“I shall do what I can,” Roane said slowly. What she did not want to admit was that disturbance which came upon her when she had to make a choice between off-world and Clio matters, and which she now felt. She had used the beamer without really thinking, but to handle the stunner so was a different matter-Never before had she experienced anything like this. Or had she? Conditioning! She had gone through conditioning on numerous occasions—mainly to prepare body and mind to resist some planetary stress hostile to her species. But once that was done she had never been consciously aware of its effects upon her. Now it was as if her mind, when turned in certain directions, worked more slowly, and she shrank from off-world weapons—weapons fashioned to repel aliens from their use.
To prove this point to herself, she held out the beamer to the Princess. “If you will hold this—”
Then Roane laid her hand upon the butt of the stunner, although she did not draw it. And she had to force herself to that move. Her fingers shrank from touching the smooth metal. By the Tongue of Truth, what had happened to her? The cover which kept such a weapon inviolate on another world was operating against her! She was frightened as she had never been before in her Me. Ludorica must have read that emotion in her expression, for she asked quickly:
“What is it? What is the matter?”
“It is nothing,” Roane said quickly. The Princess was entirely too sharp-eyed, and she must not let her’suspect—the more so when she did not know the truth herself. “The rocking—it makes me sick.”
Ludorica grimaced. “I have traveled often by coach, though it is better to ride mounted, but never at such a wild pace. I, too, would like to—”
What she might have said was never uttered, for the gallop began to abate and the swing became less violent. They slowed and came to a halt.
“Be ready,” the Princess ordered. She still held the beamer, training it on the door to shine full in the face of whoever opened it. Roane forced herself to ready the stunner.
But nothing happened. They listened closely and could hear, very muffled by the walls, a faint jangling. Only the door did not open.
“I think we are changing duocoms!” the Princess said. “A fresh team, which means a longer journey. Already we are far past the distance to Gastonhigh.”
She must have been right, for only moments later there was a shudder through the coach and they were on the move again, first easily and then back to the rocking run which shook them so. Roane stowed away both stunner and beamer, not wanting to exhaust the charge in the latter. She was battered, sore, as if she had been beaten and bumped. But mercifully that second pounding did not last long. Once more they slowed to what was hardly more than a walking pace. The coach body tilted at an angle which suggested that they climbed. The Princess spoke again:
“We return to Reveny.”
“How can you tell?”
“This is hill country and the only hills close to Gastonhow are those of the border. Now there are only two possibilities as to who will meet us—some representative of the King, or Reddick!”
“But you think the latter.”
“Imbert must have been tricked. Yes, it will be best for us to expect the worst. I was foolish indeed—”
Either the dark which had held them for so long was lightening a little or else their eyes had adjusted. Roane could now make out the outline of her companion braced beside her on the seat. “Fancher and the Soothspeaker—and how many others, some planted certainly in Imbert’s own household as he suspected. But even he could not have thought how deep their plans ran. Nelis —we can depend upon Nelis. Perhaps we shall have a chance after all. It rests now on where they take us.”
The Princess was quiet and Roane believed she must be weighing one chance against another. She had respect for Ludorica’s courage, endurance, and wits. But even those three in combination could not bring her safely out of some kinds of disaster.
It was time, surely it was time, for Roane to begin to think of herself. She had the stunner, against which on Clio there was no defense, and with it she could break free from any party ready to greet their arrival. Then, back to camp—if camp still existed and Uncle Offlas had not gone off-world.
The toiling of the coach became even more labored, and then its climbing slant leveled and it stopped. Again no one came to the door. There was a wait, during which they became fully aware of all their aches and bruises. When they started on, it was plain that they were now going downhill—luckily at a very slow pace or they would have been flung forward against the other seat. The slope of the road they followed must be steep. It did level out later, so that they rode in more comfort, and the light seeping in around the curtains grew stronger.
“It is full day. And we must cross the border soon. If we pass a gatehouse—” Then Ludorica shook her head. “No, they would not risk such passage unless they have good reason to believe this carriage will not be inspected. Yet this must be the main highway. A coach could not travel a lesser road. They must have a good plan—” She stopped so short that Roane turned to look at her. The furred hood of the Princess’s cloak had fallen back, her head was a little forward, and she was staring at the coach wall directly ahead. Roane followed the direction of that survey.
From some crack there puffed a thread of white vapor. Roane caught the taint of a new odor against the musty closeness of the atmosphere.
“They—they drug us! That is upus smoke!”
Ludorica dropped her hold on the anchor strap, threw herself at the wall, holding a fold of her cape over the inflow of white. But it was little use—there were two more spirals at opposite sides. They could not hope to stop them all. Roane’s own move was not to try to hold out the menace but to force her belt into as small a package as she could.
Squirming about, she got up the heavy folds of her skirt and fastened the belt under it, though her fingers worked slower and slower and her head spun so that she had to fight to finish that job. Her last view of the Princess was of Ludorica sliding down the wall of the coach, away from the vent she had tried to cover, to lie upon the seat. And a moment or two later Roane followed her into the same unconsciousness.
She was warm, too warm. This was like lying under the desert sun of Cappadella. Roane stirred, brought up a hand to shield her face, her eyes, from the bite of the sun. But she did not lie on sand. Fabric of some kind drew and wrinkled under her as she moved. She opened her eyes.
Above her was dark wood, while across her face a bar of sunshine nearly blinded her. She turned her head fretfully. Her mouth was dry; her lips stuck together, and she parted them with difficulty. She wanted water, more than she ever had in her Me, even in the desert country the sun reminded her of.
In the rays of the sun, on a small bench not too far away, stood a flagon. The shape of it promised what she needed so badly. Roane pulled herself up. Movement was a trial of strength, for she needed all the force of her will to make her body obey. She braced herself on stiff arms, her attention all for the flagon which might hold water.
Swinging her feet to the floor was an exhausting effort. She did not even dare to try to stand, but instead fell to her hands and knees and crawled toward that bench. She raised her dead-weight hands and somehow forced the fingers to close upon the sides of the flagon, pulling it toward her, tipping it so that its contents did splash, not only into her gaping mouth, but across her chin and down the front of her dress. The moisture in her mouth brought her farther out of the daze. She sat on the floor, the flagon still between her hands, and looked about.
The room was small with a single window, across which was a screen of bars. The walls were stone. The bed from which she had crawled lacked any ornament and beside it, on another bed, lay Ludorica.
The Princess’s cloak trailed half off her, her face was flushed, and she breathed with a puffing sound, clear to hear now that Roane had time to note it. Even as the off-world girl watched, she stirred, flinging out her arm as if to ward off some danger in a none-too-pleasant dream. And she murmured words Roane could not distinguish.