Green, Sharon - Mind Guest.htm

by Mind Guest

  retort. "Should it be necessary for the exalted Princess Bellna to

  adopt the actions and mannerisms of a peasant girl to escape her

  father's enemies, it is best that she be fully prepared to do so. This

  walk will begin to prepare her."

  His grip tightened even more on my arm, and then I was yanked along so

  hard I nearly went down from the pull. I felt outrage and shock that a

  servant like Grigon would act that way with me, then impatiently pushed

  those feelings aside. The reaction was Bellna's rather than mine, just

  as most of my previous speech had been. I wasn't used to keeping the

  new set of memories and personality from affecting my own, and the lack

  had already begun making trouble. I can't say I enjoyed the way Grigon

  was manhandling me through the windy dark, but getting up on a high

  horse wasn't the way to stop it. His dialogue had told me we were in

  enemy territory and had to watch what we said, so it was hardly the

  place to teach him the right way to greet a fellow conspirator. It

  would be smarter to wait until we got where we were going and could

  talk freely - even though ignoring the annoyance was hard. I got a left

  handed grip on the cape and long-skirted dress I was wearing, got them

  out of the way of the hurried steps being forced on me, and just

  followed quietly - if not meekly along;

  It took at least twenty minutes to reach our destination. Grigon

  started out at a good clip that had me almost running beside him, but

  we weren't following a road or even a trail. Continuing on like that in

  the dark would have run us into a tree or a ground depression in no

  time, and the man knew it. He slowed almost at once and gestured one of

  the other three into leading our little parade, giving him the job of

  traversing the terrain before we set our dainty boots on it. The chosen

  one took over the job of point without comment, leaving the other two

  to follow along behind. We moved a little faster then, but not so fast

  that I had trouble keeping up. I hate wearing skirts, most especially

  long skirts, but awkward or not, that's what I had to work with. All

  Tildorani women dressed that way, even underage princesses who had been

  given their way much too often in life.

  The wind whipped all our capes around, and the dark was so deep under

  the trees that we wouldn't have been able to see the moons even if

  there hadn't been clouds. I didn't know we had reached where we were

  going until I saw the small clearing we had entered, and looked around

  the side of the big man in front of me to see the large, wooden twostory

  we were approaching. Bellna had never been to the hunting lodge,

  and I could feel the sense of reserved curiosity that sight of it brought to the part that was her. She knew that her father had used it

  and f6r that reason it was somewhat acceptable, but other than that it

  was much too low-class to suit her tastes. Although I hadn't exactly

  been raised in a barn myself, her attitude made me want to shake my

  head. Snobs have their place in life, I suppose, and I'm just being

  short-sighted in not being able to see where.

  A dark shadow stepped into sight on the other side of the clearing,

  grew an arm to gesture with, then melted back into the trees it had

  come from. Grigon did nothing to acknowledge the ahead signal; he

  spoke, instead, to the three men with us.

  "The lodge remains secure," he said, his gruff voice low enough to

  carry no farther than the men around us.

  "I will take the girl inside and remain to instruct her. For you, the

  others do not exist. Guard us as though you were alone."

  The three gave no vocal agreement, but there was no doubt they'd follow

  orders. Two of them moved away from us toward the sides of the lodge as

  Grigon pulled me toward the wide porch that fronted the place, and by

  the time we reached the door the two were gone from sight and hearing.

  The third had let us pass him and then had followed, but once he

  reached the steps leading up to the porch be stopped and turned around,

  his back t6 the lodge as he faced outward. I caught a glimpse of a

  sheathed sword as he turned to take his post, and then Grigon had

  pulled me through the door he had opened, into the dimly lit interior.

  The door was closed again with a firm click, and at long last my arm

  was released from capture. I took the opportunity to rub it as I looked

  around, squinting only a little at the increased light as Grigon turned

  the lamp higher.

  The word "rustic" must have been coined for the room we stood in. The

  log walls were well made and properly sealed, but were totally

  undecorated except for the bows and spears hanging on two of them,

  mostly around the two closed doors. A big stone fireplace dominated

  another of the walls, with four heavy, handmade chairs standing not far

  from the crackling blaze someone had started on its hearth. The only

  wall that wasn't bare was the front one containing windows; heavy brown

  drapes covered them so that they couldn't be seen from inside. The

  wooden floors were as bare as most of the walls, but the whole place

  was neat and entirely lacking that empty, untenanted feel that seldomused

  places usually had. I unhooked my cape and began to slide it off

  my shoulders, already feeling the difference the fire made after the

  cool of the night; as I did so, the man called Grigon stopped prowling

  around and. came over to give me the benefit of his expertise.

  "There was no need whatsoever for you to attempt so superior a manner,"

  he said, unhooking his own cape and pulling it off as he glared at me.

  He was a tall man with a thin face and a perpetually stooped look,

  wearing black pants and boots and a wide-sleeved, plain white shirt.

  "You were commanded to silence, and silent you should have remained.

  Such behavior was unprofessional and the height of stupidity. It will

  not be forgotten."

  "How good of you to greet me so warmly," I drawled, hanging my cape

  over my left arm with a comradely smile. He was still using the

  Tildorani tongue, so I did the same. "Your graciousness will be a great

  comfort to me during my sojourn here."

  "Your manner remains entirely unacceptable," he growled, a faint flush

  of anger tingling his smooth-shaven cheeks. "It is neither the youthful

  imperiousness of the princess, nor the carefully respectful response of

  a peasant girl. Do you think yourself in the midst of a female groupsewing,

  that you behave so? Do you seek to nullify our careful planning?"

  "It is scarcely possible for me to nullify your superior planning from

  this room," I came back, finding it impossible to keep the dryness from

  my voice. "I would, however, appreciate being informed concerning the

  reason for your having twice referred to the possibility of my being

  presented as a peasant girl. I was given the impression in base that I

  was to be the Princess Bellna alone."

  "Guard your unthinking tongue!" he snapped, the look in his dark eyes

  sharpening. "Though this lodge is secure, you are not again to refer to

  'base'! Also, it is not for you to question what role you will p
lay!

  Should we think it necessary that you be disguised as a peasant, you

  will obey our orders without question - if such a difficult undertaking

  is not beyond your abilities! You stand dressed in the clothing of a

  princess; remove it and show me the peasant girl I may require."

  His voice had grown cold and haughty, a Tildorani male giving orders to

  a lowly female. My temper flared in response to his attitude, but my

  own reactions were sweet calm compared to the outrage coming from the

  Bellna personality. No one spoke to a princess like that, and she

  wasn't about to stand for it.

  "How dare you!" I found myself hissing, fists clenched as I leaned

  forward toward the man not far from me. "Is it now that you will

  overstep yourself, peasantish servant? Am I now to be able to speak to

  my father, giving him proof of your lack of respect for me? Till now he

  has laughingly dismissed my protests; there will be little laughter

  caused by this! Show me to my rooms at once, and perhaps you will

  retain your head when your man - hood has been taken!"

  I looked coldly upon the wretch, seeing his frown and the first signs

  of apprehension. Surely did he know that my words had not been idle,

  yet rather than attempt apology he abruptly straightened from the stoop

  that had ever been a part of him, strode across the distance separating

  us, then grasped my arms. He shook me with strength, shocking me with

  such unbelievable behavior, and I didn't know what the hell was going

  on.

  "Snap out of it!" Grigon ordered, clear worry in his eyes as he shook

  me again. "That's the second time you've done it, and this time I'm

  sure. Cut it out!"

  "Cut what out?" I growled, raising both fists in front of me and then

  snapping them outward to break his hold. He had shifted to base

  language, and that seemed to be adding to my confusion. "What the hell

  are you talking about?"

  "I'm talking about that speech you just gave me," he answered, his eyes

  narrowed as he looked at me. He seemed both larger and younger now that

  he'd dropped his roll - and a lot less belligerent. "Bellna has

  resented Grigon's influence over her father for a long time, and she

  and he have had more than one venomous exchange like that. That wasn't

  you pretending to be Bellna; that was Bellna herself."

  "Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed, picking up my cape and then looking

  around for some place other than the floor to put it down. "Just

  because I don't have the hang of using her persona yet doesn't mean

  there's anything strange going on. Once I get a little practice in, her

  personality won't jump out every time she gets upset."

  "You're missing the point," he said, his touch on my arm bringing my

  eyes back to his sober face. "I don't know where you got the idea that

  practice has anything to do with it, but her personality isn't supposed

  to jump out at all. It's an unliving, unaware reference file, not

  another person inside your head to be fought with. Does Dameron know

  about this?" I stared at him for a minute without answering, feel-mg even more

  confused, then finally shook my head.

  "How can Dameron know about it when I don't know about it?" I asked,

  searching his face for signs that he was putting me on. "Are you trying

  to tell me that impression isn't supposed to work this way? That this

  sort of thing-whatever it is - has never happened to anyone else?"

  "Not until now." he took a deep breath as he looked away from me, let

  it out slowly, then brought his eyes back. "It's a good thing I had a

  communicator installed here, just in case. I'd better call Dameron."

  "And tell him what?" I demanded, stopping Grigon as he began turning

  away from me. "That we scrap the whole project because of one minor

  unexpected complication? A suggestion like that is guaranteed to make

  him love you forever."

  "One minor complication?" he echoed, outrage thick in his tone. "You've

  got a living, thinking Bellna sharing your head and body, taking over

  whenever she pleases, and you call that minor? Has anyone ever told you

  you have a gift for understatement?"

  "She doesn't take over whenever she pleases," I denied sourly, deciding

  I might as well hang onto the damned cape for a while. "She's been able

  to take over to a small extent because I didn't know she wasn't

  supposed to be able to. From now on I'll make sure I stay permanently

  in the driver's seat."

  "Oh, sure you will," he agreed with heavy sarcasm, turning all the way

  back to me and folding his arms. "You'll have no trouble at all in

  making a fifteen-year-old brat do things your way while Clero's men

  close in from all sides. They won't distract you from matching wills

  with her, and she won't distract you from keeping yourself unsplited.

  It's done all the time."

  "If it isn't done all the time, how do you know how hard it will be?" I

  countered, getting more and more annoyed at his pessimism. "And I

  thought this project was a top-priority, die-before-failing necessity.

  Someone listening to you would think you were looking for a reason to

  call it off."

  I was trying to put him on the defensive, trying to take his mind off

  the single track it had been clinging to, but the man was no child or

  beginner. Instead of getting insulted or trying to justify his

  position, he let his eyes grow cold.

  "You're right about this being a top-priority project," he said,

  staring down at me. "The part you are wrong about is thinking we'd

  throw away the life of one of our own people just to see our purpose

  accomplished. I know Dameron picked you because he thought you had a

  much better than even chance of surviving this mess; I also know he'll

  want to hear my reasons for thinking you won't survive. Want to bet he

  will love me forever?"

  He stared at me for a minute after that, giving me a chance to make the

  sucker bet if I was foolish enough to do so, but I knew better than to

  waste the effort. The Absari base commander would side with him, not

  with me. After the minute he unfolded his arms and began to turn away

  again, but I couldn't let him go through with it.

  "Grigon, don't call Dameron," I sighed, giving up my previous attempts

  to buffalo him. "You don't have to tell me he'll cancel the project. I

  know he will."

  "Don't you think he should?" the man called Grigon asked, his tone more

  reasonable than argumentative. "I can't imagine what could have gone

  wrong with the impression, but it's bound to make your role five times

  more difficult, if not downright impossible. Your wanting to go with it

  tells me you're probably a suicide buff." "Sorry, but suicide's not my thing," I denied, shifting that stupid

  cape to my other arm. "I'm on the inside with this problem, and I'm

  telling you that it honestly doesn't feel as terrible as you're

  describing it. I've never walked away from an assignment already

  committed to in my entire career, not unless there were reasons a lot

  more compelling than some stray thoughts in my head. Just how positive

  are you that your guess is better than m
ine?"

  He hesitated visibly then, considering my question, but logic was on my

  side. No one can be an expert on something that's never happened

  before, and Grigon couldn't pretend that he was.

  "I can't possibly be positive, and you know it," he said, ending the

  brief pause, annoyance back in his voice and eyes. "What makes you so

  sure that you have the way of it? If you find out I'm right with your

  last living thought, do you intend sending your spirit back to let me

  say I told you so? I won't find it nearly as satisfying as you seem to

  think I will."

  "Why do you insist on seeing me dead?" I demanded, trying to ignore the

  severe adult-child overtones that kept escaping his control. "You said

  yourself that Dameron would not have sent me if he didn't think I could

  handle it. I'd like to know what makes you believe I can't."

  "Maybe it's the fact that I know this world and I don't know you," he

  said, rubbing his face with one hand, the vexation in his voice

  stronger. "We've got to settle this one way or the other tonight,

  before we commit to this project too far to back out if it becomes

  necessary. Come with me."

  He turned and strode to the left-hand door, threw it open, then waited

  for me to follow as he'd ordered. When I got there and looked past him

  I saw a dim, narrow back hall with two more closed doors straight

  ahead, and a heavy staircase to the left. I wondered why my guide had

  stopped at the threshold rather than leading the way through, but he

  didn't leave me wondering long.

  "Take those stairs to the next floor and go to the last room along the

  hail," he said, gesturing briefly with one hand. "I'll be there as soon

  as I report your safe arrival, and then we can discuss the problem

  until we both know where we stand."

  I hesitated very briefly, trying to think of a diplomatic way of

  offering to go with him while he reported my "arrival," but there

  didn't seem to be one. Anything I said would translate out as not

  trusting him - which was exactly the way I felt but was not an attitude

  calculated to make him think more kindly about my chances of continuing

  with the project. The only thing I could do was give him the chance to

  blow the whistle behind my back and hope I'd raised enough doubt in his

  mind to keep him from doing no more than think about it. I craned my