City noises--the dizzying chaos of the metropolis. Kesley and van Alen
reined in their mounts at the gates of the city of Galveston, capital
of Texas Province and a main bastion of Duke Winslow of North America.
It seemed to Kesley that they had been riding for months. Actually,
it had been only a matter of weeks for the long ride through the
farmlands, down through Texas to the Gulf.
They moved along now at a slow canter, guiding their horses into a line
that disappeared between the heavy copper gates surrounding the walled
city. Galveston was an encircled peninsula, guarded by land, open to
the sea.
Men in the green-and-gold uniforms of Duke Winslow's guard rode
alongside the line, keeping the jostling crowd in order.
"Better get your coins ready," van Alen muttered, as they drew near the
gate.
"Coins?"
"This is a fee city. A dollar a head to enter the gate."
Kesley made a face and dug a golden dollar from his pocket. He looked
at the tiny, well-worn coin almost wistfully. "The good Duke takes
care that his subjects are never weighted with overmuch coinage," he
observed. "The Duke's men relieve us of it joyfully."
They rode past the gate. A sleepy-eyed toll-keeper sat, impassively
watching, as each newcomer to the city deposited his dollar in the till.
As Kesley passed the tollbox, he flipped the coin in casually. It
clinked against several of the others, spun, and bounced out, rolling
some ten feet away. Kesley shrugged apologetically and continued ahead.
"Hey there!" The guard's voice was loud and harsh. "Get down there
and--"
The voice of the toll-keeper died away. Kesley looked around and saw
van Alen down on his knees in the well-trampled mud, rooting in the
filth for the coin. The nobleman seemed to show no compunction about
crawling before the toll-keeper.
"Here you are, sir." Van Alen obsequiously deposited Kesley's dollar
in the tollbox, added one of his own, and handed a third coin to the
toll-keeper.
"The boy is sick," van Alen murmured, gesturing significantly. "He does
not know what he does."
The toll-keeper nodded curtly and pocketed the dollar. "Get moving,
both of you," he snapped.
Kesley, who had trotted a few feet further, halted to let van Alen
catch up with him.
"That's a good way to assure a short life," the Antarctican said.
"Toll-keepers are notorious for their quick triggers. Don't make
needless trouble for yourself, boy."
"Sorry," Kesley said. "It riled me to see him sitting there so smug and
taking our money. I didn't really mean to throw the coin on the ground."
Van Alen shook his head sadly. "It riled you," he repeated, his voice
mocking. "You've been lucky so far--each time you've lost your temper,
you've survived. But better learn to curb it. These people are your
superiors, whether you like it or not, and if a Duke wants a dollar to
enter his city, you put down your dollar or you ride the other way."
"Superiors, hell! They've got no right--"
"You're just so much dirt, Kesley," the Antarctican said with sudden
force. Oddly, the words did not stir Kesley to anger. "Learn that
lesson now. Whatever you may think you are, that doesn't alter the fact
that you're nothing more than dirt."
Kesley swallowed hard, but said nothing. Van Alen was right, he was
forced to admit. The Twelve Dukes ruled supreme, and beneath them came
a complex and sharply-defined hierarchy in which, as a farmer, Kesley
was close to the bottom. He had no call to flare up at toll-keepers.