The Princess Praana! Of course that was it! A bold stroke, but just such a one as the Society of S'Relah would attempt. Ketrik realized now that some such thought had been hammering at his mind all the afternoon. He said eagerly, "Tell me about her, Thurlo. I caught a glimpse of her this afternoon."
"You did? Yes, she visits the shops occasionally, always accompanied by a bodyguard. The Palace Guard has been doubled too, since these rumors of the S'Relah. I'll wager her father would be furious if he knew she had left the grounds this afternoon! But that girl has a mind and temper of her own—so I have heard."
"Has she been here long?"
"No, she flew down from the northern capital only a few weeks ago. That was against Vaajo's orders, too. I think he'll be sending her back soon."
Ketrik remained thoughtful. He failed to see how Aarnto and the others hoped to reach her! For a Martian to get beyond those walls would be a ticklish problem; for a Rajec, it would be impossible! He heard Thurlo again.
"That's why I'm worried, Ketrik. Attention is being drawn to my shop. This afternoon an elderly matron came in—I recognized her, she's been here before, one of the Princess Praana's personal servants—"
"Go on!" Ketrik was listening now.
"Well, Aarnto was in the front of the shop. He sold her some Ionian laces, then I saw him speak to her in an undertone and hand her a folded note. He doesn't know I saw him. I don't like it, Ketrik. I—"
"A note!" Ketrik's mind was racing with the speed of atomotors. "To be delivered to the Princess, no doubt! Thurlo, tell me—does Praana ever come here?"