Campbell stood still, not moving or speaking, his hard, dark face
lined and dead, like old wood. From a great distance he heard Marah's
smothered, furious curse, the quick catch of Stella's breath, the
sullen breathing and stirring of the mob that was no longer sure what
it wanted to do.
But all he could see was the pale, kind face of an old man smiling in
the warm, blue night, and the dirty, sordid stones of Lhi.
A voice spoke, from beside the circle of armed men. Campbell heard it
with some part of his brain. An old voice, dry and rustling, possessed
of great dignity and great pain.
"My children," it said. "Have patience. Have faith that we, your
leaders, have the good of Romany at heart."
Campbell looked with dead, dark eyes at the speaker, standing beside
Tredrick. A small man in a robe of white fur. A Martian from one of the
Polar Cities, frail, black-eyed grave, and gently strong.
"Remember the cold, the hunger, the uncertainty we have endured. We
have a chance now for security and peace. Let there be no trouble, now
or when the Spaceguard comes. Return to your quarters quietly."
"Trouble!" Marah's voice roared out across the hot, still air. Every
face down there below turned up toward the balcony. Campbell saw
Tredrick start, and speak to one of the guards. The guard went out, not
too fast. Campbell swore under his breath, and his brain began to tick
over again, swift and hard.
Marah thundered on, a bronze Titan in the sultry glare. His gorget, his
yellow eyes, the bosses on his kilt held points of angry flame.
"You, Eran Mak, a Martian! Have you forgotten Kesh, and Balakar, and
the Wells of Tamboina? Can you crawl to the Coalition like a _sindar_
for the sake of the bones they throw you? You, Tredrick! You've sold
us out. Since when have _latniks_ been called to meddle in Romany's
affairs?"
Tredrick's cold voice was quite steady. "The Kraylens are beyond reach,
Marah. A revolt will get you nothing. Do you want blood on your hands?"
"My hand," said Marah softly. His hook made a burning, vicious arc in
the hot light. "If there's blood on this, the Coalition spilled it when
their Frontier Marshal lopped my sword-hand for raising it against him."
The mob stirred and muttered. And Campbell said swiftly, "Tredrick's
right. But there's still a chance, if you want to take it."