A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows Page 20

  guide Vymezal to her, depending on what was decided. Flandry favored the

  latter course--the voivode only, and a secret word to the Gospodar.

  He must spell out his reasons for that at length. Finally the Dennitzan

  nodded. "Aye," he growled. "I hate to keep the tidings from her mother

  ... from all who love her ... but if she truly is witness to a

  galaxy-sized trick played on us--we'll need care, oh, very great

  care"--he clapped hand on sidearm--"till we're ready to kill those

  vermin."

  "Then you agree Zorkagrad, the planet's government and armed service,

  must be infested with them?"

  "Yes." Vymezal gnawed his mustache. "If things are as you say--you

  realize I'll see Kossara first, out of your earshot, Captain--but I've

  small doubt you're honest. The story meshes too well with too much else.

  Why is our crisis hanging fire? Why--Ha, no more gabble. Tomorrow dawn

  I'll send ... him, yes, Milosh Tesar, he's trusty, quick of wit and slow

  of mouth--I'll send him on a 'family matter' as you suggest. Let me see

  ... my wife's dowry includes property wherein her brother also has an

  interest--something like that."

  "Kossara will have to lie low," Flandry reminded. "Me too. You can call

  me an Imperial officer who stopped off on his liberty to give you a

  minor message. Nobody will think or talk much about that. But you'd

  better squirrel me away."

  " 'Squirrel'?" Vymezal dismissed the question. "I understand. Well, I've

  a cabin in the Northrim, stocked and equipped for times when I want to

  be unpestered a while. Includes a car. Ill flit you there, telling the

  household I'm lending it to you. They can't see us land at Kossara's

  hideout, can they?"

  "No. We foresaw--" Flandry stopped, aware of how intent the stare was

  upon him. "Sir, I've told you she and I aim to get married."

  "And aren't yet--and nobody wants a hedge-wedding, not I myself when I

  don't know you." The voivode sketched a grin. "Thanks, Captain. But if

  you've told me truth, she needs a marksman more than a chaperone.

  Anyhow, whatever's between you two must already have happened or not

  happened. Come, let's go."

  XV

  --

  The year wanes rapidly on Dennitza. On the morning after Danilo Vymezal

  had shaken Flandry's hand, kissed Kossara's brow, and left them, they

  woke to frost on the windows and icy clearness outside. They spent much

  of the day scrambling around wooded steeps begun to flaunt hues that

  recalled fall upon ancient Manhome. Flocks of southbound yegyupka made

  heaven clangorous. Once they heard the cry of a vilya, and savage though

  the beast was, its voice sang wonderfully sweet. Firebush, spontaneously

  burning to ripen and scatter its seeds, spread faint pungency through

  the air. By a waterfall whose spray stung their skins with cold, they

  gathered feral walnuts. Regardless of what spun around the world beyond

  its frail blue roof, they often laughed like children.

  At dusk they returned to the log building, cooked dinner together, sated

  huge appetites, and took brandy-laced coffee to the hearth, where they

  settled down on a shaggy rug, content to let the blaze they had kindled

  light the room for them. Red flames crackled jokelets of green and blue

  and yellow, sent warmth in waves, made shadows leap. The humans looked

  at each other, at the fire, back again, and talked about their

  tomorrows.

  "--we'd better stay around the house hereafter," Flandry said. "Your

  father's man could scarcely have gotten an appointment today, but he

  should soon. Your uncle's aides can't all be traitors, assuming I'm

  right that some are. Two or three, in critical posts, are the most I'd

  guess possible. And they themselves will see no reason to stall his

  brother-in-law's personal business. In fact, that'd look too queer. So I

  expect we'll get word shortly; and Miyatovich may want us to move fast."

  Highlights crossed Kossara's face above her cheekbones, shone in eyes,

  glowed in hair. "What do you think he'll do, Dominic?"

  "Well, he's tough, smart, and experienced; he may have better ideas than

  I. But in his place, I'd manufacture an excuse to put myself somewhere

  more or less impregnable. Like your Nova-class warship; she's the

  biggest around, Dennitzan or Imperial, and the pride of your fleet damn

  well ought to have a solidly loyal crew. I'd get the most important

  persons, including us, there with me. And, oh, yes, a copy of the

  microfiles on everybody who might be involved in the plot, Imperial

  officers and locals who've worked themselves close to the Gospodar's

  hand in the past several years. A clever, widely traveled captain of

  Naval Intelligence, such as--ahem--could help me get a shrewd notion of

  whom to suspect. I'd order fleet dispositions modified accordingly,

  again on an unalarming pretext. When this was done, I'd have the

  appropriate arrests made, then broadcast a 'hold everything' to the

  populace, then wait on the qui vive to see what the interrogators dig

  out."

  Memory made Kossara wince. Flandry laid an arm about her shoulder.

  "We've a stiff way yet to go," he said, "but we should be home safe by

  blossom time."

  She thawed, flowed into his embrace, and whispered, "Thanks to you."

  "No, you. If you'd lacked courage to visit Diomedes, the strength to

  stay sane and fight on--Why quibble? We're both magnificent. The species

  has need of our chromosomes."

  "Lots and lots of fat babies," she agreed. "But do you mean it about

  spring ... we may have to wait that long?"

  "I hope not. The creaking sound you hear is my gentlemanliness. I'm

  sitting on its safety valve, which is blistering hot."

  She touched a corner of his smile. Her own look became wholly serious.

  "Are your jests always armor?" The question trembled. "Dominic, we may

  not live till spring."

  "We'll take no chances, heart of mine. None. I plan for us to scandalize

  our respectable grandchildren."

  "We'll have to take chances." She drew breath. "I can't become pregnant

  till my immunity treatment's reversed. Tonight--We'll not deceive Father

  and Mother. The first chaplain we find can marry us."

  "But, uh, your cathedral wedding--"

  "I've come to see how little it matters, how little the universe does,

  next to having you while I can. Tonight, Dominic. Now."

  He seized her to him.

  A flash went blue-white in the front windows.

  They sprang up. The light had not been blinding, but they knew its

  color.

  Flandry flung the door wide and himself out onto the porch. Cold poured

  over him, sharp liquid in his nostrils. Stars glinted countless. Between

  shadow-masses that were trees, he saw the craterside shelve away

  downward into the murk which brimmed its bowl. Distance-dwindled, a

  fireball yonder lifted and faded. The cloud pillar following appeared

  against a constellation just as the thunder rumbled faintly in his

  skull.

  "That was home," Kossara said out of numbness.

  "A tactical nuke, doubtless fired from an aircraft," responded a machine

  withi
n Flandry.

  The danger to her flogged him aware. He grabbed her arm. "Inside!" She

  staggered after him. He slammed the door and drew her against his

  breast. She clung, beginning to shudder.

  "My love, my love, my love, we've got to get away from here," he said in

  a frantic chant. "They must have been after us."

  "After you--" She tautened, freed herself, snapped at steadiness and

  caught it. Her eyes gleamed steel-dry.

  "Yes. But we'll take a few minutes to pack. Food, clothes, weapons."

  Defiant, he also tried phoning the manor. Emptiness hummed reply. They

  trotted to the shed where the car was, stowed survival gear within,

  trotted back for more, boarded.

  The cabin tumbled from sight. Flandry swept radar around the

  encompassing darkness. Nothing registered. A traffic safety unit wasn't

  much use here, of course, but at least this bubble carrying them had a

  prayer of crawling to safety before the military vessel that did the

  murder could find it.

  If--"Wait a second," Flandry said.

  "What?" Kossara asked dully.

  He glanced at her, dim in star-glow and wanness off the control panel.

  She sat hunched into her parka, staring ahead through the canopy. The

  heater had not yet taken hold and the chill here was no honest outside

  freeze, but dank. Air muttered around the car body.

  He dropped near treetop level and activated the optical amplifier. Its

  screen showed the wilderness as a gray jumble, above which he zigzagged

  in search of a secure hiding place. Though belike they had no immediate

  need of any--"I'll take for granted we were a principal target," he

  said, quick and toneless. "Snatching us from the household would be too

  revealing. But if the killers knew where we were, why not come directly

  to our lodge? If they even suspected we might be there, why not try it

  first? My guess is, they don't know it exists. However, we're safer in

  motion regardless."

  She bit a knuckle till blood came forth, before she could say:

  "Everybody died on our account?"

  "No, I think not. Your father, at least, had to be gotten rid of, since

  he knew the truth. And there was no being sure he hadn't told somebody

  else. I dare hope the enemy thinks we went out with him."

  "How did they learn, Dominic?" Through the curbed hardness of her voice,

  he sensed dread. "Is Aycharaych in Zorkagrad?"

  "Conceivable." Flandry's words fell one by one. "But not probable.

  Remember, we did consider the possibility. If we were to land on the

  taiga, Chives must proceed to the spaceport, simply to maintain our

  fiction. Wearing his mindscreen would make him overly conspicuous.

  Anyhow, Aycharaych wouldn't fail to check on each newcomer, and he knows

  both Chives and Hooligan by sight. I decided the odds were he went to

  Dennitza from Diomedes, but having made sure the mischief he'd started

  was proceeding along the lines he wanted, didn't linger. He's no coward,

  but he knows he's too valuable to risk in a merely warlike action--which

  this affair has to bring, and soon, or else his efforts have gone for

  naught. My guess was, he's hanging around Zoria in a wide orbit known

  only to a few of his most trusted chessmen,"

  "Yes, I remember now. Talk on. Please, Dominic. I have to be nothing

  except practical for a while, or I'll fall apart."

  "Me too. Well, I still believe my assessment was confirmed when we made

  such trouble-free contact with your father. Chives had been in Zorkagrad

  for days. Aycharaych would have found him, read him, and prepared a trap

  to spring on us the minute we arrived. Anything else would have been an

  unnecessary gamble." Bleakness softened: "You know, I went into the

  manor house using every psychotrick they ever drilled into me to keep my

  knowledge of where you were out of conscious thought, and ready to

  swallow the old poison pill on the spot should matters go awry."

  "What?" She turned her head toward him. "Why, you ... you told me to

  leave the rendezvous if you didn't return by sunset--but--Oh, Dominic,

  no!"

  Then she did weep. He comforted her as best he could. Meanwhile he found

  a place to stop, a grove on the rim beneath which he could taxi and be

  sheltered from the sky.

  She gasped back to self-mastery and bade him tell her the rest of his

  thoughts. "I feel certain what caused the attack tonight was the capture

  of your father's courier," he said. "He must have been interrogated

  hastily. Aycharaych would have found out about our cabin, whether or not

  your father explicitly told his man. But a quick narcoquiz by

  nontelepaths--" He scowled into murk. "The problem is, what made the

  enemy suspicious of him? He wasn't carrying any written message, and his

  cover story was plausible. Unless--"

  He leaned forward, snapped a switch. "Let's try for news."

  "The next regular 'cast is in about half an hour," Kossara said in a

  tiny voice, "if that hasn't changed too."

  He tuned in the station she named. Ballet dancers moved to cruelly happy

  music. He held her close and murmured.

  A woman's countenance threw the program out. Terror distorted it.

  "Attention!" she screeched. "Special broadcast! Emergency! We have just

  received word from a spokesman of the Zamok--officers of the Imperial

  Navy have arrested Gospodar Miyatovich for high treason. Citizens are

  required to remain calm and orderly. Those who disobey can be shot. And

  ... and weather satellites report a nuclear explosion in the Dubina

  Dolyina area--neighborhood of the voivode's residence--attempts to phone

  there have failed. The voivode was, is ... the Gospodar's brother-in-law

  ... No announcement about whether he was trying to rebel or--Stay calm!

  Don't move till we know more! Ex-except ... the city police office just

  called in--blast shelters will be open to those who wish to enter. I

  repeat, blast shelters will be open--"

  Repetition raved on for minutes. Beneath it, Flandry snarled, "If ever

  they hope to provoke their war, they've reckoned this is their last and

  maybe their best chance."

  The newsroom vanished. "Important recorded announcement," said a man in

  Dennitzan uniform. "A dangerous agent of Merseia is at large in

  Zorkagrad or vicinity." What must be a portrait from some xenological

  archive, since it was not of Chives, flashed onto the screen. "He landed

  eight days ago, posing as a peaceful traveler. Four days ago" (the

  computer must redub every 18.8 hours) "he was identified, but fought his

  way free of arrest and disappeared. He is of this species, generally

  known as Shalmuan. When last seen he wore a white kilt and had taken a

  blaster from a patrolman after injuring the entire squad. I repeat, your

  government identifies him as a Merseian secret agent, extremely

  dangerous because of his mission as well as his person. If you see him,

  do not take risks. Above all, do not try talking with him. If he cannot

  safely be killed, report the sighting to your nearest military post. A

  reward of 10,000 gold dinars is offered for information leading to his

  death or capture. Dead or alive, he himself is worth a
reward of

  50,000--"

  Air hissed between Kossara's teeth. Flandry sat moveless for minutes

  before he said stonily, "That's how. Somebody, in some fashion,

  recognized Chives. That meant I was around, and most likely you. That

  meant--any contact between your family and the Gospodar--yes."

  Kossara wept anew, in sorrow and in rage.

  Yet at the end it was she who lifted her head and said, hoarse but

  level-toned, "I've thought of where we might go, Dominic, and what we

  might try to do."

  XVI

  ---

  Clouds and a loud raw wind had blown in across the ocean. Morning along

  the Obala, the east coast of Rodna, was winterlike, sky the color of

  lead, sea the colors of iron and gunmetal. But neither sky nor sea was

  quiet. Beneath the overcast a thin smoky wrack went flying; surf

  cannonaded and exploded on reefs and beaches.

  All Nanteiwon boats were in, big solid hulls moored behind the jetty or

  tied at the wharf. Above the dunes the fisher village huddled. Each

  house was long and wide as an ychan family needed, timbers tarred black,

  pillars that upheld the porch carved and brightly painted with ancestral

  symbols, blue-begrown sod roof cable-anchored against hurricanes, a

  spacious and sturdy sight. But there were not many houses. Beyond them

  reached the flatlands the dwellers cultivated, fields harvested bare and

  brown, trees a-toss by roadsides, on the horizon a vague darkening which

  betokened the ringwall of the Kazan. The air smelled of salt and

  distances.

  Inside the home of Ywodh were warmth, sun-imitating fluorescents, musky