Arthur showed little surprise at how fast the exhilarating mood deteriorated after the returning imperial officer held his speech. It had Ken more than a little worried though.

For all his arrogance and flamboyance Arthur was little more than a boy. He might think he knew the moods of men and women. Ken even admitted he was an expert student, but a student nonetheless.

Verd oozed with mistrust, and that was not normal. The general had arrived at the most opportune moment and his speech, for a layman, had been quite good, if a bit terse. It was its contents that had Ken thinking. Keen needed that trade. Even if the returning caravan represented only a trickle of that need it was still a resounding success beyond anyone's wildest dreams. Add what Arthur said was a massive increase in landing shuttles and Verd was receiving far, far more than a trickle.

People here should have noticed. General de Laiden's triumphant report should have been but the last of a long line of good news, and yet Verd seethed with unrest. Arthur didn't notice, or rather he did, but he amounted it all to the glum nature of those living here.

Ken mulled over that for a while. Arthur would, of course. If his visit here last year was his only reference. Ken knew for a fact how strangling the raids must have become. When bounty became sparse it had to mean there was little left to loot. He could well imagine the sulking stares Arthur had grown to take for granted.

For now Ken waited. He had found an almost static statue on Ming Hjil de Verd, climbed its head with the help of an expecting audience. He rewarded them with a mild Weave of memories from a happier visit here some sixty or so years ago. It didn't detract much from his attention and surrounded him with an island of satisfied people in a sea of anger.

He couldn't believe the council hadn't noticed it earlier. He had, for days, and today it was just about to blow. Tension rose to where he could taste fear, apprehension and anger. Surely someone in charge would notice it by now, and the very worst thing they could do was...

***

... of course what they did. Always trust uniformed stupidity to surprise you when you were certain a bad situation couldn't be handled any worse.

Arthur slammed the door behind him, used all the strength he had gained during long months on the road and forced his way into the tavern.

It was packed. No merry singing here. Scared children and their mothers. Idiots! Why don't you stay home instead of trailing a mob? "I apologize for my rudeness. Where can I find my way to the roof?"

He received a mute nod in the direction of a counter and slowly waded in that direction.

"No guests here!" the owner shouted. Late forties, probably had a few of her children working here as well.

Arthur took care not to step on anyone sitting on the floor. For a moment he hung precariously on one foot searching for a place to put the other down. "This guest will. I'm a taleweaver." He had to look stupid, and he wondered if he wasn't overusing his status. Apparently not.

A path to the counter cleared as if by magic and he crossed the room.

"Feed them!" he said when he reached the awestruck owner. He dug for a few coins, winced slightly when he noticed the yellow glimmer but slammed them down anyway. "This should cover all their needs." Had bloody better! Could probably buy me the entire tavern. Seven gold shields. Harbend will have my skin if he ever learns.

Arthur saw awe replaced by calculating greed.

No you bloody won't! "Whatever they ask for, all your rooms for the night if need be. And don't cheat on me, such as us have a way of knowing. Guess how we learn our tales?" The last was an empty threat, but she didn't know that.

He looked back before making for the stairs up. Looks of gratitude so genuine they scared him more than if they had just demanded even more. The landlady wouldn't cheat him. She wouldn't dare, wouldn't want to. If she handled the situation to the best she's gain new customers as well as his money. Taleweavers didn't waltz into any tavern in the city. He should know. He was one of only two, and that was two more than usually visited Verd during any one given year if what Ken had told him was true.

He sprinted up the stairs, three steps at a time. Ken, where was the idiot? They were sacrosanct and all that, but no mob knew the meaning of that word. He could be crushed under panicked feet just as easily as anyone else. He'd forced his way in here to avoid being trampled himself. There was a difference between bravery and idiocy.

He reached an open window. The roof, at last. He climbed out and up. A year ago the exercise would have left him breathless. Now he barely noticed it.

For a moment he thought of climbing down to another street but he quickly abandoned any such idea. The streets were a bad place to be. For now at least.

As much as he despised uniforms he recognized a need for riot police when he saw one. He hadn't been casting news for over twenty years without his fair share of civil unrest. They should have come out in force from the beginning, not trickling out of the imperial castle in fives and tens.

A compact wall of hundreds of the Imperial Guard would have routed the mob before any fighting even begun. What they had sent out, though, looked more like a tasty morsel than anything else. Someone in the crowd yelled a challenge and seething anger turned into chaos. A panicked frenzy jolted through the mob and slowly it started moving with all the finesse of an avalanche in the direction of the arriving uniforms. That had been when Arthur decided to leave the show.

From up here he could see what had become of the soldiers who first had to meet the oncoming charge.

***

But they were the Imperial Guard. Even a sloppy deployment couldn't make a lie of that. From his vantage point Ken saw how a few dozen of guards quickly formed into rank and counter charged. The attack was so unexpected they even had time to wheel around and retreat in good order. When the mob had gathered enough courage to advance again the guards had been joined by several more dozens of their own. The next charge broke the riot in two halves, and then the imperial castle spewed out hundreds of soldiers from any opening close to the ground. It wasn't even worth calling mopping up.

Far to the north he heard the blaring horns of another unit. North Gate Regiment? Had to be.

He climbed down from the statue. There was nothing more to see here, and he intended to follow the guards along the wide boulevards when they forced the population back indoors.

***

Arthur stared ahead, never down. A night earlier he had watched how the riots broke when the professional soldiers finally got their wits around them. Heavy rain late in night took care of the remaining pockets of unrest. A few heads bumped, maybe a couple of broken arms. Too easy. It had all been too easy to believe.

Imperial Guard, and one more regiment. North Gate. That left the capital lacking three full regiments.

The unexpected arrival of his old escort captain, General de Laiden as Arthur learned later, had put the old officer in a position no one would envy him.

Arthur had seen the training of raw recruits from Verd's southern walls, from the east gate tower. The west was occupied by the great telegraph. They had indeed been raw.

He stubbornly looked ahead. Never down. He had no intention of seeing just how raw.

This was the twelfth, or thirteenth stretcher with a corpse he had volunteered to carry one end of. He put one foot ahead of another. He didn't even bother with walking around rain pools. It had rained for hours and he could as well have been immersed in cold water.

Ken had given him a stricken look before refusing to help. We watch, but we never interfere, he had said. What kind of cold hearted attitude was that? Was that what a human grew into if they lived for too long? Ken was hundreds of years old if he was telling the truth, and his English and peculiar knowledge of Terran history only seemed to verify what he said.

Arthur let go of the handles and turned without a word. He would volunteer for another run. This was what being human meant. To give whatever little help there was when no help was enough.

Sure enough he'd received stunned stares when people recognized him, and damn right they were to stare! All worth it! Hundreds more had turned up to help, mostly the rich. The locals because they couldn't be seen to be doing less than the taleweaver and visiting Federation citizens would do just about anything to be close to Arthur Wallman.

The bravest carried bodies, with him. Most cared for the wounded. He wondered about that. These were just bodies. Already dead. Inside the hastily cleaned stables people were still dying. He didn't know how he would react to watching that. Some were little more than children.