Traitor's Sun (48 page)

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.

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 happening 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 Illona’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 Illona 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 racket decreased as they went farther away, and the Renunciate drew them into a nest of shadows and halted. “I think it is better if we stay out of sight until things calm down a bit,” she said, her voice shaking a little. “How could you have done such a thing, girl?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Illona snapped back, her fear fading into anger as she pushed a tangle of hair off her sweating face. She eyed the Renunciate fiercely, daring her to disagree.

“I don’t call putting a puppet of Regis Hastur up for ridicule nothing. He has not been dead a tenday! And why aren’t you dressed?” Domenic asked, letting his fury leak into the words.

Illona shrugged, shivered and drew the cloak more closely around her. “It gets very hot in the wagon, and close, too. I’d be a puddle if I wore all my clothes. As for the puppet—the Hasturs are a bunch of parasites.”

To his surprise, Rafaella grabbed Illona by her shoulders and shook her hard, until he heard the girl’s teeth rattle together. “How dare you speak that way! You are a stupid girl. I will have you know that Regis Hastur was a friend of mine, and one of the finest men who ever walked. Who put you up to that play? Tell me, or I will slap you silly.”

Domenic had never seen his Aunt Rafi angry before, and he was rather awed. It reminded him a bit of his mother’s infrequent rages, but there was a quality of restraint in her that Marguerida did not possess. He could sense the deep loyalty in Rafaella, a simple, steady emotion that calmed him enormously.

Illona, on the other hand, seemed to have lost both her earlier fear and her common sense. She pulled away from Rafaella’s grip and glared. “Everyone knows that the Domains are oppressing the people of Darkover, and that we need to get rid of them in order to have a better life.”

At first, Nico did not react. The words the girl used were strange, and he sensed that they had not come from her own mind, but from someone else’s. She was parroting something she had heard, without any certainty or real understanding. But beneath the words, there was a core of a more personal emotion, made of fear and resentment, a puzzling mixture, focused on the subject of the Towers. He wondered why she was afraid of the Towers; it was almost as if they threatened her.

The more he thought about it, the more confusing the text of the play became. Why would anyone suggest that the Towers were dens of vice—what purpose could it serve? Then he recalled the sense of mistrust he had noticed in the crowd when the puppet play began, the feeling from the townspeople that had puzzled him at the time. What had Herm said? That the play was subversive. Was someone trying to foment a revolution on Darkover? Who, and why? Had the Travelers been performing similar things whenever they were not in Thendara?

Rafaella’s anger flared, and she lifted her hand to strike the girl, distracting him from his thoughts. Domenic caught her wrist in his hand and shook his head. “Who told you that lie, Illona?” he asked. “And who is ‘everyone?’ ” He managed to speak calmly, but his heart was pounding.

Illona looked at him, her eyes almost blank. “Well, our driver and a lot of the others, I guess. Mathias, who wrote the script for our play, says that . . . if it weren’t for Regis Hastur, we would be able to fly about in aircars, and live in fine houses and . . .” Her voice was a monotone now, and Nico could tell she was pulling back into herself, that the violence she had just experienced was finally reaching her mind and sending it into a kind of shock.

“And of course Mathias is a knowledgeable man, and has been to Comyn Castle and seen this so-called oppression for himself,” he commented. Despite his compassion for this girl, he was still very angry, and it helped to let his words release it.

“Well, no,” she admitted meekly. Then she seemed to gather her energies, to shake off some of her fear and shock. “But the fact that we aren’t allowed in Thendara except at Midsummer and Midwinter proves that the Hasturs are afraid of us, so it must be true.”

“Your logic is impeccable, but your premises are false.” She narrowed her eyes and peered at him in the faint light from the back of the inn. Recognition dawned in her face. “I saw you in Thendara, didn’t I? You were standing guard, hiding in the shadows near the Castle. You are one of them! You just look so different with your hair loose, and not in uniform. You are a spy for the Hasturs!”

“And who are
you
a spy for, Illona?”

“Me?” she squeaked, astounded.

Rafaella, impatient, demanded, “Who told you all these ridiculous things? And, more to the point, when did you hear them?”

An expression of confusion came into Illona’s face. “People . . . like Mathias, I guess. When?”

“Have you been listening to this seditious nonsense all your life, or is it a recent thing?” Domenic could sense Rafi’s puzzlement at his question, but he ignored it. He was determined to get to the bottom of the matter, and the girl was his best chance for that. He did not want to use forced rapport, but discovered, to his dismay, that he was willing to if he must. All the lessons in ethics he had taken at Arilinn rang in his mind, and for the first time, he realized how dangerous a thing the Alton Gift could be in the hands of someone who could set aside any consideration except their own needs. He hoped that Illona would tell him the truth without force.

Illona seemed suddenly subdued. “This spring was when I first heard it.”
Why am I telling him anything at all? He seemed so nice, and I liked him right away. But that is no reason to talk to him, is it? Aunt Loret didn’t like that play, and now I see why. I wish I was somewhere else. I’m scared.

“And this Mathias fellow, who wrote the play, how long has he been with you?”

“He joined our band this spring.”

The noise from the courtyard was decreasing a little, although some shouting could still be heard. There was also the sound of wood being smashed, and Nico suspected that the Travelers’ wagons were being demolished by the angry townspeople. A moment later he saw a burst of fire rise above the wall around the inn. Someone had put a torch to one of the wagons. “Illona, you have gotten yourself into a real mess.”

“I have guessed that much,” she said, some of her earlier sauciness returning. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stand up straight, and glared at Rafaella and Domenic. Even in the rather dim light, he could see she was very pale, and the freckles on her strong nose were very apparent. He marveled at her strength, at her refusal to surrender to her terrors completely. He was not sure how he would have behaved in the same situation.

“You have been in some bad company,” Rafaella said quietly. She had regained her self-control, and in the shadows she seemed stern and powerful, but less threatening than a minute before.

Illona looked up at Rafaella, defiant. “I’ve never known anything but the Travelers, so I can’t judge. My Aunt Loret thinks that Mathias and some of the others are a little crazy, but I didn’t pay her any mind.”

Herm Aldaran suddenly appeared out of the darkness, his expression invisible in the shadows. “Ah, there you are. I saw you snatch the girl from harm’s way, and a good thing, too! The constables and our
friends
have managed to get things under control, but most of the wains are firewood now.” He cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “Some people have been killed . . . including your aunt, Illona. I’m sorry.”

She did not react at once. She peered from face to face and then tears swelled in her eyes and began to trickle down her grubby cheek. Illona made no sound, just wept silently, shrinking into Domenic’s cloak, getting smaller and smaller, as if she might puddle down to the ground. Rafaella put a supporting arm around her and drew the girl into her embrace.