Restoree (8 page)

Jokan’s eyes gleamed down at me and he bowed ceremoniously to me.

“I like the country you’re from, Lady Sara, if it breeds courage like yours,” he said.

Involuntarily I turned for reassurance to Harlan. Did Jokan know of my origin? Harlan had said I might tell him if anything went wrong. Had Harlan already done so? Harlan’s imperceptible nod indicated it was merely Jokan’s curious choice of words. He gripped my arm at the elbow.

“There
is
more at stake, Sara, than just Ferrill’s life,” Harlan said persuasively as he pushed me gently back into my chair. “Which, any indication to the contrary, means a great deal to me,” he added acidly to Jokan who shrugged. “Something very peculiar is happening on Tane if Jessl’s report is as accurate as they always are.”

Jokan’s eyebrows went up in mockery. “What’s peculiar about a war?”

Harlan ignored him. “It’s absurd to maintain that the Tanes would have initiative enough to revolt. Those people are no more capable of taking a life or planning a cohesive rebellion like this than a restoree.” Harlan’s eyes flickered briefly as if he regretted making such a comparison. His hesitation allowed Jokan to get in another dig.

“You’re prejudiced on behalf of your little protégées, Harlan. You haven’t seen the damage these ‘uninitiative’ people of yours have been doing. Ferrill’s the real urgency.”

Harlan turned angrily on Jokan. “It’s not prejudice, Jokan, and you should know me better. So drop that attitude. This supposed uprising masks another purpose. Just as my all too timely collapse and Ferrill’s suddenly failing health are indications of a Millishly well-laid plan of far-reaching proportions. What I cannot understand is Stannall’s lack of suspicion. Surely he of all people must realize something’s drastically wrong. I cannot conceive him selling out to Gorlot or whoever is behind this treachery. But one thing I’m sure of, Lothar stands in great peril . . . of Gorlot getting complete authority, if he hasn’t already; the truth behind the Tane farce and the loss of a brilliant ruler if Ferrill should have to be replaced.”

“He’ll be replaced, even if he gets off with his life,” Jokan said dully. “He’s a ruin already.”

Harlan snapped an angry denial, but there was no support from the others. He turned back to me with a hint of the desperation I knew so well.

“Sara, I don’t think you’d be in any danger. The idea is so simple, the time so accommodating. It has to be you.”

In his eyes were his concern and his fear and a desperate plea. His hand, warm on mine, gripped me reassuringly.

“I hope you know what I’m doing,” I said anxiously.

“You know Ferrill, don’t you?” Jokan put in, impatiently. “All you have to do is tell him that Harlan is sane and have him convene an emergency session of Council. I assume,” he began acidly, “Gorlot has started no antivirility campaigns on Ferrill.”

Harlan shot him a surprised questioning look which Jokan waved aside, but Jessl and Gartly snorted derisively so his reference was known to them.

“Stannall,” Jokan continued, “will then be able to do what else is necessary . . . if
he’s
still with us. He ought to have far less love for Gorlot than we.”

“There’s no other way to get to Ferrill?” I asked plaintively.

“Our faces are known. Yours is not. In the guise of say, the Searcher,” Jokan improvised and I remembered that Harlan had called me his Searcher, “you can gain entrance into the public garden. Slip into the palace wing and up to Ferrill’s room.”

“No,” Harlan disagreed on the last detail hastily. “You said Trenor was sleeping with him to prevent another one of these so-called attacks?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Ferrill will have to attend the Starhall festivities, won’t he?”

“If he can walk.”

“Then Sara will have a far better cover in that crowd than trying to find her way to Ferrill’s rooms.”

“It’s all very well to make her a Searcher, provided you can find a costume at this late date,” Gartly grumbled, “but how are we to get into Lothara at all? Had that entered your glib plans?”

Harlan and Jokan exchanged glances.

“I do have the planecar,” Cire suggested. “And I’m not too well known.”

“She can fly in herself,” Jokan said easily.

I grabbed at Harlan’s arm. Sail I could, fly no.

“I don’t fly,” I blurted out.

“What?” Jokan looked at me startled.

“Never needed to. Lived in Jurasse,” I mumbled and then looked frantically at Harlan for support.

“The one girl out of how many thousands who never learned to fly when she reached legal age,” Jokan said exasperated.

And Harlan wanted
me
to go right into the middle of the palace. I’d last three steps inside the gardens and make another inadvertent mistake.

“I’d be glad to escort her,” Cire repeated and then blushed, “if Harlan permits?”

“I permit all right, but I just wish there were some way we could all get into Lothara.”

“As well wish you had a map to the Mil’s system,” Jessl snapped gloomily.

“If she’s to get into the palace wing at all,” Gartly put in, “she can go in no shoddy affair. It must be a rich gown or she’d be turned away.”

“That can be obtained in town,” Harlan remarked easily, dismissing this objection. Gartly stalked out of the room, his face reflecting pain and anger.

Harlan watched him leave, shrugged and turned to rummage on a table for a slate of waxy substance and a pointed stylus. Sitting next to me, he rapidly sketched in a small plan of the giant structure that was the capitol building, war office and palace of Lothar. Except that it resembled an unrimmed, unevenly spoked wheel, its function put me in mind of the Pentagon and the unreality of this adventure bore down on me again. I had no chance for speculation because Harlan demanded my complete attention as he described my route.

One wing of the enormous building was devoted exclusively to the quarters of the Warlord’s family, intimates and servants. Between the spokes were extensive gardens. Only the ones adjacent to the palace wing were fenced in and guarded. Into one of these gardens I must gain entrance. While Jokan and Jessl listened absently to what was common knowledge, Harlan explained in detail what I would have to know.

“Get to the point, get to the point,” Jokan urged impatiently once.

“Sara has never been to Lothara before and it’s easy to become confused in the dark of the double Eclipse. We can’t afford any mistakes,” Harlan replied calmly and proceeded with my orientation. Jokan contented himself by noisily foraging in the kitchen.

Once I was in the garden, I was to make my way to any one of the ground-floor balconies, enter the room it adjoined and let myself into the corridor. The personnel of the lowest floor changed so constantly I was unlikely to be questioned. Minor courtiers would undoubtedly all be dancing attendance on their sponsors in the Starhall. I would follow the corridor to the Hub which was the Starhall on the fourth level. I would endeavor to get close enough to Ferrill to give him my message. Once that was accomplished, I would merely retrace my steps and join Jokan at the “Place of Birds.” Any passenger cab would speed me there over the confusion of the celebrating. If, however, I did not see Ferrill and my presence was being noticed, I was to come back to the apartment and they would try something else.

I had to agree to the plan’s simplicity, but I could not help worry that any plan undergoes revision in performance.

“If you find yourself in any trouble, Sara,” Harlan remarked reading my mind, “give them one of your beautiful smiles and I doubt their minds will remain on the question.”

“Oh, nonsense,” I snapped.

Jokan and Jessl grinned knowingly to my further embarrassment.

“What will her quest be?” asked Jessl.

“Well, to get her into the gardens in case there is extra guard on duty, she can ask for a leaf of the Burning Shame plant. That’s near the palace wing,” Jokan suggested. “Once in the palace, she can say she needs a token from Ferrill to prove she has been claimed. She needs immunity against a priest she doesn’t like. I’ve seen that one used often enough to know it’s accepted.” Jokan’s grin to Harlan and Jessl made me suspect that ruse had a double meaning I couldn’t understand.

There were too many cryptic remarks passed and references that puzzled me. Had I known then what Ferrill told me much later I doubt I would ever have consented to be a Searcher. My ignorance of the true story served me well, I admit, and I’m sure Harlan’s neglect in telling me was intentional. The Searcher was an historically documented lady of good clan who had become separated from her lover during a Mil raid. She refused to believe he had been taken, and wandered over the planet, looking for him, constantly in danger of being captured either by a priest who coveted her or by the Mil. She would reward those who sheltered her with jewels. Eventually the priest caught up with her. In the joyous festival interpretation, the girl who played the Searcher very often suggested to a male friend that he be the priest to whom she surrendered herself after a token chase. Morals were totally different on Lothar. Female continence over a prolonged period was unfavorably viewed since women were expected to bear as many children as possible to replace a population constantly lost to the Mil or the exigencies of Patrol. Family continuity stemmed from the distaff side with the notable exception of the Warlordship.

“Let’s hope,” Jokan leered humorously, clearing his face when he caught Harlan’s expression, “there aren’t other priests along the way who want to claim her.”

“That is why her costume is important,” Gartly growled as he reentered the room, carrying a wooden box with stiff tenderness. He laid it on the table and with slow hands uncovered it, looking at the contents for a long moment before he stepped back for us to see. Jokan and Harlan exchanged glances and Harlan gripped the old man’s shoulder in unspoken gratitude. He later told me the costume had belonged to Gartly’s beloved wife.

I saw only the tissue-fragile fabric, deep greens and golds, the heavy ornate jewels, the intricately strapped sandals and the voluminous folds of the glossy emerald-green cloak.

“Why, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I gasped, touching the dress lightly as if it might fall to pieces.

Gartly grumbled something under his breath and then left the room with quick steps.

I suppose our concentration on the plans to enter the palace and Gartly’s unexpected, touching offer had engrossed us. The sound of a knock on the door, at any rate, came like the knell of terror. We all whirled to the door as if it had become dangerous. Cire looked expectantly at Harlan who motioned him to answer even as Harlan edged quickly back to the kitchen.

“Who knocks?” asked Cire with scarcely a quiver in his young voice.

“Sinnall, Cire,” and before Cire could answer, the door swung open.

If Sinnall had waited but an instant more before entering, Harlan would have reached the safety of the kitchen. As it was, he was directly in Sinnall’s vision and his hand dropped from the door to his knife belt.

“Is it really Harlan?” Sinnall gasped. He didn’t wait for confirmation but snapped to attention, saluting smartly. “Second Leader Sinnall, sir, reporting.”

I could feel the tension leave the room as if swept out by a brisk wind. Cire, laughing nervously, threw an arm around the young officer.

“I appreciate the gesture, Second,” Harlan said with a grin, returning the salute, “even though I am no longer acting as Regent.” He beckoned to Sinnall to join the group around the table.

“My father served with you in Quadrant Five, sir,” he remarked gravely, coming forward. “He was Nallis, First Prime.”

Harlan grinned. “I recall it as being the other way round,” he remarked and was rewarded by Sinnall’s tentative smile.

“I can see now why there is an emergency at Lothar,” Sinnall said, and held out to Harlan a tiny slate.

Harlan glanced at it, his eyebrows raising in surprise. With a burst of relieved laughter, he passed it to Jokan.

“My luck is holding,” he practically crowed. “Sinnall, as a loyal officer in this sleepy uneventful little community, has been ordered to bring a loyal picked section to Lothara on special duty.”

“Why should that change plans?” Jessl asked, reaching for the slate from Jokan.

“Because our orders are to report not later than noon tomorrow at Central Barracks for assignment. I can think of no better place for Harlan at the moment than right in the midst of the men trying to keep him out of Lothara.”

“That’ll get us all in,” Jokan said, grinning broadly.

“Anyone know of your orders?” asked Harlan.

“I only got them an hour ago,” Sinnall replied, “and I wanted to press Cire into section duty. I know
he’s
loyal.”

“To you and Ferrill, that’s what Sinnall means,” Cire interjected, his face intense with pride in his friend.

“Yes, sir,” Sinnall replied earnestly. “I know what happens to officers who complain about the new Regent and the odd things that are happening. That’s why I’m here,” and he grimaced in such a way that I realized his present post was a form of military exile.

“Well, your orders do specify a ‘loyal’ section,” Harlan said with a mirthless laugh, “but they do not state to whom, do they?”

Sinnall, relaxing even more in Harlan’s presence, began to grin broadly.

“No, sir. And if I can find uniforms to fit, I’m going to volunteer all of you here as ‘loyal.’ ”

“Room to stow my lady on the trip?” asked Harlan.

My relief that he had undoubtedly abandoned the original idea now that Sinnall’s presence indicated Harlan would, after all, be able to get into Lothara, was short-lived.

Sinnall considered me with surprise. “Why, I think so.”

“I hope so. I don’t wish to leave her behind,” Harlan remarked. “And Jokan, not you. You take yourself and your planecar and plan an accident in the Jurassan Hills. You’ve got to have a reason for returning to Lothara, completely unconnected with me. Gartly, Cire, Jessl and I will be the section. You wait for Sara at your place. Even if you are watched, Sara is unknown and your philandering is legend.”