I'm sitting across from a very giggly girl, cleaning up snap-beans and listening to her life story.

Well, finish your task, and then come out an front. It will be dark soon, and I want to keep an eye on our friends here, and see what they do. I'll need your help.

Domenic had almost emptied the basket by now, and there was a large pile of cleaned and broken beans on the table in front of him. He was needed-how gratifying! It occurred to him briefly that he had never felt particularly needed before, and then he wondered what they were going to do about supper. He chided himself for letting his belly get in the way of his good sense. Eating was not that important, was it?

"I'd better go see if my uncle is looking for me," he told Dorcas.

"Take the rest of that piece of bread with you. It should hold you until we start serving."

"Thanks. It was fun."

"You wouldn't say that if you have to clean beans six days out of ten during the season. I am always glad when they are done, all put up in crocks for winter." Dorcas seemed a little disappointed at his departure. "Will I see you at the show?"

"Probably," he replied vaguely. The last thing he needed was some girl hanging around. Now, if it were Alanna, it would be different. She might be high-strung, but she was not silly, and she never giggled!

He went through the rather dark corridor from the kitchen to the front of the inn, and was so intent on his movements that he nearly ran into the broad chest of Duncan Lindir, standing in the shadows. The old Guardsman gave him a startled look, a quick nod, and a slight grin.

"What's going on? Has my father sent the entire barracks up here?" he hissed to the man.

Duncan shook his head. "There's ten of us, that Dom Danilo ordered to come here. We started out right after midday, and rode much too hard for these old bones," he grumbled. "I don't know what is going on. All Dom Danilo said was that Dom Aldaran would tell us what to do-never thought I'd find myself answering to an Aldaran. And what are you doing here?"

"It's too complicated to explain now. Just keep your eyes and ears open."

"For what?"

Domenic hesitated for a moment. If Uncle Danilo had not informed the man of a plot to try to assassinate Mikhail Hastur, then he should not say anything, should he? Still, he could sense both curiosity and some bewilderment from Duncan, and it needed to be satisfied. "There are some Terranan here, and we believe they are going to cause trouble. Keep an eye on a big man with very new boots and short brown hair. He's in the taproom just now. I think, sitting with a ratty-faced man. There may be more-I don't know yet."

"Dom Domenic . . ."

"Don't call me that! I'm Tomas MacAnndra, and Hermes is Ian MacAnndra-and you never saw me before in your life! I am going into the taproom now, and I'll sit down with Herm, so then you will know who he is."

"Then I guess I don't know your name," Duncan replied, forgetting his aching bones and grumbling. His eyes startled to twinkle with great good humor. "Good thought-since I never set eyes on the man. What have you gotten yourself into, lad?"

Nico did not reply, but just left the corridor and walked toward the front of the inn. The noise from the taproom was tremendous, many male voices discussing the weather, the corn crop, the news of the death of Regis Hastur, and other matters. There were a few female voices as well, and he recognized Rafaella's before he came to the doorway.

Herm saw him and waved him over. Then he gestured to the serving boy and signaled for a short mug for Domenic. By the time Nico reached the table, the boy had brought the beer, and he settled down on the bench beside Herm and picked it up.

I bumped into Duncan Lindir in the hall, and he told me that Danilo Ardais has sent ten men up here, without any instructions except to obey your orders. He was not exactly pleased at having to answer to an Aldaran, so do not be surprised of you are greeted with some coolness, Uncle. I don't know why he did not tell them more, or why they were sent.

I don't know either, but I am not sorry that they have come. Hmm. If they were not told about the plot against your father, it was likely so that they would not inadvertently reveal it to anyone else. "What have you been up to, nephew?"

Duncan was not expecting to find me here, and was surprised, so I think you are probably right. "I went to the kitchens and got something to eat," Nico answered, holding up the remnants of the bread. "And I helped with the preparations, too."

"Your mother would be proud of you, lending a hand." Is there any reason for Danilo to play things close to his chest?

Umm. Well, Cisco Ridenow, the Commandant of the Barracks, is not exactly one of Father's friends. He would have preferred it if Uncle Rafael had taken the job, when it came vacant three years ago, but Regis decided against it, because of Gisela and all. Uncle Rafael isn't entirely trusted, which I think must hurt him dreadfully. I wasn't really paying attention, since I was at Arilinn then, and by the time I came back, Cisco was already in charge.

What sort of man is he, Nico?

I think I would call him smooth. He is an empath, like many of the Ridenow, but he is good on military matters. I learned a lot from him, about how to look at a building and find its weak points, for instance. I have always found him to be fair, but there is just something about him that is very remote.

What do you mean by smooth?

Well, there is something about him that I don't really like, and I can barely explain it. Nothing bad, but he is as slick as a glass ball-nothing seems to cling to him. I guess the most I can say is that I wouldn't completely trust him to back me up in a fight. Or maybe I just don't like him because his father was always fighting with Regis, and will probably make everything more difficult in Council. My judgment may be prejudiced, Uncle.

At least you have the wisdom to realize that you might dislike Cisco for no other reason than that his father was an adversary of Regis. There are a lot of people three times your age who would not be able to make such a distinction. What is the general feeling about Cisco in the barracks?

I don't know-it would have been impolite to ask, wouldn't it? I haven't overheard any real grumbling, though. As I said, he seems to be fair, but very . . . remote.

I see. I wish you were a little nosier, Nico. It would have been useful of you knew more. Still, the fact that Dando Ardais is sending men up here with only a minimum of instruction is very suggestive.

Of what?

Something clandestine. Wouldn't Cisco be aware of these men being ordered to Carcosa?

No, he wouldn't. Those I spotted are retired from active duty, and only would be called for of there was a real need for trained men.

I see. Is Cisco trusted by Danilo Ardais?

I suppose so-but Danilo is so deep and cunning that I would never guess if he weren't. He's never done anything that I know about that would make anyone actively mistrust him. I think it is only that Francisco Ridenow, his father, is practically in Grandmother Javanne's pocket, and has opposed Regis for years now. I think giving Cisco the Commandant's position was intended to mollify Dom Ridenow-but it didn't work. He is just as bone-headed as he always was. And it's only natural that Danilo would assume that anything Cisco found out would come to his father's ears very quickly.

And do you believe that?

I'm not sure, Uncle. It seems to me that Cisco keeps his own counsel most of the time-that he doesn't trust anyone too far. And he might not trust his father very much either.

Why?

When Francisco was younger, the Ridenow Domain had several men who could have claimed it-two older brothers, and an uncle. They all came to grief, and a lot of people think that Francisco had a hand in their untimely deaths. Who knows if it's true or not.

I had almost forgotten how complex Darkovan alliances could become. They make the backroom dealing of the Federation look like a picnic in the park.

Domenic had never seen a park or been on a picnic, so he shrugged his shoulders and sipped his beer. I described the man with Vancof, and told Duncan to keep an eye on them if they leave the taproom. Was that the right thing to do?

Yes. Now, let's go eat something, since I think this might be a very long night for us.

When Herm and Nico came out of the inn an hour later, it was already dark, and the smallest moon, Mormallor, had risen. The smell of the night air was fresh, but heavy with the threat of rain, and it did not entirely conceal the pungent scent of the nearby stables and hen runs. This, added to the powerful scent of the growing number of people crowded into the courtyard was rather overwhelming at first. Then his nose stopped protesting, and he forgot about it.

Nico looked around with interest. He saw that torches had been set in stanchions around the broad courtyard of the Crowing Cock, and the wagons of the Travelers looked much better in that light than in the glare of day. The shabby paintings on the sides of the wains seemed prettier, and the worn costumes of the performers looked finer. He watched a fire eater stuff what seemed to be burning brands into his throat, and wondered how the trick was accomplished. Overhead, a slack rope had been drawn from the stables to one outjutting portion of the roof of the inn, and a slender female was just setting her comely foot on it, testing it for her acrobatics.

Half the town had turned out for the entertainment, and there was a great deal of noise. A juggler began to toss lighted torches into the air, and the crowd cheered, then jeered when he dropped one. The man, who had a comical face, just grinned and continued to perform. Everyone seemed to be talking at once, continuing discussions begun in the taproom, and a general air of anticipation ran through the crowd. Most of the people wore cloaks and capes, although the evening was not particularly cold yet, so the hoods were pushed back. The earlier wind had died away, and it was calm and almost pleasantly cool.

Domenic spotted the rest of the men whom Danilo had sent, mingling in the crowd. In spite of their ordinary clothing, they still seemed to him to be obviously Guardsmen, from the straightness of their backs and the alert way they watched the crowd. Still, he suspected that no one else would catch on immediately. And even though he almost resented their presence, part of him was very glad they were there. He also noticed the man who had ridden in during the afternoon, standing in a corner where the stables were connected to the wall of the inn and keeping an eye on everything. The entire scene began to take on a fantastic aspect to his eyes, as if the townspeople and the Travelers were a backdrop for a play which had not yet begun.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and swept the crowd with his mind, as his mother had taught him to do a few months earlier. It was a dizzying experience, with such a large number, but he was getting better at it. He sensed Rafaella, standing about ten feet away from him, keeping an eye on him as if he were her own child, and the other Renuciates scattered through the throng. From the Guardsmen he received the impression of puzzlement and a little worry, and realized that they were feeling more than a little resentment at their lack of directions. It was a shame that none of them had laran, and that the only way he could communicate with them was by using the Alton Gift.

Nico shifted his attention back to the Terranan, who was doing a reasonable job of fading into the crowd. He, too, was puzzled and annoyed, and waiting for something as well. Why did he keep looking up at the sky? And why was he looking to the north, toward the mountains, instead of toward Thendara and the spaceport.

He leaned his head back and scanned the dark sky, seeing a few bright stars poking through the light overcast that was moving slowly in from the west. In his present heightened state of awareness, he felt the earth beneath his feet and the movement of the clouds above him. There was a strong if brief temptation to let himself fall into a light trance, to listen to the planet itself, but he resisted it. Instead, he sniffed the air and guessed how long it would be before the rain arrived. Not long, he decided. The clouds were moving faster than when he had wakened from his nap, driven by a wind high up in the atmosphere. Then he returned his attention to the nameless spy hovering at the edge of the throng, turning so as to be able to observe him without being obvious.

Uncle Herm.

What is it?

The Terran man keeps looking north, at the sky, as if he is expecting to see something fly overhead. That's the wrong direction for Thendara and the spaceport. There is nothing that way except . . .

The Domains of the Aldaran and Ardais, as well as the estates of the Storn. And none of them have any Federation technology except my father. You need not try to spare my feelings, Nico. I'm just pleased that you are so observant, and are using your head.

Regis was always a little anxious about the number of Terranan in Aldaran territory, but since we managed to get your Domain back onto the Council, he thought it was taken care of. Your brother Robert is a good man.

My father, however, is another thing altogether. I know. It is one reason I jumped at the chance to leave Darkover when it was offered to me, to get away from him. There is no love lost between us, and I would not put anything past him.

But, Herm, surely he would not help the Federation kill my father!

I would not have thought so, but don't forget I have not seen him in nearly a quarter of a century. He might see it as a chance to further his own ambitions. I can't speculate, but I confess I have a very bad feeling about it. Do you have any idea how many Terranan are in the Aldaran Domain?

Several hundred, for certain.

And how many of those are soldiers and Marines?

That I could not say. I have always had the impression that most of them were technical folk.

We have been assuming that any attack would originate at the spaceport in Thendara, and we have overlooked the possibility that combat-ready men might be flown down from the Hellers. As soon as the performance is finished, you should get in touch with Lew and inform him of this possibility. This whole matter might be much more complex than we thought at first.

That is not a happy thought.

No, it isn't.

Domenic saw the side of the puppet van lower down on strong ropes, and the crowd began to press toward it, cutting off his view. He slipped through the people, using his still relatively short stature to advantage, and managed to elbow his way into the front of the throng. An enchanting vision was painted on a sheet of canvas, a vista of turreted castles and in the center, a very tall but recognizable Tower surrounded by a field of blue kireseth flowers. After a moment, a red-clad figure on strings began to cross the small stage. It was supposed to be a Keeper, obviously, but while the face was concealed beneath a veil, the skirts of the robe were indecently brief, revealing a pair of comely limbs sewn from some soft textile. He was not sure whether to be amused or scandalized.

The Keeper began to speak, and he recognized the voice of the red-haired girl, Illona Rider. What she declared made Domenic's ears turn red, and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. A young woman had no business saying things like that, especially one who seemed as nice as Illona! And they would never have dared perform such a play at Arilinn or any other Tower. He began to understand now why Regis had restricted the Travelers from frequent visits to Thendara.

Herm was standing just behind him now, with a hand on Domenic's shoulder. He could sense the Aldaran man's startlement and displeasure, and felt a little less upset. It was not that he was being a prig. What the puppet was voicing was disgraceful. Worse, the people in the crowd were laughing noisily and offering a few ripe comments of their own. He sensed a general feeling that the townspeople did not hold the Towers in great esteem, which was strange and puzzling to him.

Another puppet joined the Keeper on the stage, and they indulged in a verbal display of punning that had the crowd roaring with approval. He listened, wondering how Illona managed to create two such distinct voices, and then began to really pay attention to the wordplay. It was more than naughty, and came close to obscene. He saw a village woman nearby grab a young girl and haul her back into the throng, her face outraged. Around him others began to rustle with discomfort, and he saw that a few people were leaving the courtyard, casting glances over their shoulders as they hastened into the narrow street beyond the inn. They had clearly lost their taste for the entertainment.

Is this a typical thing, Nico?

I don't know. I saw the Travelers twice at Arilinn, but they never did anything like this. It is bad, isn't it? Hmm. Illona told me that a man called Mathias joined the troupe who has been writing some pieces for the players that she appeared to find . . . unseemly.

It is much worse than unseemly-it is subversive. It is one thing to make a little fun of an institution, but this goes far beyond that. If this is what the Travelers have been doing in the towns and villages, I am only surprised that they have been allowed to continue at all. All this stuff about keeping the common folk in their places, and taking their grain . . . is bound to whip up resentment. This is not my idea of amusement, and it isn't playing well with the crowd either. Who is that supposed to be?

A third puppet had entered, a male figure in fine but tawdry garments, wearing a two-pointed fool's hat with a wobbly crown around the it at the brow. The puppet was poorly made, and he had the impression that it had been constructed in haste, for it was not of the quality of the other two. It had a dissipated face, and legs that managed to mince in a very unmanly way. Domenic felt a rush of anger as he watched, for although the face of the figure was crudely carved and sewn, there was no mistaking the white hair beneath the hat. It could only have been intended to be Regis Hastur, and he was stunned and outraged at the same time.

Nico lowered his eyes and stared at the bare head of an urchin just in front of him, wondering what the little boy was thinking of what he saw. He probably didn't understand half of it, because the child seemed puzzled and restless. He did not want to watch the movement of the puppets any longer, and wished he were a hundred miles away.

Around him, Domenic could feel the crowd shift back and forth. The cheerful mood that had been present a few minutes before was gone, and there were mutters. In a few seconds, these turned to cries of outrage. Apparently, making fun at the expense of an imaginary Keeper was all right, but insulting the ruler of Darkover was not.

When he looked up, he knew that the puppeteers did not realize what was happening outside their wagon. The crowd was becoming very angry. It was all happening so quickly that the manipulators did not suspect a thing. In a sudden movement, half a dozen burly men, a little the worse for drink perhaps, rushed clumsily forward. One grabbed the offensive doll and yanked it hard. The strings snapped.

This action set off the rest of the audience. In a second there were twenty furious men around the wagon, and one pulled open the door at the end of it and climbed inside. Others tore at the painted screen, or the remaining figures, and the uproar spread through the crowd. The townspeople turned on the Travelers in a fury, seizing the innocent juggler and anyone else dressed in motley, and half a dozen fist fights broke out across the courtyard.

The man hauled a screaming, red-faced Illona out of the wagon, and slapped her hard across the face. Another man tried to pull the girl away from him, and the shouting between them degenerated into yet another fight. Two village constables tried to keep order, but there were too many fights going on for them to contain the fury of the mob, which was now howling for blood, without much concern as to whose was spilled.

Domenic took advantage of his size and darted between several infuriated men. Then he grabbed Mona's hand and yanked her toward him. She tried to snatch it back until she realized he was a rescuer, and not an enemy. "Come on," he shouted. "You are going to get hurt."

Illona glanced back, her eyes wide with terror, and then they dashed away, through the gates of the courtyard and into the dim light beyond it. She gave a short, sharp cry of pain, and he paused. It was then that he realized that she wore no shoes, and had stubbed her toe on a rock. All she was wearing was her undershift and drawers. He could just make out the rise and fall of small breasts beneath the thin fabric, as she gasped short, fearful breaths.

For a moment, he was too stunned to move. She just stood beside him, panting and frightened. Then Domenic whipped his cloak off his shoulders and wrapped it around her. A moment later Rafaella emerged from the darkness, and he realized that it had only been seconds since he dragged Mona away. He had never been so glad to see the Renunciate in his life.

The fracas began to spill out of the courtyard, and Rafaella seized both of them by the shoulders and herded them around toward the back of the building. The racket decreased as they went farther away, and the Renunciate drew them into a nest of shadows and halted. "I think it is better if we stay out of sight until things calm down a bit," she said, her voice shaking a little. "How could you have done such a thing, girl?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your logic is impeccable, but your premises are false."

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

I have to get away and tell Aunt Loret and the others!

"And who are you a spy for, Illona?"

"Me?" she squeaked, astounded.

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

An expression of confusion came into Illona's face. "People . . . like Mathias, I guess. When?"