'Gownick,' he said suddenly, in a low voice, 'can I trust you?'
The older man blinked. 'We were rivals in the old days, Aquint, not enemies. We're not enemies now.'
'I'll take that to mean you won't go blabbing what I tell you.'
'You may take it as such,' Gownick said, but there was eagerness in the old businessman's eyes.
Aquint looked around the cafe. Then he huddled closer to the older man, opened his jacket, and removed a swatch of coarse cloth.
'See?'
'What am I looking at, Aquint?' Gownick frowned.
'This was nailed to the door of the garrison barracks this morning.'
'So?'
'So? Look at it, man. That pattern. It doesn't look familiar to you?' Aquint asked in an urgent whisper.
'It looks like a stain on the cloth,' Gownick said, confused.
'It's not, for gods' sake! The circle, with the line through it. Don't tell me you don't recognize it.'
'Should I?' Gownick asked.
'It doesn't mean anything to you?' Aquint feigned a dumbfounded expression.
The large elder was starting to look a little flustered. No one liked being left out of things. It was a childish impulse people never outgrew completely.
Aquint made to put the piece of cloth back into his jacket.
'Wait,' Gownick said. 'You say you found that on the Felk barracks door?'
'I had to report there early this morning. I saw it before anyone else did. I removed it, and didn't tell anybody about it.'
'Why not?'
Again Aquint gave him an astonished look. 'Because if I did then the whole garrison would know that the rebels are bold enough to leave their mark right on their very door. It would send soldiers into the streets, into people's homes. We don't need another shakeup like that last one.'
He was referring of course to the garrison's violent response to the murder of one of their own by that Minstrel. But by telling Gownick this, he was siding himself with the Callahans, not the Felk.
'No,' Gownick said, gravely, 'we certainly don't need that.' He frowned again. 'Let me have another look at that.'
Aquint showed him the mark on the cloth again. He himself had drawn it, naturally, using a stick of charcoal. This same slashed circle, which had been branded on numerous walls and doors throughout Callah, was, so Aquint had told Jesile, the emblem of the rebel underground.
Actually, he hadn't known if that was true or not. But at the time it was an expedient ploy, one that had helped firm up his position as an Internal Security agent fighting a real rebel network here in this city.
'I think I've seen this...' Gownick finally said.
It was quite possible he had. Whoever had been responsible for those strange brands had done a thorough job of spreading them throughout Callah. Jesile's troops had since eradicated the marks, removing doors and defacing walls where necessary.
'Well, I'm keeping it,' Aquint said, finally stuffing it back into a pocket. 'Hopefully, one day soon I'll make contact with someone in that rebel underground. When I do I'll use that symbol on that cloth as a kind of credential, to show I know who they are.'
Gownick shook his head. 'Why do you want to contact them?'
Aquint blinked at his former business rival. 'To join them, of course.'
With that he got up from the table, and left the cafe.
By the time he rendezvoused with Cat later in the day, Aquint was feeling much better. His mood had improved as well.
'You look pleased with yourself,' the boy said, as they ducked beneath the flamboyant eaves of a building.
'And why not?'
'It went as you planned?'
'It did.' Aquint nodded. 'How about you?'
Cat shrugged. 'Tracking is time-consuming work. There's lots of places that group could've gone, if they didn't just scatter individually.'
Aquint was feeling magnanimous. 'There there, lad. We'll find those motley rebels, one way or the other.'
The boy shrugged again.
They stood there a moment, watching the foot traffic pass. Occupied or not, life still went on in Callah for its native inhabitants.
Aquint was indeed pleased. He had confided in three others besides Gownick, all just as big-mouthed. Word would get around about both the rebels nailing their mark on the barracks door, and about Aquint wanting to contact the underground. The first gambit would lend even more credence to a potential rebel uprising, which would secure Aquint's position even further, so long as he eventually turned the culprits over to Abraxis.
The second ploy just might put him in contact with the rebels. It depended on how seriously they took themselves. They had started as a sort of semifictional group, which Aquint himself had encouraged the Felk to believe in. Now, they might just become real, and might start accepting recruits.
If that happened, then they could be infiltrated.
Aquint was smiling, but his smile faded after a moment, as he considered the bigger picture. Suppose these ragtag rebels did rise up against the Felk. Suppose, somehow, they defeated Jesile's troops here in Callah. Did Aquint really want to be responsible for undoing a rebellion like that?
'What's wrong?' Cat asked, as always sensitive to Aquint's mood.
'Nothing.' Aquint waved dismissively. 'Tell me, do you think it's too early for a drink?'
DARDAS (1)
The milk-white unreality played havoc with one's senses. It moved like a fog and offered no convenient points of reference. It left one without any sure sense of distance or depth. But the instructions of the Far Movement mage were clear. Walk straight ahead and don't linger.
Weisel acknowledged the wizard's warnings. They were in a chamber of the Palace. He waited patiently for the spell to be completed. It had to be coordinated with the mages at the far end, via Far Speak.
This portal was being opened between the city of Felk and the army in the field near Trael. Matokin had ordered Weisel to return to his troops, now that the matter of Raven's resurrection had been settled. That girl had sacrificed herself for him, and he had demanded that a host body be found for her, and her spirit returned to life. Matokin had complied.
It was a stunning reversal, and Dardas was still adjusting. Just a few days ago, he had been the one operating this body. He had been the dominating personality and will. Then, unexpectedly, Weisel had seized control. Now Dardas was the one pushed to the remote mental corners, unable to move these limbs, or work this mouth. He was, effectively, disembodied.
It was a sorry state of affairs. He hadn't been reborn after two and a half centuries just to ride around passively in this effete Felk nobleman's skull. No, he must have an active role again. He was a general. He was meant to lead an army.
