“First,” said Rigg, “Ram Odin only made the decisions that he made, based on the data the ships and the expendables gave him. But he also knew things about how the expendables worked that we don’t know.”

“The mice are leaving,” said Param.

It was true. They were rushing from the flyer, down the ramp and simply dropping off its sides. It took a surprisingly long time. They had apparently been swarming everywhere in the vehicle.

“Alone at last,” said Olivenko, when the last mouse went down the ramp.

“There are still five on Loaf,” said Rigg. “And three hiding in the upholstery.”

Those all came out of hiding and headed out the door.

“They don’t have to go,” said Rigg. “We have nothing to hide.”

But the mice went anyway.

Umbo got up and went to the doorway and looked out. They were on the brow of a hill, surrounded mostly by woodland. He could see several housetrees of the Odinfolders. Rigg came and stood beside him. “They’re at home,” said Rigg.

“But not coming out to see what we’re doing,” said Umbo.

“They see the Odinfold flyer,” said Rigg, “and all they can see of us is a couple of people standing in the doorway. As far as they know, we’re transporting mice for some kind of mousemoot.”

Umbo turned back to face the others. “Should we do it?” he asked.

“Transport the mice with us into the past?” asked Loaf. “We gave our word.”

“We don’t even know if we can do it,” said Umbo.

“Of course we can,” said Rigg. “If we can take Loaf with us, we can take anybody.”

Loaf smiled wanly.

“When should we travel to?” asked Umbo. “How far into the past are we going to take them?”

“As soon after we got control of the Wall as possible, I suppose,” said Rigg.

Umbo noticed the way he said “we.” As if anybody but him had any power over it. “I don’t carry a perfect calendar in my head,” said Umbo. “Why not just go through now, a year or so before the Visitors arrive?”

“Because the mice want more than a few of their generations to get established,” said Loaf. “They want to take ten thousand mice through the Wall, so they’ll have millions in place before the Visitors come.”

“That’s what the mice want,” said Umbo.

“We gave our word,” said Param.

“Based on information they gave us,” said Umbo. “And what the expendables and the ship told us.”

“Umbo has a point,” said Rigg. “Not the point he thinks he’s making—we’re going to keep our word, or at least I am. But we don’t know if we can take ten thousand mice into the past. Or even fifty. And how will we pinpoint when to arrive?”

“Just . . . hook on to some path, like you always do,” said Umbo.

“What path?” asked Rigg. “How do we know which of the paths that come near the Wall are from that time, or even close to it?”

“Take the flyer back with us,” said Olivenko, “and when we get there, ask it if we hit the right time.”

“No,” said Umbo. “If we arrive at a time before Rigg got control of the ships, then the flyer doesn’t have to do anything we say.”

“But it’s the flyer from now, from the future of that time,” said Olivenko.

“Machines aren’t people,” said Umbo. “It will sync up with the starship computers of that time and do what they tell it to do—and they won’t be obeying Rigg. They won’t even know who Rigg is.”

“We’re so powerful,” said Param. “But now we want to be all-knowing, too.”

“Well, it would be nice,” said Rigg.

“I think we need to fly back to where we came through the Wall from Vadeshfold,” said Umbo, “and go back to that time, where Rigg can see our own paths coming through the Wall.”

“But we won’t have the mice there,” said Loaf.

“They assembled here,” said Umbo. “Let them assemble there.”

“And then how long will it take them to travel here to the Larfold Wall?” asked Loaf. “They have little tiny legs.”

“I stay here,” said Umbo. “Rigg flies back there. Rigg hooks onto our paths. I push Rigg back, complete with the flyer. Rigg flies back here in that time, and then when he gets here, I pull him back to this time.”

“So much rigmarole,” said Olivenko.

“It’s the only way Rigg can go back and then get back to this time exactly,” said Umbo. “I’m still needed for that—the ability to stay in the present and send somebody else into the past. When Rigg comes back to the present, his own path will be here, at the Wall, and then we can take the mice back. Even if we can only take twenty or fifty or a hundred at a time, I can send Rigg back with the mice again and again, bring Rigg back to the present, and send him again.”

“I wish I could sense paths through the curvature of the planet,” said Rigg. “I can see them through hills, but they get faint and then invisible as more and more planetary mass gets between me and them.”

Param got up from her chair and walked to the door. She put her hands on Umbo’s shoulders. “What are you planning, Umbo?” she asked.

“I’m planning to do whatever we decide to do,” said Umbo, puzzled by the question.

“If you push Rigg into the past,” she said, “and then leave him there, he can’t get back to the present. He can’t see paths in the future. He can’t shift forward.”

“But I won’t leave him there,” said Umbo, blushing as he realized what treachery she was accusing him of.

“I’m sorry,” said Param, “but I’m trying to figure out what great wellspring of loyalty you’re drawing from here. Aren’t you the one who got rid of Rigg before, when we were still on our way to Odinfold?”

This was too much to bear, coming from her. “You’re the one who refused to go on hiking! I was trying to help you.”

“You were trying to get out from under Rigg’s thumb,” said Param. “Don’t blame it on me. Stranding Rigg in the past would make you the only time-shifter left here in the present.”

“But I won’t do that,” said Umbo.

“And we know that because . . .”

“Because I say so,” said Umbo.

“And we’re supposed to take the word of a peasant boy?” asked Param scornfully.

“The word of peasant boys is worth a lot more than the word of the royal family, as far as I’ve been able to see!” shouted Umbo.

In answer, Param gave him a shove out the door.

Umbo stumbled backward, lost his footing on the ramp, and fell off to the side into the grass. Above him, he could hear Param say to Rigg, “Now let’s take the flyer and go.”

“I see,” said Rigg.

“See what?” asked Param.

“That you’re our mother’s true daughter,” said Rigg.

Umbo was still getting to his feet when he heard a scuffle above him. He looked up to see Param stumbling down the ramp, tripping, falling.

Umbo might have caught her, or broken her fall a little. Instead he ducked under the ramp. She fell unimpeded into the grass, just as he had. Only she wasn’t used to falling. She didn’t have the catlike reflexes that Umbo had developed growing up in Fall Ford, playing in the woods, by the river, on the rocky cliffs, climbing every tree, every boulder, with other boys and many a girl scuffling with him. She fell like a lump and then cried out in pain; she curled up, holding her elbow.

Umbo had seen the elbow bend way too far in the wrong direction. And now it hung limply. Torn ligaments, broken bones—it had to be one or the other, or both. It wasn’t a hinge joint anymore. It was more like loose skin between two bones.

“That was ugly,” said Umbo.

Param screamed in agony and then . . . disappeared.

“Param,” cried Rigg, rushing down the ramp. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

Loaf and Olivenko followed him out of the flyer and down the ramp. “Rigg, you stupid little—” Loaf began.

“I know!” shouted Rigg. “But she had no right to treat Umbo that way! Who does she think she is?”

“She thinks she’s the Queen-in-the-Tent of the Sessamids!” said Olivenko. “And oh, surprise: As soon as your mother dies, she is.”