Dilemmas

7

Dilemmas

 

    “I’m too heavy for you!” gasped Sh’n as they made their way painfully back towards the hunting lodge, he with a good deal of his weight on Shn’aillaigh’s slender shoulder.

    She smiled up into his face. “No, you're not, but we could have a bit of a rest.”

    “All right,” he said weakly. They settled in a sunny spot with their backs against a tree.

    “Lr country, this,” she noted idly, picking at the tree-litter.

    “What?”

    “Lr. This is where they’re found. Don’t tell me you've never had them!”

    “I think I've tasted them at the Royal Banquet at the Opening of Parliament,” he said drily.

    To his astonishment the lovely oval face flooded with colour and she said: “I’m sorry, Sh’n.”

    “No,” he said, touching her hand gently. “I am, Shn’aillaigh. I was joking. My cursed cook puts lr in everything she can’t sprinkle with those Feddo puff things. Forgive me?”

    She looked into his face, her lips a little parted in surprise, and the Representative’s blood thrummed in his ears and he bent his heavy head and just touched his lips to hers.

    “What?” she said in confusion as he then turned away and glared into the forest.

    “Look,” he said harshly, not looking at her: “don’t let’s start anything stupid: we’re from different backgrounds, I’m not acceptable to your friends—two galaxies, they wouldn’t give me the time of day if we weren’t all in this cursed thing together! So let’s not kid ourselves it could ever work out. And we've got a job to concentrate on for the next few months, remember? Or at least I cursed well have.”

    “Yes. Need that make a difference, Sh’n?”

    “Perhaps not. The class thing certainly does. I’m a boy from a back slum, and you’re one of the highest ladies in the land. That won't switch off like an ale spigot on Federation Day, you know.”

    “What if I said I didn’t care?”

    Sh’n’s lips tightened. “Then I’d have to say that I don't care to be the latest toy of the Lady of U'Rhy’iior’thn.”

    “Did I suggest that?” she cried angrily.

    Sh’n turned his head and looked hard at her. “Didn’t you?”

    After a moment the golden lashes flickered and fell. “What do you want, then?”

    His fists clenched. “I suppose I want us to be that boy and girl of eighteen and sixteen... I don’t know. Never mind."

    She swallowed noisily. “If—if we were serious, Sh’n, the rank thing wouldn’t make any difference. Besides, you’re a prominent man… You know what I mean.”

    “I know I've seen you at Court in a dress that would have paid for a year's nursing-home fees on Mullgon’ya,” he retorted bitterly.

    Shn’aillaigh replied in amazement: “What dress?”

    “A  white thing. Sparkly. –If it matters,” he said dully.

    She bit her lip. “Sh’n, that cursed thing belonged to my grandmother,” she said shakily. “I do live well, I’m not saying I live on yi’ish and fl’oouu tea at home. But for over ten years I’ve been ploughing every aylh my lands produce back into them. The village dressmaker remodelled that dress for me. She’s a whizz—watches the Fashion Services slavishly.”

    Sh’n smiled feebly. “Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Nevertheless, it could never work out between us. Remodelled dresses or not, we’re still too different. We have… different assumptions, I suppose.”

    After a moment she said grimly: “Is it the men in my past? Because I’ve no intention of apologising for who I am!”

    Sh’n put a heavy hand over her slender one where it lay on her grubby nyr-hide thigh. “No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to criticise you, even by implication. I’m no purer than you, just—uh—less well publicised, I suppose.”

    “Yes!” she said with a little startled laugh.

    He saw she was glancing at him uncertainly. “In spite of the rumours, T’mmai’h Mk-Fr’w isn’t my get. He’s my sister’s illegitimate child,” he said tightly.

    “I was wondering,” she said frankly, looking up into his eyes.

    The big man’s lips tightened. “I killed the bastard that did it. Snapped his neck.”

    Her nostrils flared. “Good.”

    Sh’n looked at her in amazement.

    “I'm a fighting U’Rhy’iior’thn, you know!” she said with a tiny laugh.

    “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I thought you— I don’t know what I thought; I’ve never told a soul before. Not even my mother. Though I think she guessed.”

    “I’m very flattered,” she murmured.

    “Don’t be. I’m cursed if I know why I told you.”

    “Perhaps because you couldn’t help yourself,” said Shn’aillaigh slowly, staring unseeingly into the trees. “I’m not in the habit of revealing the state of my personal finances to everyone I meet, believe you me!”

    “Or the fact that your wear your grandmother’s old dresses?”

    “Right. –Those ‘sparkly things’,” she added on a dry note, “stuck into me like nobody’s business. My bum was peppered with pits by the end of the evening.”

    Sh’n flung back his head and gave a startled laugh.

    Shn’aillaigh smiled but said huskily: “Kiss me again, Sh’n?”

    He was going to repeat his sensible objections and raise a few more but he looked into the green eyes and was lost. He put his lips gently on hers. She made a tiny noise and flung an arm round his neck. The Representative kissed her hungrily, pulling her slender body tightly against his bulk. But when she put her hand on his breeches he pushed it away, sat up and said shakily: “No.”

    “No? It feels likes yes, to me!”

    “Yes,” he said, chest heaving. “No, don’t, Shn'aillaigh,” he said, catching her hand. “I don't want either of us to get involved in anything we—we can’t handle. Possibly you could handle it, all right, but I couldn’t. You know how these things get out; and we don’t know what's going to happen after Federation Day. And whatever the outcome of the Referendum, I wouldn't put it past that cursed stiff-necked Drouwh Mk-L'ster to admit the whole thing publicly. –Don't look at me like that, you must know the man's as full of principles as a smah’s egg is full of meat!"

    “So? Hang on—you don’t imagine I'd stand by and let the rest of you be thrown to the bears?” she gasped. “If one of us goes down, we all do, we agreed that months ago!”

    “I dare say. But that doesn’t mean that all of us wouldn’t rather die sooner than see you thrown to the bears, Lady.”

    “Rubbish. In any case, there are no bears.”

    “Even if it’s only languishing in a Wh’sh-fh’r jail, Shn’aillaigh, do you think I’d ever knowingly bring that fate on you? –Don’t look at me like that, my mind’s made up. After Federation Day,”—he had to clear his throat but carried on gamely: “if everything’s all right and you still feel the same, then perhaps we could see how it goes.” But she wouldn’t feel the same: once the excitement of this political intrigue was over and she'd resumed her daily life as the Lady of U'Rhy'iior'thn, she’d remember he was only the boy from the back slums and—though she might still desire him physically—would have no interest in a serious involvement. And Sh’n didn’t feel he could cope with less. A few months’ bliss would be a pretty poor compensation for spending the rest of one’s life as the zillionth discarded toy of the pretty Lady of U’Rhy’iior’thn. Perhaps others could have shrugged it off lightly, but he knew he couldn’t. Though he was cursed if he knew why it should be Shn’aillaigh of U’Rhy’iior’thn who had aroused this depth of feeling in him.

    “All right. After Federation Day.”

    “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Uh—if you think you could find me a heavy stick, I might manage to hobble on."

    “Good idea.” She got up and vanished into the forest.

    When she came back her eyes were very red but Sh’n didn’t comment. He took the stick and, since the dog was whining anxiously, patted him timidly. Whitey licked his hand and whined again.

    “What is it?” he asked her uncertainly.

    “Eh? Oh, Whitey! He doesn’t understand: he can feel we’re unhappy and he can smell we're aroused—so he’s confused.”

    “What?” he croaked, turning scarlet.

    Shn’aillaigh gave a little laugh and said: “Dogs live very much by their sense of smell, townee!” She came up very close and said softly, looking teasingly into his eyes: “He can certainly smell me."

    Sh’n jerked her roughly into his arms and kissed her fiercely, fumbling at the softness of breasts in the man’s pullover. He slid a hand down to the flat belly, and she spasmed against him. Eyes shut, panting a little, still kissing her, he got a hand into the breeches flap...

    Suddenly she gave his lower lip a little nip and as he jumped and gasped, put her hand inside his breeches. Sh’n moaned when she touched him and, hauling the pullover up with his free hand, covered one breast with his mouth. He had a finger up her now and he felt her flood on it and he began to move it inside her, jerking his member against her hand. Shn’aillaigh flung her head back, moaning, and he bit her creamy neck hard and she shrieked and clenched like crazy on his finger. And Representative M’Klui’shke’aigh came like a Seeker taking off into the strong, slender hand.

    ... “I just couldn’t help myself,” he murmured, kissing her hair.

    “Nor could I. –I don’t usually come like a lifter going into hyperdrive because a fellow’s got his finger up there,” she explained with a wry smile.

    “Good. Must be something about me, then?”

    Laughing a little, Shn’aillaigh admitted: “There must be!"

    Sh’n held her very tight and closed his eyes…

    “I'll hold you to your word,” she promised on a grim note.

    “Mm?”

    “After Feddo Day. I’ll be knocking on your door with the Breach of Promise papers in my hand!”

    “Oh! –Yes, you do that,” he said into the red-gold hair. “You do that.”

    Roz had only given the two in the clearing a little, little nudge. She hadn’t known whether or not she was capable of it, especially at that range—though their signals had been very loud! That was partly why she’d done it. And partly... Roz made a face. Partly she’d done it because she’d been so immersed in the romantic drama that she hadn’t been able to help herself. Ugh. What was the matter with her? If that was the sort of mind-addling muck she fancied, she might as well watch the Romances, and be done with it! ...Perhaps she did watch the Vvlvanian-cursed Romances. Ugh, perhaps that was the sort of person she was? Roz concentrated but all she got was a picture of a small black-haired humanoid in spacer’s coveralls landing a swift kick in the guts of a clapped-out looking receiver whilst several smaller humanoids stood round disconsolately. When she grabbed at it the picture disintegrated, and the background had never been clear. Black hair: that hadn’t been her, had it? She tried to concentrate but the picture had gone completely, there was only the vague memory of it left.

    And tampering with another being’s will in any way was, of course, so IG-illegal that there was… some dire penalty. Not a prison transport, something much worse. Confinement to a Mullgon’ya nursing-home for life, something like that? As experimental material for the Vvlvanian-cursed Full Surgeons to muck round with, she rather thought. But besides the fact that it was IG-illegal there was also the not inconsiderable point that it was immoral. Totally immoral, thought Roz, biting her lip. Why had she let herself do something so—so incredibly low as interfere with those two beings’ free will?

    There was no answer to this question in the misty recesses of what passed for her mind. Roz sighed. She listened for a while to what was going on in the forest. The flying bandit girls had taken the stupid one out of range. In Roz’s opinion he was no loss. The others were making their way back, they were yet to discover his absence. Should she let on she knew who had him, and why? Well, no, it might be safer not to let on to any of these flat-worlders what her powers were. Just in case she needed them. –Though to do what, she was Vvlvanian-cursed if she knew! Oh, if only she could remember!

    Roz concentrated like fury on remembering something—anything!—but merely succeeded in dropping off to sleep in the big rocker by the window.

    “It’s an ambush!” shouted D’nl’d Mk-H’aiy’h. “Fh’Ly’haiyn and Rh'n'lhd’s men have got him! On guard, everyone! They’ll be attacking the lodge next!”

    His audience burst into speech with about fifteen other theories to explain Dh’aaych’s disappearance, but when the dust had cleared somewhat, these resolved themselves more or less into agreement that it must herald a raid by the Royalist clique. Drouwh didn’t subscribe to this theory for an instant, but he ordered them to set a watch upstairs, before marching back into the forest with his big brown dog at his heels.

    Mk-H’aiy’h was in his element, shouting orders to the younger men, blaster drawn, but eventually they all vanished upstairs, leaving the big kitchen to Sh’n and The Mk-D’rm’d. The Pleasure Girl was reported to be safely in her room, and Dh’aaych’s father, fortunately, was asleep.

    As for the prisoner… Well, if Dh’aaych had been captured by the Royalist faction and the lodge was about to be surrounded, Mk-H’aiy’h’s bloodthirsty suggestion of shooting him was quite possibly the most sensible course. Though it would leave them with no bargaining counter. Supposing that they wanted to bargain, reflected Sh’n drily.

    He gave his now bandaged foot a sour look, rather wishing that, though it had been kindly meant, he hadn’t accepted The Mk-D’rm’d’s groom’s offer to fix it up: he now couldn’t get his boot on. And presumably looked as useless as he felt.

    “Have you seen action?” he said abruptly, as R’rt Fh’laiin sat down in the rocker opposite him.

    The Mk-D’rm’d replied tranquilly: “Several times. When I was a boy of twelve my father took me with him on a mission to an obscure world beyond the Outer Rim, where we were planning a settlement. They weren’t expecting trouble, or I wouldn’t have been allowed to go. A bunch of Feddo toughs jumped us, and we had to fight for our lives. Anyone who could shoot was issued with a blaster. I got six of the bastards.”

    “Six?” echoed Sh’n limply.

    “Yes. Then in my last year at Second School there was a yi’ish riot in our lands in the Southern Continent. It’s mostly pasture and grain-growing land, have you ever been down there?”—Sh’n nodded, and R’rt Fh’laiin added, with his little sidelong smile: “Very different country from this—very flat. Well, it turned out the miserable workers had the right of it: our manager had been letting the foremen short-change the poor fellows on their yi’ish rations. And what they did get was filthy: full of weevils and weed seeds. So I put the manager and the foremen against a wall.”

    After a stunned moment Sh’n said faintly: “What?”

    “Clan law,” said The Mk-D’rm’d on a grim note. “They were all my people, manager, foremen, workers and all. There was no question that I had jurisdiction—my father was dead by then. –Goes with the territory, Sh’n, haven’t you ever realised that?”

    Sh’n passed a hand over his face. “We don’t know the half of it in the cities! I thought I was tough, but—”

    The Mk-D’rm’d shrugged. After a minute he said: “I don’t know whether you’d call that action, or not. We had to fight our way in, mind you. –Naturally I wasn’t alone,” he said with a twinkle. “I had a hand-picked band of men with me, I’m not exactly a hero.”

    There was a scuffling noise from the passage as he spoke, and they both swung round, blasters at the ready, but it was only Shn’aillaigh, propelling a red-faced A’ailh’sa before her.

    “Get in there! –He is a hero,” Shn’aillaigh noted drily: “ask him about that time he was doing fieldwork on some cursed Feddo place.”

    “Vvlvania. There was a theory current at the time—in academic circles,” he said with a twinkle, “that it was the original Rthfrdia. I was researching the cave etchings there.”

    “He killed all those Feddos,” said A’ailh’sa on a sulky note. “Who cares, anyway? And I’m not going down CELLAR!” she shrieked at Shn’aillaigh.

    “I only said that to fool the Pleasure Girl. –Fat hope, if she can read minds,” she noted.

    “Feddos?” said Sh’n to the Mk-D’rm’d.

    He nodded his dark auburn head, smiling wryly. “Federation criminals, escaped from the big jail on Vvlvania. They bailed up the majority of my group in a cave. I just happened to be outside with a couple of others at the time, so—” He shrugged.

    “The two cowards with him were Friyrians and they wanted to give in, bargain or something: you know: be ransomed,” said A’ailh’sa. “But R’rt Fh’laiin wouldn’t let them, he made them fight, he said he’d shoot them if they wouldn’t fight!”

    “Spare my blushes,” he groaned.

    “Yes, shut up, A’ailh’sa,” said Shn’aillaigh, propelling her over to the back door.

    “Where are we going?” she gasped.

    “You’re going to break the blob-lock on Dh’aaych’s lifter for me. And don’t tell me you can’t, my shin-knife says you can.” She propelled the pouting girl out into the sunlight. “Cover us, R’rt,” they heard her say in a casual voice to The Mk-D’rm’d’s groom.

    “Right you are, my Lady,” he agreed.

    “NO!” shouted A'ailh'sa. “I WON’T, not out in the vehicle paddock, it’s not safe—”

    A swift slap sounded and there was a shriek and a burst of tears and then silence.

    “The blood's run thin there,” noted R’rt Fh’laiin, lifting his lip a little.

    “Mm. Spoilt. –Well, I’m glad to know you’ve seen action, R’rt Fh’laiin,” said Sh’n with a little sigh.

    “Shn’aillaigh has, too; and Drouwh, of course. And the older men: Lord U-Fl’aiir’th, D’nl’d Mk-H’aiy’h. But the younger ones have never seen anything more dangerous than a knuckle fight on the Services.”

    “Mm; pretty much what I figured,” he murmured.

    There was a short pause. The Mk-D’rm’d drank fl’oouu tea and Sh’n stared into the fire.

    Then there was the whine of a lifter taking off and Sh’n got to the back door in time to catch the terrified A’ailh’sa in his arms.

    “She’s going to land it on the roof!” she gasped.

    The groom, white-faced, was on the lawn staring upwards. Sh’n and R’rt Fh’laiin rushed out to join him, heedless of what dangers might be lurking in the trees.

    The silvery-pink lifter shimmered in the sunlight over the old shingled roof.

    “Help her, old gods,” said The Mk-D’rm’d through his teeth.

    Sh’n just gritted his and stared upwards.

    “Positioning it,” said the groom hoarsely.

    They watched as the lifter, whining terrifically, bucked and swayed.

    “Be careful, Shn’aillaigh,” breathed a little voice at Sh’n’s left. He put his arm round the Lady A’ailh’sa, not saying anything.

    More terrific whining from above, and the lifter rose slightly.

    “Repositioning,” said the groom.

    “She can’t hold it like that!” squeaked A’ailh’sa.

    “Look out!” gasped Sh’n. The near rear fin of the lifter grazed a chimney stack with an appalling scraping noise. The vehicle rose again, swaying madly.

    “She’s losing control!” gulped the groom, as it tilted alarmingly.

    Suddenly A’ailh’sa broke out of Sh’n’s hold and ran into the middle of the lawn, arms held wide. “SHN’AILLAIGH!” she screamed.  “Listen to me!”

    The men gaped as, eyes tightly shut, still with her arms held out, she swayed gently in the middle of the lawn.

    “She’s flipped out,” said R’rt Fh’laiin faintly. He made as if to go to her, but Sh’n grabbed his arm and hissed: “No, you fool! She’s helping! Look!”

    They looked from the girl to the pink lifter above the house. Sure enough, as A’ailh’sa swayed a little the lifter swayed and dipped, too.

    “No!” said R’rt Fh’laiin incredulously.

    “She is, R’bbie. –No, I’d say it was... using her?” said his man, jaw sagging.

    “Yes: it’s the blobs, she’s lending her strength to the blobs. I’ve seen an off-worlder do that. Watch the lifter!” said Sh’n. They craned their necks again.

    The lifter rose about ten feet, whining like a tortured soul. Then the noise stopped entirely and it settled like a feather on the flat section of the roof.

    There was complete silence on the lawn.

    Then the lifter’s hatch opened and Shn’aillaigh got out, waving jauntily.

    “Grab her!” cried R’rt Fh’laiin, as A’ailh’sa collapsed all of a heap, as if the bones had gone out of her. He and the groom both started forward. “She’s as white as a sheet,” he muttered, scooping her up.

    “It’ll have taken it out of her,” agreed the man, swallowing. “Aiyee, R’rt Fh’laiin, did you ever see the like?"

    “No, and I’d as soon not see it again,” he admitted.

    Sh’n had been watching anxiously as Shn’aillaigh clambered over the roof to the back verandah. He went forward and held out his arms. “Jump!”

    “She’s not all bad, that kid,” she said with a shaky smile. “Dunno what she did, but it wasn't me landing that thing, I can tell you!”

    “You were driving it, my love, but A’ailh’sa was letting the blobs draw on her strength. I’ve seen a similar thing off-world. –Though I’d not have thought she was capable of sacrificing herself to anybody or anything,” he muttered.

    “Aiyee, will she be all right?” she said, as The Mk-D’rm’d carried the girl indoors.

    “No idea. Jump, Shn’aillaigh, you’re a sitting duck!” said Sh’n angrily.

    She gave a little laugh, grasped the guttering, and lowered herself smoothly.

    “Cursed fool,” he growled.

    “If the house is surrounded, how else will we get the prisoner away? –Well, it was me or R’rt Fh’laiin, and I've always been a better driver than him. Though he’s a better shot than me,” she admitted, lips twitching.

    “Bears’ teeth, she’ admitted it,” he said faintly.

    Grinning, Shn’aillaigh tucked her arm in his. “Come on, inside.”

    “That was a fool thing to do, Lady,” said the groom the minute she set foot inside.

    “Come off it, R’rt, you’d have done it yourself, given half a chance!”

    “I’m not such a fool. The tail fins of that thing are two arm-measures over the end of the roof, I suppose you realise?” he said grimly. He went over to the table and took a good shot of uissh, straight from the bottle. “I'll be in the yard, R’rt Fh’laiin,” he said, and went out.

    In the big chair by the fireplace A’ailh’sa stirred and sighed.

    “Uissh all round,” decided Shn’aillaigh, pouring.

    “Yes: pour some for A’ailh’sa,” agreed R’rt Fh’laiin.

    “No; I hate it,” she whispered.

    “It’ll do you good.” He knelt by her chair and took both her hands in his, rubbing hard. “You’re so cold,” he said in a worried voice.

    Sh’n put another log on the fire and took off his jacket. “Put this round her: it’ll be shock.”

    The Mk-D’rm’d swathed the Lady A’ailh’sa in Sh’n’s too-blue jacket, and resumed rubbing her hands.

    Shn’aillaigh held out a mug. “Drink some, and then you can have some khyai’llh mixture.”

    “No, I—”

    “Do it!” said R’rt Fh’laiin angrily.

    A’ailh’sa’s pale cheeks reddened. She took the mug of uissh and sipped. “All right,” she said faintly, reaching for the cup of khyai’llh and water. She gulped it down, shuddering, reclaimed the mug from R’rt Fh’laiin, and took a big mouthful of the uissh. “Khyai’llh and water’s the worst taste in the two galaxies!” she announced.

    “I don’t think she's going to die,” noted Shn’aillaigh drily. She sat down in the rocker with a sigh, and swallowed uissh. “Lovely. –Possibly Dh’aaych’s been captured by black-marketeers on the trail of Drouwh’s grandfather’s store of uissh.”

    “In that case we'll find his whitened bones some years hence: Dh’aaych’d sooner die than give away the secret of a store of this stuff!” choked R’rt Fh’laiin.

    “That isn’t funny,” said A’ailh’sa shakily.

    “No. Are you feeling better? What’s the matter?” he asked limply, as she burst into tears and threw herself against his shoulder.

    Sh’n raised his eyebrows slightly at Shn’aillaigh. “I think I’ll go upstairs, since nothing seems to be stirring out there,” he said neutrally, “and put a pair of shoes on. I refuse to meet the old gods—or even the Palace Guards—in one boot and a sock.”

    “Mm. I’ll come with you. See what sort of a shot you get from the first floor.” She got up, and they went out.

    After a moment R’rt Fh’laiin said: “Don’t cry, A'ailh'sa.”

    “I'm—not!” she hiccuped.

    “Yes, you are,” he said, patting her back gently.

    After quite some time she looked up and said soggily: “It’s awful at home. Drouwh’s never there and—and Mother doesn’t speak, any more. Her mind’s all… muddy.”

    He swallowed. He’d heard the rumours, but Drouwh hadn’t said anything specific. “I’m sorry, A’ailh’sa,” he said lamely.

    “Drouwh says when he was little she was wonderful: she was always there, and so strong and—and capable,” she said, gulping.

    “Yes. That’s how we all remember her,” he said gently.

    “If anything happens to Drouwh, you won’t make me go and live with horrid old Great-Aunt M'wd, will you, R’bbie?”

    R’rt Fh’laiin passed a harried hand though his thick, dark auburn waves. He knew Drouwh’s will appointed him as her guardian, if— But he hadn’t envisaged the thing seriously at all. “No, all right. I may make you go back to school, though, there’s an excellent finishing school on New Rthfrdia that I think you might benefit from.”

    “No! They’re all stuffy there!” she cried. “And I’m nineteen! I’m grown up!"

    The muscles on either side of R'rt Fh’laiin’s narrow jaw stood out suddenly. “Yes. I can’t imagine what Drouwh's been thinking of, letting you run wild— Never mind. Look, it’s crazy to keep you here, I’ll get R’rt to run you over to Mk-D’rm’d Manor.”

    “No-o!” she wailed, clutching at him. “If you’re killed, R’bbie, I want to die, too!“

    “That’s silly,” he said gently, putting his hands over hers. “We’re not going to be killed, and Drouwh will be back with Dh'aaych in no time, you’ll see.”

    “I don’t care about Dh'aaych, I care about you!” she sobbed.

    “Me?” The colour faded right out of his thin face. “I’m too old for you.”

    “You’re NOT! And I know all about that off-world lady that died in that smuggler raid, you can’t hide things from me!”

    “So it would seem.”

    “I could have babies for you, and—and maybe you wouldn’t forget about her and the dead babies, R’bbie, but—but you could be happy!”

    The long grey eyes had filled with tears. “Don’t, A’ailh’sa,” he said gently.

    “Please,” she said, gulping and sniffing.

    R’rt Fh’laiin passed the back of his hand across his eyes. “No. It wouldn't be fair on you, or on any woman. I seem to be... frozen inside. I can’t care about anybody.”

    “You cared about me when I fainted, I felt it as I went,” she said.

    “Only as my little sister, though.”

    “Well, isn’t that a start?”

    He gave a tired sigh. “Perhaps.”

    “It wasn’t your fault,” said A’ailh’sa, now very pale.

    “It was. I should have got her off that cursed Pioneer World, whatever the cursed Feddo law said— Don’t let’s discuss it. Get your things; I’ll call R’rt.”

    “Don’t make me go,” she whispered.

    “Yes.” R’rt Fh'laiin stood up. “I’ll do one thing right in my cursed life, at least!” he said bitterly, and strode over to the door, yelling for his man.

    It was dusk when Drouwh returned from the forest, tired and muddy, with golden stubble showing on his jaw.

    “Well?” demanded R’rt Fh’laiin.

    “Lost him,” he said heavily. “Tracked him easily as far as a clearing about a half-hour's walk away, and then—nothing!” He shrugged.

    “They took him out in a lifter?” suggested Sh'n.

    “No sign of it. We circled out from the spot for hours but never picked up a thing."

    “He can’t have vanished into thin air, Drouwh!” objected The Mk-D’rm’d.

    Drouwh went over to the fireplace and sank wearily into the big chair. “I think he may have done just that. -Come through, D’nl’d,” he said as the burly Mk-H'aiy'h poked his head in from the passage: “you’ll be interested in this, too.” He told them about the wild bandit girls from the forest and their blob-driven cloaks.

    “Have you seen them do it?” gasped R’rt Fh’laiin.

    “Yes: many times. You know those local stories of my woods being haunted by flying spirits?”—R’rt Fh’laiin nodded.—“That’s them,” he said wryly.

    "No, really, old fellow—!”

    Sh’n sat down heavily on a hard chair. “This sounds like a fantasy, Mk-L’ster! Two flying girls in cloaks kidnapped a hefty specimen like Dh’aaych’llyai’n U-Fl’aiir'th?”

    “WHAT?” shouted a furious voice, and old Lord U-Fl’aiir’th limped into the room.

    “We didn’t wake you, Uncle Eeain, we weren’t sure there was anything serious to worry about,” said Drouwh, yawning widely. “Thanks, T’mmai’h,” he said with a smile as the young Representative, looking anxious, handed him a glass of uissh. “–And it looks as if there isn’t,” he added to Lord U-Fl'aiir'th.

    “By the old gods, I’m not in my dotage yet, Mk-L’ster!” he shouted.

    “We’d have wakened you the instant there was any real news, sir.”

    “Well, what’s all this nonsense about girls in cloaks?” spluttered the old man.

    Drouwh explained about the bandit girls. Ending: “I’ve no idea why they should want to kidnap Dh’aaych.”

    “We’ll smoke them out!” the old man choked.

    “Mm, it may come to that,” he said, yawning. “We’d best leave it till tomorrow; I know where their camp is. We’ll maintain the guard, just in case it isn't them.”

    There was general agreement, and the others went back to keep watch or off to bed, the old Lord not without argument, leaving the three friends and Sh’n in the kitchen.

    “Where’s A’ailh’sa?” asked Drouwh, yawning and stretching.

    “I sent her over to the Manor. This is no place for a child of that age, Drouwh,” said The Mk-D’rm’d grimly.

    “She’s tougher than she looks, you know,” he said with a wry shrug.

    “She’s a nineteen-year-old girl, and with you off in the forests the decision was mine,” he said stiffly.

    “Uh—yeah. Thanks, R’rt Fh’laiin.”

    “She’s better out of our way, anyway,” said Shn’aillaigh briskly, inspecting the stew pot. “Here, boy!” She set down a bowl for Brown.

    “If it was these girls, what can they want with Lord Dh’aaych’llyai’n?” asked Sh'n, frowning. “Ransom?”

    Drouwh embarked hungrily on a bowl of stew. “I can’t think of another motive. By the way, has anyone taken the prisoner some food?"

    There was a short pause.

    “Which one?” said Shn’aillaigh weakly.

    “Don’t be a fool, Shn’aillaigh,” he returned tiredly.

    “I’ll do it,” said R’rt Fh’laiin. “Give me some stew. –Where’s that muck you give him, Drouwh?”

    “If it’s that distasteful to you, old fellow—”

    “No. I’ve said I’m with you, and I’m with you.”

    Drouwh shrugged a little. He got up and reached behind the old clock for the flask.

    “Is that sort of precaution really necessary?” said Sh’n weakly.

    He looked down at him drily. “Our off-world spy assured me the clock was only a mechanism, so it fooled someone.” He poured a few drops from the flask and mixed them into the stew.

    Shn’aillaigh came up beside R’rt Fh’laiin and added a piece of kettle bread to the plate.

    “He’ll be doing well to get through that,” he noted.

    “All right: if you don’t like my bread, you cook!”

    R’rt Fh’laiin smiled slightly and headed for the door. Shn’aillaigh accompanied him silently, her mouth grim.

    “Ready?” he said, taking a deep breath outside the attic door.

    Shn’aillaigh swallowed. “Yes.” She drew her blaster.

    R’rt Fh’laiin put the huge old key into the big lock and unlocked it. Then he drew back the bolts at top and bottom of the door. Then he sent Open! at the blob-lock and the heavy piece of timber slowly swung inwards.

    “Okay,” he said to Shn’aillaigh, stepping in. She followed cautiously, blaster at the ready.

    “There’s no need for weapons,” said the Regent of Old Rthfrdia in a slurred voice. He stared at them. “Shn’aillaigh. So you’re in this, too.”

    “Did you think I wouldn’t be?” she flashed.

    Prince Rh’aiiy’hn’s high golden brow wrinkled. “No,” he said slowly. “It’s hard to think, I’m so fuzzy... He puts it in the food and drink, you know. –I knew you’d be in it, Mk-D’rm’d,” he said, frowning. “You’ve always been a... follower.”

    R’rt Fh’laiin didn’t react. He laid the plate on the table. “Do you want more water?"

    There was a pause.

    “I think so... Or was that yesterday?"

    The Mk-D’rm’d drew his blaster. “Look,” he said briefly to Shn’aillaigh.

    “Yes, his pitcher’s empty,” she reported.

    “We’ll bring some,” he said. “Back out, Shn’aillaigh. Carefully, this could all be a trick.”

    Out in the passage with the door safely locked again, Shn’aillaigh sagged against the wall. “R’rt Fh’laiin, he must have seen you here before!” she whispered.

    “Yes,” he said, lips thinning. “He forgets.”

    “It’s horrible!”

    “Aye. If half of it isn’t play-acting. Does he look half-starved to you?”

    “No. He needs a shave... No, I don’t think so: his cheeks don’t look thin, do they?"

    “No. We think he’s eating,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, we’ll get him some water.”

    They went down the stairs silently, both frowning.

    Late that evening, when R’rt Fh’laiin and Drouwh were alone in the big kitchen, an arrow thudded into the door.

    “Don’t,” said Drouwh as R’rt Fh’laiin started up. “I can hear the dogs—that’s Whitey.”

    “But—” He broke off, gulping, as the dogs then gave tongue. “You mean you can hear the dogs’ thoughts, Drouwh?"

    “Ye-es... Not thoughts, exactly... Whitey’s lost it, it seems to have vanished...” He gave a little laugh. “The scent’s vanished up a tree, they’re furious!"

    R’rt Fh’laiin could now hear them barking like crazy, sounded as if they'd treed a snr-cat. “Come on!” he urged, picking up his bow.

    “No, they’ll be far away by now. I imagine this is a message.” He opened the back door. “There’s no-one here, R’rt Fh’laiin, I would know if there was,” he pointed out drily as his friend readied his bow, peering into the dark. He wrenched the arrow out of the door, called: “Good boys! Quiet, now, QUIET!” to the dogs, and came back inside.

    “Well?” said R’rt Fh’laiin impatiently as he sniffed at the arrow.

    “One of theirs. Ghrr-feathered, see? And it’s been fired from a string greased with duck fat, it’s a wonder there’s a duck left on my ponds!” He laughed a little. “Plus the usual hint of stink-nettle and hggl shit, they use that old poacher’s trick to cover their scent.”

    R’rt Fh’laiin pulled a distasteful face.

    “You’ve been living in the cities too long, old man! Spending too much time on your precious studies or with your Court floozies!” He laughed again.

    “Look at the MESSAGE, Drouwh!”

    Drouwh smiled and unrolled the dirty scrap of nyr suede round the shaft of the arrow.

    “What is it?” said Shn’aillaigh’s voice tensely from the passage doorway.

    “Strip of Dh’aaych’s breeches, I’d say. –Look, R’rt Fh’laiin, wouldn't you say this had ‘Dh’aiich’s of North Wh’sh-fh’r’ written  all over it?"

    “Stop blathering about tailors, man, and tell us what it says!” he shouted.

     Drouwh’s eyes sparkled, but he read out staidly enough: “‘Mk-L’ster: our demands are, stop conspiring with The Black Mk-D’rm’d and we will release your freind.’ –Can’t spell friend, never could.”

    Shn'aillaigh snatched it off him. “It is his writing— Wait a minute,” she said.

    “Mm,” murmured Drouwh..

    She spread it out on the table. R’rt Fh’laiin came and hung over it, too, breathing heavily. Drouwh watched them sardonically. Finally Shn’aillaigh said: “Yes. Look, Drouwh.”

    Drouwh came and glanced at it. “Yes One presumes his captors are illiterate.”

    The message actually read:

    “Mk-l’ster: our demands are, stop Conspiring with the black mk-d’rmd and we will release your freind.”

    R’rt Fh’laiin read slowly: “T, R, E—that must mean in the trees, you were right, Drouwh—um, C, I think; yes: C, H, L, D, R, N, that’s got to be ‘children’; A, R, N, D—doesn’t make sense. Um... ‘aren’t dangerous’?”

    “Could be,” said Shn'aillaigh, frowning.

    “Rubbish!” said Drouwh with a laugh. “It’s not ‘tree’, you fool, what could that mean to us? And if they managed to capture Dh’aaych with his knife in his boot, they’re certainly cursed dangerous! No, it’s ‘Three children, armed’: he didn’t have an H or an M."

    “He’s right,” decided Shn’aillaigh. “Get after them in the morning, then?”

    “Yes,” agreed Drouwh. He settled himself in the big chair and closed his eyes.

    “Drouwh! What is all this about The Black Mk-D’rm’d?” cried R’rt Fh’laiin.

    “That’s you, old friend, are you that out of touch with the people?”

    “No!” he said impatiently. “But this conspiring business! What on earth do they mean?"

    Sighing, Drouwh opened his eyes. “I keep telling you: the clan rivalries are still very real to the countryfolk. These girls must have seen you arrive—probably spying on the house, I suppose there isn’t that much to do as a forest bandit, once you’ve killed a brace of my ghrr for your supper. They’d have been shocked out of their wits to see The Mk-L’ster conspiring with The Black Mk-D’rm’d.”

    “Nonsense,” he said uncomfortably.

    “Not nonsense, R’rt Fh’laiin: if you’d come down from that ivory tower of yours you’d know it. Ask your man R’rt, if you don't believe me. The great battles of the fifth millennium in the high reaches are still real as yesterday to these people.”

    “These aren’t the reaches!” he said indignantly.

    “No, and if you got up there more often you just might just understand what I’m on about! All the people on my lands here are descended from the remnants that your people chased from the reaches, and the people on your estates are the overflow of the ones that chased them; what were the clan wars about, if not over-population?”

    “Yes, but— That was thousands of years ago!"

    “Thousands of years of ignorance fuelled by clan legends: aye,” he said sourly. “Do you imagine Bh’ay’llaaiyh could have got the Kh’ain-Rh’uissh so stirred up over that business in the tropical lands ten years back if the common people had been exposed to the same off-world influences and had the same chances for an education that you’ve had, R’rt Fh’laiin?"

    “You sound like the cursed Regent,” said Shn’aillaigh sourly.

    Drouwh replied grimly: “There’s a lot to be said for his point of view. If those forest girls have had more than five years of First School I’d be surprised.”

    “Thought you’d built them a school?” she drawled.

    “Several,” he said, frowning. “It’s one thing to build them, it’s another to get the parents to send the kids. -Possibly if I’d married a better woman, she could have influenced the wives.”

    “Lucky woman, what a life,” she noted. “Incarcerated on your cursed estates influencing the cottage wives to send their girls to school. Possibly the Lady Nh’raii’llyh is more deserving of sympathy than any of us had thought.”

    “Shut up, Shn’aillaigh,” said The Mk-D’rm’d. He fingered the strip of nyr suede dubiously. “We’re not imagining this, are we?"

    “No, it’s that foul purple pen Dh’aaych always carries,” said Shn’aillaigh.

    “And it’s definitely his writing: see the way he writes an M? –Besides, can’t spell ‘friend!’” added Drouwh.

    R’rt Fh’laiin sighed. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? –Look at him,” he said heavily to Shn’aillaigh.

    They looked at him. The slanted blue eyes were alive and eager and there was a little smile hovering on the long mouth.

    Shn’aillaigh groaned. “Remember that time we were in the high reaches and he had that crazy notion we could build an ice-yacht and cross over to the Isle of Slrw in midwinter?”

    “We were sixteen!” Drouwh objected with a little laugh.

    Heavily R’rt Fh’laiin agreed: “I remember. He had the same mad look in his eye.”

    “Rubbish!” he said, laughing a little.

    “You’d have done well in the clan wars, Mk-L’ster,” she noted sourly. “Leading your men into battle laughing like a maniac.”

    “The legends say the Mk-L’ster of the time did,” agreed R’rt Fh’laiin. He began to recite something in Ancient Rthfrdian but his old friends, strangely enough, both bellowed: “STOP!”

    “You’d better go and tell Dh’aaych’s father, Drouwh,” Shn’aillaigh prompted him.

    “Mm.” He rubbed his pointed chin, grimacing. “Very well.” He picked up the message, and went out with it.

    After a minute R’rt Fh’laiin said weakly: “Conspiring with The Black Mk-D’rm’d?”

    She shrugged.

    “Oh, well, I suppose he’s right about it all; he always is, curse him.”

    She yawned. “Yeah. Unbearable, isn’t it? –I’m for bed. ’Night.”

    R’rt Fh’laiin sat down slowly in the rocker as she went out..

    When Drouwh came back he said abruptly: “Drouwh, have you given any thought to what’s to happen to A’ailh’sa after the Referendum?"

    “The short answer’s No,” Drouwh replied, pouring himself a shot of uissh. “Want one?"

    R’rt Fh’laiin shook his head impatiently.

    Drouwh sat down in the big leather armchair and stretched out his feet to the smouldering fire. “I presume you mean if Rh’aiiy’hn manages to see that I get my just desserts?"

    “Yes.”

    Drouwh eyed him drily. “If those mind-messages of yours get any louder, old man, he’ll hear you, never mind that muck from the Old Woman. If he does get back into power, he may try to prosecute all of us as traitors, but it won’t work. Under Feddo law a charge of treason only obtains in two cases. One is, if matters classified as state secrets have been revealed with the intention of harming the security of the state—intent’s cursed hard to prove, by the way: there’s a trial on Mklontia that's been dragging on for— Sorry. The other case is an attempt on the life of the head of state.” He looked at him sardonically. “And that’s not Rh’aiiy’hn.”

    “But—”

    “Read the Constitution of the Federated Worlds,” he said heavily. “Our system is classed in Feddo law as an hereditary monarchy, and the monarch himself—or herself, or itself—is head of state. Regents,” he clarified with a twitch of the lips, “don’t count."

    R’rt Fh’laiin gulped. “I hope he can’t hear us.”

    Drouwh’s eyes twinkled but he added calmly: “It’d be plain kidnapping, I suppose.”

    “Well, what’s the penalty for that, under Feddo law?”

    “There isn’t one, unless it’s done in Feddo space. It’s up to the individual world concerned. In some places I believe they’d dock your tail,” he said drily.

    “Very amusing, Drouwh.”

    “Not to beings with tails.”

    R’rt Fh’laiin scowled. After a moment he said: “Back in the second millennium the penalty would have been the bear-pit.”

    “Fine, R’rt Fh’laiin. We’ll petition the Regent to find a bear-pit and stock it with bears for you. No doubt you'll favour us with a valedictory in Ancient Rthfrdian to mark the occasion?”

    “Look, be serious! What could we get?”

    He shrugged. “Twenty years hard labour, I suppose. The mn-mn plantations on New Paradise Island, if we’re lucky."

    R’rt Fh’laiin was very pale. “I see.”

    “He won’t have any proof. Dh’aaych’s idea is that we take him up in a lifter and drop him from a great height over the Southern Continent. –No, well, forget about the great height, but the Southern Continent idea’s a cursed good one. When he gets back to civilisation raving about being kidnapped by The Wicked Mk-L’ster and The Black Mk-D’rm’d no-one will take him seriously. They may want to, depending on how much they love us, but there won’t be a scrap of evidence.”

    “And if Rh’aiiy’hn does manage to convince the courts his disappearance at a convenient moment for us wasn’t just a coincidence, where does that leave A’ailh’sa?”

    “I don’t know, R’rt Fh’laiin. I haven’t had the time to think about it. I suppose I’ve always assumed she’ll find some unfortunate to marry her.”

    “Marry her with the stigma of her brother in jail for kidnapping the Regent?” he said tightly.

    “That might put off the young rufflers that hang round the cursed Court, yes. But it won't put off a decent man. Whether or not A’ailh’sa’s got what a decent man’s looking for in a wife is another matter, I’ll grant you that.”

    “Drouwh, that’s beyond the pale!”

    “She’s a ghrr-brain with not a thought between her pretty little ears but A’ailh’sa’s pleasures: what’s got into you? Look, forget any thoughts of Finishing School,” he said drily. “She was approximately two hours out of Second School when I caught her about to take off in a lifter with a spotty young Cavalryman for a snuhl party in Paradise City!”

    “Well, there you are! She needs supervision! Haven’t you at least got some respectable female relative who could look after her for the Season and—well, if the worst comes to the worst, take care of her and your mother? –What are you looking at me like that for?”

    “A’ailh’sa isn’t going anywhere this Season, I thought I’d made that quite clear?” he drawled, raising his eyebrows. “Or perhaps that was before you got here. No, old fellow, the Lady A’ailh’sa Mk-L’ster will spend a quiet spring right here. If necessary, locked in the cellar,” he ended, very grimly indeed.

    “You can’t be that cruel to the girl!” gasped R’rt Fh’laiin.

    “She's a spoilt, wilful child who’s been used all her life to having her own way. If she doesn’t get it she loses her temper and hits out with the first thing that'll hurt. Do you want to gamble all our lives and the future of Old Rthfrdia on the chance that for the first time in her life she’ll restrain herself?”

    “I— No,” he said. The narrow nostrils flared and his jaw muscles hardened.

    “No,” agreed Drouwh heavily. “I’ll bring in a receiver, she can watch the Services. –Have you ever seen the Feddo Romance Services? They’re even worse than the local kna shit. When we took her to Friyria she was permo-gelled to the cursed things!”

    “Um, no, I’ve never seen the Romance Services at all,” he said weakly.

    Drouwh eyed him mockingly. “No, well, you’d have no need to, never having had to monitor your little sister’s viewing habits.”

    “Look, I’m sorry, Drouwh, I’ve been poking my nose in—”

    “No,” said Drouwh with a sigh. “You’re right. I’ve had too much on my plate, and I suppose I've put poor A’ailh’sa last."

    “Yes. –Well,” he said on a rallying note, “the greater good, eh?”

    “What? Oh, two galaxies, yes!” said Drouwh with a hard laugh. “The greater good, indeed!"