The Tomorrow Log and Dragon Tide Read online

  "I do not dicker," she said flatly. "My price is three rounds, which you take or you leave. I advise you to take it, myself, or cut the lad's throat and accept the loss."

  Hesitation. "I accept the price of three full rounds of gold. Be warned, though, mistress—he has a brooding and murderous nature. Beating is what he understands best; I suggest your clients be made aware of it, that they do not endanger themselves by failing to keep him pliant."

  The woman was standing, one hand still encircling Anjemalti's arm. With the other, she fished in her pouch, extracted three yellow coins, and tossed them, negligently.

  "Fee paid," she said tonelessly, as Indemion snatched the money out of the air. She stepped away from the table, pulling Anjemalti with her, and brought him safely through the quiet bar and out into the port.

  * * *

  He woke, sweat-soaked; abandoned his bed and dragged on old, soft trousers and a faded shirt, not bothering with the lights until he was in his workshop. Here, he must have light, for he could not see well enough in the dark to do the intricate electronic tinkering.

  He shook his head irritably as he sat at the bench. Edreth had found his 'assistant's' dark-seeing nothing short of wonderful, while Indemion Kristefyon had seen proof of inferiority in his nephew's shortened range of vision. And now this fanatic girl, crying out for anyone to hear that, blind as he was, the Tomorrow Log held his name.

  "The Tomorrow Log!" He picked the wounded spider up; sat staring at it with unseeing eyes. The Tomorrow Log was a tale for children; a supposed prophecy, passed down from the First Captain. Even if it existed, the name of a sold-off and despised half-breed would hardly appear, attached with any honor.

  "My name is Gem ser Edreth," he told the spider tautly. It was not so bad a name, nor had Edreth been so bad a master, merely wishing, as he had, to pass on his skills and understandings to a worthy successor. For the universe is wide and full of strange custom, so that even the profession of thief is on some worlds honorable. Always supposing, of course, that one worked for oneself, as Edreth had done, and took care to avoid entanglements—and the doing of favors.

  Especially the doing of favors. And most especially favors for the like of the Vornet.

  Gem opened the tiny mechanical thing carefully, probing inside with a power-pik barely thicker than a cat-whisker. Edreth had professed wonder at Gem's patience for such tasks, as well, but encouraged him to pursue the interest, saying that even the most successful of thieves might some time require a more mundane trade.

  It occurred to Gem, in that far, objective bit of his mind not at this moment concerned with the ailments of mechanical spiders, that Henron had become a less-than-satisfactory base of late. The attentions of the Vornet alone would make departure prudent. Add the crazed Ship-girl—what was her name? Corbinye?—to the equation and prudence argued for even precipitous withdrawal. After all, Lady Ro, of which he owned a third, was in port; and Dart was due within a three-day.

  Still, it went against one's pride to turn his back on mere difficulties. Corbinye, he had dispatched already. The Vornet was rather more problematic, but it would not do to become known as one who had run from them.

  "Anjemalti Kristefyon is sold, dead and gone," he told the spider, resealing the cover and setting it on its many legs; "and Gem ser Edreth does not run from his enemies."

  He touched the control pad on his wrist and the tiny insectoid obeyed the impulse, dancing as he directed.

  Chapter Five

  She was waiting, wedged into a niche in the ornamental wall opposite his door, still and patient as any of the other statues.

  Gem swore under his breath and strode straight across the court, with the intention of snatching her out of her shadow and administering a very sound shaking.

  But, before he had gone four steps, she stepped out of the niche and raised her right hand, shoulder-high and open. "Good-day, Anjemalti."

  "Gods scorn you for a fool!" He stopped just out of reach, in case the desire to shake her became overmastering; took a deep breath and exhaled it.

  "How did you find this place?" he asked, quieter.

  She looked at him out of astonished black eyes. "I am of the Crew. It was not difficult to trail you."

  "Then it will not be difficult to find your way back. I have told you that I am not the one you seek; and I have told you to let me be. I demand that you cease this harassment and that you remove yourself from my attention." He leaned forward; snapped the last of it with all the power of command Edreth had taught him: "Leave me now!"

  Consternation showed in the lean face; and confusion. She shifted in her shadow-pool, eyes narrowed slightly against the glare of First Noon, and gnawed her lip, but she neither left nor effaced herself, to Gem's dismay. Instead, she took a step toward him, and made as if to lay a hand upon his sleeve, though she did not quite touch him.

  "Anjemalti," she said, in tones of gentle reason; "kinsman. I cannot know all your whys and wherefores, who have been away from us for so long. But it is foolish to deny your true name to me. I am of the Crew, in line for First, serving as Worldwalker, and Seeker for the Ship. I found the first trace of your uncle's mutiny; followed Sali Than Kermin to the ends of her route and persuaded her to say who had bought you."

  She drew herself up. "A year and more I followed Edreth ser Janna, only to a find a dead man at the end of it, and that his apprentice was as skilled in disappearance as the master had been."

  A pause, during which he returned her stare, stone-faced. "So," she said softly, "I know you, Anjemalti; and I know that I have found you. Whatever your schemes and business among Grounders, they are nothing, for your Ship needs you and you are called home."

  "Damn your ship!" he cried and saw her flinch in horror, hand lifting to ward away the words.

  "Damn your ship and damn your crew," Gem elaborated, pressing his advantage. "You know nothing of me, of my business, of my necessities, or my life. You have found Gem ser Edreth, who repudiates you and yours and forbids you to come near him! Come to me again and regret it. . .." He glared at her. "Do you believe that I mean what I say?"

  "Yes, Anjemalti, I believe that." Still she stood there, staring at him out of enormous eyes.

  "Then leave me!"

  "The Tomorrow Log," Corbinye said then, as if all of his ranting had been mere pleasantry, "names the child of a Captain and a Grounder as the Captain who will bring the Ship out of the greatest danger we have faced since the Exodus itself. The danger is not just to Gardenspot, but to all the Ships and all the Crews. You are the one named to save us—"

  "The Tomorrow Log is a tale for children—and for halfwits. It has nothing to do with me. Go!"

  She stamped her foot, voice rising to a shout. "I have not sought you, world to world, year to year, to take 'nay' from an ill-tempered brat as my final orders!"

  "A fine respect," Gem drawled, "to show for the Captain Hero." He snapped forward, put his face close to hers and spoke deliberately. "I am not yours. Go away."

  So saying, he left her there, and she let him go, which upon reflection, did not make him entirely easy. He turned the matter over as he went from errand to errand, and made a note to speak to Dart's Captain Skot, when that ship came to port.

  Chapter Six

  The research had gone slowly: he'd uncovered the breath of a possibility, nothing more, and Shilban in such a vile mood it was worth Gem's entire fortune, and the Vornet's as well, to disturb the scholar today.

  Standing on the rotting verandah, he stared out over the city, rubbing the palm of his right hand down his thigh and frowning. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would have the answer to the riddle of what protected Mordra El Theman's treasure so well. The day after, at the very latest, he would have an antidote—and damn Shilban's moods! Three days hence, the vase would be his and on its way off-world.

  Gem nodded, discovered his hand still rubbing against his leg, and balled it into a fist. Third Noon was long past, and darkness was settling comfortably over the city b
elow. He abruptly decided against going home. He would need to come back to Shilban's Library early tomorrow morning in any wise; it was senseless to add a trip from across the city and Down to the day's labors.

  He crossed the verandah gingerly, sprang over the disintegrating steps and descended the slope toward the 'Ramp that would bear him down to UpTown.

  * * *

  Dinner covers removed by the efficient Phred, Gem leaned back in his chair and sipped an excellent brandy, languidly watching the ebb and flow of people within the Concourse. There were a good many tourists among the players; if he still picked pockets he would have done quite well this evening. Not that Edreth had sanctioned the picking of pockets as more than an exercise in versatility. He—and his apprentice—were of the elite, who stole art objects and valuables far beyond mere money or day-jewels.

  Theirs was the glory and the greater gain, Edreth had said often enough; and, which he did not say, theirs was the greatest risk. A mere pickpocket might be fined, or lose a year of consciousness in the Blue House, while his body did service. A master thief, unlikely as it was that such would be apprehended, would lose his fortune, his name and quite likely his life, for Henron, at least, did not believe in rehabilitation of the persona, not with the demand for bodies so high. And so profitable.

  Watching the players, he did not see them until they were upon him: an expensively dressed woman flanked by two men who wore vests, so the guns would not offend. But the guns were there, nonetheless; as apparent as Phred and the Concourse bouncer were absent.

  Gem set his drink aside, rose and bowed as they came to his table, deeply and with profound respect. He straightened in time to see the surprise in the woman's eyes; smiled and showed her his empty hands in the age-old gesture of welcome.

  "My lady. I am amazed and honored to see you."

  Surprise had faded; the aquamarine eyes held speculation. "But you made sure that you would," she said, and her voice matched her person—lovely and expensive and very, very dangerous. "See me."

  He made a show of astonishment. "I? How could I make sure of such a thing?"

  "By ignoring my messages and confounding my messengers." She lifted a hand glittering with jewels; motioned. "May I sit?"

  "If it pleases you," Gem said, though it far from pleased him. He watched as her gun-sworn pulled the chair out for her; and sat at the same instant she did, as an equal chieftain would, and affected not to see that the second gunman had raised his hand to his vest.

  "May I offer you brandy, my lady?" he inquired courteously. "Wine?"

  She lifted a finger and the man's hand dropped; smiled coolly at Gem. "Brandy would be pleasant. Thank you."

  He raised his own hand and Phred was magically at his side, whisking away the half-empty snifter and replacing it with two, generously filled.

  "You do not answer my charge, Master ser Edreth," said Saxony Belaconto, laying her bejeweled hands flat upon the table and fixing him with those alluring eyes.

  He gazed back, his own hands relaxed and in sight. "What should I answer, lady? Your messengers approached me twice. In each instance I gave them a message to take back to you. If they failed of this, then I can only suggest—with all courtesy—that you must look to the quality of your employees." He dropped his eyes momentarily; brought them back to hers.

  "As for confounding your messenger—she was overzealous, to my mind, and required a lesson. You note that she came back to you intact."

  "I did note that, yes." She raised her glass; sipped delicately. "The message I received was that you refused my commission."

  "It was never so harshly phrased as that, my lady."

  "But that was the essence of the message," she pursued, watching him closely.

  "Yes," Gem agreed, tasting the brandy carefully.

  "I would be interested in learning why." She held up a hand, forestalling the explanation. "It was perhaps not explained to you: I return favors lavishly. You would not be the poorer for assisting me."

  "I never doubted it," he told her, and sighed lightly. "My master left me several life-rules, all of which have served me well; all of which have sound reason and the experience of a long and fruitful life behind them. One of these rules was to never do favors." He gazed ingeniously into her eyes.

  "Lady, I am desolate that I may not assist you. As I suggested to your gun-sworn, there are several of my profession on Henron; several more on Zelta. There is no reason to expect that they embrace the same life-rules as I."

  "You were mentioned to me as the best," Saxony Belaconto said; "and the task I have in mind would challenge even the best, I think." She looked at him; he smiled and shook his head.

  "Two hundred thousand qua," she said softly, and lifted her glass to drink.

  The sum was large; fully twice his own liquid assets, here on Henron. The thought disturbed him, though, of course the Vornet would be able to command such information from any data bank. What disturbed him more was that she apparently thought the cash the full extent of his resources.

  "A handsome repayment for even a challenging favor. I regret—"

  "Four hundred thousand qua."

  "Lady," he said, as gently as was possible. "There is no sum of money that can buy my assistance. I am my own man and no one else commands me. This suits me very well. I have no wish to offend you or your masters, I merely wish to be left to live my life as I would."

  "I see." She raised her glass and drank again. "Passable. Allow me, though, Master ser Edreth, to send you some from my own cellar."

  "My thanks to you, lady, but—no."

  She laughed suddenly, as gaily as any girl, and reached across to touch his hand. "By not even so much as a bottle of brandy! Very well, then, sir."

  She rose, and he did, and she beckoned to her bodyguard as he bowed. "Good evening, lady."

  "Good evening, Master ser Edreth, and thank you for your hospitality. No doubt we shall speak again."

  "I would welcome the opportunity," he lied politely; and she laughed again and left him.

  Chapter Seven

  The bed shifted slightly and Gem woke, watching through half-closed eyes as the roomgirl pulled on her robe and finger-combed her hair. She was pleasant enough to look at, and knew her trade, though he had made rough use of her skill, with unease over the Vornet foremost in his mind.

  She finished setting her hair into order and made sure of the robe's fastening, full mouth puckered in concentration. He had a sudden, unlikely urge to ask her name, to apologize for his inattention last evening; but she had turned by then, and slipped out the door, so the impulse died and the worries resumed.

  Rolling over onto his back, he stared at the pastel ceiling and tried to impose order on his thoughts. Only after a problem was logically arranged, Edreth had taught him, could it be fully seen and solved.

  Of first concern was the Vornet. That Saxony Belaconto, chief of the Vornet's section leaders, should herself seek out a mere freelance thief was unprecedented. More in keeping with her office to simply dispatch a half-dozen gun-sworn and have him brought to her. Instead, she had come to him, acquiesced to the fiction of equality, and sought to persuade him to serve her. And the fee she offered! So very generous—and so quickly doubled.

  "Stars and ships, what can she want?"

  No answer to his whisper from the ceiling. Gem closed his eyes. Whatever she wanted, it was no concern of his, for he would not be the one to steal it for her.

  Yet—that not-so-veiled threat, promising another meeting.

  Anxiously, he considered his condition—no kin, that might be used as hostages; no close associates of any kind, now that Edreth was gone. It was true that the Vornet might freeze his accounts, but only a small percentage of his money was banked on Henron, and cash was easily replaced. There was nothing, really, that Saxony Belaconto could use as a lever to move Gem ser Edreth.

  Except himself.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Drugs existed; pain existed; and disease. The
Vornet no doubt employed experts in the application of each. Saxony Belaconto had asked; had condescended to his skill and come herself to reason with him. The next step must be force, for what she wanted she would have; he had seen that in her eyes.

  Breathing a trifle ragged because of the sudden constriction of his chest, he slid out of bed and went into the shower, clearing his mind; trying to count the moves and figure the timing of the thing. For he still had need of Shilban and his wonderful Library, which was the reason he had chosen Henron as a base in the first wise.

  The Vornet would allow him a day to reconsider what he had heard last night, he thought, rinsing soap absently from pale gold hair; and that day he would spend with Shilban, gaining the knowledge necessary to defeat the demon in El Theman's vase. Tonight, he would slip the vase free, and be waiting for Captain Skot and Dart tomorrow dawn. The ship would serve as a sanctuary even the Vornet could not breach. Mayhap he could even show Skot sufficient cause to lift early, though he didn't count on that.

  The shower cycled to cold and he gasped, suddenly and surprisingly longing for a sight of Linzer Skot's sharp-featured, daredevil face.

  "Everything by the numbers," he told himself sternly, as the shower turned itself off and the dryer began to glow. "Retreat may be wise, but you will retreat in good order, one move at a time."

  Chapter Eight

  Would he never come home?

  Corbinye stirred in the wall-niche, went through the Hemvil sequence to ease her cramped muscles and wondered for the eighth time whether she should leave her post across from Anjemalti's house and seek him UpTown.

  As seven times before, she decided to stay where she was. It was so late, a mere hour from Primus Watch, which the Grounders called First Dawn—surely he was even now coming down the outer walk, and would turn the corner in a moment.