"Certainly doesn't seem to be a hardship post, does it?" Danae muttered. "Housesit all day, party all night."
Ravagin shrugged. "He's new here. Give him a few more months and he'll be as frustrated as every other person from the Twenty Worlds that spends much time on Shamsheer."
"Frustrated how? By the laws?"
He shook his head. "By the technology."
"Come again?"
Abruptly, Ravagin stood up and headed for the stairs. "Come on, let's go sit outside on the balcony."
Danae's face was suddenly wary. "Why?"
"Why not? It's a nice night... and besides, it'll give you a good chance to see part of the answer to your question."
She followed silently as he climbed the steps to the second floor and found the doors leading out to the wide balcony facing out onto the street. Essen and his staff clearly spent a good deal of time here themselves: the furniture included both stuffed chairs and meal-size tables, and the guardrail was equipped with a spindly sort of device that Ravagin recognized as a minor bit of magic called a rainstopper. Choosing a chair near the rail, he sat down.
"Well?" Danae asked, looking around.
"Have a little patience," Ravagin advised her. "The pace of life on Shamsheer is slower than you're probably used to. Sit down and listen to the sounds of Kelaine at night."
"I said I wasn't interested in Kelaine at night," she grumbled, but pulled a second chair up to the rail anyway and sank into it. From somewhere down the street the sounds of musicians warming up could be heard, as well as the rising rumble of conversation as the locals began gathering.
"What's that, a bar or something down the street?" Danae asked, craning her neck to look toward the sound.
"That, or a private party. Though 'private party' is something of a misnomer—most of them are open to anyone who wants to drop in."
"Sounds like a typical university party."
"Mm. I think you'd find one of them interesting, but if you really don't want to go—there," he interrupted himself, pointing southward into the sky.
"What?" Danae asked, turning to look.
"The sky-planes—see them?"
"Yes. Huh. Where are they all going at this time of night?"
"Eastward, to Forj Tower. Carrying all the gadgets that broke in Kelaine City today."
"The—? Oh. Oh." She watched in silence for another minute, until the aerial caravan was out of sight, then turned back to Ravagin. "I counted at least twenty sky-planes. And all the stuff they're carrying will be repaired overnight?"
"That, or else replacements will be sent back before morning. We're not quite sure which, or whether it's the same in all cases."
"Why don't you try marking one of them?" she asked. "Or better yet, why not get someone inside the
—did you call it Forj?"
"It's the local Dark Tower," Ravagin explained. " 'Forj' comes from the initials of the four protectorates surrounding it. Actually, we have tried marking some of the repair jobs—the results have been inconclusive. As for getting into Forj—" He shrugged. "Well, the getting in part is possible, or so say the legends. The problem is that all the actual repair work is done in sealed modules within the Tower itself, and trying to break into one gets you escorted out by a set of trolls in double-quick time."
"And that's what frustrates everyone? The fact that you can't watch the magic technology being repaired?"
"And can't seem to disassemble any of it without ruining it; and can't find any equipment outside the Dark Towers to analyze it with anyway; and therefore can't bring a single scrap of this technology out to the Twenty Worlds. And for most people, the more they see of Shamsheer, the more the fact that this stuff's beyond their reach gnaws the hell out of them."
She snorted gently. "Pure, unadulterated greed."
Ravagin flicked an irritated glance at her. "Greed, yes. Unadulterated, no."
"Perhaps."
They sat in silence for a few more minutes. From the other end of the street a second party added counterpoint to the sounds of the first, and pedestrian traffic in front of the way house picked up as people began traveling back and forth between the two foci of entertainment. One of the fascinations this culture held for sociologists, Ravagin knew, was that of a still largely medieval setting where even the peasant class had real quantities of leisure time.
"Would you really have let that jerkface hit me?"
Ravagin brought his mind back. "Yes," he told her honestly. "If he'd chosen to exercise that right it would have been the simplest and safest way out of that mess. And don't think it wasn't a mess—we could have gotten into serious trouble out there."
Danae's face twisted into an irritated grimace as she stared straight out over the rail. "And since I'd gotten us into it in the first place I needed the lesson anyway?" she growled. "Maybe; but I'm not sorry I did it. Maybe you could sit by and watch that woman get hurt, but I couldn't."
"Which proves all by itself you didn't really understand what was going on," Ravagin countered, fighting against his own irritation. "If they'd gone so far as to actually hurt her, they would have been the ones in trouble. And they knew it. Shamsheer law is strongly set up along the eye-for-an-eye philosophy, applied evenly to all people. Especially in the Tween cities, which are generally at least a little more democratic than the protectorates."
Danae pondered that for a moment in silence. "Well... maybe I did go off a little prematurely," she admitted.
"Prematurely, hell," he told her bluntly. "You could have gotten us both killed out there. And it is not going to happen again, or I'll abort this trip and take you straight back to Threshold. Understood?"
She glared at him. "You don't have to beat it to death," she said icily. "I was wrong, I admit it, and I promise to stay fully on track from now on. Happy?"
"Ecstatically." He hadn't really intended to bring this up quite so soon, but after that thickheaded play this afternoon the more caution he could plant in her the better. "I'd be even happier if you'd explain why you've got a professional bodyguard trailing along behind you."
She jerked, actually spinning to look over her shoulder. "What—? Damn him. It's Hart, right? Where is he?" she growled, facing Ravagin again.
"If my instructions have been listened to, he's still back on Threshold. But some of my colleagues may have more trouble than I did turning down the cash dripping off his fingers."
"Damn. But he can't find us here... can he?"
"Not as far as I know. Are you saying he's a danger to you?"
"Not a danger, no. But definitely an annoyance." She sighed and seemed to slump in her chair. "He's been dogging my every move ever since I left home, watching out for nonexistent danger and smoothing my road for me whenever he could."
"So why don't you send him away?"
"Because I'm not the one paying his salary. That comes from my father—and Daddy Dear sees monsters underneath every bush."
"Maybe he knows something you don't," Ravagin grunted.
"Like...?"
"Like maybe something new has come up. Some reason he suddenly didn't want you here alone."
Danae snorted. "Daddy Dear's a chronic worrier, and paranoid on top of it. And if you listen to him
—" She broke off suddenly. "Anyway, just because Hart's here doesn't mean there's anything in particular to worry about. Especially while we're on this side of the Tunnel."
Ravagin pondered for a moment. She was right, of course—whether her father was afraid of kidnappers or assassins or God knew what else, there was little chance such dangers could reach into the Hidden Worlds. And yet... "You're probably right," he admitted after a moment. "But I think we should take some extra precautions anyway, just in case. Hart's veiled warnings may have been just talk, but he may have known something he didn't want to tell me."