John Jakes

“ In spite of the man's slovenly appearance, Koven knew he had a dangerous enemy. Bruschloss would have had to be an utter moron to believe that Koven had come to Maru simply to aid Spotwood. Spotwood himself, as if sensing Koven's appraisal of the man from the Betelgeuse Bloc, spoke:
"Watch him. He's got three uglies up at his place who do nothing all day but drink and play cards. They're here in case of trouble." ”

“ During the middle of that century, with poetry restricted to the hands of the few who wailed that their mechanized age did not understand them, poetry became exceedingly private in imagery and meaning. In a natural evolution, it completely lost all meaning and became a charming musical form several cuts above the primitive. When the masses found they could merely accept verse as a pleasantry whose sound intrigued them as a rattle intrigues a child, poetry, regained its audience. ”

“ Koven turned around to his host.
"Are they beating the drums for any purpose?" he wanted to know.
Spotwood took a drink from a sanitary plastic bubble. "Once a month everybody on North gets together for a shindig." He smirked with good-natured lasciviousness. "The whole rigamarole is years old. Guarantees that plenty of good strong babies will be born, and that the crops won't fail, or some such rot. O'course," Spotwood said laconically, "this monthly assembly would be the logical time to suspect, if they ever did anything but put on a sexual exhibition in that clearing down the road. ”

“ He knew now what had alarmed Bruschloss, what had prompted the attack so suddenly.
Chemin danced, in the ring again. Koven stood almost directly behind the ruler, fitting a tiny cylindrical attachment to the muzzle of his pistol, to reduce the power for close range. Once more the men glued their eyes on the dancing figure. Seconds after the dance had begun, the ruler uttered a sharp gasp and lurched up from his woven chair as he read the new message. Koven's hand touched him and he stepped around the chair in the darkness. Koven slid the pistol forward and triggered it. ”

“ Koven said.
"Has he, eh? He enjoys them too, I'll wager." No reply from Spotwood, save the pop of another gin globe being opened.
"Have a drink, Bruschloss?" Spotwood asked.
"No, I don't think so. Liquor makes me very sleepy. I want to be alert for the ceremony tonight. I love to watch Chemin dance."
"Quite a woman," Spotwood agreed.
"Er ... what is your line of business?" inquired Bruschloss of Koven, elevating the wrinkles on his steaming forehead into an expression of curiosity. ”

“ Koven nodded. "The arts no longer convey meaning, but the ruler of Maru managed to put it back in. Something you didn't look for. Something I wouldn't have looked for ... if I hadn't stopped at a Vendobook."
"You think they'll come after us?" Spotwood asked.
Koven glanced out the window. At the street's end, pieces of something meaty and red had been hoisted up by the crowd on long, sharp poles. They glistened in the flaring light.
"They may. They're in a wild mood. Once Control takes over, though, the attacks will be a thing of the past. But until then...."
"Holy God," Spotwood breathed. ”

“ I'll take care of him. If you should give the wrong message when you dance ... if they should turn on me, I'll still manage to kill you before they get me. So it's entirely up to you whether you live or die. ”

“ The attacks are focused across the channel to the larger south continent. Somehow, the people on North have been inveigled into believing they have a right to South. Our only bit of information is that a man named Bruschloss—" Koven suddenly straightened in the theatrical gloom where his cigarette smoke floated torpidly. "Bruschloss? The one you used to call The Hog?"
"The Hog, yes. He is a citizen of the Betelgeuse Bloc with right-of-entry to any of our planets. He claims to be solely interested in setting up a trading company on Valaya, with headquarters at the village of Maru. ”

“ Koven inquired.
"The local agent for the continent, named Spotwood. He says Bruschloss has conversed privately with the local ruler. Spotwood couldn't plant cameras or sound equipment at the conferences—our own blasted code forbids it. But the rub is that the ruler has in no way communicated with any of the other tribes on North. In no way," Van Isaac repeated, with a fist on the desk for emphasis. "They have drums. The drums say nothing Spotwood can't understand. All perfectly innocent. They have runners. No runners. ”