small schools had been established, one near the Horse Market and one in
Threadneedle Street, and the sons and daughters of tradesmen were encouraged to
attend. It was a small step, she had told him, but at least a beginning.
Marguerida had written a volume of folktales for publication and use in the
small schools, stories she had collected in her travels around Darkover and from
other worlds as well, and it was now in its fifth printing.
"Oh, that tome that Hiram d'Asturien wrote about the evolution of laran."
She laughed, and the sound of it was wonderful. His mother had not laughed very
often in recent days, and he had not known how much he missed it until now.
"What he has to say is useful, but I agree that his style leaves something to be
desired. Positively soporific, actually. But I am a little surprised to find
that you were looking at it. Any particular reason?"
"I was just curious." Another fib, though not a very big one. He was curious,
but the actuality was that he had hoped to discover some clues to his own
uniqueness, to find out if anyone before him had been able to hear the planet.
He could not discuss it with anyone, even his mother, whom he trusted
completely.
"Good. Never lose that quality, Nico." Then she kissed his brow lightly and
left, apparently satisfied.
He waited impatiently until the suite was quiet and he could hear no nearby
thoughts at all. Then Nico scrambled out of bed, took off his nightshirt and put
on his oldest tunic and some patched trousers, plus his riding boots: He took a
shabby cloak that he was particularly fond of and refused to stop wearing and
looked around the bedroom. He stuffed several pillows down under the covers, in
the shape of a body, and pulled the blanket over the head. He studied his
handiwork and thought it would do until he returned. Then he snuffed the
candles, sending the room into near darkness. The light from the little
fireplace hardly reached the bed, and cast several nice shadows that concealed
his deceit. Nico was quite pleased with himself.
He slipped out of the suite by the servants' stair, and started down the back
corridor in the direction of the huge kitchens. Even at a distance, he could
hear the clamor of pot and pans, the shouting of the head cook at her minions,
all in preparation for the meal to be served. Then he heard someone coming
toward him and he darted into the first doorway he found, his heart hammering
with excitement. It was very dark within, and from the smell of it, he was in
the stillroom. After a second he heard footfalls pass the door, and knew who it
was. Just one of the lads who turned the spits in the kitchens, all his thoughts
concerned with fetching something for Cook.
As soon as silence returned to the corridor, Nico slipped out and tiptoed along.
When he crept past the great door to the kitchen, he heard Cook swearing a bit
at someone's clumsiness with the dessert tarts. His mouth watered. He should
have eaten before he set out. Maybe he could get something at a foodstall. He
had done that a few times before, not nearly as often as he wished, for he found
the taste of street food much more interesting than what was served in the
Castle. Had he brought any coins? Yes, there were a few in his beltpouch.
Despite the chill of early evening, the door to the alley that ran from the
kitchen past the bakery was propped open a bit. He darted into the shadowed way,
feeling more excited by the second. Was this why Rory did the naughty things he
did? What a fool he had been to let his little brother have all the fun!
The heat from the walls of the bakery was pleasant, and he almost regretted it
when he passed beyond. He pulled up the hood on his cloak and moved quietly
behind the barracks where the Guards lived, praying he would not meet anyone.
From the noise, he knew the off-duty Guardsmen were eating their evening meal.
It was a friendly, jocular sound, and he thought how much he enjoyed it when he
ate with them. They did not defer to him at the table, but treated him as just
another young man, and please pass the platter.
At last he came out into a narrow street, and turned right. It was deserted, but
the houses on either side were alight, and he could hear occasional voices. A
few minutes of walking, and Comyn Castle was behind him, and his fear of
discovery began to evaporate. The street wound around and came back to a larger
thoroughfare, and went on into a little square. There were torches on the faces
of the buildings, and he saw a foodstall on the far side.
A pair of burly draymen were standing in front of it, waiting for the old man
who ran it to serve them up pockets of flat bread stuffed with chunks of roasted
fowl. It smelled wonderful. Nico was glad he had not eaten first, because it
seemed more of an adventure to get his supper on the street.
In the flickering light from the torches, he realized he looked quite ordinary
in his old and disreputable garments. No one would ever suspect who he was. When
the draymen had been served, he stepped forward, sniffing hungrily. He listened
to the conversation of the men, talking with their mouths full. They were
complaining in cheerful tones which belied their words about how poorly they had
been tipped for some moving job they had done. He guessed that they were
enjoying their mutters of discontent about the stinginess of their employers,
and that this was a normal subject of conversation.
Nico asked for a serving, and the old man slipped several pieces of meat off a
slender wooden skewer and plopped them onto a crusty slab of bread, rolling the
bread around the filling to make it easier to eat. He dug out his smallest coin
and handed it over. Then he sank his teeth into the rolled-up bread, tasting the
spices that the fowl had been marinated in. It was delicious. Why didn't they
serve such good things at the Castle?
He left the square still eating, and walked quickly down the street, heading for
the North Gate. The evening wind cooled his face and ruffled his unbound hair,
but he barely noticed. He was having a wonderful time, just being alone and
listening to the night sounds of Thendara. He finished his food, found his face
was a little greasy, and grinned. Then he wiped his sleeve over his cheeks. No
napkins or linens for him tonight! And, even better, no Javanne ruining his
appetite!
After half an hour of unhurried walking, he saw some people ahead of him on the
street. They were heading toward the Gate, and he slowed so as not to catch up
with them. When they passed beneath some torches he realized that they were
dressed in Terranan leathers, and wondered what they were doing outside the
Trade City. It was not forbidden for off-duty Terrans to venture into Thendara
proper, but even Nico knew it was a bit uncommon. Well, maybe they were bored
and had heard that the Travelers were performing.
But it was a bit puzzling. He had overheard a few things in the last couple of
days, from his father or Grandfather Lew, and had gotten the impression that
there was some sort of order from the Federation that restricted their people
from leaving Headquarters. Oh, well,
perhaps he had misunderstood, or the
Terrans had changed their minds. The only thing he was really sure of was that
Darkovan personnel had been ordered to leave both the space port and the
Headquarters complex. He had seen Ethan MacDoevid, his mother's proteg‚ from
Threadneedle Street, coming into the hall just as he was going out for his Guard
duty, and was sure that he had come to tell Grandfather Lew something
interesting.
He knew the story of how Ethan and his mother had met very well, for she was
very fond of recounting it. Ethan and his cousin Geremy had met Marguerida
coming out of the port the day she returned to Darkover, and the lads had guided
her to master Everard's house in Music Street, becoming friends along the way.
She had a way of telling the tale that made her first impressions very vivid.
The boy-he had been a bit younger than Nico was now-had confided to her his
longing to go on the Big Ships, and later she had been instrumental in getting
him the chance to learn the things he needed to become a spacefarer. He had
acquired the skills, but the opportunity had never come to him, since the
Federation had changed its policies about allowing personnel from Protected
Planets to man their ships, so he had never gone into space.
When Rafe Scott had been forced to retire from HQ, Ethan had taken over many of
the duties of Liaison that Scott had performed. Nico knew, from a few
conversations with him, that this had not entirely pleased Ethan, but he did his
work with a good will. The appointment had annoyed several people on the
Council, since Ethan was the son of a tradesman, not the Domains, and
Marguerida's proteg‚ as well. However, it had turned out to be a good choice,
and he could only wonder what Ethan was going to do now, if the Federation left,
and there was no need for a Liaison officer, and even if they didn't, they
weren't going to let any native Darkovans stick around HQ. He could hardly go
back to his father's tailoring business after so many years.
Domenic noticed that there was something hasty and nervous about the men ahead
of him, and it sent all speculations about Ethan's future right out of his mind.
He found their behavior very interesting, and puzzling as well. One second they
were moving along like two fellows out for a good time, and the next they were
peering into the shadows, as if they expected to be attacked. If they had wanted
to be anonymous, they should not have come in their distinctive leathers.
Typical Terranan arrogance. What were they up to? If they wanted female
companionship, they would have stayed in the Trade City. He gave a slight shrug
under his shabby cloak, and decided it was not important, and that it just added
a bit of spice to his thus far unadventurous evening.
Nico was beginning to feel slightly foolish about the whole thing. Just because
his mother said he was too well-behaved was no reason to be sneaking out in the
night, leaving some bolsters in his place on the bed, was it? He was tempted to
turn around and go back before his absence was discovered. But that was
hen-hearted, and besides he was not doing anything very terrible.
This whole thing is a waste of time-we could be back in the barracks now, warm
and comfy, instead of out in this wretched cold. Vancof will not have anything
to tell us-he never has before. God, I hate this planet. I won't get reassigned
to anything better, since I haven't managed to make any kind of name for myself
here. Belfontaine is crazy of he thinks he can turn this around before we have
to leave. I will be glad to get off Cottman. The sooner the better. Damn fool
backwater place.
Domenic heard this jumble of thoughts, the usual disorganized muddle, and almost
stumbled. Cottman? He must be picking up one of the men ahead of him-only
Terranan called Darkover that. And who was Vancof? Were the men expecting to
meet someone outside the Gate? Why would they do that? It did not make any sense
at all.
The name was strange, and clearly not a Darkovan one. Why would these men go to
meet a Terran outside the gates? Suddenly the whole episode took on a darker
tone. The men were not in search of entertainment, but were going for some other
purpose. He moved faster, hoping to overhear them speak, or catch another snatch
of thoughts. It was not as if he were spying, since he could not help listening
to the uppermost thoughts of other people. Still, it made him feel slightly
uncomfortable.
The men passed through the arch of the North Gate, and Nico followed them.
Beyond the Gate there were half dozen firepits blazing away, as well as torches
set in stands. After the relative darkness of the streets, it seemed more light
than it really was. Nico could see several of the painted wagons of the
Travelers on one side of the huge field. On the other there were foodstands and
booths that sold trinkets. Just beyond the stands there were groups of mules
tethered to ropes and a couple of wagons piled with goods. Briefly he wondered
why the muleteers were camping out there. Then he decided that it likely saved
them the cost of stabling for the night. There seemed so many things he did not
know, and he felt rather annoyed. Some education he had had!
One of the Travelers' wagons had its side lowered, and there was a juggler
standing on the platform, fearlessly tossing small lighted torches in the air.
He had four of the things in motion, and was declaiming at the same time. Nico
moved toward this display, fascinated. The redheaded girl was nowhere in sight,
and the side of the puppet wagon was pulled up and shut. Maybe they had already
performed, and he had missed it.
He joined the crowd of watchers, listening to the jibes of the juggler and the
catcalls of the audience as well. The smell of cheap beer and unwashed clothing
was all around him. It was a rough bunch of people, men and women both, and even
a few children, wide-eyed with wonder. But it was not an unruly crowd-they were
just having a good time on a not unpleasant evening. In a few weeks, it would be
too cold for this sort of thing, so everyone was making the most of the mild
weather and a chance to have some harmless fun.
The two men in Terran leathers stood in the crowd for several minutes, their
backs toward him. They were both big men, broad shouldered and well-muscled. One
had dark brown hair and the other was a blond, but other than that there was
very little difference between them. They stared at the performance dully, as if
they were waiting for something or someone.
Just when Domenic was starting to think they had come to see one of the girl
acrobats or dancers in the scanty garments that had scandalized some of the
people at Arilinn, one of the men made a gesture with his head, signaling his
partner. They slipped off quietly, and vanished between two of the parked
wagons. They did not look like men seeking the company of a woman, and, as far
as he had ever heard, Travelers did not offer that sort of custom. Of course,
with his abysmal ignorance of things beyond the walls of Comyn Castle, almost
anything seemed possible. But there were easier pickings in the taverns in the
r /> Trade City, if all they wanted was a bedwarmer.
For just a moment, he hesitated. Then he could not resist. He wanted to find out
what they were up to. Nico slipped through the crowd unnoticed, and went toward
the space between the two wagons. Then he leaned against one and bent over,
tugging at one of the laces on his boots, as if it had become undone and needed
to be retied. His cloak fell around him, concealing his movements. No one seemed
to be paying him the least attention, and he was relieved.
Nico's blood was pounding in his ears, and for a minute he could hear nothing
but the noises of his body. Why was he spying on these men? Because they did not
belong where they were and, he admitted to himself a little grudgingly, because
he was extremely curious as to what had brought them there. He could just catch
the sound of whispering, hushed and cautious, speaking in Terran. He had learned
that language from his mother and grandfather, but he had a little trouble
following the words at first. He leaned toward the narrow passage between the
wagons and strained to hear. Finally he was able to distinguish three males, as
they stopped whispering and began to speak in low tones.
"You haven't sent a message in six days." The voice was harsh, and sounded a
little angry.
"If I had a shortbeam, it would be easier," one voice whined. Nico wondered what
that meant.
"Too risky, and you know it. Besides, the damn things only work half the time."
"I've been busy. And there hasn't been anything much."
"Busy?" The harsh voice sounded disbelieving.
"Driving the wagon and managing the mules is a full time job! I broke a wheel to
get into Thendara, and managed to drive across the city, but I did not find out
much. The old bastard, Regis Hastur, is dead, but you already know that." Now,
as the whining voice spoke further, Domenic recognized it. It was the driver of
the puppet wagon he had seen that morning! What had the girl called him-Dirck?
Domenic nearly gasped and almost missed the reply. "No, we did not know that!
Damn you, Vancof. You are incompetent. You did not think it was important, when
we have been waiting for an opportunity like this for years. A pity it had to
happen just when we are getting ready to pull out."
"Pull out? Are you sure?" He did not seem very much like the unpleasant fellow