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A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows by Poul Anderson. Chapter 17, 18, 19, 20

circumstances, sir, I felt conformity would be imprudent. I endeavored

not to damage irreparably men who wore his Majesty’s uniform, and in due

course will return the borrowed blaster you observe me wearing.

Thereupon I took refuge with a gentleman I suspected of vehement

anti-Terran sentiments. May I respectfully request his name and the

names of his associates be omitted from your official cognizance?

Besides their hospitality and helpfulness toward me, they exhibited no

more than a misguided zeal for the welfare of this planet, and indeed I

was the occasion of their first overt unlawful act. They sheltered me

only after I had convinced them I was a revolutionary for my own

society, and that my public designation as a Merseian agent was a

calumny which the Imperialists could be expected to employ against their

kind too. They were persuaded rather easily; I would not recommend them

for the Intelligence Corps. I got from them clothes, disguise materials,

equipment convertible to surveillance purposes, and went about

collecting data for myself.

“They do possess a rudimentary organization. Through this, via a phone

call, my host learned that a large delegation of zmays was moving on the

Capitol. Recalling Donna Vymezal’s accounts of her background, and

trusting she and you had not perished after all, I thought you might be

here. To have this deduction confirmed was … most gratifying, sir.”

Flandry chewed his lip for a while before he said,

“Those were Imperials who came to arrest you? Not Dennitzans?”

“No, sir, not Dennitzans. There could be no mistake.” Chives spoke

mutedly. His thin green fingers hauled the cowl closer around his face.

“You went unmolested for days, and then in a blink–” Flandry’s speech

chopped off. They were at their goal.

Well into Old Town, the party passed between two many-balconied

mansions, out onto a plateau of Royal Hill. Constitution Square opened

before them, broad, slate-flagged, benches, flowerbeds, trees–empty,

empty. In the middle was a big fountain, granite catchbasin, Toman

Obilich and Vladimir locked in bronze combat, water dancing white but

its sound and spray borne off by the wind. Westward buildings stood well

apart, giving a view down across roofs to Lake Stoyan, metal-bright

shimmer and shiver beyond the curve of the world. Directly across the

square was the Capitol, a sprawling, porticoed marble mass beneath a

gilt dome whose point upheld an argent star. A pair of kilometers

further on, a rock lifted nearly sheer, helmeted with the battlements

and banners of the Zamok.

Flandry’s gaze flickered. He identified a large hotel, office buildings,

cafes, fashionable stores, everything antiquated but dignified, the gray

stones wearing well; how many Constitution Squares had he known in his

life? But this lay deserted under wind, chill, and hasty cloud shadows.

A militia squad stood six men on the Capitol verandah, six flanking the

bottom of the stairs; their capes flapped, their rifles gleamed whenever

a sunbeam smote and then went dull again. Aircraft circled far overhead.

Otherwise none save the newcomers were in sight. Yet surely watchers

waited behind yonder shut doors, yonder blank panes: proprietors,

caretakers, maybe a few police–a few, since the turmoil was elsewhere

in town and no disturbance expected here. Who besides? He walked as if

through a labyrinth of mirages. Nothing was wholly what he sensed,

except the blaster butt under his hand and a stray russet lock of

Kossara’s hair.

She had no such dreads. As they trod into the plaza, he heard her

whisper, “Here we go, my brave beloved. They’ll sing of you for a

thousand years.”

He shoved hesitation out of his mind and readied himself to fight.

But no clash came. Despite what they told him when the move was being

planned, he’d more or less awaited behavior like that when a gaggle of

demonstrators wanted to invade a legislative session on any human planet

he knew–prohibition, resistance, then either a riot or one of the sides

yielding. If officialdom conceded in order to avoid the riot, it would

be grudgingly, after prolonged haggling; and whatever protesters were

admitted would enter under strict conditions, well guarded, to meet

indignant stares.

Dennitza, though, had institutionalized if not quite legalized

procedures like the ispravka. Through the officer he met on the way,

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