Fledgling Page 15

  He gazed at her reproachfully. "Kamele, the exigencies of the day have disordered you. Surely you are aware that a mere male cannot buy a minor child from the Simples. That is for her mother to do."

  "Yes . . ." she said, with strained patience. "So why didn't the Simple 'escort' her?"

  "Because the Simples believe me to be Theo Waitley," he said, with the air of confessing all. He folded his hands before him and gazed up at her, his face bearing an expression of improbable innocence.

  Kamele closed her eyes. Opened them.

  "I am going to take a shower," she said, enunciating every word clearly.

  "An excellent plan," he answered gravely, and gave her a small bow.

  Fifteen

  University of Delgado

  Faculty Residence Wall

  Quadrant Eight, Building Two

  Feeling considerably less grubby and somewhat refreshed, her hair in a loose damp cloud around her robed shoulders, Kamele paused to survey the dining nook.

  Two places had been set, a disposable cup, plate, and napkin at each. The wine bottle was unsealed and sat ready to hand, as was a kaf-dispensed "hostess tray" of assorted crackers and cheeses. Jen Sar sat in what had already become "Theo's place" in Kamele's mind, his back against the wall and his attention almost palpably on his mumu. She loved to watch him this way, wrapt so close in thought that he seemed to quiver, oblivious to all and everyone around him.

  Of course, Jen Sar was never entirely oblivious to his surroundings.

  He looked up, blinking as if just roused from a pleasant sleep, and gave her a dreamy smile.

  "There now, that's more in the mode."

  She laughed slightly and slipped onto her stool. "You have a very odd idea of mode, sir."

  "No, there you are out!" he answered. "I have an expert's idea of mode."

  He reached for the bottle, the twisted silver ring that he never took off gleaming on his smallest finger. "Wine?"

  "Please," she said with feeling.

  "This day of yours begins to take on the proportions of an epic," he murmured, pouring for them both. "Or was every sweet fruit served at the late meeting?"

  Kamele took the cup from him and sipped, womanfully not wrinkling her nose at the taste. She had gotten much too accustomed to Jen Sar's wines, purchased from a merchant in Efraim, who imported cases from mountainous Alpensward. Jen Sar's draw, as the Gallowglass Professor of Cultural Genetics, was dizzying levels above hers as a newly minted full professor, even counting the absent sub-chair's percentage. The annual bonus he inevitably collected for his part in attracting quality students to the associated colleges comprising Delgado University didn't hurt either.

  Carefully, she sipped her wine, hoping it would taste less dreadful this time. It had been a long time since she'd chivvied herself for resting comfortably on the laurels of her onagrata. She must be more tired than she'd thought.

  "The day," she said, putting her cup down, "was long. The meeting," she looked into Jen Sar's attentive face, "was both unexpected and . . . horrifying."

  "Dear me." He pushed the cheese tray toward her. "Please, fortify yourself and tell all."

  "I think you would have needed to be present for the full impact of the horror," she said, absently choosing a pepper cracker and a slice of soy cheese. "The telling of it is short enough: Flandin—the forensics team believes it was Flandin, and I hope their instinct is right. I'm really not equipped to handle a university-wide conspiracy! But, the sum is that Flandin appears to have gotten into the college's archives and altered the documents on file to match the citations published in her papers."

  "I'll allow that to be terrifying." Jen Sar sipped his wine; Kamele thought he put the cup down with a bit more alacrity than usual. "How was the deed discovered, if the source matched the cite?"

  "Professor Beltaire is an expert in the subject of one of the . . . falsified cites. She had her own copies of the material held in the archives."

  Jen Sar tipped his head. "Copies."

  "Yes, precisely. The originals are on Melchiza."

  "Ah." He gathered up a cracker and a bit of cheese.

  "Professor Beltaire describes herself as too elderly to undertake the journey," Kamele said, glancing at her cup and then away. "I think there may be some . . . political . . . anxieties there, too. Crowley will go, and Able."

  Jen Sar sent her a sideways glance from beneath thick dark lashes. "And yourself?"

  "Oh, yes," Kamele said, grimly. "I'm going. After all, I started this; it's up to me to see it done, and done correctly." She rubbed her eyes and against her better judgment reached again for the wine cup. "Which brings me to my topic. I'd like to leave Theo with you while I'm gone."

  Both eyebrows rose—never a good sign—and a shadow of what might have been shock passed over his face.

  "Leave Theo with me!" he exclaimed.

  She raised a hand. "I'll take care of the paperwork, if you agree. Normally, of course, I would leave her with Ella, but after this evening—" Her voice caught and she looked away, raising the cup for a swallow of wine.

  "Ella, this evening," she told the tabletop, unable to quite meet Jen Sar's eyes; "counseled me to accept the Safety Office's therapy for Theo. For the good of my career."

  Jen Sar would hear the hurt in her voice, and she was sorry for it. He and Ella had never become comfortable with each other, though they tried, for her sake. But Ella—she and Ella had been friends since secondary school; they'd shared junior scholar quarters in the Lower Wall. In the normal way of things, Ella would have been Theo's secondmother, as involved in her education and well-being as Kamele herself . . .

  "I can't leave Theo with Ella," she finished, finally raising her eyes to meet his.

  "I understand," he murmured. "Certainly you would not wish to place your daughter into a position of potential peril." He frowned slightly. "What I fail to understand is why you must leave Theo on Delgado."

  She stared at him. "But—take Theo to Melchiza?"

  "Melchiza is hardly the end of the galaxy," Jen Sar observed dryly.

  "I . . . Her education; I'd have to remove her from her team just when she's coming to understand consensus. She'd miss—"

  "I do not for a moment believe," he interrupted, "that Professor Kamele Waitley would find the oversight of her minor daughter's education inconvenient in the least. Surely the school will provide a curriculum, exercises, reading lists, self-tests."

  "I—"

  "Kamele . . ." He extended a hand and put it over hers. "Think! This solves—many problems. It preserves custom, removes Theo from peril, and expands both your base and hers. Sub-chair Waitley of course accompanies the forensic team on its mission. Of course she has her daughter, the precocious and alarming Theo, at her side. It is mete. Theo is, after all, expected to follow her mother's path. Such a trip, with its insights into collegial collaboration and the ethics of scholarship, must be invaluable to her education."

  He did make it sound a like a tenured opportunity, Kamele thought. She sat back, delicately slipping her hand out from beneath his.

  "Speaking of expanding bases," she murmured pointedly, and had the rare opportunity of seeing him chagrined.

  "Your pardon." He inclined his head briefly, then looked into her eyes. "Over-enthusiasm aside, it does answer many difficulties."

  She sipped her wine, considering. "It seems to," she said slowly. "But when we come home—Jen Sar, she'd be odder than ever! And an absence will give the Safety Office time to write a recommendation. Without me here to deny it—"

  "Yes—exactly so. Which is why you will be canny and schedule her Gigneri immediately you are both returned."

  Kamele stared at him. A sister's understanding, indeed! she thought, anger sparking.

  "She's too young!" she snapped. "If I won't drug my daughter for expedience, what makes you think that I'll push her into a—"

  "Allow me to be utterly sympathetic to your concern," he interrupted. He pulled out his mumu and tapped th
e screen.

  "I put my time to profit while awaiting your return," he said. "And I find that—you may contrive."

  "Excuse me?"

  "There's a loophole," he explained, putting the mumu on the table before her, pointing at the screen. "Look."

  "As recently as fifty years ago, the Gigneri and the First Pair were distinct as rites of passage. First, one is entrusted with the full tale of one's genes. Then, when one has had a bit of time to adjust and to—expand one's base—one fully participates in a celebration of joy, as a new and potent adult." He sat back. "Much more rational than piling every shock and discovery into one event."

  Kamele listened to him with one ear while she read his précis.

  "You might remember that I told you of my mother's best friend," she murmured, most of her mind on reading. "She came from Alpensward, where they kept to the older ways." She looked up, eyes bright. "She was a secondmother to me, and I miss her still."

  "I remember." Jen Sar smiled. "What better tribute to her memory than to induct your daughter into adulthood as she would have wished?"

  Kamele nodded, chewing her lip, then handed the mumu back to him. "Send me the cites, if you will."

  "Of course." He touched a quick series of keys. "Done."

  "Thank you." She reached for another cracker and some cheese.

  "When will the committee depart?" Jen Sar asked.

  Kamele sighed. "We need to get Hafley's approval, the dean's approval, the directors' approval, then the Bursar's office—you know the procedure. We could have something in two days—or by the end of the semester."

  He nodded, looking thoughtful.

  "I believe, then, that we must address my topic." He gave her a wry look. "I do know that it is late, but I must plead necessity."

  Necessity, as Kamele had learned, was not invoked lightly. For Jen Sar to do so must signal an overwhelming concern.

  She nodded, and held out her cup. "Pour, then speak."

  He poured, going so far as to refresh his own cup, though the wine must be even more dreadful for him, Kamele thought, than for her. He did not, however, immediately speak, but sat for some few moments, his hands curled 'round his cup, staring into the unsatisfactory depths.

  Kamele sipped, and recruited herself to patience.

  At last, he looked up.

  "Theo has given me what I believe to be the round tale of her last few encounters with the Safety Office," he said slowly. "In addition, this evening I took the liberty of administering a few very small tests of physical reaction." He paused, looking at her.

  Kamele nodded for him to continue.

  "Based on Theo's report and my own tests, I believe her to be . . . quite near to that point we had discussed previously, where all of her powers align. In my view of the matter, it would be . . . tragic for the Safety Office to be allowed to interfere at this juncture. I therefore proposed to Theo, and now to you, that she enroll in a dance class."

  "A—dance class," Kamele repeated, blinking at him. Had she drunk that much wine, she wondered? But, no; Jen Sar's points were often oblique. "Please explain."

  "Gladly. Dance is a marriage of mind, body, and—soul, if you will. Taking such a class will demonstrate to the Safety Office that you are seeking to treat Theo's 'agility problems.' Indeed, dance is a well-documented therapy for clumsiness and certain so-called 'physical limitations.' "

  "It is," Kamele noted, "mid-term. And I'm afraid, my friend, that I am not acquainted with anyone in Dance."

  "But I am," Jen Sar said, not altogether surprisingly. "I have this evening been in communication with Visiting Expert of Dance Professor Noni, who tells me that she has room for a novice in her Practical Dance class, and will be pleased to send the student's mother the necessary card."

  Kamele shook her head. Jen Sar did meddle, though usually not so blatantly as this. He must, she thought, be very worried.

  "If Professor Noni will still agree to include Theo in her class after she is informed of the . . . uncertainty of her continued attendance," she said slowly, "I'll be pleased to receive the card and to approve the change in my daughter's academic schedule."

  "I will relay that message to her." He picked up his mumu, tapped a rapid message, thumbed send, and slipped the device away.

  "Thank you, Jen Sar," Kamele said, and smiled when he looked up. "It's late," she added.

  ". . . and neither propriety nor our current circumstances allows me to remain for what is left of the night," he finished lightly, and slid to his feet. "I believe I may repair to my office and get some work done. Do you think you will have the matter with the Chapelia settled by the time I leave the Wall . . . later today?"

  "Yes; I'll take care of it first thing," she promised, slipping off her stool and walking with him to the door. "Was Theo—very alarmed?"

  "Curious, rather. Though . . ." He paused and turned to face her. "I fear that I have made a misstep. She now knows that it's possible to turn off the emitter."

  "Oh," Kamele said, feeling slightly giddy, "no!"

  "I trust it will take her a few days at least to puzzle out the method."

  "A few days—" She looked at him helplessly, then giggled.

  "Well," she said. "It ought to keep her out of trouble." She giggled again and shook her head.

  "Indeed it ought," Jen Sar said solemnly, and touched her cheek, very briefly.

  "Good-night, Kamele. Sleep well."

  Sixteen

  Retrospection on an Introduction

  Number Twelve Leafydale Place

  Greensward-by-Efraim

  Delgado

  Kamele spun on her toes in the center of the common room, looking down into the floor mosaic. Leaves, and birds, and cunning furred animals moved beneath her feet.

  She laughed as Jen Sar came into the room, wine glasses in hand. "I thought you said small."

  He lifted an eyebrow and looked about, as if just discovering his environment.

  "Small," he said, stepping forward and offering her a glass, "is a relative term. The house I grew up in was larger." He looked about again, and bowed gently. "Many times larger, in fact." He sipped wine. "Of course, it enclosed the clan entire."

  Liad, Kamele thought, raising her own glass, was certainly a strange place, with an abundance of odd customs. She would have gladly heard more of those customs, but Jen Sar was disinclined to talk much about the world he had left. Kamele theorized some disagreement with the directors of his kin group, which had resulted in his taking up the role of traveling scholar, until nomination to the Gallowglass Chair brought him to Delgado.

  "Can you see the stars from your garden?" she teased him.

  "I can and I do," he answered with a gravity that was belied by the quirk of a brow. "Shall I show you?"

  She hesitated, belatedly covering her hesitation with another sip of wine. "That would be lovely," she murmured, "but the stars rise late, don't they? I need to be back to the Wall before—"

  "Yes, of course." He hitched a hip onto the arm of the couch and looked about him, glass held casually in long, clever fingers, the silver ring a sly gleam against his golden skin.

  Kamele bit her lip and walked over to sit on the couch near his perch. He looked down at her, smiling, and her stomach tightened.

  Her friendship with Jen Sar Kiladi had grown deeper over the last two semesters; the pleasure she took in his company as surprising as it was satisfying. But Ella was right, she acknowledged. Satisfying as it was, it was time to alter their relationship, or cut the association entirely. People were beginning to talk, the more so since Jen Sar had declined Professor Skilings' offer. She'd heard from Skilings' assistant, who had been working, forgotten, in the next room when the offer was made, that Jen Sar had professed himself honored, obliged, and desolated not to be able to accommodate her.

  Skilings had not been pleased. No one had ever turned her down, not, so rumor went, since she'd moved to Topthree. Mortified, she had looked about her for a reason for Jen Sar's refusal—and
her eye had inevitably fallen on Associate Professor Kamele Waitley, who spent a great deal of time in the company of a very senior scholar. And, as Ella so reasonably pointed out, Kamele could not afford to have Skilings as an enemy.

  It would be best for everyone, Ella said, for Kamele to end the friendship.

  Ella, Kamele reminded herself, liked pretty men.

  "Jen Sar . . ." she began, sounding breathless to herself.

  He lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, my friend?"

  "I . . . that is . . ." Her voice failed her entirely, and she looked away, biting her lip. It wasn't as if she was inexperienced! She'd had two previous onagrata, not counting her Gigneri pairing—and here she was acting like a green girl, stumbling over her first offer!

  "Kamele?" Jen Sar's deep voice carried concern. "Are you well?"

  "Yes, I—yes." She leaned forward and awkwardly put the wine glass on the side table with a bit of a clatter, then turned to face him, looking up into his sharp, unhandsome face. She took a breath.

  "Jen Sar," she said firmly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "It would be . . . an honor to accept you as onagrata."

  Both eyebrows rose, his lips parted—and then there was that moment of arrested movement that had become familiar to her, and the odd feeling that Jen Sar had . . . stepped away . . . from himself.

  Abruptly, he smiled, a sweet, open expression she had never before seen from him. He leaned forward and put his glass next to hers on the table.

  "Tra'sia, cha'leken!" he said gladly, and bent down to kiss her on the mouth.

  Strictly speaking, she should have initiated the kiss, but Kamele found she didn't mind that he had taken the lead. Indeed, it was some time before she could speak, and some little while more until she cared to.

  "What did you say?" she asked eventually, her cheek snuggled against his shoulder. "Before you . . . kissed me?"

  Jen Sar sighed lightly, ruffling her hair.

  "A Liaden—expression of joy," he murmured, sounding . . . chagrined.

  Kamele laughed, and reached for him again.