Much in the postures of Mard and Lyne suggested that they were aware that a sweep of Pick’s stick would knock them over the edge. He was a big man, and in no way pleased to see them. But the thing in his hand seemed too elaborate and contraption-like to serve as a weapon. Its foot was shod in steel, forged in the shape of a paw with extended claws. Those were worn almost to nubs, and when Prim saw how he planted it on the rock to steady himself, she understood why. At the other end, where a cane might have had a knob or a curved handle, this thing had a sharp pick, forged in the shape of a bird’s beak, and it too had been worn down from hard use. The head of the bird sported glass eyes, through which light shone. From that and from Pick’s habit of holding it up to his face, she guessed it was a spyglass. Somewhat emboldened, she stepped past Querc and then dropped to one knee, then both knees as she neared the edge. Not to be outdone, Mard dropped into a similar attitude next to her. Prim had imagined a glowing river of lava flowing to the sea, for she had read of such things in books—at least one of which, come to think of it, mentioned this Pick chap by name. But if any such thing existed at the bottom of this gorge, it was obscured by steam and only hinted at by a lambent glow.

A red star hurtled straight up. As it hissed past them, they saw it was about the size of a fist. “Lava bomb!” said Pick.

“Type three,” Querc elaborated. “Heads up, strangers!” But the warning was somewhat unnecessary as they were all taking their cues from Pick. He moved his stick sharply upward, using the bird beak to strike the underside of the broad brim of his hat so that it fell back off his head. It was restrained by a thong around his neck. Exposed was a tousled gray head, bald and scarred on top. He gazed intently at the sky, tracking the bomb, somewhat aided by a squawk of alarm from Corvus. Presently it began to fall. It had already darkened as it cooled. Pick took a few long strides and heaved his stick, making it spin about in midair. He caught it just below the bird head, now brandishing it like a sword, and swung it at the falling lava bomb. He caught it just before it struck the ground. It shattered into fragments that sprayed all over the place, not without posing some hazard to the eyes of the onlookers. Lyne flinched and pulled a splinter out of his forearm. “Thus glass,” Pick remarked.

“That’s him being friendly,” Querc said. She said it in a quiet voice. Prim looked around and perceived that she was addressing the remark privately to Lyne.