A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows

by Anderson, Poul

  you're puzzled. Please come inside where it's warmer and we'll tell

  you." The rest behaved in equally friendly wise.

  Their story was simple in outline. They too were Imperial subjects, from

  Esperance. That planet wasn't immensely remote from here. True to its

  pacifistic tradition, it had stayed neutral during the succession fight,

  declaring it would pledge allegiance to whoever gave the Empire peace

  and law again. (Kossara nodded. She had heard of Esperance.) But this

  policy required a certain amount of armed might and a great deal of

  politicking and intriguing abroad, to prevent forcible recruitment by

  some or other pretender. The Esperancians thus got into the habit of

  taking a more active role than hitherto. Conditions remained

  sufficiently turbulent after Hans was crowned to keep the habit in tune.

  When their Intelligence heard rumors of Ythrian attempts to foment

  revolution on Diomedes, their government was immediately concerned.

  Esperance was near the border of Empire and Domain. Agents were smuggled

  onto Diomedes to spy out the truth--discreetly, since God alone knew

  what the effect of premature revelations might be. Johnson's party was

  such a band.

  "Predecessors of ours learned Dennitzans were responsible," he said.

  "Not Avalonian humans serving Ythri, but Dennitzan humans serving their

  war lord!"

  "No!" Kossara interrupted, horrified. "That isn't true! And he's not a

  war lord!"

  "It was what the natives claimed, Mademoiselle Vymezal," the

  Asian-looking woman said mildly. "We decided to try posing as

  Dennitzans. Our project had learned enough about the underground--names

  of various members, for instance--that it seemed possible, granted the

  autochthons couldn't spot the difference. Their reaction to us does

  indicate they ... well, they have reason to believe Dennitzans are

  sparking their movement. We've been, ah, leading them on, collecting

  information without actually helping them develop paramilitary

  capabilities. When Eonan told us an important Dennitzan had arrived,

  openly but with hints she could be more than a straightforward

  scientist--naturally, we grew interested."

  "Well, you've been fooled," burst from Kossara. "I'm here to, to

  disprove those exact same charges against us. The Gospodar, our head of

  state, he's my uncle and he sent me as his personal agent. I should

  know, shouldn't I? And I tell you, he's loyal. We are!"

  "Why doesn't he proclaim it?" Johnson asked.

  "Oh, he is making official representations. But what are they worth?

  Across four hundred light-years--We need proof. We need to learn who's

  been blackening us and why." Kossara paused for a sad smile. "I don't

  pretend I can find out much. I'm here as a, a forerunner, a scout. Maybe

  that special Navy team working out of Thursday Landing--have you heard

  about them?--maybe they'll exonerate us without our doing anything.

  Maybe they already have. The commander didn't act suspicious of me."

  Johnson patted her hand. "I believe you're honest, Mademoiselle," he

  said. "And you may well be correct, too. Let's exchange what we've

  discovered--and, in between, give you some outdoor recreation. You look

  space-worn."

  The next three darkling springtime days were pleasant. Kossara and

  Trohdwyr stopped wearing weapons in the cave.}

  Flandry sighed. "Aycharaych." He had told her something of his old

  antagonist. "Who else? Masks within masks, shadows that cast shadows ...

  Merseian operatives posing as Esperancians posing as Dennitzans whose

  comrades had formerly posed as Avalonians, while other Merseian

  creatures are in fact the Terran personnel they claim to be. Yes, I'll

  bet my chance of a peaceful death that Aycharaych is the engineer of the

  whole diablerie."

  He drew on a cigarette, rolled acridity over his tongue and streamed it

  out his nostrils, as if this mordant would give reality a fast hold on

  him. He and she sat side by side on a saloon bench. Before them was the

  table, where stood glasses and a bottle of Demerara rum. Beyond was the

  viewscreen, full of night and stars. They had left the shining nebula

  behind; an unlit mass of cosmic dust reared thunderhead tall across the

  Milky Way. The ship's clocks declared the hour was late. Likewise did

  the silence around, above the hum which had gone so deep into their

  bones that they heard it no more.

  Kossara wore a housedress whose brevity made him all too aware of long

  legs, broad bosom, a vein lifting blue from the dearest hollow that her

  shoulderbones made at the base of her throat. She shivered a trifle and

  leaned near him, unperfumed now except for a sunny odor of woman.

  "Monstrous," she mumbled.

  "N-no ... well, I can't say." Why do I defend him? Flandry wondered, and

  knew: I see in my mirror the specter of him. Though who of us is flesh

  and who image? "I'll admit I can't hate him, even for what he did to you

  and will do to your whole people and mine if he can. I'll kill him the

  instant I'm able, but--Hm, I suppose you never saw or heard of a coral

  snake. It's venomous but very beautiful, and strikes without malice ...

  Not that I really know what drives Aycharaych. Maybe he's an artist of

  overriding genius. That's a kind of monster, isn't it?"

  She reached for her glass, withdrew her hand--she was a light

  drinker--and gripped the table edge instead, till the ends of her nails

  turned white. "Can such a labyrinth of a scheme work? Aren't there

  hopelessly many chances for something to go wrong?"

  Flandry found solace in a return to pragmatics, regardless of what

  bitterness lay behind. "If the whole thing collapses, Merseia hasn't

  lost much. Not Hans nor any Emperor can make the Terran aristocrats give

  up their luxuries--first and foremost, their credo that eventual

  accommodation is possible--and go after the root of the menace. He

  couldn't manage anything more than a note of protest and perhaps the

  suspension of a few negotiations about trade and the like. His

  underlings would depose him before they allowed serious talk about

  singeing the beard the Roidhun hasn't got."

  His cigarette butt scorched his fingers. He tossed it away and took a

  drink of his own. The piratical pungency heartened him till he could

  speak in detachment, almost amusement: "Any plotter must allow for his

  machine losing occasional nuts and bolts. You're an example. Your likely

  fate as a slave was meant to outrage every man on Dennitza when the news

  arrived there. By chance, I heard about you in the well-known and

  deservedly popular nick of time--I, not someone less cautious--"

  "Less noble," She stroked his arm. It shone inside.

  Nonetheless he grinned and said, "True, I may lack scruples, but not

  warm blood. I'm a truncated romantic. A mystery, a lovely girl, an

  exotic planet--could I resist hallooing off--"

  It jarred through him:--off into whatever trap was set by a person who

  knew me? His tongue went on. "However, prudence, not virtue, was what

  made me careful to do nothing irrevocable" to you, darling; I praise the

  Void
that nothing irrevocable happened to you. "And we did luck out, we

  did destroy the main Merseian wart on Diomedes." Was the luck poor silly

  Susette and her husband's convenient absence? Otherwise I'd have stayed

  longer at Thursday Landing, playing sleuth--long enough to give an

  assassin, who was expecting me specifically, a chance at me.

  No! This is fantastic! Forget it!

  "Wasn't that a disaster to the enemy?" Kossara asked.

  " 'Fraid not. I don't imagine they'll get their Diomedean insurgency.

  But that's a minor disappointment. I'm sure the whole operation was

  chiefly a means to the end of maneuvering Terra into forcing Dennitza to

  revolt And those false clues have long since been planted and let

  sprout; the false authoritative report has been filed; in short, about

  as much damage has been done on the planet as they could reasonably

  expect."

  Anguish: "Do you think ... we will find civil war?"

  He laid an arm around her. She leaned into the curve of it, against his

  side. "The Empire seldom bumbles fast," he comforted her. "Remember,

  Hans himself didn't want to move without more information. He saw no

  grounds for doubting the Maspes report--that Dennitzans were

  involved--but he realized they weren't necessarily the Gospodar's

  Dennitzans. That's why I got recruited, to check further. In addition,

  plain old bureaucratic inertia works in our favor. Yes, as far as the

  problems created on Diomedes are concerned, I'm pretty sure well get you

  home in time."

  "Thanks to you, Dominic." Her murmur trembled. "To none but you."

  He did not remind her that Diomedes was not, could never have been the

  only world on which the enemy had worked, and that events on Dennitza

  would not have been frozen. This was no moment for reminders, when she

  kissed him.

  Her shyness in it made him afraid to pursue. But they sat together a

  spell, mute before the stars, until she bade him goodnight.

  {On the tundra far north of the Kazan, Bodin Miyatovich kept a hunting

  lodge. Thence he rode forth on horseback, hounds clamorous around him,

  in quest of gromatz, yegyupka, or ice troll. At other times he and his

  guests boated on wild waters, skied on glacier slopes, sat indoors by a

  giant hearthfire talking, drinking, playing chess, playing music,

  harking to blizzard winds outside. Since her father bore her cradle from

  aircar to door, Kossara had loved coming here.

  Though this visit was harshly for business, she felt pleasure at what

  surrounded her. She and her uncle stood on a slate terrace that jutted

  blue-black from the granite blocks of the house. Zoria wheeled dazzling

  through cloudless heaven, ringed with sun dogs. Left, right, and

  rearward the land reached endless, red-purple mahovina turf, widespaced

  clumps of firebush and stands of windblown plume, here and there a pool

  ablink. Forward, growth yielded to tumbled boulders where water coursed.

  In these parts, the barrens were a mere strip; she could see the ice

  beyond them. Two kilometers high, its cliff stood over the horizon, a

  worldwall, at its distance not dusty white but shimmering, streaked with

  blue crevasses. The river which ran from its melting was still swift

  when it passed near the lodge, a deep brawl beneath the lonesome tone of

  wind, the remote cries of a sheerwing flock. The air was cold, dry,

  altogether pure. The fur lining of her parka hood was soft and tickly on

  her cheeks.

  The big man beside her growled, "Yes, too many ears in Zorkagrad.

  Damnation! I thought if we put Molitor on the throne, we'd again know

  who was friend and who foe. But things only get more tangled. How many

  faithful are left? I can't tell. And that's fouler than men becoming

  outright turncoats."

  "You trust me, don't you?" Kossara answered in pride.

  "Yes," Miyatovich said. "I trust you beyond your fidelity. You're strong

  and quick-witted. And your xenological background ... qualifies you and

  gives you a cover story ... for a mission I hope you'll undertake."

  "To Diomedes? My father's told me rumors."

  "Worse. Accusations. Not public yet. I actually had bloody hard work

  finding out, myself, why Imperial Intelligence agents have been snooping

  amongst us in such numbers. I sent men to inquire elsewhere and--Well,

  the upshot is, the Impies know revolt is brewing on Diomedes and think

  Dennitzans are the yeast. The natural conclusion is that a cabal of mine

  sent them, to keep the Imperium amused while we prepare a revolt of our

  own."

  "You've denied it, I'm sure."

  "In a way. Nobody's overtly charged me. I've sent the Emperor a

  memorandum, deploring the affair and offering to cooperate in a

  full-dress investigation. But guilty or not, I'd do that. How to prove

  innocence? As thin as his corps is spread, we could mobilize--on desert

  planets, for instance, without positive clues for them to find."

  The Gospodar gusted a sigh. "And appearances are against us. There is a

  lot of sentiment for independence, for turning this sector into a

  confederacy free of an Empire that failed us and wants to sap the

  strength we survived by. Those could be Dennitzans yonder, working for a

  faction who plot to get us committed--who'll overthrow me if they

  must--"

  "I'm to go search out the truth if I can," she knew. "Uncle, I'm

  honored. But me alone? Won't that be like trying to catch water in a

  net?"

  "Maybe. Though at the bare least, you can bring me back ... um ... a

  feel of what's going on, better than anybody else. And you may well do

  more. I've watched you from babyhood. You're abler than you think,

  Kossara."

  Miyatovich took her by the shoulders. Breath smoked white from his

  mouth, leaving frost in his beard, as he spoke: "I've never had a harder

  task than this, asking you to put your life on the line. You're like a

  daughter to me. I sorrowed nearly as much as you did when Mihail died,

  but told myself you'd find another good man who'd give you sound

  children. Now I can only say--go in Mihail's name, that your next man

  needn't die in another war."

  "Than you think we should stay in the Empire?"

  "Yes. I've made remarks that suggested different. But you know me, how I

  talk rashly in anger but try to act in calm. The Empire would have to

  get so bad that chaos was better, before Fd willingly break it. Terra,

  the Troubles, or the tyranny of Merseia--and those racists wouldn't just

  subject us, they'd tame us--I don't believe we have a fourth choice, and

  I'll pick Terra."

  She felt he was right.}

  A part of the Hooligan's hold had been converted to a gymnasium.

  Outbound, and at first on the flight from Diomedes, Flandry and Kossara

  used it at separate hours. Soon after her therapy commenced, she

  proposed they exercise together. "Absolutely!" he caroled. "It'll make

  calisthenics themselves fun, whether or not that violates the second law

  of thermodynamics."

  In truth, it wasn't fun--when she was there in shorts and halter, sweat,

  laughter, herself--it was glory.

  Halfway to Dennitza, he t
old her: "Let's end our psychosessions. You've

  regained everything you need. The rest would be detail, not worth

  further invasion of your privacy."

  "No invasion," she said low. Her eyes dropped, her blood mounted. "You

  were welcome."

  "Chives!" Flandry bellowed. "Get busy! Tonight we do not dine, we

  feast!"

  "Very good, sir," the Shalmuan replied, appearing in the saloon as if

  his master had rubbed a lamp. "I suggest luncheon consist of a small

  salad and tea to drink."

  "You're the boss," Flandry said. "Me, I can't sit still. How about a

  game of tennis, Kossara? Then after our rabbit repast we can snooze, in

  preparation for sitting up the whole nightwatch popping champagne."

  She agreed eagerly. They changed into gym briefs and met below. The room

  was elastic matting, sunlamp fluorescence, gray-painted metal sides. In

  its bareness, she flamed.

  The ball thudded back and forth, caromed, bounced, made them leap, for

  half an hour. At last, panting, they called time out and sought a water

  tap.

  "Do you feel well?" She sounded anxious. "You missed an awful lot of

  serves." They were closely matched, her youth against his muscles.

  "If I felt any better, you could turn off the ship's powerplant and hook

  me into the circuits," he replied. "But why--?"

  "I was distracted." He wiped the back of a hand across the salt dampness

  in his mustache, ran those fingers through his hair and recalled how it

  was turning gray. Decision came. He prepared a light tone before going

  on: "Kossara, you're a beautiful woman, and not just because you're the