They traveled in silence for the most part, and Imfry moved with an energy which suggested his wound no longer gave him any trouble. Roane refused to think of what lay ahead. It was enough to savor this one day which lay as a safe haven between the past and the future. She made no complaint at the steady pace her companion set, though now and again he did pause, suggest they rest. It was then he talked, though nothing of what they did, or had done, or would do—almost as if to speak of what concerned them most was to summon ill fortune.
Rather he painted for her the Reveny, the Clio, that he knew. And Roane listened as to a tale told in the Markets of Thoth, where, as all know, the most skillful of story spinners compete. He spread before her his homestead of Imfry-Manholm, which lay in mountain country where they raised the long-fleeced corbs, and grew, on small terraces bitten out of the steep slopes, vines which bore those berries from which the sharp-tanged winter wines were pressed.
“My brother is lord there, being the younger son. Though his mother ruled in his name during his childhood—she being my father’s second lady. He came to take liege oath at Urkermark last year. He is a good lad, steady. And he is already ring-promised to the daughter of Hormford Stead across the valley.”
Imfry dug his boot heel into the soft earth as they sat side by side on the moss-cushioned trunk of a fallen tree.
“The younger son inherits? On most worlds it is the eldest.”
“But this is the sensible way. A man’s older sons are usually well grown, settled in lives of their own, at his death hour. But the youngest may still be unable to make his way in the world. Therefore it is only just that he be so provided for. I was a court fosterling, because of my mother—” He paused for a long moment and stared down at the hole he was excavating. “My father had good reason to believe my rise in the world would be favored. My sister was ringed young to the son of his best friend-Ward Marshal Ereck. But what of your life, m’lady?”
“There is little to tell. I am without parents, raised in a Service creche where my Uncle sought me out. I tested well for memory work and in certain learning arts, so he knew I could be a useful member of a team. So has it been.”
“And you are perhaps ringed to this cousin of yours?”
“Sandar?” For a moment the speaking of his name evoked a sharp picture of him in her mind. Perhaps once, in the very beginning, she had nursed a few small colorless dreams. But those had been quickly quenched by working with Sandar—with whom her role had been that of a kind of dull-witted servant— and Roane found the memory of them embarrassing now.
“Certainly not Sandar!” she repeated firmly.
“But some other—on one of your star worlds?” he persisted.
“There is no time in the Service, or at least as Uncle Offlas plans one’s life, for such things. He does not even think of me as a woman. I am another pair of hands, often clumsy ones, to his mind. He takes me with him because, as I am his kin, he is allowed to use me on sealed worlds, where a stranger might cause trouble.” Suddenly Roane laughed. “But this time he was not fortunate—I have done just as he has always feared someone would do. And do you know, Nelis—I think—I hope—I no longer care!”
For that was true! Last night when she had told him her story a burden had rolled away. Uncle Offlas—she did not have to be his puppet. Let him blacken her to the Service—she had a world before her here. They could not hunt her down, or at least she thought they would not dare.
“Strange ways—” Imfry’s comment did not seem to be exactly an apt answer, but he did not enlarge upon it, only got to his feet as a signal to push on.
That odd lightheartedness with which she had begun this march, that feeling of being apart from the past and the future, being in the safe present, faded as they went. She had thought, for a few moments, that she did not have to fear Uncle Offlas. Perhaps she did not, if she kept away from where he was to be found. But she was heading right back there. Why?
“Please.” She slipped around a bush to match pace with Imfry.
“We must take care. You cannot guess what they can do. If the LB has come there will be more—” •
“But you have said that the crown machine is the control-that we must destroy it. Was that not what you urged on me?”
“Yes. But I forgot—” To her vast surprise and self-disgust, she felt tears rising again. What was the matter with her? She had never done this in her life. She was no longer herself. Desperately she fought for control. “Yes. I am sorry—it is the only thing to be done.” She fell behind, intent on restraining her troubling emotions. “I only urge caution. They have instruments which can detect us at a distance.”
He shrugged. “We can only do our best and hope for the continuing favor of fortune. We are”—he consulted his guide disk—”not too far from the cave. And we shall approach it from the side where Reddick’s men broke in.”
Now she was able to watch a master woodsman at work. It seemed to Roane he melted into the brush, able to become invisible at will, while she sweated over her own efforts, which now appeared infinitely clumsy, to follow his example. But she applauded the caution he brought to the advance. If there were no repellers or detects—
They looked out on a slope of raw earth eroded by rain, flanking the hole Reddick’s men had made. Imfry spoke so low Roane had almost to read the words from his lips as he shaped them: “Is there any warning set here?”
“I do not think so. Unless they have a new one. I burned out the repeller.”
His body was as tense as a runner’s waiting at the mark. “Get in, as quick as you can!” And he was off in a dash to cover the stretch of open ground, disappear between mounds of earth and rock. Roane followed, to stand where Ludorica had held the crown in her hands.
“Waitl” She held up her hand in swift warning. From her former experience with the distort Roane knew she could feel that were it present. As Imfry’s skill had been their guide in the woods, maybe she could serve equally well here.
Roane slipped into the rough passage, heard him move in her wake. So far, there was no trace of the protective measures she feared. But she could hear, every time she paused to listen, the faint pulsations of the installation.
They came to the smoothed portion of corridor. There was a faint glow from the machine chamber. Roane touched his arm, put her lips close to his ear.
“What do you see-right there?” She indicated the faint light.
“Nothing.”
“You hear?” she persisted.
“Nothing. It may be that I cannot. The Princess could not, you said.”
If that were true—had she failed before they had begun? Would he take on faith what she might describe to him? She slipped her hand down to lace his fingers with hers.
“Come!” Hand in hand, linked as children on their way to some day of play, they crept along, edging warily toward the open panel.
Sandar? Uncle Offlas? If they were still within— Roane had no way of making sure. However, if she and Imfry were not spotted at the door, then there were places of concealment inside. Even the crowned pillars were tall enough to provide temporary cover.
At the panel Roane loosed her hold, pushed a step across the threshold. The mutter of noise, those lights which seemed so bright since she had been moving in the dark. But she could see no one there.
“Now!”
Roane could not see the expression on his face, but he caught her hand, held it in bruising pressure.
“You—went—into—the—walll” He spaced his words as if he were struggling for some control.
“Through an opening. Close your eyes, do not try to see—but come—” Roane had a sudden inspiration. Perhaps conditioning existed only at the panel, and once inside., he could see.
She led and he followed. “Raise your feet, there is a step barrier—”
His eyes were closed, his hand out as if to feel the wall his confused senses said was there. Then she caught his fingers, drew him on until he was in.
“Look!”
He opened his eyes. A spasm crossed his face. “Dark—blind dark!”