What sort of man is he, Nico?
I think I would call him smooth. He is an empath, like many of the Ridenow, but
he is good on military matters. I learned a lot from him, about how to look at a
building and find its weak points, for instance. I have always found him to be
fair, but there is just something about him that is very remote.
What do you mean by smooth?
Well, there is something about him that I don't really like, and I can barely
explain it. Nothing bad, but he is as slick as a glass ball-nothing seems to
cling to him. I guess the most I can say is that I wouldn't completely trust him
to back me up in a fight. Or maybe I just don't like him because his father was
always fighting with Regis, and will probably make everything more difficult in
Council. My judgment may be prejudiced, Uncle.
At least you have the wisdom to realize that you might dislike Cisco for no
other reason than that his father was an adversary of Regis. There are a lot of
people three times your age who would not be able to make such a distinction.
What is the general feeling about Cisco in the barracks?
I don't know-it would have been impolite to ask, wouldn't it? I haven't
overheard any real grumbling, though. As I said, he seems to be fair, but very .
. . remote.
I see. I wish you were a little nosier, Nico. It would have been useful of you
knew more. Still, the fact that Dando Ardais is sending men up here with only a
minimum of instruction is very suggestive.
Of what?
Something clandestine. Wouldn't Cisco be aware of these men being ordered to
Carcosa?
No, he wouldn't. Those I spotted are retired from active duty, and only would be
called for of there was a real need for trained men.
I see. Is Cisco trusted by Danilo Ardais?
I suppose so-but Danilo is so deep and cunning that I would never guess if he
weren't. He's never done anything that I know about that would make anyone
actively mistrust him. I think it is only that Francisco Ridenow, his father, is
practically in Grandmother Javanne's pocket, and has opposed Regis for years
now. I think giving Cisco the Commandant's position was intended to mollify Dom
Ridenow-but it didn't work. He is just as bone-headed as he always was. And it's
only natural that Danilo would assume that anything Cisco found out would come
to his father's ears very quickly.
And do you believe that?
I'm not sure, Uncle. It seems to me that Cisco keeps his own counsel most of the
time-that he doesn't trust anyone too far. And he might not trust his father
very much either.
Why?
When Francisco was younger, the Ridenow Domain had several men who could have
claimed it-two older brothers, and an uncle. They all came to grief, and a lot
of people think that Francisco had a hand in their untimely deaths. Who knows if
it's true or not.
I had almost forgotten how complex Darkovan alliances could become. They make
the backroom dealing of the Federation look like a picnic in the park.
Domenic had never seen a park or been on a picnic, so he shrugged his shoulders
and sipped his beer. I described the man with Vancof, and told Duncan to keep an
eye on them if they leave the taproom. Was that the right thing to do?
Yes. Now, let's go eat something, since I think this might be a very long night
for us.
When Herm and Nico came out of the inn an hour later, it was already dark, and
the smallest moon, Mormallor, had risen. The smell of the night air was fresh,
but heavy with the threat of rain, and it did not entirely conceal the pungent
scent of the nearby stables and hen runs. This, added to the powerful scent of
the growing number of people crowded into the courtyard was rather overwhelming
at first. Then his nose stopped protesting, and he forgot about it.
Nico looked around with interest. He saw that torches had been set in stanchions
around the broad courtyard of the Crowing Cock, and the wagons of the Travelers
looked much better in that light than in the glare of day. The shabby paintings
on the sides of the wains seemed prettier, and the worn costumes of the
performers looked finer. He watched a fire eater stuff what seemed to be burning
brands into his throat, and wondered how the trick was accomplished. Overhead, a
slack rope had been drawn from the stables to one outjutting portion of the roof
of the inn, and a slender female was just setting her comely foot on it, testing
it for her acrobatics.
Half the town had turned out for the entertainment, and there was a great deal
of noise. A juggler began to toss lighted torches into the air, and the crowd
cheered, then jeered when he dropped one. The man, who had a comical face, just
grinned and continued to perform. Everyone seemed to be talking at once,
continuing discussions begun in the taproom, and a general air of anticipation
ran through the crowd. Most of the people wore cloaks and capes, although the
evening was not particularly cold yet, so the hoods were pushed back. The
earlier wind had died away, and it was calm and almost pleasantly cool.
Domenic spotted the rest of the men whom Danilo had sent, mingling in the crowd.
In spite of their ordinary clothing, they still seemed to him to be obviously
Guardsmen, from the straightness of their backs and the alert way they watched
the crowd. Still, he suspected that no one else would catch on immediately. And
even though he almost resented their presence, part of him was very glad they
were there. He also noticed the man who had ridden in during the afternoon,
standing in a corner where the stables were connected to the wall of the inn and
keeping an eye on everything. The entire scene began to take on a fantastic
aspect to his eyes, as if the townspeople and the Travelers were a backdrop for
a play which had not yet begun.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and swept the crowd with his mind, as his
mother had taught him to do a few months earlier. It was a dizzying experience,
with such a large number, but he was getting better at it. He sensed Rafaella,
standing about ten feet away from him, keeping an eye on him as if he were her
own child, and the other Renuciates scattered through the throng. From the
Guardsmen he received the impression of puzzlement and a little worry, and
realized that they were feeling more than a little resentment at their lack of
directions. It was a shame that none of them had laran, and that the only way he
could communicate with them was by using the Alton Gift.
Nico shifted his attention back to the Terranan, who was doing a reasonable job
of fading into the crowd. He, too, was puzzled and annoyed, and waiting for
something as well. Why did he keep looking up at the sky? And why was he looking
to the north, toward the mountains, instead of toward Thendara and the
spaceport.
He leaned his head back and scanned the dark sky, seeing a few bright stars
poking through the light overcast that was moving slowly in from the west. In
his present heightened state of awareness, he felt the earth beneath his feet
and the movement of the clouds above him. There was a strong if brief temptation
br />
to let himself fall into a light trance, to listen to the planet itself, but he
resisted it. Instead, he sniffed the air and guessed how long it would be before
the rain arrived. Not long, he decided. The clouds were moving faster than when
he had wakened from his nap, driven by a wind high up in the atmosphere. Then he
returned his attention to the nameless spy hovering at the edge of the throng,
turning so as to be able to observe him without being obvious.
Uncle Herm.
What is it?
The Terran man keeps looking north, at the sky, as if he is expecting to see
something fly overhead. That's the wrong direction for Thendara and the
spaceport. There is nothing that way except . . .
The Domains of the Aldaran and Ardais, as well as the estates of the Storn. And
none of them have any Federation technology except my father. You need not try
to spare my feelings, Nico. I'm just pleased that you are so observant, and are
using your head.
Regis was always a little anxious about the number of Terranan in Aldaran
territory, but since we managed to get your Domain back onto the Council, he
thought it was taken care of. Your brother Robert is a good man.
My father, however, is another thing altogether. I know. It is one reason I
jumped at the chance to leave Darkover when it was offered to me, to get away
from him. There is no love lost between us, and I would not put anything past
him.
But, Herm, surely he would not help the Federation kill my father!
I would not have thought so, but don't forget I have not seen him in nearly a
quarter of a century. He might see it as a chance to further his own ambitions.
I can't speculate, but I confess I have a very bad feeling about it. Do you have
any idea how many Terranan are in the Aldaran Domain?
Several hundred, for certain.
And how many of those are soldiers and Marines?
That I could not say. I have always had the impression that most of them were
technical folk.
We have been assuming that any attack would originate at the spaceport in
Thendara, and we have overlooked the possibility that combat-ready men might be
flown down from the Hellers. As soon as the performance is finished, you should
get in touch with Lew and inform him of this possibility. This whole matter
might be much more complex than we thought at first.
That is not a happy thought.
No, it isn't.
Domenic saw the side of the puppet van lower down on strong ropes, and the crowd
began to press toward it, cutting off his view. He slipped through the people,
using his still relatively short stature to advantage, and managed to elbow his
way into the front of the throng. An enchanting vision was painted on a sheet of
canvas, a vista of turreted castles and in the center, a very tall but
recognizable Tower surrounded by a field of blue kireseth flowers. After a
moment, a red-clad figure on strings began to cross the small stage. It was
supposed to be a Keeper, obviously, but while the face was concealed beneath a
veil, the skirts of the robe were indecently brief, revealing a pair of comely
limbs sewn from some soft textile. He was not sure whether to be amused or
scandalized.
The Keeper began to speak, and he recognized the voice of the red-haired girl,
Illona Rider. What she declared made Domenic's ears turn red, and his cheeks
burn with embarrassment. A young woman had no business saying things like that,
especially one who seemed as nice as Illona! And they would never have dared
perform such a play at Arilinn or any other Tower. He began to understand now
why Regis had restricted the Travelers from frequent visits to Thendara.
Herm was standing just behind him now, with a hand on Domenic's shoulder. He
could sense the Aldaran man's startlement and displeasure, and felt a little
less upset. It was not that he was being a prig. What the puppet was voicing was
disgraceful. Worse, the people in the crowd were laughing noisily and offering a
few ripe comments of their own. He sensed a general feeling that the townspeople
did not hold the Towers in great esteem, which was strange and puzzling to him.
Another puppet joined the Keeper on the stage, and they indulged in a verbal
display of punning that had the crowd roaring with approval. He listened,
wondering how Illona managed to create two such distinct voices, and then began
to really pay attention to the wordplay. It was more than naughty, and came
close to obscene. He saw a village woman nearby grab a young girl and haul her
back into the throng, her face outraged. Around him others began to rustle with
discomfort, and he saw that a few people were leaving the courtyard, casting
glances over their shoulders as they hastened into the narrow street beyond the
inn. They had clearly lost their taste for the entertainment.
Is this a typical thing, Nico?
I don't know. I saw the Travelers twice at Arilinn, but they never did anything
like this. It is bad, isn't it? Hmm. Illona told me that a man called Mathias
joined the troupe who has been writing some pieces for the players that she
appeared to find . . . unseemly.
It is much worse than unseemly-it is subversive. It is one thing to make a
little fun of an institution, but this goes far beyond that. If this is what the
Travelers have been doing in the towns and villages, I am only surprised that
they have been allowed to continue at all. All this stuff about keeping the
common folk in their places, and taking their grain . . . is bound to whip up
resentment. This is not my idea of amusement, and it isn't playing well with the
crowd either. Who is that supposed to be?
A third puppet had entered, a male figure in fine but tawdry garments, wearing a
two-pointed fool's hat with a wobbly crown around the it at the brow. The puppet
was poorly made, and he had the impression that it had been constructed in
haste, for it was not of the quality of the other two. It had a dissipated face,
and legs that managed to mince in a very unmanly way. Domenic felt a rush of
anger as he watched, for although the face of the figure was crudely carved and
sewn, there was no mistaking the white hair beneath the hat. It could only have
been intended to be Regis Hastur, and he was stunned and outraged at the same
time.
Nico lowered his eyes and stared at the bare head of an urchin just in front of
him, wondering what the little boy was thinking of what he saw. He probably
didn't understand half of it, because the child seemed puzzled and restless. He
did not want to watch the movement of the puppets any longer, and wished he were
a hundred miles away.
Around him, Domenic could feel the crowd shift back and forth. The cheerful mood
that had been present a few minutes before was gone, and there were mutters. In
a few seconds, these turned to cries of outrage. Apparently, making fun at the
expense of an imaginary Keeper was all right, but insulting the ruler of
Darkover was not.
When he looked up, he knew that the puppeteers did not realize what was
happening outside their wagon. The crowd was becoming very angry. It was all
happenin
g so quickly that the manipulators did not suspect a thing. In a sudden
movement, half a dozen burly men, a little the worse for drink perhaps, rushed
clumsily forward. One grabbed the offensive doll and yanked it hard. The strings
snapped.
This action set off the rest of the audience. In a second there were twenty
furious men around the wagon, and one pulled open the door at the end of it and
climbed inside. Others tore at the painted screen, or the remaining figures, and
the uproar spread through the crowd. The townspeople turned on the Travelers in
a fury, seizing the innocent juggler and anyone else dressed in motley, and half
a dozen fist fights broke out across the courtyard.
The man hauled a screaming, red-faced Illona out of the wagon, and slapped her
hard across the face. Another man tried to pull the girl away from him, and the
shouting between them degenerated into yet another fight. Two village constables
tried to keep order, but there were too many fights going on for them to contain
the fury of the mob, which was now howling for blood, without much concern as to
whose was spilled.
Domenic took advantage of his size and darted between several infuriated men.
Then he grabbed Mona's hand and yanked her toward him. She tried to snatch it
back until she realized he was a rescuer, and not an enemy. "Come on," he
shouted. "You are going to get hurt."
Illona glanced back, her eyes wide with terror, and then they dashed away,
through the gates of the courtyard and into the dim light beyond it. She gave a
short, sharp cry of pain, and he paused. It was then that he realized that she
wore no shoes, and had stubbed her toe on a rock. All she was wearing was her
undershift and drawers. He could just make out the rise and fall of small
breasts beneath the thin fabric, as she gasped short, fearful breaths.
For a moment, he was too stunned to move. She just stood beside him, panting and
frightened. Then Domenic whipped his cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it
around her. A moment later Rafaella emerged from the darkness, and he realized
that it had only been seconds since he dragged Mona away. He had never been so
glad to see the Renunciate in his life.
The fracas began to spill out of the courtyard, and Rafaella seized both of them
by the shoulders and herded them around toward the back of the building. The