"Of course. I will give you the one prepared for the most senior."
"Good. I cannot spend time here, unfortunately, for I have to be back in TelleRai early. I will need to borrow bath as well. Mine need rest. I will need a Mistress of the Ship also, if I am to get any rest myself."
"As you wish."
"And something to eat."
"Never any problem there, mistress. Come down to the kitchen."
II Grauel wakened Marika as the darkship approached TelleRai. She checked the time. Edzeka had not given her the strongest of Mistresses. It was later than she had hoped. There would be no time to pause at the cloister. She touched the Mistress, told her to proceed directly to convention ground. The convention would meet there despite the weather, which threatened snow.
The flight south had encountered patch after patch of snowfall, the Mistress being unwilling to climb above the clouds. She was young and unconfident.
It smelled like another hard winter, one that would push farther south than ever before.
A victory today, Marika reflected, and she would be in a position at last to do something about that.
The sky over TelleRai was crowded. Every darkship seemed to set a course identical to Marika's. She edged up to the tip of the wooden cross, touched the Mistress, took over.
The moment the silth reached the axis, Marika took the darkship up five thousand feet, well above traffic, and waited in the still chill till it seemed the crowd should have cleared. Then she dropped a few hundred feet at a time, feeling around in the clouds.
If something was to be tried, this was the time.
So many enemies.
She glanced over her shoulder. Grauel was alert, her weapon ready. She checked her own rifle, then allowed the darkship to sink till it had cleared the underbellies of the clouds.
Still a fair ceiling. The snow might hold off awhile.
The air was less crowded. In fact, the few darkships aloft seemed to be patrolling.
She let the bottom fall out.
Startled touches bounced off her, then she was swooping toward the heart of convention ground as faces turned to look. The glimpses she caught told her they were thinking of her as that show-off savage, making a late, flashy entrance.
Exactly.
She touched down fifty feet from the senior representatives of the Communities. Kiljar was the only silth she recognized. The Redoriad came toward her, skirting a small pond.
Tall, slim trees surrounded the area, winter-naked, probably dying. The heart of convention ground centered upon a group of fountains surrounded by statuary, exotic plantings, and benches where silth came to meditate in less exciting times. A dozen Serke waited near the trees in silence, eyes downcast, resigned. On the opposite side of the circle stood a larger group of males, most of whom were old. Marika spied the tradermales from Bagnel's quarters among them. She raised a paw in mocking greeting.
The males were sullen and hateful.
They were resigned, too, but theirs was not the resignation of the Serke. Marika sensed an undercurrent, something resembling the odor of triumph.
Was there something wrong here? A truthsaying might be in order.
"I had begun to be concerned," Kiljar said. "Where were you? Your cloister told me you were away." She eyed Marika's darkship. While not as fancy as those of times past, it was large and ornate. "Where did you get that?"
"Sisters made it. That was Gradwohl's legacy. A first step toward independence for the brethren."
"You might avoid that subject."
"Why did you wish to contact me?"
"Shortly after you announced you would become first chair of the Reugge, there was a rebellion among the brethren of the Cupple Islands. They have taken control there. What they do next depends upon what you say now."
"I see."
"I hope so."
"I thought it was foregone what would happen. Dismember the Serke and ban the brethren from space for a while."
"Essentially. But the details, Marika. The details. Your past attitude toward the brethren is well-known."
"These prisoners. They are the sacrificial victims?"
"You could call them that."
"The males are old. Those who will replace them are all younger?"
"I would not be surprised."
"Yes. Well. To be expected, I suspect. I have brought a list. As I said, I will negotiate on everything but a Reugge interest in the void."
"Understood. Come. I will introduce you. We will get into the details, then go to the convention for approval. Simply a matter of form, I assure you."
Marika scanned the encircling trees. Here, there, curious faces peeped forth. Silth by the hundred waited in the greater park outside. "Have those meth no work?"
"This is the event of the century, Marika. Of several centuries. I will gather everyone. Tell them what is on your mind."
Marika watched Kiljar closely, wondering about her part in the game. She was behaving as though there was some special alliance between herself and the new most senior of the Reugge.
Random snowflakes floated around. Marika glanced at the overcast. It would not be long.
"Speak, Marika," Kiljar told her. And in a whisper, "Demand what you like, but avoid being belligerent."
Marika spoke. The silth listened. She became uncomfortable as she sensed that they were trying to read into her tone, inflexion, and stance more than was there. She was too young to deal with these silth. They were too subtle for her.
Her speech caused a stir among the trees. Many silth hastened away to tell others farther back.
Kiljar announced, "The Redoriad endorse the Reugge proposal." More softly, she said, "Remember, Marika, this is an informal discussion, not the official convention. Do not take to heart everything that is said."
"Meaning your endorsement is a maneuver."
"That, and that some unpleasant attacks may be made by those opposed. Those who speak against will not be declaring bloodfeud."
The various representatives responded individually. Some felt compelled to do so at great length. Marika seated herself on a bench. She felt sleepy. Sitting did not help. She caught herself nodding.
The breeze became more chill. The snowflakes became more numerous, pellets of white that swirled around the heart of the park. They caught in the grass and whitened it till it looked like the fur of an old female. Kiljar settled beside Marika. "That fool Foxgar will never shut up."
"Who is she?"
"Second of the Furnvreit. A small Community from the far south with limited holdings in the outer system. In a convention the smallest order speaks with a voice equaling that of the largest. Unfortunately. She may be stalling in hopes her vote will be bought."
"Do the Furnvreit have any claim on the Serke?"
"None whatsoever. Few Communities do. But they all want a share of the plunder. And they will get it. Otherwise the convention will go nowhere."
"Wonderful."
A slith came from the trees, hastened to Kiljar, whispered. Kiljar looked grim.
"What is it?" Marika asked. A bad feeling twisted her insides.
"Somebody relayed your opening terms to the Cupple Islands. Those ships we saw around Starstalker. A great many of their type are lifting off, packed with brethren."
Marika's bad feeling worsened.
III An old silth appeared, too excited to retain her cool dignity. "The darkships are leaving the cloister at Ruhaack! The Serke are ... are ... "
"You would deal with brethren!" Marika snapped at Kiljar. She raced to her darkship. "Grauel! Get aboard. Bath! Mistress! Get it airborne."
The remaining silth stood bewildered for a moment, then scattered.
Marika was well away before anyone else lifted off. She touched the Mistress of the Ship. The Reugge cloister. Hurry.
"What is it, Marika?" Grauel asked. She kept turning, weapon ready, seeking something she could not find.
"I don't know. But I don't like this. I have a bad feeling. A premonition. I don't want to be caught on the ground. We'll pick up Barlog, then head for Ruhaack." She was as confused as any of the silth aboard the darkships swarming up below.