“Then I’ll do all the sending,” said Umbo.
“The decision is made,” said Param. “This is what we’ll train for. How many days?”
“Till they know the drill,” said Loaf. “It’s not as if we have a deadline at this point in time. It’s the arrival that has to be exact.”
“I wish,” said Rigg softly, “that there were some way for Noxon to send us a message when he completes his mission.”
“There is,” said Square. “The world isn’t destroyed. Message received.”
“Maybe I’ll go forward in time while you’re all preparing,” said Rigg.
“Nothing’s changed,” said Umbo.
Silence again.
“I check every morning,” said Umbo. “Nothing’s changed yet.”
Param thought of what that meant. Umbo leaping forward in time to see if the world was still destroyed on schedule, and returning because the destruction was inevitable.
Why bother doing all this, if relieving the people of the brutal regime of Hagia and Haddamander only bettered their lives for a couple of years, and then the world ended anyway?
As if he knew what she was thinking, Rigg said, “We have to fight and plan as if we had a future. In case we actually get one.”
“Decided,” said Param. “This command goes forth from the Tent of Light: So let it be done.”
She hadn’t learned the old rituals of command from her mother. She had found them in books. At first she thought it was ridiculous hocum. Now she understood that someone had to end the council by declaring specifically what had been decided and what must happen next. Without absolute clarity, people would go off and dither, especially if they had doubts about the decision.
Param knew what she had done. Upended all their plans, taken them from defense to attack, and because of her, enemy soldiers would be speared or javelined or sabered in their sleep, or in the moment when they staggered up from their beds, searching for weapons.
Unless Haddamander had anticipated exactly this strategy.
But he couldn’t really know all their capabilities, because his soldiers had only faced Param’s soldiers a couple of times, in minor skirmishes and in Captain Toad’s last raid, which had seemed to Haddamander to be the first.
When Param spoke her decision, everyone left the Tent of Light. Except Umbo.
“There’s always another choice,” said Umbo.
“We’re not assassinating them,” said Param.
“They deserve no better, and it would save the lives of their men.”
“It wouldn’t,” said Param. “Assassination would only invite new warlords to rise up and replace them. Their army must be whipped and know that it was whipped.”
“Because that’s what Olivenko—”
“That’s what history says,” Param answered.
He nodded, but looked a bit dejected.
“Umbo, murder isn’t in you.”
“It’s in Rigg,” said Umbo.
“It was in Rigg. Once. And it damaged him. Murder damages people.”
“Or maybe it’s that damaged people murder,” said Umbo.
“Or both,” said Param. “But we’re not going to find out. We won’t succeed at taking the Tent of Light only because I was willing to have my mother murdered for ambition’s sake.”
“You know they wouldn’t hesitate to do it to us, if they thought they could,” said Umbo.
“I know they already tried, before we first passed through the Wall,” said Param. “I know we held hands and saved each other. But if we attempt to win by way of murder, then it no longer matters who wins this war—there’ll be a murderer and oathbreaker in the Tent of Light either way.”
“There’s no moral equivalency,” said Umbo.
“Rigg killed Ram Odin once in self-defense—and he couldn’t live with it.”
“That was Rigg,” said Umbo.
“And you’re a more ruthless killer?” asked Param.
“I might be,” said Umbo.
“Let’s see how this battle goes,” said Param.
“You’re right,” said Umbo. “Maybe your mother and Haddamander will be the first to die in their tents on the battlefield.”
Param shook her head. “You say all these things much too easily.”
“I want to avoid the deaths of the obedient soldiers on both sides,” said Umbo.
“I want to, too,” said Param. “But it’s not enough for us just to win. The enemy’s army has to experience real, terrifying loss.”
“I remember when Olivenko first said that exact phrase,” said Umbo.
“He’s a counselor,” said Param. “A wise queen listens to wise counsel.”
Umbo fell silent.
“The way I listened to you,” said Param. “When you told us that the world still ends on schedule. Even though you had never told me you checked every day.”
Umbo fell silent. In embarrassment?
“I listen to you more than anyone,” said Param.
“Since nobody listens to me at all,” said Umbo, smiling at her, “that’s not hard to achieve.”
“I meant that I listen to you more than I listen to anyone else,” said Param. “And not because you’re my husband, and I love you. Though you are, and I do.”
He showed no reaction.
“I listen to you because you speak rarely, but when you do, it always matters and you’re always wise.”
“Or if I’m not,” said Umbo, “I can always go back and clean up the mess.”
“Tidiness in a man is a worthy trait,” said Param.
He kissed her. A brief kiss. More than brotherly, but far from passionate.
She kissed him in reply, with all the passion she wished he would bring to his kisses.
“Do you think this is the right time for that?” he asked softly, when they broke from the second kiss.
“Tell me when you start believing that I’m truly your wife,” said Param.
“When that happens,” said Umbo, “I won’t have to tell you. You’ll know.”
CHAPTER 27
Retrieving the Mice
Because Noxon could see his and Ram’s paths—and the paths of the mice inside the box—he was able to return only a few seconds after he and Ram had left them buried.
They had explained the mice to Deborah and Anthropologist Wheaton, including all the disobedience and attempted betrayals. “Why don’t you just leave them there?” asked Wheaton.
“Because I promised I’d come back and let them out,” said Noxon.
“It’s one of his better traits,” said Ram. “But it’s also a serious weakness. And the mice really are dangerous and tricky.”
“Are we in danger from them?” asked Wheaton. Noxon could see that it was Deborah he was worried about.
“Yes,” said Noxon. “But only in the sense that the entire human race is in danger. Or that, if they were to kill me, the rest of you would be stranded in ancient Peru, thousands of years before any humans come to the Americas.”
“I suppose that means no internet,” said Deborah.
It took Noxon a moment even to remember what she was talking about. “Oh, yes, I forget how connected everyone is in your time,” said Noxon.
“We never even carried mobiles,” said Ram. “Didn’t get into that mind-set.”
“It’s time to open the box, then close it and rebury it before Ram and I come back.”
“You come back? Another time?” asked Deborah.
“We ran some errands,” said Ram. “And left the starship where it would be buried in ice. Then we came back and talked about letting the mice out.”
“But you didn’t,” said Deborah.
“And we didn’t check to see if they were still in the box,” said Noxon. “In case they weren’t. Because that would mean we came back here and liberated them. As we’re doing.”
“And you didn’t want to know?” asked Wheaton. “I can’t imagine wanting not to know something.”
“If we knew,” said Noxon, “we’d make guesses about why we came back and that might change our behavior. Which might erase whatever future had previously ensued. Or might duplicate us.”
“You have to be very careful,” Deborah observed.
“Everything has unforeseen consequences,” said Noxon. “And every attempt to make some things better is likely to make other things worse.”