“I mean no harm, Spiritualist.” The voice that came from the bear’s mouth was deep and gruff, but undeniably human. “You seem to be lost and in need of some assistance.”
“We need no assistance,” Miranda said carefully.
“No?” The bear face looked skeptical. “Do you always keep your fire spirit on the brink of flickering out, then?”
Miranda paled, and the bear-headed man smiled. “I thought not,” he said. “Miranda Lyonette would never put her spirits in such danger unless things were very grave.”
“How do you know my name?”
The bear-headed man laughed, a deep, rumbling sound. “There aren’t many Spiritualists who ride ghosthounds and carry great seas inside their bodies. For those of us who study spirits, you’re quite the oddity. I would know, being somewhat of an oddity myself.” He touched his muzzle with his hand. “Come,” he said, turning. “Let’s get your fire stoked before it flickers out. I can hardly bear to look at it.”
Gin did not budge an inch, and Miranda made no move to force him. “Who are you?”
The bear-headed man kept walking down the bank. “I’m Heinricht Slorn. Now come.”
For a long moment, Gin and Miranda could only stare at his retreating back. Then Miranda looked down at Kirik’s dark ruby, and they followed.
The bear-headed man led them up the creek bank to a row of tall bushes, the deep green, waxy-leafed kind that thrive on steep mountain slopes. He pushed the branches gently aside and turned to motion Miranda forward like a well-mannered host inviting guests into his estate. Miranda dismounted stiffly and ducked under the branches. Gin eyed the tiny space with scorn and lay down on the bank. Slorn waited a moment more, and then he turned and followed Miranda into the canopy, letting the branches fall quietly behind him.
Miranda had not gone more than a few steps into the bushes before she stopped, staring in amazement. Parked at the heart of the little grove was a large wagon. No, that wasn’t right. Wagons had wheels. This was shaped like a wooden traveler’s wagon, complete with a rounded wooden roof, shuttered windows, a chimney pipe, and a set of folding steps going up to a painted door. But down at the bottom, in the spots where the wheels should have been, were six long, splayed legs. Each leg stuck out from the wagon’s body at a right angle and cornered sharply at a knobby joint before reaching the ground on a wide, flat foot with five splayed toes, like a lizard’s. Each leg appeared to be newly carved from green wood, bright yellow-white and smelling of sawdust, and they sprang from the cart as though they had grown there. There were no joints, no nails, just the fresh wood of the legs lying flush against the older, stained wood of the wagon’s body, molded together as though they’d always been that way. She was still trying to make sense of it when she saw something even stranger. The legs shuffled, adjusting their weight, each one flexing and adjusting its splayed foot so that the cart sat slightly closer to the ground as Slorn came up and flipped down the little stair.
“There,” he said, smiling as the red-painted door opened for him of its own accord. “Come in and we’ll have a look at your ring.”
“How did you do that?” Miranda said, and then bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out like a child gawking at a street magician’s trick, but Slorn didn’t bat an eye.
“I’m a Shaper,” he said as he stepped inside, as though that explained everything.
Well, Miranda thought, in a way it did. Even Master Banage wasn’t exactly sure how the Shapers did what they did. One thing was certain, though, the bear-headed man wasn’t abusing his spirits. She could practically hear the wood beaming as she gawked at it, the legs shifting to show the cart at its best. That pride made her feel more comfortable than any assurance Slorn could have given, and she hurried up the folding stair after him.
The covered wagon was much more spacious than she would have guessed from the outside. One wall was lined with hinged bins, all neatly latched and labeled. The other was taken up by a folding cot, now stowed away, and a little table that bolted to the floor. Slorn was already sitting on one of the folding seats, his large hands fussing with the small iron stove just large enough to heat a kettle that was built into the wall just above the table.
Slorn unlatched the cold grate and placed a few sticks of wood into the stove’s tiny iron belly. “There,” he said, leaning back. “Put your ring in.”
“Are you sure?” Miranda said, unfolding the chair opposite him and sitting down. “Kirik’s a bonfire spirit. I don’t want to risk your wagon.”