The Alton Gift (30 page)

"
Dom
Gabriel is still within," the boy said nervously. "Or so I believe."

So, the man she had just seen leaving must have been Gabriel's last case of the morning. By the look of him, the petitioner had not received the verdict he had hoped for.

She pushed the door to the office open. Gabriel looked up from the desk, where he was finishing an entry in the log book. His mouth looked tense. Deep creases marked the skin between his brows. He looked up, met her gaze, and grimaced.

"I'm glad you're here," he said. "I've never met with a pack of more insolent rascals in my life. There's no satisfying them!"

"Oh?" Marguerida said lightly, sitting on the edge of the desk. "Like the one who just left? He didn't look happy, either."

"Of course not! He, and twenty more like him, think they can come here and fill up the Council's calendar, just like that rabble last summer!

If Mikhail weren't my brother, I'd thrash him soundly for ever suggesting such a thing!"

If anyone did the thrashing, she thought, it would be Mikhail.

"Gabriel, if this work is so distasteful, you need not force yourself to do it. Surely, it was not necessary to leave Armida early for it."

"If I don't do my part, who will?" Gabriel demanded, scowling at her. "What kind of example will I be setting for the young folk? What if everyone decided to act just as he pleases, where would we be then, eh?"

"Perhaps you are right," Marguerida murmured, looking for a way to change the topic. The conversation showed every sign of escalating into an argument.

"So," she said, "what did that man want? Anything interesting?"

"Ha!" Gabriel gave a sharp bark of laughter. "That one just now— if you can believe it—wanted to
apologize
!"

"Really? Apologize for what?"

"Who knows? Who cares? To win a wager? So he could tell his sons he had a private audience with the Council?" Gabriel got to his feet. His spine popped in three places as he stretched. "I sent him packing, of course. Maybe word will get around that we consider only serious matters."

"I wonder…" Distracted, Marguerida peered down the hallway in the direction of the disappointed petitioner. She had not gotten more than a brief glimpse of him, and only the haziest
laran
impression, enough to create the disturbing notion that she had met him before.

She darted to the front door and looked up and down the street. It was no use. He was gone, and with him, that faint, fleeting trace. She was probably imagining it all. Some instinct, however, prompted her to ask a Guard to follow the petitioner and see what could be learned about him.

"I'd like to have a word with that man, if you find him."

"I'll do my best,
vat domna"

Inside, Gabriel had already put on his cloak. Marguerida settled behind the desk, picked up the pen, wrote an introductory note in her slow, careful hand, and asked the clerk to send in the next petitioner.

The great Red Sun bleared as it dipped toward the western horizon. Shadows of deep mauve and indigo folded Thendara into gloom. Even at this hour, people still thronged the streets, women muffled to their eyebrows in furs or woolen shawls, men in cloaks, uniformed Guards, street vendors and delivery men.

A thin icy rain began to fall, and the crowd thinned rapidly. Hurrying with the others, Jeram followed Liam to a walled compound. Liam pulled a rope hanging beside the wooden gate. Within the patchstone walls, a bell sounded, sonorous. Jeram glanced over his shoulder at the Guards across the street, even though they showed no interest in him.

Jeram had found Liam waiting for him outside the Administrative building. Liam had given a short, sympathetic nod when he saw Jeram's face and fallen into step with him.

"If you will tell my lord your story, you will find a far better reception," Liam had said.

Before Jeram could reply, Liam's fingers had closed around his arm, impelling him forward. "Quickly now. You're being followed."

A Guard left the steps of the Administrative building and hurried in their direction. Jeram quickened his pace, following Liam through the thickest swirl of traffic. Liam seemed to know where he was going, cutting through a series of alleys with a sureness that suggested he'd evaded pursuit many times.

They had gone to ground in a cheap tavern, one where Jeram would be surprised if any Guard got a straight answer. The owner, who clearly knew Liam, showed them to a private room upstairs.

"You'll be safe enough for a few hours," Liam had said. "I've got a few arrangements to make. I'll take you to
Dom
Francisco once it's dark."

Now Jeram heard footsteps, heeled boots most likely, behind the wall. The gate cracked open. A man peered out, his torch hissing in the rain. Liam spoke a few words in a low, urgent voice, and they were ushered inside, through a garden, and into the house beyond.

"Is this the Ridenow mansion?" Jeram asked.

"No, only a meeting place where we cannot be spied upon," Liam said.

The man with the torch led them down a corridor and into a small, beautifully furnished room. Thick wax candles set in wall sconces gave

off a honey-warm light and a fire blazed brightly in the hearth. Jeram had never been inside the house of a Darkovan aristocrat, had had no idea of the richness of texture and color, from the intricate, jewel-toned carpets underfoot to the embroidered hangings and sumptuously carved, age-darkened furniture.

Jeram had little time to examine his surroundings. The man he had come to see sat in a heavy thronelike chair, lean and saturnine, dressed in what looked like green velvet, cut away to reveal satin brocade like flashes of gold. Red glinted in his dark hair. An aura of power hung about him, power and hunger. He was by far the most dangerous-feeling man Jeram had yet encountered on Darkover.

Liam bowed. "
Vai dom
this is the man I told you about."

"I did not think any of the
Terranan
had stayed behind,"
Dom
Francisco said, using the word without a hint of insult.

"Should it surprise you that I have come to love this world and want to make my home here?" Jeram said cautiously.

"Some might question why a man would leave the Federation, with all its culture and diversity, to deliberately imprison himself on such a backward world." The Ridenow lord's eyes flickered. "But I am not such a man. Come, sit down, dry yourself by the fire. It is not a good night to be abroad."

A moment later a servant in green and gold livery brought in a folding table, placed on it a tray of food and drink, then departed. Liam took up a position just inside the door while Francisco poured out hot spiced wine for himself and Jeram. The drink was warm on Jeram's tongue, smooth all the way down.

"Liam has told me a little of your tale," Francisco said, settling back in his chair. "If I have understood correctly, I may be able to help you."

"I'm not sure where else to turn," Jeram said. "There doesn't seem to be any way to get a hearing before the Council without inside connections. I should warn you that one of the Guards followed me from the City Administrative offices. I don't know what he wanted."

"Wisely, you did not linger to find out. Yes, Liam told me that part, too. I can appreciate how frustrating this must be to you. As a Terran, you are accustomed to having certain rights and privileges. Your
democracy
, I believe. We Darkovans have a different way of doing things. Yet in the end, justice prevails." Francisco poured more wine for Jeram. "If

you would, let me hear your story from your own mouth. You were stationed with the Terran forces at Aldaran…"

Jeram hesitated, but only for a moment. Francisco already knew that he was Terran military and, undoubtedly, his part in the Battle of Old North Road. Francisco seemed like a reasonable man, willing to help him, and deserved to hear the full story.

Francisco listened gravely, without interruption. When Jeram finished, he said, "I want to be sure I have understood you correctly. You yourself witnessed Mikhail Lanart-Hastur and Marguerida Alton-Hastur use
laran
as a weapon against ordinary soldiers?"

"Yes," Jeram said, "that was what I could not remember."

"But now those memories have been restored? There is no doubt in your mind of what happened? You could not possibly be confused from a blow to the head or the aftermath of a defeat?"

"I am as certain of it as I am of my own name," Jeram said.

Francisco sat back in his immense chair, looking thoughtful. "And afterward, you say,
Domna
Marguerida and her father used the Alton Gift of forced rapport in order to erase the memory of that use of
laran
from all the surviving Terran soldiers? You are sure of this part, as well? If it comes to public testimony, is there anyone who can corroborate your story?"

"The Keeper who restored my memory knows the truth," Jeram said. He did not add that Silvana would in all likelihood refuse to leave Nevarsin Tower.

Jeram paused, not entirely comfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. "My own actions, not theirs, are the issue here. I don't intend to bring charges against anyone else, but to clear up any that remain against me personally."

Francisco frowned and made a dismissive gesture. "Whatever you have done, you are a witness to two crimes committed by members of the Comyn. Using
laran
as a weapon is a direct violation of the Compact. Everyone in the funeral train saw what happened. Since the Regent and his wife have not been charged, I can only assume that the Council was so abjectly grateful for their lives, that they have abandoned their ethical responsibilities. But the second, the suppression of your memories…"

Jeram shrugged. He had thought Lew overly fastidious on that point, before he came to understand Lew's horror of involuntary mental contact.

"You are not Darkovan," Francisco said, "but surely in the time you studied at Nevarsin, you must have become aware that the invasion of one mind by another is considered a grave offense."

"Lew and I have already discussed the matter at length. I have fully forgiven him. In the end, he did me no lasting harm."

When Francisco shook his head, Jeram went on, "I did not come to Thendara to press charges against Lew or anyone else. The poor man has suffered enough!"

"I have no intention of calling
Dom
Lewis to account," Francisco said. "He is respected and honored throughout the Domains. No one questions his service to Darkover or the terrible sacrifices he made. But
Domna
Marguerida…"

Francisco picked up his goblet and stared into its depths. "If I know any true thing about power," he said slowly, "it is that unless people are held accountable, they will repeat whatever brings them success. The first time is always the hardest, whether it is killing a man face-to-face or blasting his mind with
laran
. Marguerida has already used her Gift to invade the minds of the defeated Terran force. Given another
good cause
, she will do it again. Who then will be responsible? The perpetrator herself, or those who could have stopped her and chose not to?"

Jeram shifted in his chair, growing more disquieted by the direction of the discussion with every passing moment. The fire, which had seemed so cozy at first, was now too hot. The richness of the wall hangings and carpets, the soporific, honey-sweet smoke of the wax candles, now turned nauseating. He realized he was sweating.

"I came here for only one reason only, to clear up my own status," he said. "I'm tired of hiding, and if the Council holds me criminally liable for the ambush, I want to face those charges and be done with it."

Francisco's eyes glittered in the mingled light of candle and fire. "I do not believe the Council has any right to sit in judgment of you. Indeed, they are indebted to you, or will be… once they hear what you have to say."

"Do I understand you rightly," Jeram said, "that you will get me an audience with the Council
if I
agree to tell them about how my memories were tampered with?"

"Come now," Francisco protested good humoredly, "you make it sound like extortion. We are friends, are we not? And friends help one another."

"I don't see why you should care. The offense was not against you."

Francisco's smile did not touch his eyes. "Some crimes injure us all."

The room grew still except for the crackle of the fire and the clink as Francisco set down his goblet.

"I said before," Jeram said tightly, breaking the silence, "that's not why I'm here. As far as I'm concerned, the Battle of Old North Road is over, history. The only thing I want cleared is my own conscience. You say I'm a victim of a crime? I say it's forgiven."

Francisco chuckled, a dry humorless sound. "I have heard an old saying of your people, 'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for enough good men to do nothing.' "

Jeram cringed inwardly and braced himself for another round of persuasion.
Just sit there and look reasonable
, he told himself.
Make friendly noises and then get out of there as soon as possible
!