Liaden Universe 18: Dragon in Exile Page 23

  Sioux was on board. That was good. Smealy grinned and nodded to her.

  “That’s right,” he said. “You see how this could be the right way to go. I admit, I was focused on the little brother, and didn’t think on this other angle, but we got the right road, now. We’ll close this deal tight. I can feel it.”

  “Yeah,” Zimmer said. “An’, Smealy, when she does use that requisition, we lower her percentage on the exceptions, right? Win-win.”

  He hadn’t thought of that, Smealy’d admitted to himself, nor was he sure, hearing it, if that move would be good for bidness or bad. The wife’d been a soldier, and if the talk on the street was that she was smart, like Sioux said, street talk likewise said you was smarter not to try her temper.

  Still, they had time to work out the details. First thing was bringing the wife into the exception bidness. Smealy knocked back the last of his beer and banged the mug on the table.

  “All right, people, here’s what’s gonna happen. Tomorrow, I’ll go talk with the wife, offer her the deal and get her signed up. We’re on the spot; the buy-ins are starting to get testy; they wanna see a return on their membership buy-in. Soon’s we get a Road Boss tied in, we can start selling exceptions the day after—day after that, latest—and bidness’ll start looking up, right?”

  “Right,” Kreller said, and stood. “Who wants another beer?”

  They all did. Kreller grunted and went out to the bar to tell Riley.

  “Don’t screw it up this time,” Zimmer said to Smealy. “You want I should go with you? ’Case she needs help focusing?”

  Smealy considered it. Zimmer was real good at focusing people. On the other hand, then it would be said that Smealy’d needed help to bring the wife on board. After what’d happened with the little brother, he couldn’t afford help. If he couldn’t deliver now, right here at the beginning, he wasn’t gonna stay chairman long—and retirement was no part of his plans.

  “Nah,” he said to Zimmer. “You’re lookin’ a little rugged, if you don’t mind my noticin’. This’ll be a piece o’ice. She’s local and unnerstands how it works. That’s where I got tripped up with the little brother; he’s playin’ with a whole different deck.”

  He nodded to the table in general, feeling expansive and successful.

  “Next round’s on me,” he said.

  “Any story?” Miri asked.

  She was sitting in what Kareen called the interview studio, which’d prolly been the front parlor, back when Ms. Lanni’d lived in the house, when Miri’d been a kid on Latimer’s turf. There were just a couple comfortable chairs that looked like they’d come out of Jelaza Kazone’s storerooms, and a rug that likely had the same source.

  There was a firebrick in the hearth, pumping out heat like it was a blizzard outside, and Kareen was wearing a shawl over her sweater.

  “Indeed,” Kareen said, in answer to her question. “We are particularly interested in stories that may illuminate an ethical system, but I will be pleased to hear and record any story that you would care to tell me.”

  Miri sighed, settled deeper into the nice, comfortable chair, and closed her eyes.

  A story, was it? The truth was that stories from her past were likely to curl Kareen’s hair, if not make it fall out entirely. It’d been a rough and rugged thing, her childhood; not the kind of upbringing the shadows and soft edges of which she got from Val Con’s memories.

  “Any story at all,” Kareen said. “Whatever rises to the top of your thoughts.”

  “Well . . .” she sighed. “There was the time me, and Penn, and . . . Chaunsy Seleedro, must’ve been, swiped a pie off Gran Eli’s window.

  “We stole it, ran ’round the corner, and we ate that pie as fast as we could. Then we kinda sat there, sleepy and stupid with being fed, and suddenly not so sleepy, though feeling considerably more stupid. ’Cause, wouldn’t you know, after it was gone, we all three of us started thinking that maybe we shouldn’t’ve stole that pie, after all. So, Penn and me—Chaunsy didn’t want no trouble, and we agreed to leave her out of it—Penn and me went and knocked on the front door of Gran’s house, figuring we’d offer to work it off.

  “Gran Eli opens the door, looks down at us, and says, ‘So, where’s the other one?’ And Penn says she didn’t want no trouble, but him and me wanted to make it right, and she said, ‘Fine, then; c’mon inside.’”

  She smiled, warmed by the memory. That had been a good day. Gran Eli. Gods, she hadn’t thought about Gran Eli in years . . .

  “What Balance did she demand?” Kareen asked, soft as thought itself.

  “Balance.” Miri smiled and shook her head. “She gave us each a basket of good stuff—fresh bread, soup, ’nother pie, little piece of cheese—to take home. Turns out, she set a pie on her window deliberate, every week or so, to find who was hungry, and then fixed ’em up with a couple meals.” She sighed. “Penn didn’t want to have to explain to his dad what he’d done to deserve that basket, so I got his, too. Me and my mother, we had good eating for days.”

  “So there were those who kept . . . common cause? Was Gran Eli one of many, or someone unique in her application?”

  “Hmmm?” She had closed her eyes, drowsing in the warmth of the fire and of a good memory.

  “Oh, there was what you’d call good folk on the street. The grans—Mike Golden’s gran, she was a force, to hear him tell it. On Latimer’s turf, you didn’t wanna have it come to Gran Eli you’d done something she wouldn’t like. That’s what’d made taking the pie so . . . tempting, if you follow me. It was like a dare.”

  “Of course.”

  “Turned out she’d got to us, before we ever got to that pie, and we never knew it. Never knew she was teaching us something about how to go on with each other.”

  She opened her eyes and looked to Kareen.

  “Story enough for you?”

  “Indeed, it was quite illuminating. Thank you.”

  “No problem. Listen, I talked to a fella yesterday—Rebbus Mark, his name is, from one of the executive families. He’s got documents and hand-down stories not only about how things were before the Agency left, but why they were like they were. I asked would he talk to you, and he said that nothing would make him happier. Here’s how to contact him.”

  She leaned forward to pass Kareen the paper she’d written the man’s info on.

  “Thank you. I will contact him immediately.”

  “You do that,” Miri said cordially. She stood and stretched.

  “Mr. Mark wanted to know if you’re writing a book,” she said.

  Kareen’s lips bent in one of her rare smiles.

  “Do you know?” she said, and the smile got just a little deeper. “I believe that I will.”

  Droi sat by her hearth, alone.

  Vylet had gone to the tent of her lover, her lover being wiser than to come to a tent that also sheltered Droi, with her dark Sight and murderous temper. More often than not these days, Kezzi slept in the luthia’s tent, which spoke to her increasing responsibilities as the luthia’s apprentice, as well as to Silain’s advancing years.

  Droi had not Seen that Silain would soon be called to rise from her hearthside and go to her sisters in the World Beyond. She did not, of course, know what Silain herself might have Seen. There was also an imperative driving Kezzi’s education, for Kezzi must be the kompani’s next luthia. Jin was a strong healer, but her memory was weak, and her Sight, short. Droi’s healing skills were well-honed, her memory was retentive, and her Sight was long. Silain had, in fact, trained her fully, but in the end the darkness that ruled her Sight and her soul had combined to convince both luthia and ’prentice to stand away from the final testing.

  Times would be terrible, indeed, if only Droi were left as luthia.

  She thought of these things as she sat, alone, by her hearth, and she thought, also, of her purpose, and her use to the kompani.

  The Bedel said, In kompani, all souls are equal.

  As with many things that the Bed
el said, this was both true . . . and not true.

  She, for instance, had a place in the kompani; with her healing skills and long memory, she brought a talent for the fleez, and the ability to dream and understand the older dreams, some of which were strange indeed.

  Despite these skills, all useful and necessary; and despite the fact that she knew, in the very core of her soul, that her brothers and sisters would never leave her alone among the gadje, nor deny her a place at the hearth . . . she was often alone within the kompani. Her brothers—strong, fierce, and handsome men, every one—her brothers were afraid of her. Her sisters—fierce beyond tigresses, strong enough to bear the foibles of their brothers, and so handsome that to see them was to fall in love . . .

  Her sisters also feared her, though not, in her observation, so much as her brothers.

  Even gadje knew enough to fear Droi when she walked in the City Above, and they shivered with mingled longing and dismay as she read their futures out of the cards for them.

  Of all the kompani, only Rafin loved her, for Rafin loved danger above every other thing.

  She sighed, her eyes dreaming on the glow of the hearthstone.

  There had been talk, lately, of the ship. The ship that was many years late in returning for them. Alosha the headman had broken with tradition, and asked assistance from the Boss Conrad, in finding the ship of the Bedel among the trackless stars.

  It thus became a matter of speculation in the kompani, and of discussion, for talk was to her brothers and sisters as meat and bread were to gadje.

  So, there had been speculation—would the Boss Conrad’s family, old in the ways of ships and space, find the ship of the Bedel? Would the ship come? How quickly? What would be the first act of this one, or that, upon entering the ship which was only a story to all of this kompani, the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of that sturdy kompani who had walked off of the ship onto Surebleak, to learn what there was to know.

  Droi had dreamed dreams of the ship, and of ship life. All the kompani had dreamed those dreams, by the will of the luthia and the headman.

  And thus Droi knew that the ship was small inside. Not as small as this place where the kompani camped, but the kompani had all of the City Above to wander, when the common camp became too small, while there were nothing but stars, and vacuum, beyond the skin of the ship.

  In the small space of the ship, there was no room to spare for a woman who was dangerous. While it remained true, even inside the ship, that her brothers and sisters would never leave her alone among the others; it was a law of the Bedel that no thing, no person, no event could be allowed to threaten the ship.

  In anticipation of the ship, then, Droi had taken to dreaming, long and wide, digging deep into the very oldest dreams, looking for what . . . might be . . . a cure for what and who she was.

  She sighed, her eyes closing against the firestone’s bright heart—then sat up straight, eyes wide, and staring into the dimness beyond the hearth.

  The sound came again, and she knew that footstep.

  “What do you want, Rys Dragonwing?”

  “I have a gift,” his voice answered, sweet and soft, “for our daughter.”

  It came to her that Rys was not afraid of her, but, then, Rys was the most dangerous person she knew. More deadly even than Rafin, and certainly more fearsome than Black Droi.

  “Our daughter yet abides inside my womb,” she reminded him. “Come later, with your gift.”

  There was a shift in the darkness beyond the hearth, and Rys took shape before her, his curls tousled, and his face serious.

  “I may not be able to come later,” he said. “Perhaps her mother will hold it for her, in trust.”

  What was this? Rys was fully a member of the kompani. He had stood before the fire and been bound, soul and heart, to the heart and soul of the kompani. Venture away, he might, but he must return, wherever he might go. If he could not return, then were his brothers and sisters called upon to honor their promise.

  “Bring it, then,” she said brusquely. “Sit there.” She nodded at the rug beside her.

  He dropped gracefully into the place she had shown him, and reached into the pocket of his vest, bringing forth a reader, and a book.

  Leaning forward, he placed both on the rug by her knee.

  “She will not be able to read for some little while after she has been born,” Droi said.

  “I know,” he answered. “I would ask you to read to her, as I would have done. The book is a collection of Liaden stories. I know many of them from my own childhood. My grandmother had read them to me.”

  “Keep it, then, and read to her yourself.”

  “That had been my plan. I hope that I will be able to carry it through.”

  She heard what he did not say, and repeated it aloud. “But?”

  “But the luthia urges me to a task which must be performed, for my brother under Tree, and which may mean that . . . I will not return. Indeed, I believe that I cannot return.”

  Droi drew herself up. She was cold, where a moment before she had been drowsily warm.

  “Let your brother send himself; you are not his brother alone!”

  “Peace, peace. We have six in one hand and six in the other. If my brother does this thing, then his lady will pluck me from the heart of the kompani and bring me to the house under Tree to stand in his place and see his duties done until he returns.”

  Droi felt her breath go short. She lifted her chin and said, haughtily, “She does not have this power. You are of the kompani.”

  “I gave her the power in return for breaking her peace and giving my brother the dream that I made.”

  It occurred to her, then, that she was afraid.

  Rys sat on the rug, as neat and quiet as a cat. His face was delicate, a flower framed by the storm clouds of his curls. His nose, not so emphatic as a Bedel nose, had been broken with the rest of him, and was bent slightly to the left. His hand, that Rafin had made him, gleamed like molten gold in the hearthlight.

  Droi thought of their child, and took a breath. She pushed the rising darkness away, and put her hand on the reader.

  “I will keep this for our daughter, until you return, and in your absence, I will read from it, to her.”

  He smiled, did Rys, which was enough to break even a Bedel heart.

  Droi swallowed another breath.

  “What was her name, your grandmother who told you stories?”

  “Maysl,” he said, and swallowed as if he, too, had a difficulty breathing. “Her name was Maysl.”

  “Maysl.” Droi tasted the name, finding it sweet. “A strong name. Our child shall be called so.”

  Rys took a hard breath, and bowed his head.

  “My heart is full,” he said.

  They sat so, silent in the hearthlight, for some few minutes. Droi felt her fear fade to a fluttering in the center of her chest. Her breathing was easier, but her hands were still cold.

  Rys raised his head.

  “It was not well done of me, to break your solitude. I will go, and leave you in peace.”

  He rose, hand flashing gold, and Droi cried out in protest.

  “Rys!”

  He bent, and took her outflung hand in his warm one.

  “I am here. What may I do for you?”

  “Stay,” she said, and rushed on as his lips parted. “Tonight. Here. I don’t want to sleep alone.”

  “All right,” he said, gently, and sank down on the rug at her side.

  INTERLUDE SIX

  The Firmament

  The star he had sworn to witness was guttering. It seemed to him a piece of charcoal barely larger than his fist. There was a flame at the very center, deeply gold, scarcely as big as a cantra piece.

  It was . . . in no way probable that the choice could affect Vazineth ser’Trishan’s fate. He had said as much, to Anthora, and to Master Healer Mithin. He had counseled, indeed, that the best they might do, here, was to ask the Master Healer to reach forth her will, an
d grant the final peace.

  It had been their choice to continue, for, as Master Mithin had it, “The universe may yet surprise us.”

  So it was that he closed his outer eyes, and stood watch over this cinder that had once been a woman’s soul. It was possible to feel anger in this place, though it was not wise. He therefore clung to his own peace, and prepared himself to witness a death.

  Near-space rippled as the question was put.

  The small flame that yet burned in the center of desolation flared, carbon boiling away in a black cloud, and Ren Zel shouted in this place where it was far less dangerous to be joyful, as Vazineth ser’Trishan definitively, absolutely . . .

  . . . chose life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Boss Nova’s House

  Blair Road

  Nova’s household marched to a meld of Liaden and Surebleak custom. That had surprised Miri the first time they’d stopped for dinner with Val Con’s sister. Sorting the list of family members from most rule-bound to least, you’d get Kareen yos’Phelium right at the top, then Nova, who was second only because Kareen had time in grade.

  Be that as it was, Nova’s entire family sat down to dinner together, family being parsed to mean: Nova; Syl Vor; Syl Vor’s Bedel sister, Kezzi; and Mike Golden, Nova’s head ’hand, just like Surebleak did it, when there was family to hand. In a proper Liaden house, Syl Vor and Kezzi would have eaten in the nursery, or, maybe the kitchen, and Mike would’ve eaten with the rest of the servants, thereby freeing the adult kin to speak frankly together.

  Not that speaking frankly was all that exciting, since proper Liaden table manners called for pleasant subjects only to be discussed over dinner, so that one might do justice to the meal’s artistry.

  It made for an . . . interesting, if not downright rowdy, table, a fact of which Nova seemed to be entirely unaware. Of course, Miri thought, any group that included Kezzi Bedel among their number was going to be rowdy, by definition. It had been hoped that close association with Syl Vor would impart a more seemly manner, but so far as Miri had been able to observe, association might be working in the opposite direction. Not that Syl Vor couldn’t use a little loosening up. Way too serious for a kid.