Traitor's Sun (47 page)

“Probably,” he replied vaguely. The last thing he needed was some girl hanging around. Now, if it were Alanna, it would be different. She might be high-strung, but she was not silly, and she never giggled!

He went through the rather dark corridor from the kitchen to the front of the inn, and was so intent on his movements that he nearly ran into the broad chest of Duncan Lindir, standing in the shadows. The old Guardsman gave him a startled look, a quick nod, and a slight grin.

“What’s going on? Has my father sent the entire barracks up here?” he hissed to the man.

Duncan shook his head. “There’s ten of us, that
Dom
Danilo ordered to come here. We started out right after midday, and rode much too hard for these old bones,” he grumbled. “I don’t know what is going on. All
Dom
Danilo said was that
Dom
Aldaran would tell us what to do—never thought I’d find myself answering to an Aldaran. And what are
you
doing here?”

“It’s too complicated to explain now. Just keep your eyes and ears open.”

“For what?”

Domenic hesitated for a moment. If Uncle Danilo had not informed the man of a plot to try to assassinate Mikhail Hastur, then he should not say anything, should he? Still, he could sense both curiosity and some bewilderment from Duncan, and it needed to be satisfied. “There are some Terranan here, and we believe they are going to cause trouble. Keep an eye on a big man with very new boots and short brown hair. He’s in the taproom just now. I think, sitting with a ratty-faced man. There may be more—I don’t know yet.”

“
Dom
Domenic . . .”

“Don’t call me that! I’m Tomas MacAnndra, and Hermes is Ian MacAnndra—and you never saw me before in your life! I am going into the taproom now, and I’ll sit down with Herm, so then you will know who he is.”

“Then I guess I don’t know your name,” Duncan replied, forgetting his aching bones and grumbling. His eyes startled to twinkle with great good humor. “Good thought—since I never set eyes on the man. What have you gotten yourself into, lad?”

Nico did not reply, but just left the corridor and walked toward the front of the inn. The noise from the taproom was tremendous, many male voices discussing the weather, the corn crop, the news of the death of Regis Hastur, and other matters. There were a few female voices as well, and he recognized Rafaella’s before he came to the doorway.

Herm saw him and waved him over. Then he gestured to the serving boy and signaled for a short mug for Domenic. By the time Nico reached the table, the boy had brought the beer, and he settled down on the bench beside Herm and picked it up.

I don’t know either, but I am not sorry that they have come. Hmm. If they were not told about the plot against your father, it was likely so that they would not inadvertently reveal it to anyone else.
“What have you been up to, nephew?”

Duncan was not expecting to find me here, and was surprised, so I think you are probably right.
“I went to the kitchens and got something to eat,” Nico answered, holding up the remnants of the bread. “And I helped with the preparations, too.”

“Your mother would be proud of you, lending a hand.”
Is there any reason for Danilo to play things close to his chest?

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?

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 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.

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.