The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

resisted his tools. He turned his concentration on the lock. This was a trick his family didn’t know about. No one in the O’Hara family had been able to use telekinesis since the first Mary Kathleen seven hundred years ago. But Kinnsell could. He’d kept his talent hidden all his life, using it to keep a competitive edge over the other contenders to the imperial throne.
    The lock yielded to his mental touch after only a few moments of concentration. He should be panting and sweating with fatigue. Instead he felt as if he’d opened the lock using only mundane means.
    Curious. What was it with this planet? He could eavesdrop on mundanes with little or no effort—except the bushie lord. And now locks moved at the merest thought. But magicians, men who merely had strong psi talents, could block out his strongest efforts to read their minds.
    He had a glimmer of an idea of why his family went bush so readily on Kardia Hodos. Would the augmented powers stay with him after he returned to Terra? No one could oppose his election to the imperial crown if it did. And if he met opposition, he’d just change their minds for them.
    He slipped through the doorway—so small and narrow even he had to duck, and he was several inches shorter than the bushie natives. As he straightened his back and drew a deep breath, he caught sight of the cook running from the kitchen building behind the residential wing to his right. The only woman allowed on University Island, and now she was running away in the middle of the night. She should be busy fixing the next meal for the hundred or more magicians and apprentices. Curious.
    Well, he searched for a woman who should be secreted in the University but wasn’t. Why not follow the only woman who did live here?
    Guillia. He plucked her name from her mind quite easily. She was mundane, then. Her thoughts were more chaotic than most women suffering PMS. Something about a conspiracy . . .
    More curious. A conspiracy within the Commune might serve him well. “A house divided . . .”
    The woman led him along a convoluted path across several bridges and down streets that were barely wide enough to call alleys. During the day, these streets were crowded enough to be called major thoroughfares.
    Even at this early hour numerous people moved about, finishing up late business in the taverns, the end of gatherings, and parties in the homes of the wealthy, getting ready for morning trade. Kinnsell felt comfortable for the first time since coming to this disgusting planet. His rapid pace stirred his blood until he was quite warm. Crowds pressed in on him. Wonderful crowds of people. That’s what he missed about the bush. Civilized planets were crowded. No one was ever truly alone in a domed city. He heard a thousand different hearts beating the staccato rhythm of life and sighed with relief.
    Guillia almost slipped away from him in shadows cast by torches and candle lanterns. But he’d touched her mind. She couldn’t elude him long. There, two blocks ahead, she turned into a tidy little stone building with a tall steeple reaching toward the heavens.
    A church? Ah, yes. His esteemed ancestors had started the cult of the Stargods here. They’d modeled it after their own beloved faith, merely substituting the three O’Hara brothers for the Holy Trinity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Of course the churches would have steeples and the natives would make the sign of the cross as a ward against evil.
    Kinnsell stepped into the nave of the church. He paused a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior and to catch his breath. One of the many things he intended to change on this planet was the minuscule windows in the churches. They deserved tall stained glass panels. He would definitely leave the augmented butane torch with his bushie lord. He’d make a fortune melting local sands into fine glass. The limited capacity of the fuel tank would make him greedy and eager to serve Kinnsell again in return for a refill.
    Kinnsell moved from the dim porch into the nave where a hundred candles lit the worship space. Out of long habit, Kinnsell touched his head, heart, and both shoulders then bent one knee in obeisance to the altar. So what if he worshiped a different god than the ones revered here? The intent was the same.
    He searched the open space for signs of Guillia. If the natives used pews, they had cleared them away after their last worship service. He saw no hiding places in the