Darkover, where murders are few.
I'll try, but it is very hard to understand. And I just hate it. Grandfather . .
. Herm just came in. Wait a minute.
Herm Aldaran, his balding pate gleaming with rain, was holding a small object in
his hands, a collection of metal and brightly colored wires. "Just look what I
found in the remains of one of the wagons."
"What is it?"
"A communication device, for sending messages. It is called a shortbeam and
quite illegal on Darkover. I wonder where the receiver is? A pity it is ruined,
since I might have been able to use it to create some trouble at the other end."
"Was it in the puppet wagon?"
"No, in another. It was under a stack of pages that had the most incredible
filth on them."
"Then it was probably the one called Mathias, who wrote the plays. But why would
he have it . . .?"
"This was nothing like a play-these were broadsheets."
"Do you think Mathias and Vancof were working together?"
"I've no idea, but Duncan grabbed the man before he could hare off into the
night, and we can ask him." His usually pleasant face had an expression on it
that Domenic found most disquieting. "Now, where did I put my thumbscrews?"
"Your what?"
"I have shocked you. Forgive me. I don't really intend to torture the man, but
he doesn't need to know that, does he? I am just working myself up to scare the
filth out of his bowels, Nico. It's that, or else ask you to go into his mind
and find out what we want to know."
Domenic considered this evidence of a ruthlessness he had never suspected, and
decided he would rather scare Mathias than plunder the man's mind. "But what if
he lies," he managed to say at last.
"You would be able to tell if he did. So, come along. This is going to be very
unpleasant."
"Just a minute. Let me finish talking to Lew."
"Of course."
Domenic closed his eyes again, although he did not need to, and completed his
interrupted conversation with his grandfather, feeling more and more uneasy as
he did. He did not want to interrogate anyone, because he was afraid of what he
would learn. The sense of adventure which had sustained him the night before
vanished, and he was left with the reality, which was not nearly as comfortable.
Odd-the people in the books he had read never seemed to have such conflicts.
There was a third floor in the inn, and Herm led him up to it. The raucous
sounds of the still agitated townsfolk receded a little as they ascended. Nico
discovered that he was sweating slightly, and the stink of it told him how
anxious he was.
There were several small rooms along the corridor, and they went to one at the
end of it, a tiny chamber that was occupied by three Guardsmen, as well as a man
he had never seen before. The stranger, who must be Mathias, had pale hair and
the look of the Dry Towns about him. His light blue eyes were constricted almost
to pinpoints, and he looked frightened out of his wits. Six people in the small
room was too many, and the heat of their bodies was almost overwhelming. It was
like stepping into an oven, but instead of the nice smell of bread, there was
only the stench of fear and anger.
With no spoken word of command, two of the men stepped out into the hall,
leaving Duncan, Herm, and Domenic alone with the hapless man. They were
standing, and he was seated on a rush chair, his hands bound with a rope. The
atmosphere in the room seemed a little less stifling now, and Mathias looked
from one face to another, seeking some sign of release and finding nothing to
lessen his terror. Nico thought he did not look at all like a spy or a
revolutionary, but was just an ordinary man. And clearly he was not a very brave
one.
Hermes smiled, but there was no friendliness in it. He looked like a wolf, and a
hungry one at that. Mathias shifted on his chair, squirming. "I trust you are
comfortable," Herm said very quietly, his voice menacing in spite of the
pleasant words.
"Why have you dragged me up here?" Mathias half snarled, half whined. "I have
done nothing wrong."
Herm laughed. He had a deep, rumbling chuckle that Domenic was fond of, though
now it seemed to take on a sinister quality. "That's rich! Nothing wrong. You've
been writing scandalous plays, and we found broadsheets that will have you on
the gibbet."
"I don't know what you are talking about." How am I going to get out of this?
"You are a filthy spy for the Terranan," Herm announced.
Mathias seemed to brighten a little. "I am no such thing. I am a Son of
Darkover, and I don't have any truck with any Terranan."
"We are all sons of Darkover here, aren't we?" When he received no response, he
asked, "What do you mean by that?" Nico, have you ever heard of these Sons?
Curse it-why did I say that? "We are people dedicated to the betterment of
Darkover."
No. From what I can gather from his mind, they are some sort of fraternal
organization, dating back to the time of Danvan Hastur. Maybe Dando
Syrtis-Ardais knows more about them. Their aims seem to be . . . the
establishment of some government with themselves as rulers. But I am not sure of
that, because unless I actually probe him, I can only get a vague sense of
things.
Ah-revolutionaries! Thanks, Nico.
"And what betterment do you intend?"
"Why, to stop slaving for the lords of the Domains and be free. There is nothing
wrong with that, is there?" Mathias sounded less frightened now, as if Herm's
behavior was lulling him into a false sense of calm.
"How many lords have you encountered, and how did they make you slave for them?"
Herm sounded almost amused now.
"Everyone knows that the Domains exist on the hard work and sweat of the common
people, who are too stupid to realize that they are being kept in servitude."
"That is a pretty poor opinion to have of the people you would like to save,
don't you think?" Herm sounded quite disinterested now, almost as if he were
inviting the man into an intellectual discussion. Then without warning, he
shifted, learning forward toward the bound Mathias, and raising his voice
menacingly. "Now, tell me about the broadsheets! Where were they printed, and
who wrote them?"
This change in tone made Mathias cringe back in the rush chair, and it creaked
almost musically under the movement. Domenic realized that he had been prepared
to declare several more outrageous sentiments, and had not expected to be asked
about the damning papers. "What broadsheets?" I knew those damn things were
going to get me into hot water! I wish Dirck had never persuaded me to write
them. I wish Dirck had been strangled by his birthing cord. I would not be an
this mess of it were not for him!
"The ones we found in your wagon," Herm answered calmly.
"I don't know what you are talking about. I am just a Traveling man, a poor
scribner. You have no right to haul me around and tie me up like this. Who the
hell are you, anyhow?" It was bluster, and needed no telepathy to be deciphered.
Duncan rolled onto the balls of his feet. In spite
of his gray hair and slight
paunch, the impression he gave was of a man who had just run out of patience,
and was prepared to use his fists if necessary. "Don't you take that tone. You
are in enough trouble as it is. Answer the question. Where were those sheets
printed?"
Mathias flinched and shivered, looking from Herm to Duncan and back again,
seeking any hint of mercy. He cast a glance at Nico, frowned slightly, and
swallowed hard. "I don't know anything." They'll never find the press in a
million years. They will never think to look in Aldaran Castle.
Domenic conveyed this fresh information to Herm, and saw his uncle's shoulders
sag a little. Then he straightened and glowered. "Tell me about the driver of
the puppet wagon."
Now Mathias looked confused, as if he had expected more questions about the
papers, and worried as well. "What about him?"
"Who is he, and where did he come from?"
"He's just a man. He came from another band of Travelers, and he joined up with
us this spring." Curse him. I always thought there was something wrong with the
bastard. He said he was one of the Sons, but I should never have believed him.
But he knew all the passwords! This is all his fault.
"What troupe of Travelers is he from?"
"I don't remember." Dirck said he used to drive for Dyan Player, but he died two
years ago. What do these people want from me?
"Did he put you up to writing that puppet play tonight?"
"Yes. No."
"Which is it?"
"Dirck said we needed something stronger, that it would get the people riled up
more if we told how the Towers were full of wicked people, who lived off the
backs of the poor, and . . ."
"That's enough. I don't want to hear any of your silly cant." Herm shook his
head dismissively. "So, this Dirck suggested you write a play that involved a
Keeper and Regis Hastur, and you actually wrote it. Is that right?"
"I suppose."
"Why did you choose Regis Hastur?"
"He's dead and can't squawk-and a good thing, too! Everyone knows he's been
keeping behind the walls of Comyn Castle so as no one would kill him, all these
years."
"What a truly disgusting creature you are," Herm said quietly. "Now the only
question is what do we do with you?"
"I'm not afraid to die for what I believe in," Mathias sniveled, looking
perfectly terrified. "I'll be a hero." The Sons will save me-if I can just get
word to them.
"No one will even miss you, you sack of dirt." Duncan growled these words, then
turned away in disgust. After a moment, he turned back. "You are a disgrace to
an old and respectable fellowship."
Herm and Domenic looked at Duncan in surprise, but the man said nothing more.
Instead, the old Guardsman made a gesture, suggesting that he wanted to talk out
of hearing of the miserable captive. Herm nodded slightly, stepped to the door,
and ordered one of the men outside to come in. Then he and Duncan left the room,
and Domenic followed them.
"I take it you know something about these Sons of Darkover, Lindir."
"Not really, dom, and it took me a few minutes to remember that I had heard of
them before. But I think that Istvan has a brother who is a member-shall I fetch
him?"
"Yes, that would be very useful." Duncan walked away and went down the stairs.
The second Guard remained beside the door, trying to fade into the paneling on
the wall behind him, but was clearly very curious.
"Well, nephew, what do you think?"
"I think that we might learn more from Mathias, but I don't think it would be
very useful. I don't believe he knows very much, not really." Nico paused and
thought for a moment. "What we do not know is how many other of the Travelers
are involved in this. It might be that there is only Vancof, with this group,
but it could be that there are Federation spies in others. So, I think that all
the Travelers need to be found, wherever they are, and detained."
"A good idea. How do we go about that?"
"I'll tell Lew what we have learned, and he can get the Tower relays humming,
and before morning, they can be located. I will leave it to someone else to
decide what to do with them-I am so tired, Uncle!"
"Of course you are. You have been pulling extra duty being the message center
for our little effort."
"Little!"
"All right-that was too modest a word. Would 'enormous' please you more?"
"Nothing would please me except another bath, a second supper, and bed for about
three days."
Duncan returned with another man, introduced him as Istvan MacRoss, and looked
very pleased with himself. He gave Nico a droll look, and Domenic smiled back at
him. It felt very good to have trusted retainers around him just then.
"Tell me what you know about the Sons of Darkover, Istvan."
Istvan grinned. He had a scar across his forehead and cheek, and the smile make
him look very frightening. "Not much, vai dom. My younger brother was a member,
years back, and since it is a secret fellowship, did not tell me a great deal.
They call themselves the Ancient and Loyal Sons of Darkover, and they came into
being during the final years of Danvan Hastur's rule. A fine-sounding name for a
rabble of discontents who have never done much that I can tell except gather
together to piss and moan about how they could run things much better if they
could only think of how to do it."
"What do they want?"
"There I am not sure, except something different. They do not regard the Domains
with any love-that was what made my brother leave them after a couple of
years-but I never heard of them doing anything against the Comyn. I think what
they really like is being secret-having passwords and all manner of nonsense."
"Do you think there is a branch of the organization here in Carcosa?"
"Might be. See, the way they do it is like this. They never get together in
groups larger than six, and only one of those six knows how to reach another.
They call the divisions rhowyns, after the six-petaled flower of that tree.
Pretty silly, really, for if something happens to the man who knows, they are
out of luck."
"I see. A pretty ordinary secret society setup-and no way to find them unless
you know the passwords or something."
"Just so, my lord."
"Thank you."
Herm, it sounds to me as if Vancof just took advantage of these Sons, and they
are not really a serious threat.
I agree. Which is a great relief, because I think that the Federation is all the
trouble we can manage at present. I suspect that Federation Intelligence tried
to infiltrate these Sons, then decided that the Travelers were a better bet. Who
knows-I can think of a hundred possibilities.
I can also-and I am rather relieved that it is all nonsense, Uncle.
It is not all nonsense, Nico. There is a real plot, a dangerous one, even if the
plotters are not very capable. We must count ourselves fortunate that we
stumbled into it-that you were a very naughty lad with a good head on your
shoulders-before at turned into a massacre. Even if the Sons and the Travelers
are neutrali
zed, there remains the Federation. Why did I imagine that returning
to Darkover would be a pleasant and peaceful experience?
Yes, I know. What should we do about Vancof?
Since he seems to have vanished, there is nothing I can think of, unless you
have some means to track his whereabouts, nephew. "Tell me, Istvan, do you
believe these Sons are any real threat to the Comyn?"
"I could not say, dom, but from what I learned from my brother, they are more
talk than action."
"Do you imagine they might use the excuse of Regis Hastur's death to foment some
sort of uprising?"
Istvan looked horrified. "I don't, but I might be wrong."
Why is that important, Herm?
It is just an idea, and probably not a very useful one. If the Federation has
been trying to use either the Sons or the Travelers to destablize Darkover, then
they might create some sort of situation which would justify them using force
here. They would not have to assassinate anyone, just say that they were keeping
the peace here on Darkover. They might have been planning such a thing, but with
the dissolution of the legislature and the planned pullout in a few weeks time,
they would have to rush things. Under such circumstances, they would just
declare a state of emergency and use force outright. Did you get any sense of
such a possibility from our captive?
He thought about the passwords a little, and I had the impression there were
hand signals, too. Vancof knew enough of them to convince Mathias he was one of
the fellowship. But how Mathias would contact another rhowyn I don't know. I
mean, standing in the muddle of the marketplace and putting your little finger
in your ear until someone came up and scratched his nose doesn't seem like a
very good system to me. I think his hope of contacting them is the wish of a
desperate man. And even if he did, how would they rescue him, if they are as
foolish as Istvan makes them seem?
Never underestimate your foes, Nico. If I were running a secret society, I would
make sure that no one felt threatened by it until the time was ripe. I would
make it appear feeble and foolish, so that no one would pay it the least mind.
Grandfather was right-he said he was glad you are on our side, and not that of
our enemies. I will tell Lew what we just learned, and he can get things in