A World Divided (45 page)

Kerwin said, troubled, still only half understanding, “Neyrissa, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—to do anything to offend or hurt you—”

“I know that, damn you,” she said in a rage. “I tell you: it happens sometimes. I have been a monitor for enough years that I know I am responsible for it. I misjudged the level of your barriers, that is all! Stop making a thing of it, and get control of yourself before we spread this all through Arilinn! I can handle it; you can’t, and Elorie is young. I won’t have
her
disturbed with this nonsense!”

It was like a sudden flooding with ice water, drowning it all, drenching his awareness of the woman, in shock and awareness, that the other telepaths here might pick up his fantasies, his needs ... He felt naked and exposed, and Neyrissa’s rage was like crimson lightning through the flooding shock. He felt stripped, shamed to the ultimate. Stammering a sickened apology, he fled up the stairs and took refuge in his own room. He was still not entirely aware what had happened, but it troubled him.

Long introspection told him that concealment of emotions was impossible in a telepath group; and when they met again, though he was worried for fear his shameful inability to block his own thoughts should have spoilt the ease with which he was accepted, no one spoke of it or even seemed to think about it. He was beginning to understand a little what it meant to be open, even to your innermost thoughts, to a group of outsiders. He felt flayed, embarrassed, as if he had been stripped nude and displayed; but he supposed none of them had gone through life without an embarrassing thought, and he’d simply have to get used to it.

And at least he knew, now, that there was no use trying to pretend with Neyrissa. She knew him, she had gone, as a monitor, deep into his body, and now into his mind too, even those bare spots he would rather she hadn’t seen. And she still accepted him. It was a good feeling. Paradoxically he didn’t like her any better than he had before, but now he knew that didn’t matter; they had shared something, and accepted it.

He had been at Arilinn about forty days when it occurred again to him that he had seen nothing of the city, and one morning he asked Kennard—he was not sure of his status here—if he could go and explore. Kennard stared briefly, and said, “Why not?” Then, breaking out of reverie, said, “Zandru’s hells, youngster, you don’t have to ask permission to do anything you please. Go alone, or one of us will come and show you about, or take one of the
kyrri
to keep you from getting lost. Suit yourself!”

Auster turned from the fireplace—they were all in the big hall—and said sourly, “Don’t disgrace us by going in those clothes, will you?”

Anything Auster said always roused Kerwin’s determination to do exactly that. Rannirl said, “You’ll be stared at in those things, Jeff.”

“He’ll be stared at anyway,” Mesyr said.

“Nevertheless. Come along, I’ll find you some of my things—we’re just about the same height, I think—for the time being. And we ought to do something about getting you a proper outfit, too.”

Kerwin felt ridiculous when he got into the short laced jerkin, the long blouse with loose sleeves, the full breeches coming down only to the top of his boots. Rannirl’s notions of color were not his, either; if he had to wear Darkovan clothing—and he supposed he
did
look pretty silly in Terran uniform—he needn’t go about in a magenta doublet with orange insets! At least, he hoped not!

He was surprised, though, to discover, glancing into a mirror, how the flamboyant outfit suited him. It showed to advantage the unusual height and coloring that had always made him feel awkward in Terran clothing. Mesyr cautioned him against wearing any headgear; Arilinn Tower telepaths showed their red heads proudly, and this protected them against accidental injury or insult. On a world of daily violence like Darkover, where street riots were a favorite form of showing high spirits, Jeff Kerwin conceded that this probably made good sense.

As he walked in the streets of the city—he had chosen to go alone—he was conscious of stares and whispers, and nobody jostled him. It was a strange city to him; he had grown up in Thendara, and the dialect here was different, and the cut of the clothing the women wore, longer skirts, fewer of the imported Terran climbing jackets and more of the long hooded capes, on men and women both. The footgear of a Terran did not suit the Darkovan clothing he was wearing—Rannirl, taller than Kerwin, had surprisingly small feet for a man, and his boots had not fitted—so on an impulse, passing a street-shop where boots and sandals were displayed, Kerwin went inside and asked to see a pair of boots.

The proprietor seemed so awed and respectful that Kerwin began to wonder if he had committed some social error—evidently the Comyn rarely went into ordinary shops—until the bargaining began. Then the man kept trying so hard to shift Kerwin from the modestly-priced boots he had chosen to the most expensive and well-crafted pairs in the shop, that Kerwin grew angry and began to bargain hotly. The shopkeeper kept insisting with a beautifully-genuine distress that these poor things were not worthy of the
via dom
. Finally Kerwin settled on two pairs, one of riding boots, and one set of the soft low-cut suede boots that all the men of Arilinn seemed to wear all the time indoors. Taking out his wallet, he asked “What do I owe you?”

The man looked shocked and offended. “What have I done to merit this insult,
via dom
? You have lent grace to me and to my shop; I cannot accept payment!”

“Oh, look here,” Kerwin protested. “You mustn’t do that—”

“I have told you these poor things are not worthy of your attention,
vai dom
, but if the High-lord would venture to accept from me a pair truly worthy of his notice—”

“Hells’s bells,” muttered Kerwin, wondering what was going on and what Darkovan taboo he’d blundered into, unknowing, this time.

The man gave Kerwin a sharp look, then said, “Forgive my presumption,
vai dom
, but you are the high-lord Comyn Kerwin-Aillard, are you not?”

Recalling the custom that gave a Darkovan child the name and rank of the highest-ranking parent, Kerwin admitted it, and the man said, firmly and respectfully, but rather as if he were instructing a retarded child in suitable manners, “It is not the custom to accept payment for anything that a Comyn high-lord condescends to accept, sir.”

Kerwin gave in gracefully, not wanting to make a scene, but he felt embarrassed. How the devil could he get the other things he wanted? Just go and ask for them? The Comyn seemed to have a nice little racket going, but he wasn’t larcenous enough to enjoy it. He was used to working for what he wanted, and paying for it.

He tucked the package under his arm, and walked along the street. It felt curiously different and pleasant, to walk through a Darkovan city as a citizen, not an outsider, not an interloper. He thought briefly of Johnny Ellers, but that was another life, and the years he had spent with the Terran Empire were like a dream.

“Kerwin?”

He looked up to see Auster, clad in green and scarlet, standing before him. Auster said, pleasantly for him, “It occurred to me that you might get lost. I had business in the city and I thought perhaps I might find you in the marketplace.”

“Thanks,” Kerwin said. “I wasn’t lost yet, but the streets are a little confusing. Good of you to come after me.” He was startled at the friendly gesture; Auster alone, of all the circle, had been persistently unfriendly.

Auster shrugged, and suddenly, as clearly as if Auster had spoken, Kerwin sensed it, clear patterned:

He’s lying. He said that so I wouldn’t ask his business down here. He didn’t come to meet me and he’s sore about it.
But he shrugged the thought aside. What the hell, he wasn’t Auster’s keeper. Maybe the man had a girl down here, or a friend, or something. His affairs were none of Kerwin’s business.

They had fallen into step together, turning their steps back in the direction of the Tower, which lay like a long arm of shadow over the marketplace. Auster paused.

“Care to stop somewhere and have a drink before we get back?”

Although he appreciated the friendly offer, Kerwin shook his head. “Thanks. I’ve been stared at enough for one day. I’m not much of a drinker, anyhow. Thanks all the same. Another time, maybe.”

Auster gave him a quick look, not friendly, but understanding. He said, “You’ll get used to being stared at—on one level. On another, it keeps getting worse. The more you’re isolated with—with your own kind—the less you’re able to tolerate outsiders.”

They walked for a moment, shoulder to shoulder. Behind him, then, Kerwin heard a sudden yell. Auster whirled, giving Kerwin a hard, violent shove; Kerwin lost his footing, taken off balance, slipped and fell sprawling as something hurtled past and struck the wall behind him. A flake of stone ricocheted off, striking Kerwin’s cheek, and laid it open to the bone.

Auster had slid off balance and fallen to his knees; he hauled himself to his feet, looking warily around, picked up the heavy paving-stone someone had hurled with what could have been a deadly accuracy.

Kerwin said, “What the hell!” He picked himself up, staring at Auster.

Auster said stiffly, “I apologize—”

Kerwin cut him short. “Forget it. You saved me a nasty bruise. If that thing had hit me amidships, I could have been killed.” He touched his cheek with careful fingers. “Who threw that damn thing?”

“Some malcontent,” Auster said, and looked round, unquiet. “Strange things are abroad in Arilinn these days. Kerwin, do me a favor?”

“I guess I owe you one at that.”

“Don’t mention this to the women—or to Kennard. We have enough to worry about now.”

Kerwin frowned; but finally nodded. Silently, side by side, they walked up toward the Tower. It was surprising how much at ease he felt with Auster, in spite of the fact that Auster obviously disliked him. It was as if they’d known each other all their lives.
Being isolated with your own kind
, Auster had said. Was Auster his own kind?

He had two facts to chew on. One, Auster, who didn’t like him, had moved—automatically, by instinct—to shield him from a thrown rock; by standing still, he could have let Kerwin be hurt and saved himself some aggravation and trouble. But even more than Auster’s strange behavior, was the surprising event of the rock. Despite all the deference shown the Comyn by the people of Arilinn, there was
somebody
in Arilinn who would like to see one of them dead.

Or was it the half-Terran interloper who was supposed to be killed? Kerwin suddenly wished he had not given Auster his promise. He’d have liked to talk it over with Kennard.

When they joined the others in the hall that night, Kennard looked strangely at his bandaged cheek, and if Kennard had then asked a point-blank question, Kerwin might have answered—he had not promised Auster to lie about it—but Kennard said nothing, and so Kerwin only told him about the shopkeeper and the boots, mentioning his own disquiet at the custom. The older man threw back his head and guffawed.

“My dear boy, you’ve given the man prestige—I suppose a
Terran
would say, free publicity—that will last for years! The fact that a Comyn of Arilinn, even one who’s not very important, came into his shop and actually bargained with him—”

“Nice racket,” said Kerwin sourly. He wasn’t amused.

“Actually, Jeff, it makes excellent good sense. We give a good slice of our lives to the people, we can do things nobody else can do. They wouldn’t think of letting us have a good excuse to do anything else. I spent some time as an officer in the Guards; my father is the hereditary Commander, it’s an Alton post; and when he dies, I shall have to command it. I should be at his side, learning; but Arilinn was short-handed, so I came back. If my brother Lewis had lived—but he died, leaving me Heir to Alton, and with that, the command of the Guards.” Kennard sighed. His eyes strayed into the distance. Then he said, abruptly recalling what he had been saying to Kerwin:

“In a sense, it’s a way of keeping us prisoner here; a bribe. Anything we happen to want—any of us—we’re given, so we have no shadow of excuse to leave the Tower on the grounds that there could be more for us elsewhere.” He looked at the boots and frowned: “—and poor enough merchandise he gave you! The man should be ashamed; it speaks ill of him and his shop!”

Kerwin laughed. No wonder the man had tried so hard to steer him to a better pair! He said so, and Kennard nodded.

“Seriously, it would please the man if you went back when you next visit the town, and accepted the best pair in his shop. Or better yet, commission him to make a pair for you specially, from some design you happen to fancy! And while you’re at it, let some clothingmaker fit you out with proper clothing for this climate, why don’t you? The Terrans believe in heating their houses, not their bodies; I nearly suffocated when I was there. ...”

Kerwin accepted the change of subject, but he still did not wholly understand what the Towers
did
that was so important. Messages, yes. He supposed the relays were simpler and less troublesome than a system of telephones or wireless radio communication. But if that was all they wanted, a radio system would be simpler. As for the other things, he hadn’t yet connected the simpler tricks with crystal to the overwhelming importance that the Comyn telepaths seemed to have on Darkover.

And now there was another piece of the puzzle that did not fit; a rock, thrown in broad daylight, at two of the revered Tower telepaths. Not accident. Not mistaken aim on the fringes of a riot somewhere. A rock thrown deliberately, to disable or kill—and it had come near enough to doing it. It didn’t fit, and he cursed having given his promise Auster.

He got the answer to one of his questions a couple of tendays later. In one of the insulated rooms, supervised by Rannirl, Kerwin was working on elementary mechanics, practicing simple force-emission techniques, not unlike the glass-melting tricks Ragan had shown him. They had been at it for over an hour, and Jeff’s head was beginning to throb, when Rannirl said abruptly, “Enough for now; something’s going on.”