It was small and round with a spongy center which yielded a flavor of fruit and spice. A subtle burn which filled her mouth with perfume and exotic tinglings.
Refusing another, she said, "Do you know her?"
"The matriarch? Not personally, but I know her by sight, of course. You want me to point her out?" He looked around the hall. "I can't see her but she's sure to put in an appearance soon. But there's Maria Hutch!" He pointed to a woman who glittered in a web of spun crystal flaring with gems. "She owns most of the land fringing the Ferrado Lake and has shares in the mines on Calvardopolis. A horrible place. And there's Joan Gruber. She's almost as rich as Maria but far younger. Even her consort wears clothing more extravagant than that worn by the matriarch's late consort. A lucky man but unless he's careful she'll replace him with another. Joan has no patience with illness and he's been sick twice since they came back from Hoorde." Gergio selected another morsel and, after he had chewed and swallowed, said, "If you're getting bored we could do something else."
"Such as?"
"Take a raft and go to the Chameon Hills. I've a place out there and we could spend a few hours searching for hilex and wild choum. Interested?"
"I might be."
"You'd love it. We could spend a few days if you wanted. At dawn the mists come to hide everything in purple veils and the hilex, when they wake, fill the air with soft susurations." He stepped a little closer. "Please say you'll come."
For answer she nodded at a tall woman who had just joined the throng. One regal in a shimmering gown of golden threads which hugged the contours of her body. Long streamers fell from both shoulders and a tall hat crested a wealth of golden hair. Beneath it her face was hard, arrogant, wearing paint like a mask.
"Who's that?"
"Where?" Gergio looked to where she pointed. "She's Tammi Canoyan."
"Is that all?" She smiled at his expression. "No financial report or social status? Come on, Gergio, tell me something about her."
"She's rich," he said. "And ambitious. Some say she would like to rule. Treason, of course, but who can stop gossip?" He drew in his breath at a sudden flurry in the hall. "That's odd. The guards are closing the doors. I wonder why?"
Ysanne paid him no attention. She was looking at the matriarch, who had just entered the hall with Dumarest at her side.
The warm bath had helped but her brief sleep had been tormented by dreams so that now, despite her gown and the cosmetics masking her features, she felt old and vulnerable, her fear exposed for all to see.
"Steady, my lady! Steady!"
Dumarest was at her side, his arm firm beneath her hand, his voice a comfort in her ear. So Donal would have spoken at such a moment of crisis-but he would never have urged her to take such a gamble.
But was it a gamble when she had no choice?
"Silence!" Venicia called from her place at Su Posta's side. "Silence for the Matriarch of Jourdan! Our ruler by tradition and by right!"
A novelty, it had to be that. Ysanne heard the soft buzz of speculation as, leaving Gergio, she made her way to where Batrun stood with Craig, amid a glitter of medallions; Shandhar came to join them but Olga remained out of sight.
A blare of trumpets drowned the soft murmurings and in the following silence Venicia's voice rang with the clash of iron.
"I speak for my lady. Does any deny my right?" A formality and she continued, "The charge is one of treason against established authority. Of murder planned against my lady and her granddaughter during their return voyage to this world. To expose the culprit has this assembly been gathered. Does any question the right?"
Again the silence and then the soft whispering as questions rippled across the gathering.
"Madness," said Shandhar. "What the hell's going on?"
"It's tradition," corrected Batrun. "Trial by consensus."
"Either way it could be trouble." Craig lifted his mask and let it ride on his cropped hair. "And Earl's caught up in it."
"Hear me!" Venicia's voice lifted as the trumpets ceased their demand for silence. "Does any deny the right?" A pause, then, for the third and last time, "Does any deny the right?" A longer pause then her hand lifted to point. "Tammi Canoyan! Step forward so you may be judged!"
"What?" Anger flushed the cold features with a tide of red beneath the paint. "This is insanity. You accuse me of attempted murder. Of treason. On what grounds, for God's sake? I wasn't even with you."
"You were the instrument."
"Of what?" Canoyan glanced around for support. "The woman's gone mad, can't you see that? Who will she accuse next? You, Belle? You, Fleur? Let her get away with this and who will be safe?"
"You deny the charge?"
"What charge? I traveled to Lomund with the matriarch and her party. I fell sick and needed medication. The Galya left without me. Later when I'd recovered, I took passage to Jourdan and arrived to learn the Galya hadn't arrived. I was as distraught as anyone at the thought of what could have happened. As relieved as the next when I heard of the rescue. Now I am being accused of attempted murder. Where is the evidence? The proof?"
Dumarest said, "The proof lies in what happened and how it happened. Sabotage and the one who arranged it."
"Proof?"
"Some may think it so." Dumarest looked at the ring of attentive faces. "I speak for the matriarch but have no personal interest. I shall have no vote in the final decision. I am only-"
"Get on with it, man!" Canoyan was impatient, already tasting the final victory. This apologetic fool could have nothing but empty words to back the accusation. "Where is your proof?"
"It is circumstantial," admitted Dumarest. "But, I think, conclusive. The background is common enough; a ship chartered to conduct a party, a usual arrangement. But the handler fell sick after departure with a virus condition which affected his mind and caused him to run amok. He killed, was restrained, broke free and ran into the engine room and opened the casing of the generator. The point is-why did he run into the engine room at all?"
"He was mad. You said so."
"No," said Dumarest. "I said his mind was affected. It's only a guess but I think he must have been ill for some time prior to the Galya's leaving Lomund. The condition could have sharpened his senses which is probably the reason he ran amok. An attempt to escape from overwhelming sensory stimulation." Pausing, he added, "The stimulation could have affected his hearing and that enabled him to learn something he was never intended to know."
"So?"
"A handler doesn't have much interest in the engine room. His job is to stack cargo, check supplies, take care of any passengers riding Low and livestock if any are carried. So what made him run into the engine room and remove the cover of the generator? To me there is only one logical answer-he tried to get rid of the device he knew had been planted there. The attempt triggered it with the results we know."
"So he heard something. What?"
Instead of answering the question Dumarest said, "Who would have been most suited to have set the device? It would need knowledge, skill and unquestioned access to the generator. Of the entire complement of the vessel the best person to do the job would be the engineer." Raising his voice, he called, "Guards! If you have arrested Olga Wenzer bring her here!"
She was still small, still brown, but now there was nothing meek in the way she stood and glared at Dumarest.
"Clever," she sneered. "You're too damned clever. Why should I have wanted to blow the generator? It was my neck too."
"Maybe not," he said. "I checked the sacs in the hold and one was equipped and supplied for a flight of long duration. And the handler jumped the gun. What if you'd left the Galya at a predetermined spot? The generator would have blown to leave it helpless but you could have altered course and drifted to a rendezvous, where you could have been picked up-maybe."
"Why should I have done all that?"
"That question bothered me but the answer lies in the records. Your sister was maimed for having stolen a collection of gems. Your mother was exiled. You have had good reason to hate the matriarch for years. Who found you, Olga? Learned you were a native of Jourdan? Got in touch with you and fed your hatred? Who suggested getting revenge?"
"No one!"
"So it was all your own idea? The device to blow the generator? The sac in which you hoped to escape? But there would have been no escape, Olga. You were to have been abandoned. Left to drift in the void, hoping for a rescue which would never come. Rescue had never been intended- dead you would no longer be an inconvenience."