on the road.
Sella hauled steadily. The plates held.
When the bike cleared the edge, the little foldling wriggled out of its sling and hurried straight beneath Tumble’s belly.
Tumble stood patiently while it leaned against one broad foot.
Neri put both hands over her face.
Then she hugged the foldling, Tumble’s leg, and part of Tav’s coat in one complicated effort.
“Thank you.”
“You did well down there,” Tav told her. “You kept them with you. And you had that whistle.”
“Aunt says everybody should carry one.”
“Your aunt and I agree on something already.”
Sella folded her arms.
“Listen closely. That doesn’t happen every day.”
They reached Bellwether after dark.
Neri’s aunt came off the porch before anyone could explain and held her niece so tightly that the whistle squeaked between them.
Tav waited until their arms loosened before telling her about the cart.
She listened, checked the foldlings, and insisted that everyone stay for supper.
The pump fittings could wait until morning. The flour had arrived intact, despite Tumble’s interest.
As Tav unstrapped the sack, Sella examined the bike’s coupling.
“You’ll want a new seal.”
“Thought so. Can you help me fit it tomorrow?”
“After breakfast.”
Tav nodded gratefully.
From his vest pocket came a faint metallic chirp.
He pulled out the message, remembered the nephew, and looked toward Neri’s aunt.
“One more delivery.”
She read the note.
Then she sighed.
“How many whistles?”
Tav shrugged.
Behind them, Tumble shook himself. The little foldling nestled against his feet gave a sleepy bleat.
Tav scratched his companion’s neck.
“You were the calm one today.”
Tumble leaned into his hand.
“And Sella was the sensible one. Neri was the brave one.”
He glanced at the bike, then at the welcoming light spilling across the porch.
“I suppose I was transportation.”
Sella held the door.
“Part-time.”
Tav laughed and ducked beneath the lintel.
Supper had waited for him.
For once, he let the rest of the evening do the same.
