Free Wheel of the Infinite by Martha Wells Page B

at Rian, who stood at her shoulder. She wasn’t sure if he had seen its performance during the play or if he had already left to stalk the river creature by that point. She said, “It’s a puppet.”
    Rian frowned at the box, then looked at her again. “It’s moving.”
    “Well, they don’t in the normal course of things, that’s true,” Rastim said, sighing in resignation and scratching his head. “It’s . . .”
    “Under a curse,” Maskelle finished, knowing how long it could take Rastim to get to the point. Some of the provincials the Ariaden performed for had seen so little of puppets they hadn’t yet grasped the fact that the wooden constructions needed a human actor to move; she had thought the Sintane would be among them, but evidently Rian knew better. “We need to shut it up.” The knocking was getting louder already.
    “We could wrap blankets around it . . .” Therasa suggested. “Or bang the drums, that would cover the noise.”
    “And wake everyone? Again?” Rastim asked. “The traders would kill us—and who could blame them?”
    “Maskelle, can’t you do something?” Firac asked, worried.
    “The puppet that walked out by itself during the play?” Rian persisted.
    “Yes.” Maskelle rubbed her forehead. If she used her power, it would just draw more unwelcome attention from the spirits of the river and the jungle, and there was too strong a chance of other attacks tonight as it was.
    Rian folded his arms. “If you tell me why it’s cursed, I’ll tell you how to stop the knocking.”
    They all stared at him. Maskelle raised a brow and looked at Rastim, who shrugged doubtfully. It was obvious he didn’t think Rian could fulfill the bargain. She said, “They were performing in Corvalent and had heard stories of a man called Magister Acavir their whole way through the province. He had a reputation as a penurious tyrant.”
    Rian looked at Rastim, who muttered, “I thought it was just a myth.”
    “The Ariaden treat their rulers with less deference and it’s very common to make fun of them at public plays and festivals. A sense of humor is considered very important in any high official. So one night, to please a balky audience, they substituted the name Magister Acavir for some bumbling court official in one of their Ariaden plays. It worked, the audience did love it. And guess who was there in the very town they were performing in.”
    There was some feet shuffling and Therasa sighed. “The knocking?” Rastim prompted.
    Rian shook his head, as if reconsidering his association with them. “Put the box underwater. It’ll muffle the noise.”
    Maskelle rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Good. Now I feel like a fool, too
. Rian didn’t realize the full efficacy of his suggestion. Water wouldn’t only muffle the sound, it would provide a barrier that the curse’s power couldn’t penetrate. “Not the river.” Running water would be best, but she didn’t want to see Magister Acavir’s curse and the river in its current state brought together, and they needed to be able to move quickly. Stagnant water would eventually lose its power to seal the curse in, but it would buy time to get away from the post before the creature thought of a way to bring the guards down on them. “If we unloaded one of the bigger puppet’s boxes, and filled it with water, we could put Gisar’s box inside it.” All the puppet boxes were proofed with tar and lined with padded silk to keep water out; they should keep water in just as well.
    Unpacking one of the larger puppets and hauling out its box presented no problem, but filling it with water and lowering Gisar’s box into it was problematic, or at least the Ariaden thought so. The water trough allotted to their camp was about twenty yards past their wagons, in the direction of the post. The oxen had been watered earlier and were hobbled nearby.
    Rastim and Gardick carried the large box over to the trough and filled it. The others brought Gisar’s