Traitor's Sun (46 page)

“As you said, the past is past,
bredu.
” Rafael walked across and embraced his brother firmly. Over his shoulder, Mikhail could see that his sister-in-law was smiling and that tears were falling from her green eyes. There was no calculation in her expression, just relief and joy.

As Mikhail hugged his older brother, he felt a knot of tension in his belly uncoil. Yes, he needed Rafael, but more, he loved the man, and was glad that he could now have him and his counsel close by. And he knew he was forgiven for the years of estrangement, for Rafael had a great heart with nothing petty in it. And that, he decided, was a gift that outweighed anything else.

D
omenic was fretting with restlessness. After they had entered the inn, Herm found one of the Renunciates and told her to find Vancof and keep an eye on him. Then he had ordered Nico to change into his new clothes and stay out of sight. This had not pleased the boy, but he was so accustomed to doing what he was told that it took a while for his feelings of resentment to manifest. Herm himself had settled into the common room of the Crowing Cock with a mug of beer, relaxing before the wide hearth, and somehow managing to appear unremarkable. Nico had been able to observe him before he went up the stairs, and had wondered how the man did it. He just seemed to melt into the woodwork.

Nico felt let down, the way he often did after a celebration in Comyn Castle. The excitement of the previous evening and the ride along the Old North Road had sustained him, but now he once more felt like a child, sent off to his room and told to be quiet. There was even, he decided, hard logic in Herm’s instructions. Vancof had seen him the previous day, and might recognize him if they met in the halls of the inn, but he had never seen the Aldaran man.

Still, there was the evening’s performance to look forward to—unless Herm decided to keep him away from that as well. Nico tried to marshal a few good arguments as to why he should be allowed to attend, and decided that the Alton Gift was probably the best. He scanned the inn again, as he had done several times since he came upstairs, and noticed the Terranan who had ridden in earlier sitting in the taproom, looking uneasy and fidgety. He was probably waiting for Vancof.

Time passed, and he wished he had something to read. He closed his eyes and slipped into a light doze. After a while, he sat up, refreshed but also somewhat unnerved by his nap—had he slept too long? Domenic peered out the narrow window, facing west, and saw that the sun was sinking behind heavy clouds. Soon it would set, and twilight would creep over the town. He could not stand it a second longer! He ran a comb roughly through his hair, and then opened the door of the room.

He was just coming down the stairs from his room when he heard a familiar voice in the entry. Domenic stepped into the shadowed door of the dining room and peeked around the jamb. Yes, it was one of the older, retired Guardsmen, Fredrich MacDunald, dressed in worn and ordinary clothing. Nico had never seen him without his uniform before, and he was rather surprised by how different he appeared.

Nico hesitated. Should he expose himself and speak to his friend, or stay out of sight, as Herm had instructed him? When Aran MacIvan followed Fredrich into the inn a moment later, he decided that he had better tell Herm of this new development before he did anything else. This spying stuff was more complicated than he had imagined.

I haven’t seen him, but I was upstairs, like you told me.
He could tell that even in telepathic communication his sense of ill-usage came through.

It was better than sitting on his hands in the room, and he was a bit hungry. At least Uncle Herm had not sent him back there! Domenic followed the smell of fresh bread into the back portion of the Crowing Cock, and found himself in a large, very clean kitchen. Two girls sat on one side of a long table, cutting vegetables and chatting quietly. On the far side of the hot room, a boy was pulling loaves from a great beehive oven, using a long wooden paddle to keep from burning his hands. The cook, a very skinny man, was standing before the stove, stirring a pot, and the wonderful smell of chervine stew with dumplings wafted out from it. His mouth watered.

One of the girls looked up from her work and gave him a friendly smile. She appeared to be a year or so younger than himself, and by her features, must be related to the innkeeper. At least she had the same small, turned-up nose as Evan MacHaworth. She gestured him toward the table with the knife in her hand. “Can’t wait for supper, huh?”

“I am a little bit hungry,” he admitted, as he sat down on the bench across from her. “Can I do something to help?” The cook turned around at the sound of his voice, gave him a look, then returned to his stirring.

She giggled, as if she had never heard anything so funny in her life. Then she got up, grabbed a loaf of bread that was already sitting at the end of the table, cut it into two pieces, and put both in a basket. She took the basket in one hand, and another with something green in it in the other, and came back.

“You ever strung snap-beans before?”

“No, but if you show me how, I can probably do it.”

“You must be really bored if you want to string beans. Here, this is how.” She demonstrated with a few quick gestures. “I hate to do it, but the way our cook fixes them makes it worth the work. He fries them with bacon and it is delicious!” She turned and grinned at the back of the skinny cook, and Nico had the impression it was some sort of joke between them.

“That sounds good.” He pulled a chunk of bread off, bit into it, and started to string the beans. It wasn’t very challenging, but it was much better than sitting in his room, waiting for something to happen. He could see how the nameless girl would grow weary of it.

The other girl glanced up from the growing pile of carrots in front of her, gave him a nod and then looked at the first girl with a calculating eye. He sensed her watchfulness, her slight unease, and sensed without the least probing that she was keeping an eye on him with her younger sister. “We will get a big crowd in here tonight, what with the Travelers being here, and all the folks in the town coming around to see the show,” she informed him.

“I saw some men come in just before I came back,” he offered, “and I think they might be wanting dinner, too.”

“Really?” She did not seem surprised or very interested in new guests. “I’m Hannah, and this is my sister Dorcas,” the older girl announced. “This time of year we are always busy, and never busier than when the Travelers stop by. There won’t be an empty room in the place, what with you and your uncle, and those women.” She gave a big sigh. “Father has gone off to the market, so I’d better go find out if the men you saw will be wanting a place to sleep.”

He watched Hannah get up and go out. Then Dorcas said, “She doesn’t think much of Renunciates, but I think they are interesting. And a while ago, one of them marched right through the kitchen and out the back. I wonder what she was about?”

So much for not drawing attention, he thought glumly. “Who knows,” he replied. “They go where they like, don’t they?”

Dorcas giggled again, a titter that was going to get on his nerves if he heard it very much longer. “You woulda thought the kitchen was a lane this afternoon, because one of the Travelers came through, too. I’ve seen him before, but I woulda known he was one of them by his clothes anywhere. Came through town just before Midsummer and got roaring drunk. Dad had to send him out before he was sick on the hearth. A real nasty piece,” she went on, giggling at the same time, for no reason he could discern. She probably did it in her sleep.

Then he sensed that she was just nervous, and knew that she wanted to impress him and make him like her. She was so different from his sister, or his cousins, that he did not really know what to make of her. But he felt a little ashamed of comparing her to Alanna, or even that Illona Rider, who was probably still sewing in the confines of the wagon. “It must be interesting living in an inn.”

Dorcas shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never lived any-wheres else, or gone beyond the town even. Ma says it was good enough for her, and has to be good enough for me, but I would like to go to Thendara and see the sights.”

Domenic bit off another mouthful of bread and did not answer until he had chewed and swallowed it. Even without butter or honey, it was very good, and the smell of the stew was tempting. “What sights do you mean?”

“There’s Comyn Castle, and the spaceport, and Terranan, to be sure. I heard the Big Ships make a fearful noise when they land, and I would like to see if it is so. And they say there’s a new hall built by the Musicians Guild, as big as a barn, but with seats in it insteada stalls and hay.”

“I heard that, too, but I have never seen it.”

“Have you ever seen a Terranan?”

Before he could answer, Domenic saw Vancof slip into the open door at the back of the kitchen, looking very furtive. He bent his head over the beans so his unbound hair concealed his features, and felt a burst of success as the man passed by him without a glance. He could hear the topmost thoughts in the man’s mind, but they were disorganized, full of anger and fear, and not particularly informative. Vancof was so lost in thought, he realized, that he could have been naked and dancing on the table, and the man might not have noticed him.

A moment later he sensed another presence nearby, saw Samantha, one of the Renunciates, come to the door of the kitchen, peer inside at Vancof’s shoulders, and then fade away into the growing twilight. If he had not been expecting her, he would have missed her completely, and he wondered if he could learn to do that. He thought she was going to circle around the Crowing Cock and come in from the front door.

Domenic spent a minute trying to make some sense of the troubled thoughts of the driver, to glean any useful information from them at all. There was something about orders that was bothering him. Then he used the Alton Gift to speak to his uncle again.

Domenic had almost emptied the basket by now, and there was a large pile of cleaned and broken beans on the table in front of him. He was needed—how gratifying! It occurred to him briefly that he had never felt particularly needed before, and then he wondered what they were going to do about supper. He chided himself for letting his belly get in the way of his good sense. Eating was not
that
important, was it?

“I’d better go see if my uncle is looking for me,” he told Dorcas.

“Take the rest of that piece of bread with you. It should hold you until we start serving.”

“Thanks. It was fun.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you have to clean beans six days out of ten during the season. I am always glad when they are done, all put up in crocks for winter.” Dorcas seemed a little disappointed at his departure. “Will I see you at the show?”