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The walls of her cabin displayed a flat mural of jungle. Deep in the drippy murk lay regular shadows -- a castle built in the roots of a giant mangrove tree. The mural was a famous one; the original had been an analog work from three thousand years ago. It showed life at an even further remove, during the Dark Ages on Nyjora. She and Lynne had spent much of their childhood imagining that they were transported to such a time. Little Jefri was trapped in the real thing. Woodcarver's butchers were no interstellar threat, but they were a deadly horror to those around them. Thank goodness Jefri had not seen the killing. This was a real medieval world. A tough and unforgiving place, even if Jefri had fallen in with fair-minded people. And the Nyjoran comparison was only vaguely appropriate. These Tines were pack minds; even old Grondr 'Kalir had been surprised at that. All through Jefri's mail, Ravna could see the panic among Steel's people:Mister Steel asked me again if theres any way we can make our ship to fly even a little. I dont know. We almost crashed, I think. We need guns. That would save us, at least till you get here. They have bows and arrows just like in Nyjoran days,复件 (100) air max1, but no guns. Hes asking me,复件 (39) air max, can you teach us to make guns? Woodcarver's raiders would return, and this time in enough force to overrun Steel's little kingdom. Back when they thought OOB's flight would be only thirty or forty days,复件 (48) air max2, that had not seemed great a risk,复件 (53) air max, but now .... Ravna might arrive to find Woodcarver's murdering complete. Oh Pham,Dre Beats Studio (White) High Definition Powered Isolation Headphones,复件 (57) air max1, dear Pham. If you ever really were, please come back now. Pham Nuwen of medieval Canberra. Pham Nuwen, trader from the Slowness.... What would someone such as you make of this? Hmm. .Delete this paragraph to shift page flush CHAPTER 21 Ravna knew that -- under his bluster -- Blueshell was at least as much a worrier as she. Worse, he was a nitpicker. The next time Ravna asked him about their progress, he retreated into technicalities. Finally Ravna broke in, "Look. The kid is sitting on something that just might blow the Blight sky high, and all he has are bows and arrows. How the long will it be till we get down there, Blueshell?" Blueshell rolled nervously back and forth across the ceiling. The Skroderiders had reaction jets; they could maneuver in free fall more adroitly than most humans. Instead they used stick-patches, and rolled around on the walls. In a way, it was kind of cute. Just now, it was irritating. At least they could talk; she glanced across the bridge to where Pham Nuwen sat facing the bridge's main display. As usual, all his attention was fixed on the slowly moving stars. He was unshaven, his reddish beard bright on his skin; his long hair floated snarled and uncombed. Physically he was cured of his injuries. Ship's surgeon had even replaced the muscle mass that Old One's communication equipment had usurped. Pham could dress and feed himself now, but he still lived in a private dreamworld. The two riders twittered at each other. It was Greenstalk who finally answered her question: "Truly, we're not sure how long. The quality of the Beyond changes as we descend. Each jump is taking us a fraction longer than the one before." "I know that. We're moving toward the Slow Zone. But the ship is designed for that; it should be an easy matter to extrapolate the slowing." Blueshell extended a tendril from ceiling to floor. He diddled with the matte corrugations for a second and then his voder made a sound of human embarrassment. "Ordinarily you would be correct, my lady Ravna. But this is a special case....