A Primmo Hunting Lodge

5

A Primmo Hunting Lodge

    “Do you remember who you are?” said the man sitting on the chair by the bed.

    “Roz?” she said groggily. Ugh, the bed had lumps in it. And it smelled funny: snu flowers?

    “Uh-huh. And where you’re from?”

    “Yes, of c— Ooh, no, I don’t!” she discovered. “Um, I was on Playfair Two, I think.”

    “Is that your home world?”

    “No,” she said definitely: “it’s a vacuum-frozen FW dump full of FW nirvana gardens.”

    “Er—yes, so they tell me. What’s your home world like?"

    The girl who thought she was Roz concentrated. “It’s got snu flowers,” she produced. “They smell like this bed, sir.”

    He looked at her drily. “I’m ‘sir’, now, am I?”

    Pleasure Girl Roz remembered who she thought she was in a rush and her pinkish-shlaa-ish cheeks turned red and she gasped: “Pray forgive me, Great Lord!”

    “Hm.” He took her wrist and rubbed it gently with his thumb.

    “I’m not wearing a bracelet,” she noticed groggily. “Maybe I’m a qualified Pleasure Girl, then.”

    “Playfair Two Pleasure Girls are, so they tell me.”

    “Yes. But I think I’ve done the Playfair One course,” she recalled, frowning. “Um... I can’t remember. My head’s all funny, Great Lord. But I haven’t been taking snuhl, I swear!”

    “Snuhl?” he said drily. “No, you’ve filled yourself with klupf, my girl.”

    “What? Why?” she gasped.

    “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

    After a very long time she said: “There was someone bad... I can’t remember, it goes all misty when I try.”

    “I see.”—He did see, he’d been looking.—“Did you steal that lifter?”

    She responded immediately: “Yes. It belongs to the Nirvana Club.”

    “The what?”

    “You know! Where they go to play silly games! –Lots of silly games,” she said, yawning.

    Drouwh took a look at her mind but all he saw was a picture of beings in silly clothes rushing about on pink or lemon lawns hitting balls with bats of various sorts. Fair enough. There was a pale green sky with three bright artificial moons in it—although it was apparently daylight, for a big silver sun was shining—so it probably was Playfair Two.

    “Are you hungry?” he said.

    “Starving. I could eat a half-cooked grqwary,” she admitted.

    Drouwh knew they had those on Whtyll, amongst other places. He took another look and this time saw a place that was very flat, full of grassy fields that were crowded with large, flightless birds—grqwaries, yes. Fair enough. There didn’t seem to be any forests but probably in the parts of Whtyll devoted to raising grqwaries, there weren’t. Well, if she was a Whtyllian, he’d better be cursed careful.

    He got up, as she added: “Humblest thanks for your caring attention, Great Lord.”

    Drouwh went off to the kitchen feeling more and more puzzled. Possibly very high-class Pleasure Girls did swing between crawlingly subservient formulae and a—an off-handedness that bordered on cheek, and that he certainly wouldn’t have taken from a servant of his! Would a Great Lord of—well, Whtyll, for example—desire that sort of behaviour from his Pleasure Girl? He didn’t know: he’d seen a Lord of Whtyll from a distance when he’d been a pageboy at Court the year of one of the big Federation delegations, but that had been as close as he’d ever come to one. Perhaps they might enjoy the—uh—spiciness?—of such a contrast?

    She sat up eagerly when he came in with the reheated soup. Drouwh averted his eyes hastily: he hadn't given her a garment, as she’d gone out like a kfft-fly the minute he’d put her in the bed. And whatever might be the custom amongst rich off-worlders, a simple Old Rthfrdian found all that nakedness a bit much to take!

    “Here,” he said gruffly.

    She offered him humblest thanks and then fell on it and ate like a starving snr-cat.

    “That was good,” she said. “What was it?”

    Drouwh turned slowly from the window, where he’d been watching dusk fall over the forest. “Ghrr soup, with a base of nyr-meat stock. Glad you liked it.”

    “Meat?”

    “Of course.” Suddenly a flush rose to his high cheekbones and he said: “I’m sorry. You do eat meat, do you? I know some off-worlders don’t.”

    There was a moment’s pause; then she said: “I do eat meat when it is offered, Great Lord.”

    “Good.” Trying not to make it apparent that he was monitoring her narrowly, he said casually: “You remember your crash-landing, do you?”

    “No-o... I remember being in a forest. Very green. A little boy was there with a small spotted mammalian being. He was afraid I might hurt it,” she said, smiling. “And then you came, Lord.”

    “Yes. Why did you come here?”

    “Didn’t you bring me?” she replied blankly.

    “Don’t give me that!” he said grimly, nostrils flaring. “Why did you come to this world?” He glared down at her.

    Roz looked up into his face. Her lips quivered a little. Drouwh was aware that Pleasure Girls knew every facial trick there was—worse than the cursed snr-cats at Court—and was annoyed to find himself immediately filled with sympathy for the creature. He bent and grabbed her shoulder hard and said, glaring into her big dark eyes: “Who are you? Why are you here?”

    “I can’t remember,” she said faintly.

    Angrily Drouwh probed her mind. Still a ghastly jumble of klupf fumes, fragments of memory: something detailed to do with beauty treatments—well, that figured, if she really was a Pleasure Girl and not some sort of Feddo spy; a considerable amount of fear, but also defiance; memories of many men, that certainly figured; and memories of many worlds, all fragments… But there was something else there, he was sure, he could almost but not quite sense it, something locked away—perhaps not under the girl’s control?

    After a long moment of silence he sat back and said: “Recite your maths tables.”

    Haltingly she began. Drouwh let her get right through to the log tables. He had another look at her mind and saw that a lot of mathematical knowledge, far more advanced than his own, had cleared and crystallised there. “That’s enough,” he said finally.

    “I know a lot of maths,” she reported in a surprised voice.

    “Yes. How did you come by that?”

    “I must have learnt it at—at Third School, I suppose,” she said uncertainly.

    He saw a room full of young people—galloping grpplybeasts, some of them couldn’t have been called people by any stretch of the imagination, so how he knew they were young— And a tall, thin—was it a man?—lecturing before the traditional blackboard, fair en— Were all the young people in uniform? But the picture shivered and went misty, to be overridden by some ridiculous children’s song: insects measuring the— Rubbish!

    It was dark, now, so he got up and lit the candles.

    “What are they?” she gasped, shrinking back on the pillows.

    “What?” said Drouwh blankly.

    “Those: those flickering beings that you’ve brought into life, sir!” she gasped. "They look like the free-fires of the magma pits of Vvlvania!”

    “WHAT?” he shouted.

    “What did I say?” she said faintly.

    “You used an expression that I’ve only heard round the dives near the spaceport where the smugglers used to congregate until the Feddo Cust—” His lips tightened. “The Intergalactic Customs and Excise cleaned them out, after we’d signed the Pre-Federation Agreement.”

    Roz just goggled at him, still cowering against her pillows.

   “They’re candles! Small flames!” he said impatiently.

    “Free-fires in the house?” she gasped.

    “NO!” he shouted. He drew a deep breath, picked up a two-branched candelabra and brought it over to the bed. Roz drew her breath in with a little hissing noise. “They won’t hurt you,” he said heavily.

    She stared in a mesmerised way at the candles. He saw the flames reflected in the slanted dark eyes. Then suddenly, though there were no draughts in the room, the candles both went out.

    “You did that, didn’t you?”

    “Yes. They would have leapt upon you and devoured you, Master,” she said earnestly.

    “Roz, I don’t know where you got that story from, but on this world candles are a domestic aid,” he said heavily. “Anyone can control them. See the wick?” He drew one of his shin-knives and carved away a bit of the candle. “See? This thread burns, and the wax gradually melts. When it’s burnt out the flame falls into a puddle of the wax and goes out.”

    “Light-blobs are much easier, sir,” she said doubtfully.

    “No doubt. We have very little blob technology here.”

    Roz threw back her head and gave a little clear laugh.

    “What?” said Drouwh, rather startled, and both astonished and annoyed to find his heart was suddenly racing.

    “You don’t say ‘blob technology,’ Master!” she gasped. “‘Blob culturing,’ in the demotic.”

    “In the— I see. How about not in the demotic?”

    “‘Engineering,’ of course,” she said, smiling into his eyes.

    “Of course,” he said with an effort. The creature must be up to her cursed Pleasure Girl tricks again. “Uh—well, candles are perfectly safe, unless some idiot knocks them over.”

    “And then the free-fire runs and devours,” she said, shuddering.

    “If you don’t put it out, certainly,” he agreed drily, getting up. He took the candelabra back to the dressing-table and re-lit it. “The trick is, not to knock them over,” he said, turning and looking at her sardonically, propped against the table.

    “Yes, Master.”

    “I’m not your master, Roz,” he said with a sigh.

    “Some being must be, Great Lord,” she said anxiously.

    “Mm.” He remembered she still hadn’t admitted to knowing where she was and said cunningly: “What sort of man shall be your master, then?”

    “The man who can afford the price you ask, Great Lord.”

    “Great galloping herds of grpplybeasts!” he shouted furiously. “This is a free world, girl, we don’t sell people here!”

    “The little boy said that,” she remembered with a smile. “Those other beings planned to sell me, though.”

    “Yes. They were two girls. Though I admit it was pretty hard to tell, with the dirt and the smell. They fancy themselves as bandits, living in the forest, stealing whatever comes to hand.” He smiled a little. “They don’t do much harm. Live off lop-ears and ghrr, mostly, and the occasional nyr, but I can spare those. In fact if the law wasn’t so definite on the subject, I’d— Never mind,” he said, suddenly frowning. “Have you remembered where we are, yet?”

    “No, Lord. I’ve heard of nyr, but I didn’t recognise the other names you mentioned.”

    “No.” Drouwh was wishing he’d done more maths: some of those equations she knew... Could a person with that much education possibly become a Pleasure Girl? Well, no doubt anything could happen in the two galaxies of the Federated Worlds. But if you asked him it was a lot more likely that such a person, with those looks, should have graduated into a spy for—well, some off-world interests that could afford her price.

    “Well,” he said with a sigh, coming to and realising she was looking at him enquiringly: “I don’t see there’s much point in hiding it from you. If you know already it can’t possibly make any difference to you. And if you genuinely don’t know, it can’t do any harm to tell you.”

    “No, there are several other possibilities,” she said, frowning.

    “What?” he croaked.

    “You said I was on klupf, and it certainly feels like it. So possibly I’ve got some ulterior motive in being here, and revealing the place to me will clear my mind and I’ll remember what it is. Or possibly I’m pretending not to know so as to test the strength of your resolve, or the quality of your mind,” she said detachedly.

    “Indeed?” he replied through his pearly teeth.

    She gave him a fleeting puzzled glance but continued: “I might even be an assassin with the name of my destination the hidden trigger in my mind that—”

    “That’ll DO!” he shouted. “You’re on Old Rthfrdia, and if a creature like you can manage to get within ten arm-measures of assassinating me, my girl, I’ll eat a whole herd of grpplybeasts, hides and all!"

    “Or I might have just been teasing you,” she said, tilting her head and smiling at him.

    “To what end?”

    “To discover if being teased pleases my Lord,” she said, lips twitching.

    “Are you laughing at me?” he said dangerously.

    At this she did give a little laugh. “Only a very little, sir!” she said frankly. “You remind me so much of someone I—”

    “Yes?”

    She said dolefully in his mind: I can’t remember. I feel so sad.

    Drouwh jumped and clutched his head.

    “Master, did I unintentionally send a message?” she gasped. “Forgive this clumsy Pleasure Girl, I would not for the two galaxies intrude on my Lord’s privacy!”

    Drouwh’s fists had clenched. The creature was even more dangerous than he’d feared. “Forget it,” he said tightly.

    “It must be the klupf. I’m not in control of my mind,” she said faintly.

    “So it would appear,” he agreed harshly. He turned on his heel and strode over to the door. There he paused and said with his hand on the latch: “You’re quite safe here. The candles won’t hurt you. Call if you need me.” And went out, without looking behind him.

    Roz shrank down into the lumpy bed, fearfully watching the candles...

    An hour later, Drouwh took a lantern and trod quietly up to her room.

    “Look, Lord, I can control them!” she said proudly, beaming at him from the bed.

    He watched open-mouthed as she made the candles light and go out, light and—

    “They’re harder to control than blobs, but with a little practice you get the trick of it,” she said. “My Lord was right, they’re not dangerous like the free-fires of Vvlvania.”

    “No,” he croaked.

    “I’m glad to see that you have that one in a hearth, nevertheless, Great Lord.”

    “What? Oh! Yes. –Please don’t call me ‘Great Lord’ any more, Roz, it’s a term not used here.”

    “I see. Pray accept the humblest apologies of this ignorant Pleasure Girl. What shall I call you?"

    “My name is Drouwh M’A’ail Mk-L’ster. You can call me ‘Mk-L’ster’, if you like, many of the clanspeople do.”

    “Your... not your patronymic, is it?"

    “No,” he said in astonishment. “My patronymic is M’A’ail. Mk-L’ster is my clan name. I’m head of the clan,” he said, frowning, “so they address me as ‘Mk-L’ster’ or ‘Lord’. And they refer to me as ‘The Mk-L’ster’. Or ‘The Lord.’”

    She hesitated. “Would a clan be like a cognate group? Or, um, a tribe?”

    “Uh—a tribe.” –What in the wilds of Wfm was a cognate group?

    “I see. I don’t think ‘Mk-L’ster’ would be appropriate for me. Should I call you Lord?”

    “Very well.”

    “So these clanspeople are not all your direct descendants, then, Lord?”

    “Two galaxies, no! A man would have to be busy for— I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly, flushing.

    “I know all about mammalian reproduction, Lord,” she assured him, smiling blithely at him. “Though my body tells me it hasn’t done it, itself,” she reported.

    “What?” he croaked.

    “Reproduced, Lord.”

    “Are—are you in touch with your body to that extent, then?” he said weakly.

    “Yes, now that I’m getting over the klupf and have had some nourishment. Aren’t you, Lord?"

    “I am, yes,” he said drily. “My kinsfolk aren’t.”

    “Is it something that the lordships here keep to themselves, Lord?” she asked shyly. “As the Lords of Whtyll keep the secret of how to pass less than a full share of their encoding on to the children they have outside their IG-legal bond-partnerships.”

    Drouwh sat down rather suddenly on the chair before the dressing-table and passed a hand over his face.

    “Perhaps I shouldn’t pry,” she murmured.

    “What? No, it’s all right. It’s not a lordship thing here. I don’t know where I got the ability from, but I've always had it, I was born with it. Few people here have mind abilities. Though the Regent can mind-read: they say that’s because his true father was an off-worlder.”

    “I think I do remember that I knew that about the Old Rthfrdians...”

    “It’s one of the reasons why we’ve been kept out of the Federation for so long.”

    “I see.”

    After a moment Drouwh said: “Are the Lords of Whtyll that bad?”

    “Bad?” There was a short silence. “I don’t think I approve, either,” she reported with a puzzled frown. “Though it seems a sensible precaution to take, in a patriarchal society, if one wants the inheritance to pass smoothly from one generation to the next.”

    Sensible? Drouwh was about to refute this idea hotly; then he thought of the old clan battles. He was silent, biting his lip.

    “Please don’t, Lord,” she said faintly.

    He looked up and saw her hands were at her temples and her face was screwed up in pain. “Old gods of Rthfrdia, am I broadcasting mind-pictures?”

    “Yes: blood, galloping beasts, men fighting with simple weapons,” she said faintly.

    “I’m sorry, Roz. I’ll try and switch it off. I’ve never had to be careful before, no-one here can pick me up. –I’m sorry,” he repeated lamely.

    “I’ve seen battles, but a plasmo-blaster usually zaps you before you’re aware of it. Sometimes a shot can go awry and then a being is injured.”

    She’d seen battles? Drouwh tried to pick up the images. He got a picture of several youngish men in coveralls—spacers?—very dead, and a handsome dark-haired man writhing with his hand to his shoulder, and then it was swept away on a cloud of—some scented thing, a bit like the dried fl’oouu catkins they put in the bedstraw in the local villages, and there was only the singing of distant birds and two silver crescents in a pale pink sky.

    “I gave him my blobs, and it stopped hurting,” she said, smiling at him.

    “Who?” he asked urgently, bending forward.

    Her lips quivered. “My mind’s lost it.”

    He could see that. “Well, perhaps you’ll get all your memories back once the effects of the klupf have worn off. Would you like to come downstairs? Do you feel strong enough to sit up for a little by the fire? –It’s in a hearth,” he added quickly, unaware that what Old Rthfrdians meant by the term was not what she understood.

    Roz accepted this offer with humble thanks, and he got up to fetch her some clothes. She could hardly come downstairs in those cursed little gold pants. He found an old soft shirt for her, one of his father’s, made of the finest quality linen from their estates in the Lower Cwmb, and washed so often that it was a drift of cobweb in the hand. Roz put it on and declared it was an FW thing. She immediately apologised, but Drouwh concluded she must be used to the finest—well, whatever they wore in rich Feddos’ nirvana gardens. She took the pants off without the least sign of modesty and handed them to him. “You may recycle them if you wish, Lord,” she said politely. “Though there isn’t much substance in them.”

    Drouwh didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. Not the faintest. He swallowed a sigh, and handed her an old shawl of his mother’s. “Put this round your shoulders. I’m sorry it’s only an FW thing,” he added caustically.

    Roz put it round her shoulders without comment, but looked wistfully at his breeches. “Am I not to have a pair of those, then, Lord?”

    “Only men and ladies who ride wear breeches,” he said heavily.

    “Oh, gender-dressing,” she said, nodding. “The girls in the forest wore them, though.”

    “Yes. Well, make that men, ladies who ride, and girl bandits from the forest.”

    Roz nodded seriously.

    He waited for her to ask what ladies normally wore, but she didn’t. He refrained from mentioning that in the villages the men often wore the traditional skirt. For one thing, he wasn’t at all sure it might get the desired reaction. He then discovered that she needed to go to what she called “the hygiene cabinet,” that she had never seen a flushing toilet before, had never seen a hand-basin before, had never seen a bath in a house before, though she knew what bathing was… Cheerfully she said she’d visited worlds where one had to relieve oneself on the ground, she’d be all right! He explained the bath, demonstrated the basin, flushed the toilet, and left her to it, hoping grimly she’d got the point.

    He walked slowly along the upstairs landing, scowling. These odd scraps of memory she came out with— They must be genuine, surely? They certainly didn’t fit the picture of Roz, the Pleasure Girl of Playfair Two, so she could hardly be producing them as part of some elaborate disguise. But that must mean that she was some sort of Feddo spy and the klupf had genuinely clouded her memory of what she was here for—if she’d even got the right world. But Drouwh didn’t have much doubt of this last. There was no other world in this sector of the two galaxies that was in Pre-Fed with a x’nb-web round it: no other possible target for a senseless body full of klupf in a speeding lifter to hurl itself at blindly— He swallowed, conscious of a reluctant admiration for her, spy or not, if she’d had the guts to do that deliberately.

    He heard the toilet flush and the water run in the basin. Then she came out onto the landing, smiling. “Do the wastes go to be recycled, Lord?"

    “Uh—we’ve got a processing plant, yes. The local villages are all linked to it, now. Eventually the sludge goes to the horticulture fields, and the purified water’s used for irrigation. We’ve got a thriving horticultural industry going, it’s brought quite a lot of wealth to the neighbourhood. The summers here are short but very dry.”

    In the big stone-flagged kitchen she said with a little sigh: “It’s warm in here.”

    “Yes.” He’d wondered if she might be able to control her body temperature—well, anyone who tripped through the two galaxies in nothing but a pair of little gold pants—! But now he realised that that had been stupid, the lifter would have been heated, she’d have had no need of anything else. Well, she was human to that extent, anyway! He drew up his saggy old leather armchair to the fire for her.

    Then he discovered that she didn’t like sitting on the skin of a “being,” quote unquote—it was grpplybeast leather, old gods of Rthfrdia! So he gave her the rocking-chair that had been his mother’s favourite seat, back in the days when she still used to come to the lodge, and then discovered that she’d never sat on a rocker… Eventually she got it and rocked slowly, smiling at him. Sighing, Drouwh offered her a warm drink. Fl’oouu tea? She didn’t know it, but after some confusion said that it sounded rather like— Something that he didn't get.

    “FW thing!” she said, shaking her wrist. For the first time it consciously dawned on Drouwh that she was using a Feddo translator. Of course, of course; why should she speak Old Rthfrdian, by the old gods he was an idiot!

    “I mean,” she said in a very grim voice: “zi! –There, I overrode the FW thing!”

    “Yes. Is zii-ee a drink you like, Roz?”

    “Yes. You pronounce it ‘zi’, Lord.”

    Drouwh tried but couldn’t get closer than “zii”. From her description it sounded near enough to fl’oouu tea, so he filled the big black kettle at the sink and hung it on its hook in the big hearth. She watched it all silently.

    “Ooh, this isn’t an S/IG cup!” she said with a giggle when he handed her a steaming mug.

    “It isn’t an IG anything— Oh, you mean that’s one of your measures? We had a Feddo Bulletin about them,” he said weakly. “All the kids are supposed to be learning the IG measures at school, I believe. It doesn’t seem to have dawned on the Feddo powers-that-be that the kids round here barely know how many qw’ts to a ga’iihl!”

    “No. It’s just as bad on my world!” she said, twinkling at him over the mug.

    Drouwh took a quick look but all he got was a picture of grubby little kids in what was obviously a classroom. Apparently throwing things while the teacher was out of the room. He smiled at her and asked: “Do you like the fl’oouu tea, Roz?”

    “Very nice. Like the scent in your forest,” she said, smiling. “This is a beautiful world, very suitable for mammalian humanoids.”

    “Uh—yes,” he croaked. “My ancestors certainly thought so.”

    They sat in silence by the fire, sipping fl’oouu tea, for some time. Then Roz gave a little gasp, sat up very straight, and said: “There are two beings at your door, Lord!”

    “It’s only Brown,” he said with a little smile.

    “No, there’s another being, Lord: be careful!”

    “Well, it can’t be anything dangerous or Brown would have it by the throat. It, him, or her,” he said drily, going over to the door.

    “Lord, at least take your weapon!”

    “Rubbish.” He opened the back door. The big brown dog came in, wagging his tail slightly, followed by the thin stripey cat that lived around the place scrounging from the servants when the lodge was occupied and catching small rodents in the fields and forests when it wasn’t. Brown glanced briefly at Roz but wasn’t disturbed by her. Drouwh looked at her drily, sure she was feeling ten kinds of a fool at having mistaken a cat for the old gods knew what, but she was upright in the rocker, lips compressed. The unfortunate cat was rigid on the flags, one paw poised to take its next step.

    “It’s a cat. It’s come in scrounging for meat. Let it go. Uh—stop doing whatever you’re doing to the poor beast.”

    “It has dangerous thoughts of hunting and killing, Lord.”

    “Let it GO!” he shouted.

    Roz looked sulky and the cat put its paw down. It ran over to Drouwh and cowered against his boots.

    “Poor brute,” he muttered, picking it up and stroking it.

    “You’re an FW idiot, Mk-L’ster, the being would eat you as soon as look at you!” she shouted.

    Drouwh blinked. That must be the genuine whoever-she-was, it certainly couldn’t be a Pleasure Girl. “Rubbish,” he said, stroking the cat. It stopped shivering and began to purr. “It’s a fraction of my size: had that escaped your notice?”

    “Vvlvanian rr’trrs start off that size. They attack a being and the whole tribe comes to share the feast as soon as the blood flows. The size of the being is immaterial. I've seen one that size attack a five-span cptt-rvvr.”

    “I see,” he said politely. “If I’d learnt that Feddo Bulletin off by heart I might have some idea of how big that last unpronounceable name was.”

    “Five IG spans! You’d be about two—just over, I think.”

    He was just over two arm-measures, so a span was about the same. Well, one cursed Feddo measure that would be easy to remember, at any rate. “I see. Come on, little Stripey, you can have some of the meat from the soup.” He set down bowls for both the dog and the cat. He was aware of the girl watching, but said nothing more. He sat down heavily in his big chair, glancing up at the old clock on the mantelpiece as he did so.

    “It’s only a mechanism,” she reassured him.

    “Mm,” he agreed, trying to make it as neutral as possible. He put another log on the fire, avoiding her glance.

    The dog and the cat finished eating and came to the fire. Brown took up his usual position on the big nyr-skin rug. Stripey clambered onto Drouwh’s knee. He felt the girl come quiveringly alert, but said nothing. After a lot of turning round, Stripey had a wash. Then he did some more turning round and finally settled down, purring, claws treadling Drouwh’s thighs.

    “Doesn’t that hurt?” she said faintly.

    “Not very much. It’s his instinct, I can’t stop him.”

    “I could!”

    “You off-worlders think nothing of controlling a little animal’s instincts, do you?” he said nastily. He could see she didn’t understand. “Let’s just say that cats have been on Old Rthfrdia as long as anyone can remember, they’re domesticated, they’re pets. Do you understand?”

    “Yes. Some beings have Flppus as pets... I don’t think it’s legal to keep them as pets on all worlds. And on Mklontia,” she remembered, “small singing fish are very popular pets.”

    “Really? What’s that like?” he asked in an idle voice.

    “Terrible, Lord!” she said with a laugh. “It stinks. They’ve got large mok herds there.”

    Both statements were certainly true. He nodded casually and said: “My mother once imported some processed mok droppings as fertiliser for her roses. The things came on amazingly but our principal property was uninhabitable for half a year and our two nearest neighbours brought actions against us for 6th-Level Encroachment.”

    “Most beings only go there for the wkli shell trade,” she murmured.

    “Oh, yes; Mother’s got a small mirror of that.”

    “Indeed? It’s not often found outside the Federation, Lord,” she said politely.

    Uh—yes, she was right: it was a proscribed export. But Mother had had that little mirror for as long as he could remember.

    “You’d better forget I said that,” he said wryly.

    “Of course, Lord. –Beautiful roses do grow on Mklontia but the big nurseries say it takes seven vegetative generations to get the stink out of them.”

    “I can believe that.” He wondered idly how she’d come by that particular morsel and had a look. He saw a small Feddo trader in Merchant Service captain’s uniform shouting at a large bluish being in a big apron, in what was undoubtedly a gigantic glasshouse, full of pruned roses. They were both wearing face-masks but he knew the small captain was shouting. The memory swirled away. He sat back, frowning a little, more puzzled than ever.

    By ten o’clock she was yawning and Drouwh, who’d glanced at the clock several more times in the intervening period, said: “I think you’d better go to bed, Roz.”

    “Yes, Lord. Will you require my services tonight?”

    He went very red. “No,” he said stiffly: “I shall not require your services tonight or at any other time, Roz. You crashed on my lands, so under clan custom you’re my responsibility; but I’m not interested in any of the tricks you may or may not have learnt as a Pleasure Girl!”

    “Oh. I’ll do anything you say, but I don’t think I’m trained as an s-being.”

    “By the look of you, I doubt if you could do a hand’s turn for yourself,” he agreed grimly. He ran his hand across his face and said wearily: “Go to bed. You’re my guest for as long as you wish to stay—or until your memory returns.”

    “But I must belong to someone, Lord!”

    He couldn’t be bothered arguing. “Very well, you can belong to me. But I don’t require a Pleasure Being. All right?"

    “Yes, Lord,” she said, curtseying carefully. She wobbled, stood up, and said cheerfully: “That wasn’t very good, was it? Goodnight, Lord. Goodnight, Stripey. Goodnight, Brown."

    The cat just flicked an ear but the big dog looked up and briefly thumped his tail. “Goodnight,” said Drouwh limply as she went over to the door. “Uh—wait, Roz: take a candle!”

    She picked up a candlestick from the old scrubbed table and lit it without benefit of anything. He winced. “When you’re in bed, blow it—put it out,” he said weakly.

    “Yes, Lord. May pleasant dreams accompany your slumbers.” She went out on this formula.

    “Great galloping herds of grpplybeasts,” he muttered, sagging where he sat.

    Twenty minutes later, however, he put the little cat gently in the rocking-chair and crept upstairs. She was fast asleep. He retreated silently from the room and, lips tightly compressed, locked her door. Then he went quietly back to the kitchen.

    The first of the lifters came in low over the dark forest at around ten-thirty.

    “Come on!” hissed K’t-Ln, shaking M’ri’s shoulder. “Something’s happening!”

    “Uh? Wha’? ’S only a hunting party at the lodge,” she muttered. “Lea’ me ’lone.”

    K’t-Ln shook her shoulder fiercely but M’ri rolled over onto her stomach and began to snore loudly.

    “I’ll come!” hissed T'm eagerly.

    K’t-Ln hesitated. But valiant though she was, she fancied the thought of company even as inept as T’m’s a lot more than she fancied spying on The Mk-L’ster all on her own. “Oh, all right. But let me steer!”

    “Yeah, I promise!” He bounded up gleefully. “Come on!”

    K’t-Ln climbed the tree in his wake. “Take my hand—and if you try to steer, I’ll let go,” she threatened.

    “Yeah, sure, K’t-Ln!”

    K’t-Ln sighed. She grabbed his hand. “Go!”

    They launched. T’m didn’t try to steer, which was just as well.

    “Aiyee: a Feddo lifter!” he breathed from the handy fl’oouu tree near the lodge.

    “Ssh! –Pink,” said K’t-Ln to herself with a disgusted grimace. They watched silently…

    “Thought you had a servo-mech here?” said Dh’aaych’llyai’n Mk’Eeain U-Fl’aiir’th, grinning at his friend as Drouwh in person opened the back door.

    “It’s on guard,” he said briefly. Dh’aaych’llyai’n raised a knowing eyebrow. “Give me your coat, Dh’aaych.”

    The burly Dh’aaych surrendered his heavy fur-lined overcoat and, rubbing his hands together, came over to the fireplace. “Hullo, Brown, old boy,” he said. The big dog thumped his tail briefly. “’M I the first?"

    “Yes. Want a cup of fl’oouu tea?"

    “Tea?” he croaked incredulously. His twinkling grey-green eyes went very round in his rubicund, cheerful face.

    “Drop that. This isn’t a cursed undergrad drinking party.”

    “Thems were the days, eh? Couldn’t you make it a cup of hot spiced ale, though, old boy?”

    Groaning, Drouwh got out the ale and the spices and put them in the big metal jug.

    “Father’s spies tell me,” said Dh’aaych, with a wink, “that primmo metal artefacts like that jug will sell cursed well, off-world.”

    “Don’t use that word round here,” replied Drouwh heavily. “I think I’ve got one.”

    “Eh?” he said blankly. He picked up the little cat and sat down in the rocker with it.

    “A spy,” said Drouwh glumly. Over his old friend’s gasps he said: “Have a drink and I’ll tell you the lot.”

    Dh’aaych’s reaction was predictable: “A Playfair Pleasure Girl! Let’s have a look at her!”

    “I said, I don’t think she is a real Pleasure Girl. The minute she gets her memory back she’ll put a shield like a sheet of tempered xrillion round that head of hers,” he said sourly.

    “Take your word for it,” he drawled. “Oh, talking of xrillion—” He winked, and withdrew a small knife from the shin-sheath of his expensively tailored hunting breeches. “Pretty, eh? The haft’s genuine wkli shell.”

    “Dh’aaych’llyai’n, you’re an idiot, why not wait six months and buy one legally?”

    “No fun in that, old boy.” He slid the knife back, put the little cat on the rug, and rose. “Well?” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

    “All right, you can look. Only don’t wake her up, she’s a cursed sight safer asleep.”

    They crept upstairs. She was out like a kfft-fly. After a considerable amount of eyebrow-waggling from Dh’aaych in the light of Drouwh’s shielded candle, they withdrew silently.

    “Ai-yee!” he said deeply in the demotic, shuddering all over, at the top of the stairs.

    “Aiyee yourself. Get on down,” replied Drouwh crossly.

    “I’ll have her, old boy, if you don’t want her!” he panted.

    Drouwh held the candle carefully for him, repressing an urge to shove him down the stairs bodily. “No, you won’t. She’d read that bowl of uissh-soaked yi’ish you’ve got between your ears in less than the time than it takes to say ‘uissh.’ And no, you can’t have any,” he said, reading him loud and clear. “We need clear heads tonight. I’ll give you a bottle of the stuff Grandfather laid down to take home.”

    Dh’aaych grinned. “I won’t say no, old boy!”

    Drouwh gave him a hard look. “And may I remind you that we’re under Feddo Pre-Fed Law, so it’s illegal to drive that cursed off-world lifter of yours with an opened bottle in it.”

    “You don’t drive one, of course!”

    “Not a pale pink one, certainly,” Drouwh replied, lips twitching slightly, as he returned to his chair.

    Dh’aaych picked up the little cat again and sat. He accepted another spiced ale and said abruptly: “How is he?”

    Drouwh made a little face. “All right. Eating.”

    Dh’aaych grunted.

    They were both silent, staring into the fire.

    Then Dh’aaych’llyai’n said: “If she is a spy, do you think—?”

    “After him? Dunno.” He rubbed his pointed chin slowly. “Could be, I suppose. But who in the wilds of Wfm could have put her on the scent...”

    “No—hard to imagine who... I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he added irritably. “It reminds me of him!”

    “What?” asked Drouwh blankly.

    “Rub your cursed chin like that! He does exactly the same thing, when he’s thinking something out. Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed, Drouwh!”

    He shrugged. “No. Well, haven’t moved in those exalted circles as much as you.”

    “If the whole world didn’t know his real father was an off-worlder, I’d swear there was something cursed smoky in it!” said Dh’aaych, grinning.

    “I don’t think the Dad was guilty, this time,” he said with an expression of distaste.

    “No.” A speculative gleam lit in Dh’aaych’s grey-green eyes. “Must be further back than that, eh?” He sniggered. “You could have royal blood, my boy!”

    “Then I’d look really silly, come the Referendum, wouldn’t I?” he returned smoothly.

    “Yeah. Well, providing we can get rid of them—yeah.”

    Drouwh’s long mouth tightened. “We must. It takes twenty percent of GNP to maintain them and their cursed palaces and snow-gardens and water-gardens, not to mention those enormous tracts of fertile land that they won’t make available for farming.”

    “So you say, mm. And their fleet of Feddo Moodra Dyhillias that no-one else on the entire planet is even allowed to own—supposing they could afford one. Er—though dare say you could, dear old fellow.”

    “I could if I dispossessed my tenant-farmers and sold my lands, yes!” he said angrily.

    “Surprised you didn’t chuck in with him,” he said drily. “Ain’t he keen to see all the clan lands go back to the people?”

    “Dh’aaych,” he said heavily, “you know he is. All but the royal lands. The cursed fool."

    “Yeah. S’pose he might feel the boy might have a right to a say in that,” he said vaguely.

    “That kid’s got no ideas in his head except girls and Feddo lifters!” he said angrily.

    “You'll have looked,” he noted.

    “Yes,” admitted Drouwh tightly.

    Dh’aaych’llyai’n shook his head. “Could be thrown to the bears for that, old boy.”

    “Rubbish. There hasn’t been a bear seen on the planet for— Oh, get choked!” he said, as Dh’aaych sniggered.

    There was silence as Dh’aaych drank spiced ale slowly, staring into the fire. Then he said: “I don’t like it, mind you. Kidnapping the Regent? I mean to say—! No, well, y’know that. But I’m damned if I want to see the place go broke come Feddo Day. Nor blood-letting, neither.”

    “That will happen,” said Drouwh steadily, “if the townsfolk are suddenly told the clanspeople can have anything they think they’ve got a valid Prior Claim to. The man’s totally out of touch with reality!"

    “We know all that, Drouwh, that’s why we’ve thrown in with you and your fifty percent idea,” said his friend with a sigh. “Father’s already signed over almost fifty percent of our estates to our people. Um, look, Father was going on… Well, will it make that much of a difference when the clanspeople get the vote?”

    Drouwh rubbed his pointed chin slowly: Dh’aaych’s mind was pretty muddled. “You didn’t view any of the Feddo Bulletins, did you?”

    “Looked at a couple about shopping,” he admitted with a grin.

    Drouwh took a deep breath. “Quite. Just try and concentrate. Feddo law requires fifty percent of traditional clan lands to be returned to the clanspeople in any case, right? So we’re going to lose fifty percent on Feddo-Day, whatever we do. That’s point Number One. Every adult will be able to vote in the Referendum, that’s point Number Two. When they do so they will be offered a choice of political systems, which will include his faction’s Full Devolution rubbish. Don’t interrupt! Point Number Three is that even if there’s an overwhelming vote for Full Devolution, the common people won’t all become landowners overnight, whatever the Regent’s cursed faction might have got them believing. Only a small proportion of the population is entitled to a Prior Claim to clan land under Feddo law. Most of them—I mean at least eighty percent of the population, Dh’aaych—will be excluded, because they already own real property, or are living permanently away from their traditional clan lands.”

    Dh’aaych was goggling at him; he sighed and said: “Think about it. That’s eighty percent that won’t want all of the old clan lands to go to the clanspeople.”

    “But— Uh— Oh! Yes! By the bears, I take your point about blood-letting: if the townsfolk have been imagining they can grab a nice slice of land and then they find out only a few country odd-bods are entitled after all—! I say, couldn’t this change everything?”

    “I hope so,” he replied grimly. “We’ll discuss it when everyone gets here. It needs to be publicised. Though as he’s got the people all mad after what they imagine are their rights, how we’ll get them to listen is anyone’s guess.”

    Dh’aaych’llyai’n swallowed and was silent, staring into the fire.

    “A ground-car!” hissed T’m.

    “Ssh!”

    Brother and sister watched as the low, gleaming black thing floated round the house on its cushion of air and parked by the back door. The Lord opened the door and in the shaft of light from the kitchen they saw a big snr-cat fur coat with a huge fluffy collar, a drift of thick, straight, shiny hair over the collar, almost the same tawny shade as the cat-coat, and long pale suede boots over tailored riding breeches. K’t-Ln swallowed an envious sigh. The lady laughed and patted The Lord’s cheek as she greeted him, and green fire flashed on her hand. Then they went inside and the door closed.

    They watched silently. Eventually T’m hissed: “Hey, I betcha I could see through that window: see, that curtain doesn’t fit!”

    “Ssh, I can hear something!”

    “Yeah: another lifter!” he said excitedly. “It’s a lady’s: see?”

    “Pale blue?” muttered K’t-Ln in disgust. This lady had a mass of fluffy red-gold curls, looped up very high, shiny jewels flashing in her ears, a short fluffy jacket, and an elaborately-wound, trailing skirt of a glittery fabric which she almost tripped over as she ran. She looped it up to display ridiculous glittery shoes, and hurried on. K’t-Ln pulled a face, but eyed the abandoned lifter with its open hatch speculatively.

    “Open up, Drouwh, you old plotter, I know you’re there!” the lady called with a laugh, hammering on the door.

    “What in the name of all that’s cursed are you doing here?” he blazed, wrenching the door open.

    “His sister,” whispered T’m in K’t-Ln’s ear.

    She nodded: The Lord was broadcasting that very clearly.

    A’ailh’sa M’A’ail Mk-L'ster laughed again and said: “I want to be in on it, Drouwh!”

    “Get inside!” he said angrily, pulling her in and slamming the door.

    Dh’aaych lounged up to Drouwh’s shoulder. “You’re an idiot, A’ailh’sa: that cursed lifter’s a blaze of lights. –I’ll do it,” he said, hurrying out to close its hatch.

    Lord U-Fl’aiir’th had arrived some time earlier. “This was a foolish move, A’ailh’sa,” he said sternly. “You could get yourself and all of us into very serious trouble.”

    A’ailh’sa hadn’t expected old Lord U-Fl’aiir’th to be here: she’d had some vague idea it was a prank like in the days when Drouwh and his friends had all been college boys and she’d been the spoilt little girl they all brought presents for when they came home with Drouwh for Rthfrdia Day or New Midsummer, and everything had been fun. Before they’d all got so—so old, and stuffy, and—and political! She looked at him uncertainly, pouting.

    “There is the possibility,” Dh’aaych’s father added, “that she could be a spy.”

    “Lord U-Fl’aiir’th! I’m not! How could you?” she cried, almost in tears.

    The old man looked at her drily. “Very easily, my dear, I assure you; I’ve known even prettier spies than you. What are her political affiliations?” he said to Drouwh.

    He shrugged. “None. Ghrr-brain.” He concentrated briefly. “She thought this was some sort of prank. She’ll have to stay here until it’s over, we can’t risk her blabbing.”

     “Lock her in the cellar, stupid little snr-cat,” said Dh’aaych, coming back in.

    “One moment,” said his father. “How did she get to hear of this meeting, Mk-L’ster?”

    Drouwh was very flushed. “She read Mother’s mind.”

    A’ailh’sa pouted. “I didn’t mean to. Only she wouldn’t say where you were.”

    A burly, middle-aged man in a city suit came over to them. “So, she’s got the ability, too, has she, my Lord? Can she send over a distance?”

    “Her limit would be the back of the vehicle-paddock—if that."

    “I see. Then we’d better lock her up until the Referendum, and surround your grounds. Are there any of your people you can trust?”

    “Drouwh, you can’t lock me up!” she gasped.

    “Shut up. Uh—yes, there are a few men who would still die for The Mk-L’ster, rather than for a Prior Claim.”

    “Good. Well, if they patrol the house at about the limit of her range, then, and kill anyone who comes within range,” said the burly merchant grimly.

    —Under the kitchen window, T’m looked frantically at K’t-Ln. She shrugged.

    “We can’t take chances, Drouwh: he’s right,” said the tawny-haired Lady Shn’aillaigh, coming up to his side.

    “Right: down cellar!” Dh’aaych decided. He grabbed A’ailh’sa’s arm, grinning.

    “NO! I won’t give anyone away!” she shouted.

    “If you’ve got even a fraction of your brother’s ability, Lady,” said the burly man grimly: “you already know too much. And some of the Court faction would be only too happy to get it out of you and kill you to stop you telling anyone else.”

    “I know YOUR name, anyway, REPRESENTATIVE Sh’n M’Klui’shke’aigh!” she screeched.

    At this Dh’aaych simply heaved her over his broad shoulder and bore her off to the cellar, kicking and screaming, as if she weighed as little as the stripey cat.

    “Where’s the dog?” demanded M’Klui’shke’aigh, frowning.

    “Helping with the guarding, upstairs. Do you think we need him?” replied Drouwh.

    “Aye. Get him outside, my Lord, he’ll be of more use out there, I’ve seen that kna-worm’s litter control a dog,” he said grimly.

    —Two little shadows flitted across the grass and vanished up a big fl’oouu. From there they glided silently to a new tree, on the far side of the vehicle-paddock.

    Soon the wide field at the rear of the lodge was almost entirely covered by expensive lifters. K’t-Ln was unconsciously clutching T’m’s hand very tight.

    “Listen!” he whispered. “Ground-car!”

    So it was. It came floating up the wide drive with its lights off: if it hadn’t been a clear, star-lit night they’d never have seen it. They goggled unbelievingly as The Mk-D’rm’d’s head groom got out and came round to open the driver’s door for R’rt Fh’laiin M’Iiu’sh Mk-D’rm’d, Ruler of Iiu’sh, Lord Mk-D’rm’d and hereditary Lord of the High Frwm, in person. The Black Mk-D’rm’d. In full dress, wearing the skirt with a fine wool cloak slung over his shoulder and ceremonial shin-knives in his buckled boots.

    The lodge door swung wide and The Lord said: “You’re late, R’rt Fh’laiin, you drunken sot!” And The Black Mk-D’rm’d laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. The door closed; the groom took up a position on guard on the back verandah.

    What was their Lord doing, welcoming The Black Mk-D’rm’d to his lodge at dead of night? Tears of rage and betrayal began to trickle down K’t-Ln’s cheeks. T’m was silent, utterly bewildered by it all.

    The meeting broke up at around four-thirty. They had agreed to try to publicise Drouwh’s agent’s findings about the percentage of the population actually entitled to stake Prior Claims as clanspersons. This would not be easy: IG law forbade independent political messages on the Services for several years before the Referendum. Party political messages of any already established political parties were permitted, but on Old Rthfrdia there hadn’t been any actual parties: seats in the Lords’ Circle were hereditary, and each Parliamentary Representative stood on his merits, or on the size of the bribes he could fill his constituents’ ready pockets with.

    The Federation was so big that this situation had occurred many times before and IG law of course had a solution for it: it allotted two local hours of broadcast time a day to be shared equally, either amongst all political parties, or, in the case of worlds such as Old Rthfrdia, amongst the duly elected Representatives. There were two hundred Representatives, as Old Rthfrdia was not very heavily populated and of course not everyone had the vote. It worked out at something like six minutes each. The rest of the Political Service was taken up by the Feddo Political Bulletins, which lasted for seven—yes, seven—Old Rthfrdian hours a day. These were devoted to detailed explanations of all the forms of government of the Federated Worlds. Each system got one hour. It took two IG years. It was hardly surprising that most beings entering Federation voted groggily for the first system that looked vaguely familiar. Less conscientious beings just jabbed a tentacle or a finger or whatever it was they used at the first blob they saw.

    The plan was that Representative M’Klui’shke’aigh and some like-minded friends from the Parliament would bribe the Service’s clerks into giving them consecutive time slots. Fortunately the clerks were locals, and used to the customs. Then by carefully planning their message they could, M’Klui’shke’aigh thought, get it over in quite an effective way. Everyone had agreed that this would be possible. No-one had been rude enough to wonder aloud whether anyone would be listening, after years of the Bulletins, but Drouwh’s mind was almost deafened by them all thinking it.

    It was vitally important to turn as many Representatives as possible to their way of thinking. They must be convinced that there was no need to pander to the people’s demand for Full Devolution of all the old clan lands. The next step would be to start them campaigning in their electorates for Drouwh’s group’s counter-proposal, combining devolution of fifty percent of clan lands, full adult suffrage but retention of the Lords’ Circle, and abolition of the Royal Family. That would be comparatively easy: the men in Drouwh’s kitchen at this moment had more than enough wealth amongst them to pay off the whole Parliament several times over.

    Most of the group now seemed to be convinced that this would swing it. Drouwh wasn’t, and he could see that Sh’n M’Klui’shke’aigh wasn’t, either. If they had the time—yes, it could work. Representatives were quite free to speak at private meetings, under Feddo law. There were the businessmen’s clubs, and, in the big industrial towns, especially over in the eastern sector, the working men’s clubs. But did they have the time? Drouwh sincerely doubted it.

    There was some dissension, as the meeting broke up, over the issue of the Royal Family, but Drouwh called them back into line with his grim figure of twenty percent of GNP. Even the Lady Shn’aillaigh declared: “Well, I vote for getting rid of the useless kna-worm’s litter!”

    “Aye,” agreed Representative M’Klui’shke’aigh grimly. “And there’ll be no state income from former dutiable Feddo goods such as xrillion and so forth, my Lady, remember that.”

    Dh’aaych fingered his smuggled xrillion hunting knife with the wkli shell handle, grimacing ruefully. “No. Uh—so, what’ll happen to the royal palaces and so forth?”

    “Luxury hotels?” murmured M’Klui’shke’aigh.

    “Yes!” agreed Shn’aillaigh. “I've got rid of that rat-hole of mine in the Lower Frwm. Sold it to a tenant-farmer.” She winked. “Agent for a big Feddo hotel chain.”

    They all grinned: it was strictly IG-illegal, but everyone was doing it.

    R’rt Fh’laiin Mk-D’rm’d then mentioned casually that he was turning the reaches of the High Frwm into a limited company, and all the lordships gasped.

    He shrugged. “Why not give the people a chance to make something of themselves?"

    “But it’s the best nyr country in the Frwms!” gasped Shn’aillaigh.

    “Mm. Is it morally justified, Shn’aillaigh,” he said with a little twisted smile on his narrow face, “to keep such a huge tract of land in order to kill off possibly half a dozen nyr a year, when the people might usefully farm it?” He looked at her face. “I’ve signed the Declaration of Incorporation.”

    “WHAT?” she screamed.

    R’rt Fh’laiin got up. “Ssh: you’ll disturb the beauty in the cellar!” Everybody grinned and, thumping Drouwh casually on the shoulder in passing, he said: “It was this blighter’s idea. He’s doing the same with most of the land he’s got his dashed horticultural experiments on. –Anyone for a shot of uissh?” He picked up one of the bottles that, surprisingly enough, Dh’aaych had brought up from the cellar.

    Everyone was for a shot of uissh, but that didn't mean they approved of the Mk-D’rm’d’s getting rid of the reaches. Old Lord U-Fl’aiir’th sighed and wondered silently what inheritance his grandson would see—supposing that that lazy dog, Dh’aaych’llyai’n, ever got off his backside and got him one, that was. He wondered fleetingly if his son had an interest in the girl, A’ailh’sa, and sighed again. The girl was a ghrr-brain, all right, but so were all the girls one met at Court, and at least she was the Mk-L’ster’s sister. Lord U-Fl’aiir’th couldn’t imagine life without the Court: he’d grown up with its elaborate ceremonial and long-drawn rituals, serving first as a pageboy and then, in his youth, as a gentleman-in-waiting to the then Crown Prince. And later he’d been in the Household Cavalry, of course, like all the U-Fl’aiir’ths. Except his son. Well, that was no doubt when the rot had set in... But one had to move with the times, or go under. Not for the first time he wondered uneasily if it would be sensible to turn the principal seat, Keep U-Fl’aiir’th, into a limited company or some such, with all the estate workers having shares—keep ’em quiet, save at least something for the boy. But his wife would never stand for it. He drained his uissh and was silently thankful that he’d be dead before they saw the worst of it.

    When everyone else had gone to bed, the younger ones to sleep only for a few hours before getting up for the morrow’s hunting, the old lord said glumly to his son and his son’s best friend: “You realise that cursed parvenu M’Klui’shke’aigh’s got us over a barrel on this? If he can’t swing his cursed parliamentary friends, we might as well give up.”

    “Mm. –I wouldn't call him a parvenu, exactly, Uncle Eeain,” murmured Drouwh.

    “What would you call him, pray?” he enquired acidly, pouring himself a last shot of uissh.

    Drouwh shrugged, and got up to put the yi’ish meal to soak in the big pot for breakfast. “An honest burgher?” he murmured.

    The old man snorted, and downed his uissh. “Stop messing about with that yi’ish, you’re like a cursed old woman!” he said irritably.

    Drouwh smiled, and came to kiss the gnarled old hand. “Goodnight, sir.”

    Dh’aaych’llyai’n followed suit. “Goodnight, Father.”

    “’Night,” he grunted, picking up his big silver-knobbed stick and slowly making his way to the door. Drouwh sprang forward and opened it with a bow. The old man nodded, and went out.

    “Phew!” said Dh’aaych, dropping into Drouwh’s big leather chair.

    Drouwh went back to the yi’ish pot. “Yeah.”

    “Mother won't stand for turning the Keep into a company, by the way.”

    “It’s a considerable asset. Be a great pity to lose it.

    “The Referendum’s got to go our way!” he said fiercely. “We can’t have a vote for wholesale devolution!”

    Drouwh stirred the yi’ish meal slowly. “Mm. Well, that’s not so important.”

    “What?” he gasped. “Here we all are, busting our bums—”

    “Yeah. What we don’t want is a cursed—what does he call it—constitutional monarchy, with the cursed Royal Family eating up twenty percent of everything we produce. Old Rthfrdia’s broke, you know, unless the big Feddo companies come in in a big way and establish a really strong tourist industry.”

    Dh’aaych was rather white. “You don’t really mean that!”

    “Yes. Remember that Feddo contractor I hired last year?”

    “Not that trip you dragged me on to that stinking dump, uh—”

    “Mklontia,” said Drouwh, very drily indeed.

    “Yeah. Pooh, ai-yee—”

    “All right! That smelly creature you got pissed out of your brain with was an economist. What did you imagine it was?” he said drily, knowing the answer.

    “I thought it was a kna-fucking nurseryman, supplying you with another load of stinking muck for your mother’s cursed rose gardens!” he shouted.

    Drouwh’s slanted blue eyes sparkled and his shoulders shook silently; his long mouth curved in a smile, not revealing the pearly teeth. But he said soberly enough: “It came up with a wonderful analysis of our soon-to-vanish economy. Every detail of which checks out.”

    “No wonder you’ve been shut away like a dashed celibate hermit for the last zillion years!” he grumbled.

    “Yeah.” Drouwh sat down and picked up the bottle. “You can have one more small shot. Don’t forget you're coming on the hunt tomorrow.

    “I may follow in the pony-cart,” he said, pouting.

    Drouwh replied drily: “You can’t. I’ve only got a pack-horse here."

    Dh’aaych downed his uissh, shuddering. “Gets better, eh?” he noted.

    Drouwh was aware that his old friend’s brain was slowly processing the unwelcome information that their world really was broke. “Aye: this is one Grandfather laid down.” He hesitated. “It won’t be too bad; securing that twenty percent will help,” he said lightly.

    Dh’aaych made a sour face. “Will it? Not that I want to preserve the cursed Court, the old gods know!”

    “What do you want, Dh’aaych?” he asked idly.

    Dh’aaych’llyai’n sighed. “I don’t know. Father’s been nagging at me to get married—you’ve seen that, eh? Yeah. But I don’t want one of the usual Court tarts, nor an upper-class shrew like the fair Shn’aillaigh—seen enough of that at home, thanks very much—and not a little bunch of fluff like your sister, thanks all the same!”

    “Better have the Pleasure Girl,” he said drily.

    “A female spy! Aiyee!” he gasped, eyes lighting up.

    “Didn't know you fancied the type that could run rings round you, Dh’aaych!”

    “I've always fancied women with brains,” he said glumly.

    Drouwh's jaw sagged.

    “Not only them, kna-brain! –You know what I mean,” he said, sighing.

   “Yes. Someone who could manage your fortune for you until your son came of age,” he agreed soothingly.

    “By the old gods, you’ve got a cursed nasty tongue in that head of yours when you try, Drouwh! I would like to feel I was married to a woman who could take over for me if anything happened to me, what decent man wouldn’t?”

    Drouwh made a face. “Mm. Sorry."

    Dh’aaych eyed him cautiously. “What about you, old man?” he said, as the handsome, high-cheekboned, lean face was blank in the firelight.

    “Mm? Oh, I'm divorcing that bitch on Federation Day plus one,” he said in a hard voice.

    “Understandable.”

    “Aye.” Drouwh got up. “Bed.”

    Groaning, Dh’aaych hauled himself to his feet. “Should we check on him?”

    “He’s asleep. –Not feigning it, I can tell.”

    “I bet you can,” he said, swallowing.

    Drouwh passed a weary hand over his face. “I can more or less—well, not control it—at least read his mind, while he’s on that brew the Old Woman of Slrw gave us."

    Dh’aaych’llyai’n shuddered slightly. “Yes.”

    “Mm. Well, there’s enough of the stuff to last until Federation Day. Then he can do what he likes. Denounce me to the Feddos, if he likes, I don’t give a kna dropping!”

    Dh’aaych slung a comradely arm round his shoulders. “Rubbish, old boy, we’ll take him out in a lifter and drop him in the Southern Ocean from a great height. If he does survive he’ll be in no fit condition to convince anyone of anything!

    Drouwh’s lips twitched. “Mm. You’ve got a point. Er—a remote part of the southern continent? Let him make his way back to civilisation?”

    “It’d do,” he conceded.

    They went out, Dh’aaych grinning, and Drouwh with a very faint smile on his long mouth.

    In the hearth that wasn’t an IG hearth, but that had worked pretty well for eight thousand years whilst lodges rose and fell round it, the last log settled with a soft noise. The little cat jumped up and repossessed himself of the rocker.

    On the back verandah The Mk-D’rm’d’s head groom paced slowly, ears and eyes alert. Brown roamed in the grounds, sniffing for strangers.

    T’m had gone to sleep. K’t-Ln had attached him firmly to the tree by his nyr-hide cloak, the blobs holding strongly, and he was lying back in it like a hammock. She hunched grimly into a fork of the tree, still keeping watch. Traitor! Traitor! A little sob rose in her throat and she swallowed it angrily. She’d fix him! She didn’t know how, yet, but she’d fix their Mk-D’rm’d-loving kna-worm of a Lord once and for all!

    Roz had slept for some time, but had woken at the noise of Dh’aaych’llyai’n clattering down to the cellar with the Lady A’ailh’sa. The mechanism on her door was so primmo that she could have worked it with only part of her mind, but she didn’t need to get closer: she stayed in bed, listening without effort to the minds downstairs. Even The Mk-L’ster, though he imagined he was shielding his thoughts, posed no problem to her. It was all very interesting, in fact Roz’s mind seized on this new food and processed it hungrily, rather as if, after the emptying of the klupf from her system, it was eager for solid food. All the minds she heard were more or less partisan, but from Sh’n M’Klui’shke’aigh, at least, she got a fairly unbiased picture of the political situation on Old Rthfrdia.

    She went to sleep again reflecting that, if Mk-L’ster’s option of allowing the lordship class to retain half their ancestral lands while the rest went to the country folk did seem sensible, the option of full devolution of the clan lands to the people would be the only truly just solution.