Traitor's Sun (28 page)

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 Trade City, if all they wanted was a bed-warmer.

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 who had been so rude to Kendrick now, but sounded uneasy, as if he were frightened of the men with him.

“Of course I’m sure! That’s the word from Command, and we will leave at the end of the month.”
If the Federation doesn’t desert us!
The speaker sounded annoyed and amused at the same time. “But if Hastur is gone, then maybe those plans will change. What’s going to happen?”

There was a hacking noise and someone spat. “He is going to be buried in a few days, and then his heir will be his nephew, Mikhail Hastur.”

“I see.” Domenic was almost certain this was the man whose thoughts he had overheard earlier, though he could not have said how he knew. “We don’t know much about him.” There was a thoughtful pause. “They take their kings to that thing up north, don’t they? The roo something.”

“Rhú Féad—it means something like ‘Holy Chapel.’ ”

“Yes, they do.” The driver sounded alert now, and wary as well.

“This has possibilities, Vancof—real possibilities. You might finally start earning the enormous salary we pay you.”

“If you say so,” came a sullen reply.
I haven’t been paid in three months, and what I do get, when I get it, is hardly enormous. He’s up to something. Damn him.

The other man went on, thinking aloud. “Our problem has always been that we have never been able to really get into Comyn Castle. We have tried seven times to put an agent into place, and failed. The servants don’t bribe, and they rarely talk.” He sounded extremely disgruntled by this, even speaking in a near whisper. “And all the positions are inherited, so we can’t do anything. But once this fellow is out of the Castle, it should be fairly easy to take him out.”

“Take him . . . ? How?”

“Oh, an ambush along the road, I think. You should be able to manage that. Find a good spot, Vancof, and the Chief will think you are a wonderful fellow.” Even in a hushed voice, there was no mistaking the contempt in the words.

There was a snorting sound, a derisive and humorless laugh. “You expect me to get through a few hundred Guardsmen and find one man I’ve never even seen?”

“I’ll get you some help.”

“Granfell, have you lost your mind? Do you really believe that you can just . . . you think that killing is the answer to everything.”
This is bad, very bad. I don’t want to be involved. But Granfell will stick a knife in me without thinking twice about it.

“What’s this funeral thing?”

“They’ll carry the body north. It hasn’t happened in a long time, but if what I have heard is right, all the heads of the Domains are supposed to accompany the body to the
rhu fead
.”

“Really—that is even better! We have time to make some preparations. Good. With a little cleverness, we can destroy not just this Michael person, but most of the rest of these . . .”

“Planning to land a troop of fighters up the road, are you?” The driver was sneering in spite of his own fright. “Think that no one will notice? You don’t understand Cottman, Granfell, and you never have. And I don’t think the Chief will like your plan either. He got into trouble before, and if he wants to advance, he can’t afford to do it again.”

Nico was so startled by what he had just overheard that it took him a moment to realize he was catching the thoughts of both of the men in leathers. His heart was pounding with fear and excitement now, and he felt frozen in place.

“You better talk to the Chief, Granfell. And don’t come back here in those clothes. You stand out like a virgin at an orgy.” It was the driver again, holding back his fears. Nico could sense a desire for wine in the man’s surface thoughts—a great deal of wine.

“You whining . . . you don’t think I’d go around wearing the rags these barbarians do, do you?”

“Fine. It’s your neck.”

With these words, Domenic decided that he had heard enough, and moved away quietly. He slipped back into the crowd, trying to appear inconspicuous. After a few moments, he knew he had succeeded, since no one was paying him the least attention. The juggler was done now, and had been replaced by a skinny man who was telling a long story. The audience did not seem very interested, but they were not ready to start booing just yet. He barely noticed, his mind racing.

What should he do now? Part of Nico wanted to race back to Comyn Castle and tell someone what he had overheard. But how was he going to explain being there? And why would anyone take him seriously? They’d probably just think he was making the whole thing up to keep from getting punished for his adventure.

Who would believe him? Well, his mother would, after she recovered from being very angry. He shivered lightly in anticipation. Danilo Syrtis-Ardais would also realize that he was not joking. He had never lied before, unlike his little brother. But what could they do? His father? True, Mikhail had told him not a day before that he was always ready to listen to his eldest son, but somehow Nico did not feel that he could just walk into Mikhail’s study and announce that there was a plot to kill him. The words stuck in his throat. He was afraid of upsetting his father just now. Things were not right at Comyn Castle, and he did not want to add to the tension. Once all the heads of the Domains arrived, there would be a Council meeting to confirm his father’s succession, and after that everyone would be less jumpy. One did not need to be a Ridenow to know that anticipation of that meeting, which promised to be loud and probably acrimonious, was weighing heavily on his parents’ minds.

Still, he had to do something, and quickly. He turned and started to leave, then stopped. He was thinking like a scared child. First, he needed to get a grip on himself, before he did anything!
Calm down, Domenic, and slow down, too—nothing is going to happen tonight.

After a minute, during which his mind raced in several directions at once, he began to sort out his feelings from everything else. No one but him knew what Vancof looked like. And the others, too. He glanced around, looking for the two men in leathers, but they seemed to have vanished. No, there they were, walking back to the Gate—and he had never gotten so much as a glimpse of their faces! Some spy he was. Would he know them again, from the backs of their heads and the way they held their shoulders? He was torn for a moment—should he track them back into the city, go back to the Castle, or remain where he was? At last he decided he might know the men again, and that it was probably best to stay where he was for a while longer. His hoped-for adventure was turning into something unexpected, and there was no need to rush, was there?

How had a Terranan ended up driving a Traveler’s wain? He wanted to know more now. Maybe he should have stayed near the wagons and listened a little longer, or used the Alton Gift to force information from the minds of the strangers . . . the idea repelled him. Mother was right—he was too good.

Domenic realized how frightened he was, and how alone he felt. He wanted to run away, and at the same time, he wanted to stay. He had to keep an eye on things, didn’t he? It was his duty. But he could not just go off . . . well, why not? He was trying to protect his father, wasn’t he? And all the others. And then he realized that he did not want to hand the problem over to the adults, that he wanted to be there—to have an adventure. If he went back now, he would be punished and perhaps not taken seriously.

If he had not been so curious about the redheaded girl, none of this would have happened, and the plot would not have been discovered. If it was a plot, if this Chief—they almost certainly meant Belfontaine—went ahead with Granfell’s plan. And if he went back and told everyone, and was believed, he would be trapped. His parents would surround him with so many guards he would not be able to breathe. He would be relegated to being just a boy again.

Domenic could not bear the thought of that happening. This was his adventure, and he was determined to see it through to the end. He was sick and tired of being a prisoner in Comyn Castle, and returning guaranteed that he would remain so. On the other hand, running off in the night would make his parents both afraid and angry. He did not want to consider that fact, but he had to. It meant he had to tell someone who would understand and believe him, and who would not instantly drag him back.

There was only one person he could think of who would know what to do. Lew Alton. His grandfather always understood. He would keep Marguerida and Mikhail from worrying, and tell Nico how to proceed. It took some of the keenness out of the adventure, but he had to act responsibly, didn’t he? There was a small sense of relief at this thought, the decision to trust Lew.