Exile's Song Read Online Free PDF Page A

what she had learned was basic and simplistic. The language disks had contained typical phrases that arrogant Terran tourists considered important to know: “Where is the Sky-port? How much does that cost?” and other equally inane but universal matters. She had nevertheless been able to obtain a rudimentary knowledge of the common Darkovan tongue. Ivor had obtained a disk of complex musical terms, but she had not had a chance to listen to it, because of the haste of their departure. Besides, musical terms would be of little use with these lads.
    Margaret drew a long breath, disciplining herself to go slowly, even though the chill of the sunset wind made her want to hurry. “Permit me to make introductions,” she said, choosing the words with care. “Professor Davidson, meet young MacDoevid. You see, your names are akin.” She emphasized the vowel sounds, so the youngster could hear them, and was rewarded by a widening of eyes and a nod that told her he had understood. Clearly a bright lad.
    “Huh, wait till I tell my father ’bout that,” responded the boy. “But what is ‘Professor’?”
    Margaret realized that for want of enough vocabulary she had used the Terran title. From the little she had learned thus far, she had not found any mention of anything like a college or university on Darkover, and realized that there was no immediate equivalent to use. Her weary brain fumbled with words for a moment, before she realized the answer was much simpler than she had thought. “He is a—a teacher. Of music.” She was rather pleased with herself. It both answered the question and explained why they were going to Music Street.
    Ivor gave her a tired and rather forlorn look. He never managed to master pidgin anything. For weeks he would mumble like an illiterate, expecting Margaret to translate everything. Then one morning he’d wake up speaking the language almost like a native, and chatter to make up for lost time. But he won’t be here long enough for that.
    Margaret scolded herself immediately. Where did that thought come from, anyway? She did not believe in premonitions; such beliefs were illogical and unscholarly. She was only tired and worried about her companion. And she was cold and hungry, too, which just made her dark thoughts worse. They were going to be on Darkover for a year or more, and Ivor would be fine, as soon as she got him to Music Street. If only she could shake the sense of dread she had that had been gnawing at her for weeks. If she had just been able to get in touch with Dio, she was sure she wouldn’t be so apprehensive. Why hadn’t her stepmother answered any of her costly telefaxes? She had always responded before. What if something was wrong with her—or the Old Man? Stop borrowing trouble, she told herself furiously.
    They had left the wall around the spaceport buildings behind them, and now passed a gray stone structure that made her skin crawl when she looked at it. The windows were screened from the street, and it was squat and silent and hideous. “What is that? A jail?” As she spoke, she knew it was not. There was something utterly familiar and vile about the place.
    “Na, that’s the place where they put extra children. The Terrans are very strange. They put children there and leave them.” Geremy answered her question, his young voice dripping with condemnation.
    “He means, domna, that it is the orphanage.” That was the MacDoevid boy, his voice a little deeper than Geremy’s in the growing darkness.
    Now she could see a lighted sign which read The John Reade Orphanage for the Children of Spacemen. Of course! She had lived behind those screened windows once, when she was small and alone and helpless. But her father was not a spaceman. He was an Imperial Senator. He had never been a spaceman either, as far as she knew, so it didn’t make any sense. Why couldn’t she remember? Her stomach tightened, and she had to swallow several times. Despite the chill of the air,