"Pah-you say that to all the innkeepers, mestra. Welcome to the Crowing Cock," Evan said pleasantly, and reached out to shake Herm's hand without any hint of a bow. Then he ushered them inside.

The entry room had whitewashed stone walls, a flagged stone floor, and dark beams overhead. It smelled of roasting fowl, woodsmoke, and beer, plus the sweaty essence of the mule drivers who had arrived earlier. He could hear voices from a room to one side. They were a noisy lot, but he rather liked the racket they made, and was disappointed when Evan showed them into the room on the far side.

A roaring fire lit a chamber with long tables in it. The walls here were paneled with dark wood, polished so much they gleamed in the reflected light of the fire. He glanced at the stone floor, then up at the beams overhead, and found that they were carved and painted with bright designs. On the mantle he spotted a collection of roosters, made of wood and stone and pottery. They struck him as amusing, and he smiled.

Evan noticed his fascination with the figures. "Do you like our cocks?"

"I have never seen anything like them," Nico answered, wondering uneasily if he had made some sort of mistake by displaying his interest.

"An idea of my wife's. She started with one-that large fellow with the red glaze-that she found in Thendara, and then she began asking our frequent guests to look for others. So, often, some merchant or wagoneer will arrive and present her with a new one. We have cocks from the Dry Towns, and two from up in Ardais country. And this wee one here is a gift from Rafaella." He pointed to a very small rooster made of some green stone.

"They are wonderful," Nico answered.

"She'll be tickled that you like them. I'll be sure to tell her when she gets back-her sister is ailing, and she has gone off to take care of her."

Herm had already sat down at one of the tables, and a serving boy put a large mug of beer in front of him without being asked. Across from him, Rafaella was sitting down, so Nico decided he should join them. The warmth of the fireplace was pleasant after the chilly morning's ride, and he realized he was very hungry.

A girl brought in wooden trenchers and napkins of coarse linen, and another followed her with a platter of roasted birds. He watched Herm dig out his belt knife, spear a whole fowl onto his platter, and begin to tear it apart with his strong hands. He picked up a leg and started to eat, and Nico imitated him.

It was wonderfully messy. Grease slimed his fingers and ran down his chin. And the taste was different than what he was accustomed to. The cook had put some herbs on the skin of the bird that he was unfamiliar with, something very spicy. Nico slurped at the smaller mug of beer the boy put down in front of him, and grinned. Accustomed as he was to more formal dining, he found the whole experience delightful. When a bowl of boiled grain with several wooden spoons in it appeared, he helped himself to a serving, using the spoon he served with to eat, copying Rafaella's manners carefully. A basket of hot rolls was served, and he speared one with his knife.

Rafaella was watching him from beneath her lashes, hiding a smile, which was difficult with her generous mouth. "Good, isn't it?"

"Delicious!"

"Evan MacHaworth's birds are known the length of the old North Road. And his fowl pies are famous. I have even heard that cooks from Thendara have come up and tried to steal the recipe."

"That doesn't surprise me," Herm muttered, speaking with his mouth half full.

The rest of the Renunciates had seated themselves at the other end of the table and were eating and talking quietly. Nico heard their voices, and those of the now somewhat rowdy muleteers across the hall, and felt replete and content. Not to mention greasier than he had ever been in his life. He wiped his hands and mouth on the rough napkin, then cleaned his knife and put it away.

Beside him, he could sense Herm's weariness. Are you well, Uncle?

Oh, yes, but I have gotten quite soft over the years. I am not used to sleeping on the ground, or riding for several hours. My legs ache, and I have a stitch in my back. But the beer seems to be helping.

Satisfied, Nico relaxed. Are we going to go on, or wait for the Travelers?

A good question, Nico. I had not thought about it yet-I confess I do not have a real plan, but am improvising as we go along. Clever of your mother to have sent these Renunciates-they are a good cover. I think we will remain, since you believe the Travelers will perform here tonight. They should catch up with us in an hour or so.

You could tell Aunt Rafi that you are tired, or that you think your horse is going a bit lame. Then our remaining here would not arouse any interest. And you could take a bath-I am sure the inn has one.

You are a genius! Just what my poor back needs is a long soak.

Your hands and face, too-you are gleaming with fat!

Disrespectful imp! You are a grubby sight yourself!

No one had ever called Domenic either an imp or grubby before, and he decided he liked it. Herm was not like the other adults he knew, not so grown up and serious. Even Grandfather Lew, whom he adored, and who had a good sense of humor, was always thinking about terribly important matters. And no one except Lew had ever really teased him. He could not decide if it was because he was too serious himself, or whether it was his status that prevented such comfortable exchanges. He envied Amaury, having Herm as a father. As much as he loved Mikhail and respected him, there was always a kind of distance between them, as if his father were afraid to get too close to his eldest child. He was his mother's son more than his father's, and Rory, he knew, was Mikhail's delight. It had never disturbed him much. Rory was a much more amusing person than he was, especially with all his mischief, and Nico had always accepted this. But now he was the wicked one, and equal to Roderick in mischief. Domenic had a moment's deep satisfaction in this thought, even though he was sure his irrepressible little brother would think of something outrageous to do in the near future. Let him-Rory hadn't uncovered a plot against their father's life!

"I believe I have thrown my back out, Mestra Rafaella," Herm announced, bringing Domenic back to the present. "Do you think there is a good healer in the town?"

She looked startled for a moment, then seemed to grasp the intent beneath the casual words. "No need. We have our own." Rafaella gestured down the board, pointing to one of the woman. "Danila takes care of all our aches and pains. But we will stay here for the night, I think. I don't fancy having you fall ill along the road. I'll go arrange with Evan for rooms."

She rose and went out of the room, humming to herself. A few minutes later she returned with the innkeeper, all smiles. MacHaworth took them upstairs, showed them to a pleasant bedchamber. It had a large bed, a worn bureau, and a stand with a pitcher and washing bowl on it. There were heavy curtains over the narrow window, and a small hearth on one side. The room smelled of balsam and a recent cleaning. He told them where the bathing room was and left.

One of the Renunciates knocked on the door almost immediately. She had both their bedrolls in her capable hands, and Nico took them from her with a quick thank you. "When you wish, call me, and I'll come up and see about straightening your back, Mestru MacAnndra," she said. She was a big woman, with large hands, and looked quite capable of yanking a spine to rights in a trice.

They sorted out their few belongings, put things away in the drawers of the chest, and headed for the bathing room in companionable silence. Nico was pleased to discover a cabinet with thick towels, and a closet with several heavy robes hanging in it. He undressed and wriggled his toes against the planked floor of the room. Then he got into the steaming communal tub and ducked down under the water.

Herm joined him, groaning with pleasure. "I have missed this."

"Missed what? Don't the Terranan have bathrooms?"

Yes, of course they do, but nothing lake this. I think we had best not speak aloud, because while I doubt there are any Federation spies lurking an the woodwork, there are servants who might gossip, Nico. And terms like Federation and Terranan would make their ears prick up: After twenty-some years of living in a tiny, cramped apartment, and cleaning myself in a sonic shower, this is a real luxury!

But why? Domenic had no idea what a sonic shower might be, but he did not want to reveal his ignorance. A tiny apartment? This did not jibe with his impression of the Federation, gleaned from comments made by his mother and grandfather.

You cannot imagine how crowded it is on most Federation worlds, despite all attempts at population control. It is one reason they are so eager to exploit other planets. There are over eighteen billion people on Terra alone, and the strain on their resources is enormous. Water is taxed and rationed, as is everything else. A room like this would be considered an extravagance, even an the wealthiest home, and for a mere government functionary like myself, it is inconceivable. Oh, there are a few Senators who are rich enough to afford a proper bathroom, but few of them would dare to risk it.

I still don't understand, Uncle.

My, that has a wonderful sound to it, that Uncle business. It is rather difficult to explain how things are, but I will try. You see, many in the Federation insist that austerity is necessary an order for things to function. This is part of the Expansionist philosophy-that the Federation does not have enough resources to care for its citizens, and so must get more by exploiting other planets. As a result, water is rationed and taxed, food is limited and heavily taxed, although no one goes hungry. There are programs to feed the poor, and part of the taxes are used to support that. The meal I just ate would cost a whole day's wages on Terra, and would have had to feed four people, not one. If they could get anything like that delicious chicken at all.

But, what do they eat, then?

The poor exist on artificial slop that would sicken a dog, Nico. It is grown in enormous vats and smells like beer gone bad, and . . . well, I don't know what it tastes lake, because I never could make myself try it. It is nourishing enough, I suppose-it keeps them alive and reasonably healthy.

Was it always like that?

No, it wasn't. When I went to the Chamber of Deputies, before the Expansionists got back into power and the austerity policies were introduced, things were different. Water was already being rationed, but goods were less costly then, and you could afford to eat in a restaurant from time to time. It just got worse and worse. There are millions of people on Terra who cannot find jobs, and cannot earn money, and have to live on public support programs. There are waiting lists for colonists, but they have not found very many new habitable planets recently. And most of the older worlds in the Federation are in the same shape or worse. There have been food riots, and water riots-things you simply can't imagine. Last year the entire grid went down on one of the continents, and no one had any power or light for three days.

What's the grid?

The grid is a network of power stations and connections that covers the entire planet. Due to the deliberate stinginess of the Expansionists, there is said to be no money for enlarging the grid, even though everyone agrees it should be done. Thus, in recent years, the demand for energy sometimes outruns the capacity of the grid to supply it. One substation will go off-line, then another, and soon everything grinds to a halt. That means that the lifts which carry people to their homes cease to function, and since many of the buildings are more than fifty stories off the ground, there is no way to get in or out until the power comes back on. And that is just one example.

Nico scrubbed his arms with a rough cloth and considered this information. He had never longed to visit other worlds, unlike his brother who was a bit space mad. And since he had begun to think he heard Darkover in his mind, he had had no desire to leave at all. There was a part of him that felt if he ever left the soil of Darkover entirely, he would die or go insane, as if he were bound to the world itself. Although the noises that echoed in his mind made him uneasy and often fearful, there was at the same time a sense of rightness in them. True, he could not imagine why he, of all people, seemed to have this particular ability, but the longer it continued, the more accustomed to it he became. He had not entirely accepted the idea, but as Herm had told him that morning, there did not appear to be any harm in it. And Herm was the first person he had told of his strange condition-he had not even confided it to Alanna, who had shared so many of his secrets when they were younger.

But he had always imagined the planets of the Federation as being places where everyone flew about in aircars, and lived in light-filled palaces with lots of devices which provided every conceivable comfort. Somehow he had never thought that anyone was poor or lacked enjoyment, which he realized now was pretty stupid. What did those people do with their time, if they did not have jobs?

It sounds terrible! Why do they live like that? I mean, if everyone has to measure their water and are taxed for it-I don't understand that at all, Uncle-why don't they just do it differently?

A good question-one that has troubled better minds than mine. The only answer I have is that the Terrans are an love with their technology, and they truly believe that all problems can be solved with it-that and the resources of the member planets. They never consider if the idea that everything can be made right with technological advances might be an illusion. So they take the grain from one world to feed the masses of Terra, and the metals from another to build their ships, so they can continue to explore the galaxy, looking for more planets to colonize. No one has addressed the plain fact that they haven't settled a new colony in eleven years, because there hasn't been anything but worlds so marginal that no one in their right mind would agree to go there.

What's a marginal world? Domenic felt overwhelmed with the information he was learning, as well as the strange words that Herm used so casually, but he was fascinated and determined not to miss this opportunity.

Oh, one that is even colder than Darkover, or where the air is not quite breathable, or has little arable land. Thetis, where your mother grew up, is one example, and she would not recognize it if she went there now. Has she ever talked about it?

Oh, yes. I know all about the islands and the delfins. It sounds very beautiful.

It was a paradise, when Lew and Diotima lived there, Nico. Not much land, just about ten medium-sized islands and one very big one, and lots and lots of ocean.

And now? Ocean was a difficult concept for him, despite having gotten glimpses of such a thing from a few of his mother's memories, and the occasional moments when he was sure he could see the Sea of Dalerueth rolling against the shore. He had taken a ride, while he was at Arilinn, along the banks of the Valeron, and knew that if he been allowed to ride west along it, it would have ended at the sea. There had been a moment when he had wished he could do just that, ride toward the setting sun until he reached the river's terminus. Foolish, of course.

It made him rather angry that he had spent so much of his life cooped up in Comyn Castle, and was so very ignorant, but after a moment he shook the feeling off. It was not worth bothering about. He was free now, and since he might never again have the opportunity to sleep in an inn, or ride along the North Road with a band of Renunciates in search of Terranan spies, he might as well enjoy it while he could. He turned his attention back to his uncle.

They discovered a rare element they needed for weapons development about ten years ago, and started mining it from the oceanbed. Now there are no more delfins, Nico, because the sea has been poisoned, and they think in five years, most of the rest of the life in those waters will be dead, too. Worse, the cancer rate on Thetis has increased greatly, and people are dying for no more reason than that Interworld Mining was too greedy to take measures to avoid destroying the ecology. Once the plankton stop using up the carbon dioxide, the air will become unbreathable on Thetis, and in a short time the place will become uninhabitable.

Nico was puzzled over several of the terms his uncle used, but he fastened on just one. What's plankton? Mother never mentioned that.

Nico sensed Herm's gentle amusement at this question, but did not feel stupid. He felt safe with his newest uncle, and found his mild teasing to be very pleasant. He only wished he could be as comfortable with everyone as he was with Hermes Aldaran.

They are very small organisms, so small you can only see them with an optical device. Some of them are plantlike, and others are really tiny animals, but on a world without great forests of trees, like Darkover, these provide breathable air. We've had three bills in the Senate in the last three years to provide money to clean up Interworld's mess on Thetas, and two of them have been defeated as being too costly. And the last one was in committee when the legislature was dissolved, so it is dead now as well. Basically, the Federation has decided that it is not worth throwing good money away on a losing proposition, particularly when Thetis is considered an unimportant world.

It isn't unimportant to the people who live there!

No, of course it isn't. The problem is that there are a great many people who think that money is more important than anything, and that human beings are a disposable resource.

It sounds like they think that planets are disposable, too, Uncle.

"My fingers are starting to turn into prunes," Herm said aloud. "Are you clean enough now?"

"Yes, I am. I just wish I had some cleaner clothes."

"Then why don't we go out and see if there is a stall in the market and get you some new ones." We can do a bit of snooping at the same time.

"Good. I like that idea." Nico scrambled out of the tub, dripping, and stood on the planked floor, watching the droplets slip off his skin. Then he wrapped himself in a large towel and dried off. He redressed, trying not to feel too disgusted by the state of his garments. If he had known when he left that he was going to be away overnight, he would have brought a fresh shirt, at least.

"How's your back feeling, Uncle Ian?"

"Much better, thank you. I believe I will forgo Danila's ministrations for the present. She looks strong enough to snap me in half."

Nico chuckled, for indeed the large Renunciate was rather intimidating. She did not look like any healer Domenic had ever met before. Herm got his clothes back on, and they went downstairs again. It was much quieter now that the muleteers had left to continue their journey.

They stepped out into the courtyard of the inn into watery sunlight. There were thin clouds overhead, and heavier ones mounded toward the western horizon. It would rain before the next morning, but he was not weatherwise enough to guess how soon. Nico just hoped it would not prevent the Travelers from performing. He hadn't gotten to see much the previous evening, and he was looking forward to more.

Herm asked a groom about the local marketplace, and got directions. They walked away from the Crowing Cock in companionable silence, both of them relaxed from their baths and full bellies. After getting slightly lost in one of the winding streets of the town, they finally found their way to an open square, bustling with commerce. There was a glass blower near the entrance, and Nico stopped for a few minutes to watch the work. The heat from the open air oven was tremendous, and it felt good against the growing chill of the day.

They found a clothing stall, and purchased undergarments, a cheap shirt, two woolen tunics, a pair of trews for Domenic, and some things for Herm as well. It was rather exciting to him, since he had never been allowed to explore the marketplaces in Thendara, and he was disappointed when Herm said it was time to go back to the inn.

But when they arrived at the inn, the yard was blocked by the colorful wains of the Travelers, and he forgot his disappointment in having to leave the market. He saw the man called Vancof get down from the seat of the puppet wagon, and stepped quickly into Herm's shadow, to avoid being seen. Then the red-haired girl climbed down from the back of the wagon and stretched luxuriously. He hoped she would not notice him, or ask any questions if she did, for the few glimpses he had gotten of her mind told him she was quick and a bit headstrong.

The driver looked pale and pinched, and he shuffled away from the wagon, heading toward the inn. He probably wanted some beer, Nico thought, although after all the drinking he had done the previous night, the boy felt he oughtn't. The plump woman who had been arguing with him during the morning came out of the wagon and shouted at him. "You lazy good-for-nothing! Damn you for a sot!" She made a fist and shook it at him.

Vancof ignored her and vanished into the doorway of the inn. The woman looked unhappy. "Now, how am I going to manage those animals without him?" She looked around rather helplessly, since all the rest of the Travelers were busy with their own wagons and teams.

Herm took this in with a swift glance, and walked over to the angry woman. "I'm not unhandy with a mule, mestra. Perhaps I could be of assistance."

To Nico's surprise, she laughed, making her face transform from miserable and angry to quite pleasant. She must have been very pretty when she was younger, he decided. "You don't know what you are thinking of," she told Herm. "Those mules are the meanest animals on Darkover, not counting a hungry catamount. Only my driver can manage them, and he gets bitten six times out of seven." He's been nothing but trouble since he joined us, that Dirck, and I wish we had someone else. Even if he did come from Istvan's troup-they were probably glad to be rid of him.

"Well, let me give it a try. If I get bitten, then it is my own fault for not listening to you."

"No one listens to me," the woman moaned, shaking her head and setting her grizzled braids in motion. "Not my flighty niece, or anyone. I am only a woman, and almost alone in the world, except for the girl, who is more trouble than she is worth, even though she is a very good puppeteer. If only she were as good a girl as she is a string-twiddler."

"She's very young," Herm said sympathetically. Nico watched the man, and would have sworn that charm was oozing out of his freshly-bathed pores. "She will grow out of it."

"Not soon enough for me. Well, I am Loret, and I will take you up on your offer, even if I think you are crazy to make it." She was clearly persuaded by Herm's pleasantries, and Nico wondered if she was flirting with his uncle.

"Ian MacAnndra at your service, Mestra Loret." He walked away toward the animals, who were indeed an evil-looking pair of underfed mules. They snorted and brayed, and one snapped its large teeth when Herm's hand reached for the traces. The man deftly avoided the attack, and said something in a low voice. The mules pricked their ears, stamped their hooves, and shifted from side to side uneasily. Their eyes rolled mistrustfully, but they offered no further resistence, and in a few minutes Herm had successfully removed them from the long bars of wood on each side, and led them away toward the stables.

"Well, I never!" Loret looked amazed. Then she turned on the girl, who had been standing quietly, watching all of this. "Are you planning to grow roots and flowers there, Illona? Get inside and work on the costumes. It will be dark soon, and you won't be able to see well enough to sew.

"Oh, Auntie! I've been cooped up for hours!"

"No sauce, girly! You do as you are told, or there will be no supper for you."

Illona did not appear in the least frightened by this threat, and from the well-upholstered appearance of her aunt, it was probably an empty one. She just stuck out her tongue, as she had the first time Nico had seen her, and shrugged. "The dolls are fine," she muttered sulkily.

"Nonsense! The ruffle on Cassilda's costume needs mending."

"I hate sewing!"

"We all have to earn our keep. Now do as you are told."

Illona looked as if she might refuse for just a moment. Then she gave a large, dramatic sigh and started to go back to the wagon. She glanced at Nico as she went past, and her eyes widened. "Don't I know you?"

Domenic shook his head. "Not unless you saw me last night." She had only seen him in the shadows of a doorway, and his hair had been pulled back, not hanging loose beside his face as it was now, but he had the feeling that very little escaped her sharp eyes. "I watched some of the performance while I was waiting for my uncle."

"Oh. That must be it. You look very familiar."

"Maybe I just have a common face."

She giggled softly. "Hardly that." I know I didn't see him last night, but where? Oh, well, I am probably imagining things again. Still, there is something about him. "I'm Illona Rider."

"Tomas MacAnndra."

"I have to go sit in the wagon and sew," she complained.

"And you hate sewing. Are you good at it?"

"Yes, very skilled. That's why I have to do it. Aunty doesn't understand that just because you are good at something doesn't mean you enjoy it."

"Yes, that's true." He was struck by her remark, because it had never occurred to him before that having the ability to do something might be a burden instead of a gift. Then he remembered a few things his father had said about the powers that Varzil's matrix had presented him with, and decided she was probably more right than she guessed. Domenic wanted to continue talking to her, but felt hopelessly tongue-tied, at a loss for anything to say. "I never heard of any Riders before."

"There are a lot of Riders in the Travelers, Tomas-hundreds. And it is not really my name, because I don't know what that is. I mean, I am an orphan, and I was adopted by Aunt Loret when I was a very little girl." She paused, thinking about herself, wondering as she had many times who her parents were. "And she isn't bad, actually, just bossy."

Herm was returning from the stables, striding confidently across the courtyard, looking amused. Nico watched his uncle, and shifted from foot to foot, eager to continue the conversation but unsure what to say next. "It must be very exciting to travel around and perform."

"Not really, Tomas. It is very boring after a while. The performances are fun, but even they get stale. And Mathias keeps writing these new pieces, and I have to memorize them-odd sort of things, they are."