Free The Canticle of Whispers by David Whitley Page A

of guard or escort. He held no weapons—nothing more threatening than a slim, white baton, which he tapped against his forehead absentmindedly.
    Tertius and Septima stepped backward. Lily was amazed to see they were trembling.
    â€œPerhaps,” he suggested, in a warm, slightly uncertain voice, “you might want to introduce me to your guest?”
    Without warning, Septima flung herself on the ground before the man’s feet.
    â€œSpare me, Conductor! I’ve brought back the foul brute!”
    Tertius gasped as Septima crawled forward.
    â€œTertius found an outsider, sir, a member of the Orchestra! He was holding her captive.”
    Tertius glared at her.
    â€œYou stole my idea!” he accused her. “When did you decide to turn traitor?”
    â€œTwo days ago,” Septima said, with pride. Tertius laughed, triumphantly.
    â€œThen you’re too late. I decided I was going to turn you in three days ago. Just as soon as I had the Wonder’s best secret.”
    Septima sprang up from the ground, indignantly.
    â€œHow do I know that? You might have made that up now. Anyway, that just makes you a rotten traitor.”
    â€œBut you just said…”
    â€œWhy don’t you just rot away and die, Traitor?”
    â€œYou disharmonious load of old…”
    The slanging match grew louder, and more vehement, incorporating some fairly graphic hand gestures. Throughout it all, the two squared up, a yard apart, their faces flushing with the effort.
    In the midst of all this, the Conductor came closer to the cart, and, tucking his baton behind his ear, gave Lily a weary smile.
    â€œWould you like some refreshment, young one? I fear this argument will continue for quite some time.”
    Dazed, weary, and utterly confused, Lily nodded dumbly, and got out of the cart. Then, watched silently by the people clustered near the shining Hub, she followed the Conductor, the wailing shrieks of her former friends ringing in her ears.
    *   *   *
    Ten minutes, and a strong cup of tea later, Lily felt a little better.
    â€œYou mean … they weren’t on the run at all? Really?” she asked, still not quite believing it. The Conductor shrugged. He had taken her to his comfortably furnished cave, a few minutes’ walk from the Hub. The bare stone was disguised with throws and rugs, and the Conductor had insisted that she sit on a large canvas bag filled with feathers. He stood in the corner, busying himself over a little stove, heating up the water for his own cup of tea. Its little flame cast a pleasant glow over his features, a contrast to the cold light from the faintly glowing cluster of crystals in the ceiling.
    â€œIn a sense, they were,” he replied, thoughtfully stirring the infusion. “A few weeks ago they disappeared. Some of the others in their sections said that they had been struck with wanderlust. So naturally, I ordered the Guardians to watch over them. We left a few food parcels in their way, just enough to keep them safe. I must admit, as soon as the Guardians told me about you, I was looking forward to your arrival. Orchestra members are not unknown or unwelcome here, but it has been years since we have had any visitors. I was tempted to invite your companions back to the Hub a couple of days ago, when it looked as though they were about to abandon you, but in the event, I’m glad that we did not. It is vital to let wanderers return of their own free will.”
    â€œBut, they told me that you had been cruel to them, hurt their friends…”
    The Conductor frowned, and scratched his chin. “Well, I think I might have commented on the tenors’ tuning a few weeks ago. Really, when the wanderlust is upon them, they’re looking for any excuse.” The Conductor leaned back, crossing his hands across his stomach. “I remember, when I left the Hub for the first time, I had been given three fewer grapes than my