“We aren’t obstructing business, we’re trying to get it done,” Jan said. He didn’t know what to do with his big hands, which hung uneasily at his sides, half-closed, wanting the handle of an absent hoe. “We have to talk this business over.”
Falco said very quietly, “Guards.”
As the guards pressed forward again, Jan looked in perplexity at Vera, and Hari spoke up: “Oh, now, calm down, Councillor, all we want is a bit of sensible talk, you can see that.”
“Your Excellency! Have these people taken out!” shouted a man from the benches, and others started calling out, as if they wanted to be heard doing so by the Councillors on the dais. The Shantih people stood quiet, though Jan Serov and young King stared rather wide-eyed at the angry, shouting faces turned toward them. Falco conferred a moment with Helder, then signaled one of the guards, who left the hall at a run. Falco raised his hand for silence.
“You people,” he said quite gently, “must understand that you aren’t members of the Government, but subjects of the Government. To ‘decide’ upon some ‘plan’ contrary to the Government’s decision is an act of rebellion. To make this clear to you, and the rest of your people, you’ll be detained here until we are certain that normal order is restored.”
“What’s ‘detained’?” Hari whispered to Vera, who said, “Prison.” Hari nodded. He had been born in a prison, in Canamerica; he didn’t remember it, but he was proud of it.
Eight guards now came shoving in and began to hustle the Shantih people to the door. “Single file! Hurry up now! Don’t run or I’ll shoot!” their officer commanded. None of the five showed the least sign of trying to run, resist, or protest. King, shoved by an impatient guard, said, “Oh, sorry,” as if he had got in the way of someone in a rush.
The guards bundled the group out past the frescoes, under the columns, into the street. There they stopped. “Where to?” one asked the officer.
“Jail.”
“Her too?”
They all looked at Vera, neat and delicate in her white silk. She looked back at them with tranquil interest.
“The boss said jail,” the officer said, scowling.
“Hesumeria, sir, we can’t stick her in there,” said a little, sharp-eyed, scar-faced guard.
“That’s what the boss said.”
“But look, she’s a lady.”
“Take her to Boss Falco’s house and let him decide when he gets home,” suggested another, Scarface’s twin, but scarless.
“I’ll give you my word to stay wherever you decide, but I’d rather stay with my friends,” said Vera.
“Please shut up, lady!” the officer said, clutching his head. “All right. You two take her to Casa Falco.”
“The others will give their word too, if—” Vera began, but the officer turned his back on her and shouted, “All right! Get going! Single file!”
“This way, senhora,” said Scarface.
At the turning Vera paused and held up her hand to salute her four companions, now far down the street. “Peace! Peace!” Hari shouted back, enthusiastically. Scarface muttered something and spat thickly aside. The two guards were men Vera would have been afraid of if she had passed them in a City street alone, but as they walked now, flanking her, their protectiveness of her was evident even in their gait. She realized that they felt themselves to be her rescuers.
“Is the jail very disagreeable?” she asked.
“Drunks, fights, stink,” Scarface replied, and his twin added with grave propriety, “No place for a lady, senhora.”
“Is it any better place for a man?” she inquired, but neither answered.
Casa Falco stood only three streets from the Capitoclass="underline" a big, low, white building with a red tile roof. The plump housemaid who came to the door was flustered by the presence of two soldiers and an unknown senhora on the doorstep; she curtseyed and panted and whispered, “Oh, hesumeria! Oh, hesumeria!”—and fled, leaving them on the doorstep. After a long pause, during which Vera conversed with her guards and found that they were indeed twin brothers, named Emiliano and Anibal, and that they liked their work as guards because they got good pay and didn’t have to take any lip off anybody, but Anibal—Scarface—didn’t like standing around so much because it made his feet hurt and his ankles swell—after this, a girl entered the front hall, a straight-backed, red-cheeked girl in sweeping full skirts. “I am Senhorita Falco,” she said, with a quick glance at the guards, but speaking to Vera. Then her face changed. “Senhora Adelson, I didn’t recognize you. I’m sorry. Please come in!”
“This is embarrassing, my dear, you see, I’m not a visitor, I’m a prisoner. These gentlemen have been very kind. They thought the jail had no place for women, so they brought me here. I think they have to come in too, if I come in, to guard me.”
Luz Marina’s eyebrows had come down in a fine, straight line. She stood silent for a moment. “They can wait in the entrance here,” she said. “Sit on those chests,” she said to Anibal and Emiliano. “Senhora Adelson will be with me.”
The twins edged stiffly through the door after Vera.
“Please come in,” Luz said, standing aside with formal courtesy, and Vera entered the hall of Casa Falco, with its cushioned wooden chairs and settees, its inlaid tables and patterned stone floor, its thick glass windows and huge cold fireplaces, her prison. “Please sit down,” said her jailer,. and went to an inner door to order a fire laid and lighted, and coffee brought.
Vera did not sit down. As Luz returned toward her she looked at the girl with admiration. “My dear, you are kind and courteous. But I really am under arrest—by your father’s order.”
“This is my house,” Luz said. Her voice was as dry as Falco’s. “It is a house hospitable to guests.”
Vera gave a docile little sigh, and sat down. Her gray hair had been blown about by the wind in the streets; she smoothed it back, then clasped her thin, brown hands in her lap.
“Why did he arrest you?” The question had been suppressed, and shot out under pressure. “What did you do?”
“Well, we came and tried to talk with the Council about plans for the new settlement.”
“Did you know they’d arrest you?”
“We discussed it as one possibility.”
“But what is it all about?”
“About the new settlement—about freedom, I suppose. But really, my dear, I mustn’t talk about it with you. I’ve promised to be a prisoner, and prisoners aren’t supposed to preach their crime.”
“Why not?” said Luz disdainfully. “Is it catching, like a cold?”
Vera laughed. “Yes!—I know we’ve met, I don’t know where it was.”
The flustered maid hurried in with a tray, set it on the table, and hurried out again, panting. Luz poured the black, hot drink—called coffee, made from the roasted root of a native plant—into cups of fine red earthenware.
“I was at the festival in Shanty Town a year ago,” she said. The authoritative dryness was gone from her voice; she sounded shy. “To see the dancing. And there were a couple of times you spoke at school.”
“Of course! You and Lev and all that lot were in school together! You knew Timmo, then. You know he died, on the journey north?”
“No. I didn’t. In the wilderness,” the girl said, and a brief silence followed the word. “Was Lev—Is Lev in jail now?”
“He didn’t come with us. You know, in a war, you don’t put all your soldiers in the same place at once.” Vera, with recovered cheerfulness, sipped her coffee, and winced very slightly at the taste.
“A war?”
“Well, a war without fighting, of course. Maybe a rebellion, as your father says. Maybe, I hope, just a disagreement.” Luz still looked blank. “You know what a war is?”
“Oh, yes. Hundreds of people killing each other. History of Earth at school was full of them. But I thought … your people wouldn’t fight?”