Behind her throaty voice, up through the window, came the sounds of feet shuffling about, weapons rattling, a surflike growl. Flandry stared out. Shiv Alley was packed with armed Kursovikians. They spilled past sight, among gray walls, steep red roofs, carved beams: on into the Street Where They Fought, a cordon around this house. Spearheads and axes, helmets and byrnies flashed in the harsh light of Saxo; banners snapped to the wind, shields bore monsters and thunderbolts luridly colored. It was no mob. It was the fighting force of Ujanka, summoned by the Sisterhood. Warriors guarded the parapets on Seatraders’ Castle and the ships lay ready in Golden Bay.
Lucifer!
Flandry thought, half dismayed. Did I start this?
He looked back at Dragoika. Against the gloom of the chamber, the barbaric relics which crowded it, her ruby eyes and the striped orange-and-white fur seemed to glow, so that the curves of her body grew disturbingly rich. She tossed back her blonde mane, and the half-human face broke into a smile whose warmth was not lessened by the fangs. “We were too busy since you came,” she said. “Now, while we wait, we can talk. Come.”
He crossed the floor, strewn with aromatic leaves in his honor, and took the couch by hers. A small table in the shape of a flower stood between, bearing a ship model and a flagon. Dragoika sipped. “Will you not share my cup, Dom-maneek?”
“Well … thanks.” He couldn’t refuse, though Starkadian wine tasted grim on his palate. Besides, he’d better get used to native viands; he might be living off them for a long while. He fitted a tube to his chowlock and sucked up a bit.
It was good to wear a regular sea-level outfit again, air helmet, coverall, boots, after being penned in a spacesuit. The messenger Dragoika sent for him, to the Terran station in the High Housing, had insisted on taking back such a rig.
“How have you been?” Flandry asked lamely.
“As always. We missed you, I and Ferok and your other old comrades. How glad I am the Archer was in port.”
“Lucky for me!”
“No, no, anyone would have helped you. The folk down there, plain sailors, artisans, merchants, ranchers, they are as furious as I am.” Dragoika erected her tendrils. Her tail twitched, the winglike ears spread wide. “That those vaz-gira-dek would dare bite you!”
“Hoy,” Flandry said. “You have the wrong idea. I haven’t disowned Terra. My people are simply the victims of a lie and our task is to set matters right.”
“They outlawed you, did they not?”
“I don’t know what the situation is. I dare not communicate by radio. The vaz-Merseian could overhear. So I had your messenger give our men a note which they were asked to fly to Admiral Enriques. The note begged him to send a trustworthy man here.”
“You told me that already. I told you I would make quite plain to the vaz-Terran, they will not capture my Domma-neek. Not unless they want war.”
“But—”
“They don’t. They need us worse than we need them, the more so when they failed to reach an accord with the vaz-Siravo of the Zletovar.”
“They did?” Flandry’s spirit drooped.
“Yes, as I always said would happen. Oh, there have been no new Merseian submarines. A Terran force blasted the Siravo base, when we vaz-Kursovikian were unable to. The vaz-Merseian fought them in the air. Heaven burned that night. Since then, our ships often meet gunfire from swimmers, but most of them get through. They tell me combat between Terran and Merseian has become frequent—elsewhere in the world, however.”
Another step up the ladder, Flandry thought. More men killed, Tigeries, seafolk. By now, I suppose, daily. And in a doomed cause.
“But you have given me small word about your deeds,” Dragoika continued. “Only that you bear a great secret. What?”
“I’m sorry.” On an impulse, Flandry reached out and stroked her mane. She rubbed her head against his palm. “I may not tell even you.”
She sighed. “As you wish.” She picked up the model galley. Her fingers traced spars and rigging. “Let me fare with you a ways. Tell me of your journey.”
He tried. She struggled for comprehension. “Strange, that yonder,” she said. “The little stars become suns, this world of ours shrunk to a dustmote; the weirdness of other races, the terrible huge machines—” She clutched the model tight. “I did not know a story could frighten me.”
“You will learn to live with a whole heart in the universe.” You must.
“Speak on, Domma-neek.”
He did, censoring a trifle. Not that Dragoika would mind his having traveled with Persis; but she might think he preferred the woman to her as a friend, and be hurt.
“—trees on Merseia grow taller than here, bearing a different kind of leaf—”
His wristcom buzzed. He stabbed the transmitter button. “Ensign Flandry.” His voice sounded high in his ears. “Standing by.”
“Admiral Enriques,” from the speaker. “I am approaching in a Boudreau X-7 with two men. Where shall I land?”
Enriques in person? My God, have I gotten myself caught in the gears!
“A-a-aye, aye, sir.”
“I asked where to set down, Flandry.”
The ensign stammered out directions. A flitter, as his letter had suggested, could settle on the tower of Dragoika’s house. “You see, sir, the people here, they’re—well, sort of up in arms. Best avoid possible trouble, sir.”
“Your doing?”
“No, sir. I mean, not really. But, well, you’ll see everyone gathered. In combat order. They don’t want to surrender me to … uh … to anyone they think is hostile to me. They threaten, uh, attack on our station if—Honest, sir, I haven’t alienated an ally. I can explain.”
“You’d better,” Enriques said. “Very well, you are under arrest but we won’t take you into custody as yet. We’ll be there in about three minutes. Out.”
“What did he say?” Dragoika hissed. Her fur stood on end.
Flandry translated. She glided from her couch and took a sword off the wall. “I’ll call a few warriors to make sure he keeps his promise.”
“He will. I’m certain he will. Uh … the sight of his vehicle might cause excitement. Can we tell the city not to start fighting?”
“We can.” Dragoika operated a communicator she had lately acquired and spoke with the Sisterhood centrum across the river. Bells pealed forth, the Song of Truce. An uneasy mutter ran through the Tigeries, but they stayed where they were.
Flandry headed for the door. “I’ll meet them on the tower,” he said.
“You will not,” Dragoika answered. “They are coming to see you by your gracious permission. Lirjoz is there, he’ll escort them down.”
Flandry seated himself, shaking his head in a stunned fashion.
He rocketed up to salute when Enriques entered. The admiral was alone, must have left his men in the flitter. At a signal from Dragoika, Lirjoz returned to watch them. Slowly, she laid her sword on the table.
“At ease,” Enriques clipped. He was gray, bladenosed, scarecrow gaunt. His uniform hung flat as armor. “Kindly present me to my hostess.”
“Uh … Dragoika, captain-director of the Janjevar va-Radovik … Vice Admiral Juan Enriques of the Imperial Terrestrial Navy.”
The newcomer clicked his heels, but his bow could have been made to the Empress. Dragoika studied him a moment, then touched brow and breasts, the salute of honor.
“I feel more hope,” she said to Flandry.
“Translate,” Enriques ordered. That narrow skull held too much to leave room for many languages.
“She … uh … likes you, sir,” Flandry said.