CAMPBELL DREW A LONG, unsteady breath. The woman's voice throbbed in him, and his throat was tight. He said, "Tredrick?"
Marah nodded. "Tredrick. But it's more than that. If it were only Tredrick, it wouldn't be so bad."
He ran the curve of his hook over his scarred chin, and his eyes burned like candle flames.
"Romany is growing old, and soft. That's the real trouble. Decay. Otherwise, Tredrick would have been kicked into space long ago. There are old men in the Council, Campbell. They think more of comfort than they do of - well. . . ."
"Yeah. I know. What's Tredrick's angle?"
"I don't know. He's a strange man - you can't get a grip on him. Sometimes I think he's working for the Coalition."
Campbell scowled. "Could be. You gypsies have a lot of wild talents and some unique skills -
