Traitor's Sun

  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