"Of course you aren't, but if you broke your leg, you would end up in the Terran Medical Center, and I would hate to have your visit here ruined."
"Is this how you managed Ivor?" The asperity in her voice was a little muffled, as the small woman tried to manage with a cloak intended for a much taller person.
Margaret chuckled. "Oh, no. I never had to manage him, because he just dumped everything on me and assumed I could take care of it."
"Yes, he would have done that. He was a very single-minded man." She sounded near to tears, and Margaret could sense she was keeping her feelings in check by sheer will. "Did I tell you how much I appreciated the message you sent me when he died?"
"Yes, Ida."
"I am so tired that I can hardly think straight. After sitting on the ship for days, doing nothing but napping and trying to find a comfortable position, it does not seem reasonable. But I am weary to the bone, to the heart."
"I know, Ida, and I wish . . ."
"There is nothing you can do, child. Time is all that can heal me."
They moved slowly across the square, and Ida began looking around with mild interest as she leaned lightly on Margaret's arm. They passed by the orphanage, and the taverns and cookshops which clustered near the entrance' to the port, and finally entered the narrow streets that led away from it. Ice crunched beneath their feet, and their breaths misted the air before them. The wind had died down a little, for which Margaret was grateful, both for Ida's sake and her own.
"Where are we going?" Ida asked after a while.
"See that great white pile up there, looming over the city? That is Comyn Castle, and that is where I am taking you."
"Oh. Somehow, when you said 'castle,' I thought you meant an inn or hostel, not a real castle." She panted a little, her warm breath making foggy billows in the air. "Why do you live in a castle?" Ida managed at last.
Margaret had not explained very much to Ida about her
adventures since coming to Darkover, since the cost of telefaxes was enormous, and there was a great deal which she had not wished to expose to curious eyes. Although these communications were supposedly private, she had a dark suspicion that they were not really. She had informed Ida about Ivor's death, but had not said anything about being an heiress, having laran, or any number of other matters. Now she felt a little strange, guilty and tense for having said so little.
"Technically, I don't. I only stay at Comyn Castle when I am in Thendara. Right now I 'live' at Neskaya, which is a place north of here, where I am studying. I'd probably be there now, but the Midwinter Festival and your visit allowed me to leave for a time." How the devil was she supposed to explain the Towers of Darkover to Ida?
"Studying? Is this Neskaya a musical center?" Ida had a good ear, and it was clear she had listened to the language disks Margaret had sent months before, for her pronunciation of the word Neskaya was good.
Margaret laughed. "There is music everywhere on Dark-over, Ida. I have collected enough material since I arrived to earn a full professorship, if I ever had the time and energy to get it organized. But since I do not expect to ever return to University—"
"You aren't coming back?"
"Not in any future I can foresee, Ida." The problem was, she thought, that she couldn't see any future at all. So much for the Aldaran Gift. I wonder if Gisela has it. A pity I can't just ask the woman. But I could never do that.
"I see. I always imagined, and Ivor, too, that when he was retired, you would get his seat at University. We were really looking forward to that, I confess, because of all the students we had, you were the best real scholar. Not to mention a better musician than you ever gave yourself credit for. I think you were intimidated by Jeffy and some of the others into thinking you were not outstanding."
As always, Margaret warmed with praise, and shrank away at the same time. Then she tried to shake her mind free of old habits. "That is nice to hear, Ida. And I am sorry to disappoint you."
"Perhaps it is for the best."
"Why do you say that?" The street ahead of them looked
fairly clear of ice, so Margaret released her grip on Ida, and the older woman gave her a little smile.
"Things have changed a great deal in the few months since you left. And not for the better either. There is talk of cutting off the funding, not just to the music department, but to all the arts, and some of the sciences as well. Those Expansionist Philistines insist that art is a luxury, not a necessity, and that public monies should be spent on important things, like more technologies and armaments. As if we needed more guns! We haven't had a war in generations! They are trying to suspend all the emeritus positions—say it's a waste of credits to support old geezers who are no longer making a contribution. And next term they are doubling the tuitions, and eliminating a great many of the scholarships as well. The Board of Regents is in an uproar, and it is perfectly dreadful." Ida's small face wrinkled with distress.
Margaret thought about the suspected sabotage on Ephebe, and some of the things Lew had told her, but decided not to say anything. "I see. My father suspected that things might go this way, so I am not really surprised, but I am saddened." She squeezed Ida's hand in her own. "We will be at the Castle soon, and then you can rest and have a lovely hot bath, and put all this nonsense out of your mind, Ida."
Ida began to shiver in spite of Daryll's cloak, and she fell silent, failing even to look at the shops that were open for business. Margaret was now glad she had said nothing about Ephebe, and bit her lower lip anxiously as she observed the older woman. Her breath came in little gasps, reminding Margaret all too much of how Ivor had been the day before he died so suddenly. She felt her heart clench with fear. What if she had brought Ida to Darkover, only to have her die like Ivor?
Then, to her astonishment, she had a flash, the sense of peering into another time, the way she had had on three previous occasions. She "saw" Ida, now incredibly ancient, seated beside the huge fireplace at Armida, speaking quietly to a very pretty girl of about twelve years. She was wearing the oddest clothing—neither Darkovan nor Ter-ran—and seemed perfectly at home. Margaret strained to hear any words in the vision, but the two were speaking
almost in whispers, and all she caught was the pleasant crackle of the fire, and the sound of the wind outside.
Margaret was so surprised she nearly stumbled. The vision was gone almost as soon as it began. She would have doubted it earlier, but now she was ready to accept the image as something possible, if not immediately real. It might even happen. The experience left her light-headed, and she wished she had eaten a larger breakfast.
They reached the entrance to Comyn Castle which Rafe Scott had taken Margaret through in what seemed like another lifetime. The stairs leading to the entry had been swept clear of snow, and there were Guardsmen standing at the door. They bowed as they opened the door, and she felt Ida start a little.
"Maggie, dearest, are you someone important? I mean, I know you are the daughter of Senator Alton, but..." the older woman whispered as they entered the foyer. Daryll followed them carrying the bags, and a servant appeared immediately to take them from him.
"You could say that, Ida." Margaret's response was murmured, and she felt odd. She still was not used to thinking of herself as a person of importance.
Ida stood absolutely still for a second, taking in the tapestries and the paintings. Then, with trembling hands, she unhooked the cloak that Daryll had lent her and turned to give it to him. The hem was clotted with ice, for she was much shorter than the young Guardsman, and the white of the wool was stained in places, from being dragged over dirty cobbles.
Her little face registered distress as she saw the mess, and she looked up at the tall man. "Thank you for the loan of your garment—I hope you were not too cold—and I am sorry that I got it so dirty."
Daryll gave Margaret a look of inquiry, so she translated Ida's words. "Tell the mestra that it was an honor to be of service, and the day is quite clement for this time
of year."
Margaret laughed, and Ida waited for her to stop. "What did he say? I have been listening to those disks you sent me, and I think I've learned some of the words, but I am so tired I can't follow him. And it sounds different when he speaks. What did he say?" She sounded tired and a bit querulous.
"Only that he was glad to lend you his cloak, and that the day is rather balmy for winter."
"Balmy! I shudder to think what he thinks is cold, then." Ida gave Daryll a piercing look, as if she suspected she was being made fun of.
"Come along. We have several miles of corridors to get through before we reach the suite. Well, that is a slight exaggeration. It will only seem like miles, but at least you will be warmer, Ida."
"Oh, yes, I feel more comfortable already." She tugged off the all-weather cloak that she had worn beneath Daryll's, and draped it over her arm. "Let's go. That hot bath you promised sounds like heaven."
The servant had preceded them, so by the time they reached the Alton Suite, the doors were open. Lew Alton was standing by the door, waiting. He was dressed in a dark brown tunic and matching trousers, and Margaret thought he looked very handsome in the pale light that streamed through the windows behind him.
"Ida, I would like you to meet my father, Senator Lewis Alton. Father, this is Ida Davidson, who was like a mother to me when I was at University."
Lew bowed, then offered Ida his single hand. "I am delighted to meet at last the person who took such good care of my little girl."
"A pleasure to meet you, Senator. Ivor and I did our best, but I think she would have turned out beautifully, no matter what." Ida smiled up at him as she shook his hand, her eyes twinkling. She was utterly relaxed now, and clearly not overly impressed. Why should she be? Ivor and Ida Davidson had fostered the sons and daughters of kings from planets where such arrangements still held sway, and treated them just as they did the rest of their charges. "Now, about that bath you promised. The stink of the ship seems to have gotten into my skin, and I want it gone. It has been a long time since I traveled, and I had forgotten how dreadful it was."
"You would think, wouldn't you, that with all the wonderful technology the Terran Federation holds, they could construct a ship that didn't smell like a cowbyre."
"A cowbyre, Senator, has a good, healthy smell. I know, for I was born on Doris, and we are famous for our cattle.
If I ever smelled a barn that stank like those ships, I would think there was some sickness."
"Come on, Ida. I will show you to your room, and introduce you to my maid, Piedra. She probably has all your bags half unpacked by now, for she is very efficient."
"Thank you."
"And while you are bathing, I will order up some food— real food, not like that packaged stuff they offer on the ships. Would you like some soup, or something more substantial?"
"Oh, anything, so long as it is hot and filling." Ida seemed to sag a little, but her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes were bright. "If I never have to eat a nutrobar again, I will be quite content."
What the hell? Nutrobar are what they feed Imperial Marines!
I don't know, Father, but from what Ida has told me on the way, things are getting very odd in the Federation. I promise I'll tell you about it later.
Margaret shepherded Ida Davidson away, took her to a room adjoining her own on the west side of the Alton Suite, and gave her over to Piedra. The maid was waiting, and had already sorted out the small amount of baggage that Ida« had brought. Fortunately, Piedra had a small command of Terran phrases which she had learned from Margaret, and she took the old woman neatly in hand.
Lew was waiting for her when she returned to the sitting room, stretched out in an armchair with his feet toward the fireplace. He had a steaming mug in his hand, and the sweet smell of herb tea rose from it. There was a pot of the stuff on a small table, and two 'more mugs, so she helped herself and sat down across from him.
"Did you know they had to cut funding to University?"
"Herm mentioned something of the sort. It was so minor compared to the other horse droppings the Expansionists are trying to get through that I didn't give it much thought."
"You didn't think it was important that they want to take away the pensions for professors emeritus? Or that they are cutting the scholarships?" She was outraged.
"Marguerida, there is a great deal more afoot than such small matters."
"It won't be a small matter to those it affects!" Margaret felt a passion for University that she knew she could never explain to her father, or to anyone who had not been there. "And, if they do that, what about the widows? Ida and Ivor gave their whole lives to taking care of their students, and if the pensions are revoked, how will she live? She is rather too old to go back to giving clavier lessons, I think."
"How old is she? With the LE treatments, it is hard to tell."
"Ivor Was ninety-five, and Ida is two years younger, I think. She doesn't look old enough to be your grandmother, does she?"
"Not in the least. I would have guessed sixty, if I had been pressed." He paused, sipped, and sighed. "It is not just old professors, Marguerida, and their widows, who are being threatened. What the Expansionists propose is a complete overhaul of the economic basis of the Federation. At present, they are not able to realize their mad dream, but if there is another election, they might get a majority in the lower house, and then things would become very . . . unpleasant."
"But, Father, surely no one with any sense would support ..."
"If you tell people it is in their own interest to do something, they will support it, even if it is a lie. Add to that the fact that the Expansionist Party is supported by the more rapacious elements of the Federation—those who have always believed that it was the purpose of all the planets to provide Terra with every luxury, even if it meant that people would starve for it, and you have the devil's own mess. These men have no religion except greed, and no more morals than a banshee. People have very short memories, and do not remember the World Wreckers. We here on Darkover remember, though, because they came so close to destroying us."
"Do you wish you were back in the Senate?"
"No, I don't. I would be taking out dueling licenses on a daily basis, in all likelihood, or drinking myself to death. I had the sense to know it was time to pass the torch to Hermes Aldaran, who is as wily as his name suggests."
"I hope you are right. Something happened at the spaceport that makes me very uneasy. They would not let me
enter—I suppose I should have put on my uniform instead of wearing comfortable clothing—even though I had the proper papers. It was something about sabotage on Ephebe. And they wouldn't let my Guardsman accompany me into the port, because he was Darkovan, I guess. The man who stopped me accused me of stealing my papers. I've encountered that sort of treatment from native officials on a few planets, but Terran servicemen are not usually so rude, or paranoid either."
Lew nodded. "I knew about Ephebe, though I only heard a few days before you arrived, and it slipped my mind."
"What happened?"
"It is not clear, for I only had a brief account from Herm. He could not explain the whole matter, and had to use a rather shabby code we worked out just before I left. It seems that the locals were outraged at some new rule that was put upon them—you do know that Ephebe is owned almost completely by Transplanetary, don't you—and they took matters into their own hands, and managed to destroy most of the main spaceport. Transplanetary is demanding that troops be sent in to 'restore order,' and the Senate is dragging its collective feet."
"I don't understand. Why could he not tell you everything?"
Lew drank the last of his tea, made a terrible face, and set his mug aside. "It might have been construed as treasonous, if he had given Regis and me the details. Because we' are a Protected planet, rather than a member world."
"That makes a difference?"
"It certainly does. The Expansionists are deeply suspicious of Protectorates, and want nothing
more than to bring them into member status, the better to seize their resources and dispatch them to Terra. Did you know that we made some tentative agreements after the World Wreckers to share some of our matrix science with the Federation. It was a mistake, and we realized it before it had gone too far. Regis did some very fancy footwork, as did I, and we managed to undo the damage. I was never so grateful for the Alton Gift as when I persuaded a few key people that the claims of matrix science were greatly exaggerated, and hardly worth notice. But afterward I was disgusted with myself, too, for using forced rapport, even in a good cause.
It reminded me altogether too much of Dyan-Gabriel Ar-dais's actions in the past." His head sank toward his chest, and he looked depressed. "The things I have done for Darkover!" he finished bitterly.
"Was that when information about Darkover was suppressed?"
Lew brightened a bit. "Yes. I managed to attach a small amendment to a trade bill, something so apparently unimportant that it was almost unnoticed, subtly altering the status of Protectorates in the Federation. By the time anyone realized what had happened, there was nothing they could do, other than rescind it, and there were other pressing matters that received attention instead. The Federation is starting to crack, Marguerida. It is too large to govern, and those who imagine they can run it are deluded. What is needed is not a return to the greedy policies of the past, but instead a whole new form of government, instead of the muddle we have now, a patchwork of agreements that no longer serve. Only the vision is lacking. The Terranan have expanded their horizons without enlarging their imaginations. I cannot do anything about that. All I can do is try to keep Darkover from being gobbled up by Transplanetary of some other corporation."