Falima hesitated, clearly seeing the trap. "You were starving?"

"Yes." Collins refused to allow her to sidetrack him. Though no third world orphan, he had gone twenty-seven hours on nothing but water. "Would you eat the bugs?"

Maybe," Falima said, then clenched her jaw. "Why? Is that murder where you come from?"

The urge to reply affirmatively became a burning compulsion. It would make his point swiftly and efficiently, but Collins never lied well. "No. But it's disgusting. You wouldn't get hung-"

"Hanged," Falima corrected.

Collins blinked, barely daring to believe a person who could only speak his language because of a magical device thought it possible, even necessary, to correct his grammar. "It's hanged? Not hung?

Really?"

"Trust me."

Collins returned to his point. "You wouldn't get hanged." It still sounded wrong. "But you might get locked up." He did not bother to differentiate between prison and a mental unit. It would only weaken his point, and at least he had not directly lied.

Another large, flying thing zipped past Collins' head. He smacked it out of the air. "No wonder you can eat the bugs here." It flew in an awkward arc, then crashed into the dirt. "They're as big as-"

Falima's sharp intake of breath cut off Collins' words before he could make a fatal faux pas. Zylas scrambled to check on the fallen creature, Collins presumed to augment dinner.

Zylas scooped it up but did not add it to the crock. Instead, he cradled it in his hand, ma.s.saging it with a gentle finger.

Dread crept through Collins' chest in icy p.r.i.c.kles. What have I done this time? Leaping to his feet, he raced Falima to the thing in Zylas' hands. A tiny hummingbird lay there, its colors vivid against thechalky whiteness of the rat/man's palms. Its body was deep emerald, the wings a lacy lighter green. A patch of pink decorated its throat. The long, thin beak was black. "I'm sorry," Collins gasped out, gagging. "I thought it was a horsefly. I swear I did. I-I . . . is it . . ."He shuddered at the idea. "... dead?"

"Just stunned." Zylas held up his hand, and the bird's wings became a blur. It zipped into the air and disappeared, to Collins' relief.

"He is a menace," Falima grumbled under her breath.

"Honest mistake," Zylas replied.

Collins suspected both of the English comments had been directed at him, though they addressed one another. To his surprise, he appreciated them talking around him rather than in their own language. At least, he felt included. "I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm really sorry." He wondered if he had just destroyed their security or enhanced it. If he alone noticed the hummingbird, and it had been spying, then he might have averted capture. More likely, he had whacked some innocent bystander who would now find him less a curiosity and more a danger to discuss with guards and friends. Collins dropped to the ground and buried his face in his hands. The new lines of thought this bizarre world inspired left him with millions of possibilities and little direction. "Perhaps . . . perhaps, the guards at the ruins might get tired of waiting for me and give up?"

Falima's amused snort shattered that last hope. Even Zylas loosed a laugh. "Not likely. Even best time, guard . . . zealous." The last word seemed a difficult one for a tyro to choose, and Collins suspected its similarity to the rat/man's name made it easier for him to learn. "They know you corned from there. Want you." He shrugged. "Not go till get you."

"They know?" Collins felt his features grow tightly knit. "How?" There seemed only one logical explanation. "Have others come from my world?"

Zylas glanced at Falima, who shook her head with a grimace. They exchanged more dialogue than Collins thought necessary. Either they had or they had not. If s.p.a.ce aliens had visited his town, he could not imagine anyone not knowing.

Finally Zylas addressed Collins again. "No."

The answer seemed too simple for the time it had taken to gather it. "No?"

"Not that either of us knows of," Falima clarified. "The royals might have more information."

Collins doubted it. If others had come, it seemed likely the so-called royals would have kept him from entering Barakhai in the first place.

Apparently thinking along the same lines, Zylas added. "If other come, royal not know from where till you."

Or else I would have found the ruins better guarded. Collins nodded to indicate he understood, then stumbled over an odd thought. "Do your people come to our world often?" He had studied some strange animals, like the platypus, that seemed otherworldly. Perhaps it explained the disappearance of the dinosaurs; somehow they all got zapped to another dimension.

Falima continued gathering bugs. "Zylas is the only one I know of who has gone. And I only just found that out because of you."

Zylas looked at his sandals. "Know one other. Not think more."

"Let us eat." Falima held out the crock, now half-full with crawling insects.

Collins' stomach lurched.

Falima poured water into the crock, replaced the lid, and set it near the food. "Hurry up. Gather kindling."

Immediately, Collins obeyed, glad to find some small way to start repaying his rescuers. He brought back armfuls of dry twigs, choosing wider ones with each pa.s.s. The first gray stirrings of dusk settled over the forest, bringing a chilly breeze that stirred the leaves into rattling dances overhead. Oncoming darkness dimmed the trees to skeletal hulks swarmed with fluttering leaves like dark, limp hands. As Collins dropped his third load, he found his two companions squatting in front of a well-arranged tower of kindling with a pile of leaves beneath it. He hunkered down between them. "Be a lot easier if you'd brought my lighter."

"Not need." Zylas reached into his tunic pocket.Before Collins could marvel over Zylas even knowing what he meant, the albino's hand emerged wrapped around a translucent purple Zippo. Expertly, he flicked the wheel with a callused thumb. A tiny flame appeared, and he used it to ignite the leaves.

Zylas sat back. "Brought own."

Collins dropped to his haunches. "You . . . you have lighters?" It seemed impossible. If Barakhai had that technology, he should see so much more; and it made no sense that they would have an otherworld brand name version even so. Then realization clicked. "You must have got it in my world."

Zylas watched the sprouting flames, brushing aside his cloak and replacing the lighter blindly. "Work hard drag back."

"I'll bet." Collins pictured a rat scooting the Zippo across a dark, dirty floor for hours. He bit back a smile. Zylas probably would not appreciate the humor, and he doubted Falima would either. Reminded of his own devices, Collins expressed grat.i.tude that had gone too long unspoken. He now understood that Zylas must have packed the saddlebags. "By the way, thanks for getting my watch back." He held up his wrist. "And the phone, too." He patted the Motorola StarTAC clipped to his waistband.

"You welcome." Zylas fanned the growing flames with his hat as they danced onto the wood. "Not able get all. Pick good?"

Collins measured his response. No matter how misguided, good deeds deserved praise, not condemnation. "Fine."

Apparently reading the hesitation, Zylas looked up, snowy hair plastered to his head in the shape of his missing hat. "Truth, please."

"Honestly," Collins returned carefully. "I do appreciate your help."

"But. . ." Zylas added, replacing his headgear.

"But," Collins continued dutifully. "Time doesn't make a whole lot of difference." He gestured at his watch, then pulled the cellular phone from its holster. He pressed the b.u.t.ton and got no response.

"Without a charger, it's not much use." He chuckled. "Even if it worked, who could I call?"

Zylas grinned crookedly. "Do better next time."

"Next time. Right." Collins studied the creases at the corners of Zylas' mouth and realized his companion was kidding. He laughed. "Next time."

Even Falima managed a smile, though she turned away as if afraid the men might see it. "Why do we not start eating? The main course will come soon enough."

Hungry, Collins nodded. He had eaten only cheese curds since daybreak and not nearly enough of those. They sat and ate most of the apples, hard rolls, and cheese curds in their possession while the bugs bubbled merrily over the coals. They shared the water in the canteens. It tasted dusty and stale, but it slaked Collins' thirst. By the time Falima pulled the hot crockery from the fire, he felt satisfied, not the least bit interested in the boiled ma.s.s of recently crawling pests.

Suddenly, Falima stiffened, a handful of dead bugs halfway to her mouth.

"What?" Zylas said.

Falima tipped her head. "Listen."

Collins strained his own hearing. Wind rattled through the leaves, and branches swished softly.

Crickets screeched and hummed in a rising and falling chorus. Farther away, a hound bayed.

"Dogs!" Zylas sprang to his feet, kicking dirt over the fire.

Falima stuffed the insects in her mouth, then started shoving loose possessions, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, into the pack.

Caught up in his companions' urgency, Collins looked about for stray objects, finding only the lead rope/halter he had used to guide Falima. s.n.a.t.c.hing it up, he set to using a branch to erase all signs of the camp. "I presume dogs mean-"

"Pursuit," Falima interrupted.

Zylas qualified as he scattered the partially burned kindling. "All horse and all dog is guard."

Falima draped the saddlebags over Collins' shoulders and seized the halter from his hand. "Go! Go!

Due north. I will find you. Hide in the . . . the sixth oak."

"But-" Collins started."Come." Zylas grabbed his arm and ran. Dragged two steps, Collins stumbled, caught his balance, then charged after the albino.

"What about Falima?"

"She make smell-trail. Catch up." Zylas' pull became insistent. "Come."

Scarcely daring to believe Falima would risk her life for his, nor that Zylas would allow it, Collins did as Zylas bade. "Why the sixth oak?"

"Random," Zylas replied, still running. "Far enough for safe. She find us."

Collins looked back. Falima dragged the crude rope halter through the dirt, then disappeared among the trees in the opposite direction.

"Up! Up!" Zylas shoved Collins into a fat trunk. He crashed against it hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs. White petals showered down over him, silky on his skin, filling hair, mouth, eyes. Amid gasping in air thickened by the cloying perfume of flowers, spitting out petals, and regaining his vision, he managed to seize a low limb. Zylas scrambled over him, quick and agile as a monkey. The albino clambered higher, dislodging more flowers in a gentle rain over Collins, who hauled himself into the sheltering branches. The tree reminded him of a densely blooming tulip poplar or catalpa, but more thickly flowered with fatter, longer petals and indigo centers.

Realization came with shocking abruptness. "This isn't an oak."

Zylas silenced Collins with a hiss.

Collins glanced down. The ground lay barely five feet beneath him. "But Falima won't be able to find-"

Zylas' cloth-covered sandal tapped Collins' cheek in warning. "Hush. Better hiding. Thick and smell."

Collins reached for a higher branch and hauled himself deeper into a suffocating wall of leaves and petals. Zylas' reasoning made sense. The dogs would have a more difficult time catching their scent amid flowers that also concealed them from sight. Yet, he could not help worrying about their other companion. It seemed unlikely Falima could find them either. He tried to think of something he might not have considered; but, even focused on the differences between Barakhai and home, he found nothing. He did not believe horses had an unusually well-developed sense of smell, certainly not keener than hounds.

The barking grew louder, closer, then more insistent. At Zylas' steadying touch, Collins realized he was fidgeting. Adrenaline was driving him to run or pace, foolish urges in their current situation. He looked up. Zylas had climbed even higher. He had had to stretch his toes as far as possible to reach Collins at all. Cautiously, Collins raised a hand to grab an overhead branch. Rapid rustling through the brush stopped him in mid-movement. Below, Falima pressed through a clump of reedy stalks. Something louder slammed the weeds behind her, snuffling.

Falima! Though driven to shout, Collins held his tongue. He swung to a lower branch, then caught the woman's shoulder as she pa.s.sed.

Falima hissed and spun. Her fist slammed Collins' ear. Fire slashed through his head, and he lost his grip, plummeting to the ground. Pain jarred through his left elbow and hip.

"Oh, sorry," Falima whispered, finally recognizing Collins. She grasped a lower branch and swung herself into the tree.

A hound burst through the foliage.

Collins froze.

The dog skidded to a stop. Young and gangly, it sported long legs, floppy ears, and a tail too long for its body. Patches of brown and white were interspersed randomly over its face and body. Head raised, it opened its mouth.

"No." Collins sprang for the dog, snapping its muzzle closed with one hand and scooping it up under its legs with the other. He could hear its companions baying in the distance, but no others followed it through the brush. Yet.

Clutching the half-grown dog, Collins ran for the tree. It struggled in his grip, making climbing all but impossible. He braced its weight against the lowest branch. Still holding its mouth, he managed to gain a toehold and drag self and dog amid the flowers.

"What are you doing?" Falima asked incredulously."Keeping it quiet." Collins loosed the dog's snout. Immediately, it howled. Collins swore and clamped his hand back over its muzzle, stifling the noise. It struggled wildly, clawing at him and trying to duck its head through his grip. Collins clung tighter to the dog, his balance on the tree branch swaying dangerously.

Falima steadied Collins. "You've got to get up higher." Though true, it seemed impossible. "Here." He thrust the dog's backside at Falima. "Help me."

Muttering something uninterpretable, Falima placed the bulk of the dog's weight on a higher limb.

Collins kept one hand wrapped solidly around its muzzle and attempted to climb with the other. Bark sc.r.a.ped a line of skin from his forearm, and the movement unleashed a storm of leaves and petals.

"Easy," Zylas cautioned.

Collins managed to work his way to a reasonably hidden branch. With Falima's help, he steadied the dog in his lap, fingers stiffening on its muzzle. It managed an occasional whine, but he stifled the barks and bays that might bring the hunters. If they find us, we're dead. Nevertheless, it never occurred to him to harm the pup.

The barking grew louder and fainter, occasionally mingled with human voices. Collins' breathing turned erratic as he fought not to contemplate the situation. If he did, he might panic, just as he had at the gallows. That image quickened his breathing to pants, and he shoved it aside. He thought instead of grade school autumns, playing tag with friends among the maples and dogwoods.

Over time, the surrounding odor of flowers became more stench than fragrance. The dog's weight seemed to treble; Collins' legs fell asleep beneath it. He pa.s.sed the hours until full nightfall mentally singing every song he could remember, mostly childhood nursery rhymes, lullabies, and those from his high school musical, Anything Goes.

A whistle cut through the night sounds that had risen so gradually, Collins had not realized he was straining his hearing over them. The dog resumed its struggle with a vengeance, pained whines escaping Collins' hold. An explosion of petals and leaves cascaded to the ground. The branch shook violently.

Collins fought for his hold, Falima a.s.sisting. Finally, the dog ceased its kicking and lay, hopelessly snared, in the tree.

Apparently, the whistle called the dogs home, because the sounds of movement, the barking, and the voices disappeared. For a long time, the three humans and the dog remained silently in the tree. Then, finally, Zylas spoke. "Let's go."

Painstakingly, Collins eased the dog from his lap. It dropped to the ground and immediately loosed a fusillade of barks.

Collins leaped from the branch, jarring a wave of buzzing pain up his legs. The dog whirled, teeth bared, and growled a warning that Collins dared not heed. He dove for it, bearing it to the ground, then grabbed its mouth again. His cramped fingers responded sluggishly, and the dog managed to slash his left hand before he subdued it.

A pair of legs eased into Collins' view. He looked up at a fine-boned stranger dressed in brown and green. He could barely judge height from this angle, but the other seemed small, almost frail. Short, brown hair hung in s.h.a.ggy disarray, and dark eyes studied Collins with a heated glare.

Collins froze, arms winched around the dog. Caught. There was no way he could overpower a dog and a man simultaneously, no matter how slight they were. He cringed, turning the newcomer a pleading look, hoping for some miracle to keep the other from shouting. He found no mercy in the keen brown eyes and lowered his head. "It's over," he whispered. And I'm going to die.

Chapter 5.