Sam sighed. He sheathed his sword and picked the cat up, letting the little beast rest in the crook of his arm.
“It was quicker,” he said to Lirael apologetically. “And I hate to mention it, but there are a lot more Dead Hands coming . . . and Shadow Hands, unless I’m mistaken. . . .”
“You’re not mistaken,” growled the Dog. She was looking suspiciously at Mogget. “Though like my Mistress, I am not satisfied with the Mogget’s motivation or explanation, I suggest we leave immediately. We have little time.”
As if in answer to her words, the sound of truck engines came from down the road. Obviously Lieutenant Tindall and his men had pushed them back far enough, and they could start again.
“I hope we can loop around,” said Sam anxiously as they ran to the trucks. “If the wind changes again, we’ll be stranded even farther away.”
“We could try and work it . . .” Lirael began. Then she shook her head. “No, of course not. That would only make it worse for the Ancelstierran . . . what do you call it? Technologia?”
“Close enough,” puffed Sam. “Come on!”
They had caught up with Major Greene and the rear platoon, who were double-timing back to the trucks. The Major beamed at them as they matched his pace, and several soldiers slapped their rifles in salute. The atmosphere was very different from what it had been only a few minutes before.
Lieutenant Tindall was waiting by the lead truck, studying the map once again, this time with the aid of a working electric flashlight. He looked up and saluted as Lirael, Sam, and Major Greene approached.
“I’ve found a road that will work,” he said quickly. “I think we might even be able to beat Hedge there!”
“How?” asked Lirael urgently.
“Well, the only road south from the Western Strongpoint winds up through these hills here,” he said, pointing. “It’s a single lane and not even metaled. Heavily laden wagons—as Maculler described them to me—will take a day at least to get up through there. They can’t possibly be at the Mill before late afternoon! We can be there soon after dawn.”
“Good work, Tindall,” exclaimed the Major, clapping him on the back.
“Is there any other way the hemispheres could be taken to the Mill?” asked Sam. “This has all been planned so carefully by Hedge. In both the Kingdom and here . . . everything was prepared. Using the Southerlings to make more Dead, the wagons ready . . .”
Tindall looked at the map again. The flashlight beam darted in several directions over it as he thought about pos-sible alternatives.
“Well,” he said finally, “I suppose they could take the hemispheres by wagon to the sea, load them on boats, and take them south and then up the loch to the old dock at the Mill. But there’s nowhere to load them near the Western Strongpoint—”
“Yes there is,” said the Major, suddenly grim again. He pointed at a single symbol on the map, a vertical stroke surrounded by four angled strokes. “There’s a Navy dock at the Western Light.”
“That’s what Hedge will be doing,” said Lirael, suddenly chill with certainty. “How quickly can they go by sea?”
“Loading the hemispheres would take a while,” said Sam, joining the cluster of heads bent over the map. “And they’ll have to sail, not steam. But Hedge will work the wind. I’d say less than eight hours.”
There was a moment of silence after his words; then by unspoken consent, the huddle exploded into action. Greene snatched the map and hauled himself up into the cab of the first truck, Lirael and her companions ran to the back to jump in, and Lieutenant Tindall ran along the road waving his hand and shouting, “Go! Go!” as the trucks revved higher and slowly began to move out, their headlights flickering as the engines took the strain.
In the back of the truck, Sam put Mogget on top of his many-times-mended pack and sat down next to it. As he did, he pulled a small metal container out of his belt pouch and set it next to the cat’s nose. For a few seconds, the cat appeared to be sound asleep. Then one green eye opened a fraction.
“What’s that?” asked Mogget.
“Sardines,” said Sam. “I knew they were standard rations, so I got a few tins for you.”
“What are sardines?” asked Mogget suspiciously. “And why is there a key? Is this some sort of Abhorsen joke?”
In answer Sam tore the key off and slowly unwound the top of the tin. The rich smell of sardines spilled out. Mogget watched the procedure avidly, his eyes never leaving the tin. When Sam put it down, narrowly avoiding cutting himself as the truck went over a series of bumps, Mogget sniffed the sardines cautiously.
“Why are you giving me this?”
“You like fish,” said Sam. “Besides, I said I would.”
Mogget tore his gaze away from the sardines and looked at Sam. His eyes narrowed, but he saw no sign of guile in Sam’s face. The little cat shook his head and then ate the sardines in a flash, leaving the tin spotless and empty.
Lirael and the Dog glanced at this exhibition of gluttony, but both were more interested in what was going on outside and behind them. Lirael pushed aside the canvas flap, and they looked past the three following trucks. Lirael could sense the second, much larger group of Dead and Shadow Hands that was advancing along the road. The Shadow Hands, which were both more powerful than the Dead Hands and unconstrained by flesh, were moving very swiftly, some of them leaping and gliding like enormous bats ahead of the main body of their shambling, corpse-dwelling brethren. They would undoubtedly wreak great trouble somewhere, but she could not spare them any further thought. The greater danger lay to the west, and already a little south, where lightning played on the horizon. Lirael noticed that the other, artificial thunder from the Ancelstierran artillery had ceased some time before, but she had been too busy to hear it stop.
“Dog,” whispered Lirael. She drew the Dog closer and hugged her about the neck. “Dog. What if we’re too late to destroy the Lightning Farm? What if the hemispheres join?”
The Dog didn’t say anything. She snuffled at Lirael’s ear instead and thumped her tail on the truck floor.
“I have to go into Death, don’t I?” whispered Lirael. “To use the Dark Mirror and find out how It was bound in the Beginning.”
Still the Dog didn’t speak.
“Will you come with me?” asked Lirael, her whisper so low no human could have heard it.
“Yes,” said the Dog. “Wherever you walk, I will be there.”
“When should we go?” asked Lirael.
“Not yet,” muttered the Dog. “Not until there is no other choice. Perhaps we will still reach the Lightning Farm before Hedge.”
“I hope so,” said Lirael. She hugged the Dog again, then let her go and settled back onto her own pack. Sam was already asleep on the opposite side of the truck, with Mogget curled up against him, the empty sardine tin sliding about on the wooden floor of the truck. Lirael picked it up, wrinkled her nose, and wedged it into a corner where it wouldn’t rattle.
“I will keep watch,” said the Disreputable Dog. “You should sleep, Mistress. There are still several hours before the dawn, and you will need all your strength.”
“I don’t think I can sleep,” said Lirael quietly. But she leaned back on her pack and closed her eyes. Her whole body felt edgy, and if she had been able to, she would have got up and practiced with her sword, or done something to try to drain the feeling off with exercise. But there was nothing she could do in the back of a moving vehicle. Except lie there and worry about what lay ahead. So she did that, and surprisingly soon crossed the line between wakeful worrying and troubled sleep.
The Dog lay with her head on her paws and watched Lirael toss and turn, and mumble in her sleep. Beneath them, the truck rattled and vibrated, the roar of the engine going up and down as the vehicle negotiated bends and rises and falls in the road.
After an hour or so, Mogget opened one eye. He saw the Dog watching and quickly shut it again. The Dog quietly got up and stalked over, pushing her snout down right ag
ainst Mogget’s little pink nose.