HALF TERM
Up on the Rosleinalp, Luisa Aldaran handed a sheathed object to her fellow conspirator.
"Be careful with it," she warned anxiously as he moved to lift the silk. "It is very powerful, and it could destroy you rather than those you wish it to."
Hastily, the man recovered the object. "But will I be able to use it properly, Lou- Lady Luisa?"
Luisa lifted one beautifully shaped eyebrow and her green eyes glinted. "Because you have no usable laran, you mean?" Her voice was scornful, and the man glared at her.
"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "Because I have none!" He turned his back on her and sat down, and she watched him with an amused, yet, faintly malicious smile. She moved towards him and trailed her fingers across his shoulders.
"But you will have," she coaxed, her tones silken. "And later, something more. When we have won, here and on Darkover, I will send you to the best Towers in the Domains." Her eyes glittered again, and he shivered. In this mood she looked positively feral. "I will send you to Arilinn, and force the Hastur bitch there to give you all her knowledge. There, you will learn to use your laran- such as it is!"
"But you told me that Arilinn was protected by a trap matrix, the Veil of Arilinn, which will only allow those of Comyn blood to enter?"
"So I did. I am pleased you have listened. But I will tell you a secret: their Veil is less than they think, just as laran is not purely a Comyn gift. They are only now learning in the Domains what we of Aldaran have known for generations! If you believe you can pass through it, then the belief will become reality. Just as," she continued softly, "if you believe that you have laran, and open your mind to it, you will have it."
"So what are we doing here, then?" he complained. "Shouldn't we be on the first starship back to Cott- Darkover?"
Luisa removed her hand so quickly that her nails raked across his neck, and he winced.
"Fool!" she hissed. "We need that girl Flavia and you know why! I have told you, and told you! And to convince the Empire authorities to trust us, we need lots of telepaths- or potential telepaths- to give them for their experiments and investigations, so that they do not pay attention to what we do."
"But I thought you said-" he began, and Luisa moved her hand abruptly.
"Enough!" she said fiercely, and then almost laughed as she saw that he had, quite literally, frozen. The command voice was a dangerous heritage, but Luisa had learned, and learned well, how to use it. Only she used it with caution, for even an Aldaran knew of Darkovan ethics about the overuse of such a potentially powerful Gift.
"You must go now," she told him conversationally, but firmly, "and do what we have talked of. But it must be done quickly! There is no time to lose. Inspector Letton is due at noon. We must have accomplished our task before then!"
Jerking out of the trance into which he had fallen, he rose and obeyed.
Luisa sat and watched him go, and then bared her own matrix.
"Now it begins," she said, quietly and triumphantly.
At the school, Rosalie Dene was sorting through correspondence as quickly as she could. She wanted to finish by Break time as she had planned to have coffee with Joey Maynard that morning, but she sighed as she realised that the coffee might well have to wait. There were a number of letters here that absolutely had to be sorted immediately.
"Good morning, Rosalie. Could I help you?"
Rosalie turned at the sound of Leonie Hastur's precise voice, and stared. The older woman usually wore suits, or skirts and cardigans as they all did. Her outfit today, however, was considerably different.
She wore a crimson dress cut in almost the style of a medieval tabard, although the hem was the best part of ten inches off the floor. A simple stitched fabric belt defined Leonie's waist, and her hair was bound in a big knot at the nape of her neck. The butterfly clip she was using was finely carved wood, rather than her usual copper. Over one arm she held what looked like a silky shawl of the same crimson as her dress- and Rosalie shivered a little as she looked outside. It was only mid-October, but in the Alps that was cool enough, especially when the heating in the school had been cranked down for a couple of days whilst the girls were out. Perhaps a shawl was a good idea.
"Th-thanks," she stammered now, and silently handed Leonie a packet of letters.
"I have to deal with this lot myself now," the secretary explained, indicating the pile on her table, "but if you could sort this lot into forms for me I'd be very grateful."
"You're going out, aren't you," Leonie mentioned casually.
Rosalie smiled and nodded, forgetting her instinctive caution around this particular mistress. "Yes. I'm going to have elevenses with Jo and her small people. I'm really looking forward to it," she finished with a sigh as she cast another glance at the pile of papers beside her.
"It is a holiday," Leonie reminded her gently. "I am sure Hilda would not mind if you left them."
Rosalie laughed, rather ruefully. "She wouldn't. In fact, she had quite a lot to say to me this morning about working at all! But she has to, so-" and she finished with a shrug and turned back to her work. Leonie took the hint and the letters, and they began to work.
The morning went off well enough. All three of the women in the school worked hard, and at half past eleven, Rosalie announced brightly that since they'd done so much, she thought she'd finish for the day and run over to Joey's now. Leonie agreed easily, and, after a call to alert Mrs Maynard to her impending arrival, Miss Dene went off happily.
Ten minutes later, Leonie raised her head as she heard the sound of the great front door open, and that feeling of disquiet flared up again. Thoughtfully, she removed her matrix from its silken pouch in her pocket, and placed it on her finger. After a moment's pause, she lifted the silky fabric beside her and put it on. Rosalie could not have known that it was part of a Keeper's regalia on Darkover, and Leonie, as she felt the familiar weight settle on her shoulders, realised that she was also assuming once again the discipline of a Keeper, readying herself for intense work. It was, she thought, always well to be prepared.
