hung his round head and turned down the corners of his mouth and shuffled about sighing to himself,
‘Sad and lonely, sad and lonely.’
‘And short and ugly,’ said Albard.
‘Sad and lonely, short and ugly,’ echoed Jumper.
‘And dull and fat.’
‘Sad and lonely, short and ugly, dull and fat,’ said Jumper, beating his breast. But then he spoiled it all by looking up with a radiant smile and asking, ‘Did you like that? Did I do it right?’
Very much against his will, and due entirely to Jumper’s devoted care, Albard recovered.
‘Thank you, Jumper,’ he said bitterly. ‘Thanks to you, my life, which has no purpose left to it, nor any prospect of happiness, will now drag on a little while longer.’
‘Oh no,’ said Jumper. ‘You’re entirely wrong. Your life does have a purpose. You’re to train the boy.’
‘What boy?’
However, Albard knew well enough. There was only one boy who mattered: the boy who was to rule after him. Of course he must be taught. The boy he hated and loved, the boy that was his enemy, his rival who had taken from him all his power, his successor who would be his inheritor. Albard envied him his youth and his future. He hated him for his victory over him. He loved him like the child he never had. He felt a wild pride in him. He longed with a burning desire to see him again, and just once, before the end, to hold him in his arms. So many emotions, and all so violent: and all because this moonface spoke to him about the boy.
Jumper, apparently knowing none of this, answered simply,
‘His name is Bowman Hath.’
‘And what am I to train this boy to do?’
‘To carry out his new duties.’
‘And why am I to do this?’
‘Because,’ said Jumper, beaming, ‘because you’re the best of us.’
‘I’m the best, eh?’
Albard knew what they said on Sirene. The best and the worst, that’s what they said of him. The greatest of all the Singer people ever to have kissed the Prophet’s brow, the one in whom the powers had been most perfected, and the only one ever to betray their calling.
‘Well, so I am. What of it?’
‘So you’re to train the boy. You see how it all comes out right in the end?’
‘In the end we’re all dead.’
‘That we are, and how glorious that will be!’
Albard sighed and gave up. There was no denting such wilful contentment.
‘Where is he, then? This boy?’
‘He’s on his way to the mountains, with his people. We must hurry. They’ve been gone many days, and the wind is rising.’
‘The wind is rising, is it? And will you be there at the end, little Jumper? Will you be singing the firesong, with the wind on your back?’
‘Oh, yes! Of course I’ll be there! How blessed we are to be the generation that will know the wind on fire!’
‘Not me. I made my choice long ago. I’ve had my day, and now it’s over.’
He looked round him at the burned ruins of what had once been the most beautiful city in the world.
They didn’t deserve it. I gave them perfection, and they feared it. They loved their mess. Now they have it back.
‘Sirene sent you, moonface?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Sirene hates me. Sirene wants me dead.’
‘Not at all. You’ve played your part, like all the rest of us.’
‘Played my part!’
Albard let out a big bellowing laugh. That was rich! Albard the rebel, the traitor, the mutineer, had played his part in Sirene’s plans! No, he was the breaker of rules, the defier of authority, the one who had split away from the rest and forged his own world, where he alone had been the Master. Singer people never sought power in the world. Only Albard, the best of them, had broken the rule of rules.
‘I played no part in any plan of Sirene’s, little Jumper. They call me the lost one. I am Sirene’s failure.’
He spoke with a certain pride. What else had he left, now that his city was gone and he had not been allowed to die?
‘We must go,’ said Jumper. ‘Are you strong enough?’
‘Getting stronger all the time. But not what I was. You should have seen me in my day! I was immense! Now my skin hangs loose about me, and I rattle as I walk. Ah, mortality!’
‘But you feel your powers returning?’
‘A little. Yes.’
He looked round. There on the ground, near the hole into which he had crawled to die, lay a short sword. It had fallen from the hand of some poor fool who had died doing his will, and now lay beneath a layer of dust and stones. Albard fixed his mind on the hilt of the sword, and with great effort, he caused it to stir beneath the debris. More he could not do.
With a sigh, he stooped down, and scraping away the stones, picked it up with one hand. Jumper beamed his approval.
‘There! That’s a start, isn’t it?’
‘And if I were to cut your throat with it, that would be a finish, too.’
‘Oh, you won’t do that. I’m no use to you dead.’
‘You’re no use to me, Jumper. There’s nothing you can give me I want. There’s nothing you can do for me I need.’
He slipped the sword into the rope with which his plain woollen robe was belted, and turned his great beak of a nose northwards.
‘But we’ll find this boy, and set him on his path, and then what has been begun will be completed. Not because Sirene plans it, you understand, but because I choose it. Sirene has no control over me. I’m the lost one. I’m the one who goes his own way.’
Albard was facing the causeway across the lake, his gaze fixed on the hills to the north, and so he did not catch the look that passed briefly over Jumper’s round and foolish face. It was the indulgent smile of the parent who allows his wilful child the last word, knowing the child cannot choose but to obey.
‘So you are, if it pleases you,’ said the curious young-old creature, hopping along after him. ‘Bounce on, Jumper!’
