Heirs to Trouble Page 7

  She turned back to her screen; he was dismissed to quarters.

  He stood his ground.

  "Aunt."

  She looked up, frowning.

  "Where will I find my mother?"

  The frown grew deeper and for an instant, he thought she would refuse to tell him.

  Then she sighed, and shook her head.

  "Your mother died six Standards ago," she said.

  His mouth dried, and he had to ask it—had to ask it, though it brought dishonor on the House even to think the question.

  "By Grandfather's hand?"

  Aunt Manza came half out of her chair, her face richly flushed. . .

  . . .and sank down again, with something that might have equally been a laugh or a sob.

  "We had all feared that, at one time or another," she said, as if to herself. "Why should Elza's son not have feared for her, too?" She met his eyes.

  "Be at peace, child. She was struck by a lorry as she crossed the street in the port, on her way to work, late she was, that morning, and likely failed to look. The lorry driver said she darted out from between delivery vans in front of the market; he barely saw her, and had no time to stop."

  He saw it, in his mind's eye. Saw her crouching between the vans; saw her gauge her chances. . .

  "It was deliberate." It was a certainty, not a question. His grandfather might be a cipher to him, but he had known his mother well.

  Aunt Manza's mouth twisted with old pain.

  "Between us–I think it was, yes. We don't speak of it, here in the House. Most especially not to your grandfather."

  A warning. He bowed.

  "Thank you. I know you were my mother's friend."

  She sniffed.

  "Not enough her friend," she said quietly. She looked down at the screen and touched a series of keys.

  "You will wish to inspect your room," she said. "If you have particular requirements, in terms of furniture or ornaments, please speak to me."

  "Yes, Aunt," he said, and left her to her work.

  #

  Card party, breakfast fancy, afternoon gather, another card party. . .Had he not been trained to endure tedious social gatherings, he might have gone into a decline.

  Happily, there was other employment for him. Aunt Manza stood as Nadelm Severt, which meant that his grandfather had piled all of the clan's administrative work upon her, thereby keeping himself free for intrigues and gambling with the clan's fortunes. He offered his assistance, and, after a long, considering look, his aunt had accepted it. This was how he had learned the state of the clan's finances.

  "We ought to remove to the estate, and sell the town house," Aunt Manza told him, "but the delm will not hear of it."

  No, of course not.

  When he was not helping with the nadelm's endless work, he walked. Fifteen Standards as a soldier had left him unfit for the sedentary life of an office clerk, or a Liaden gentleman.

  The exercise was at first the conscious part of his walking, but he found the ingrained habits of a soldier marking out the territory, and after day eight he knew short cuts and potential danger points, knew the corner across from the park where he'd likely find a proctor leaning within view of the public comm station, the corner where the halfling fashionistas flirted with any who might notice them. He avoided the park's mirror-pool, which reminded him only too much of Cardimin's pond-pocked city and the ugly house-to-house fighting there.

  Had he not been on duty for the House, he might well have enjoyed the walks, over time. But no. During his walks, he turned over the conversations he was included into, as Delm Severt's grandson, as Delm Severt's secret weapon.

  His grandfather had, indeed, an odd set of acquaintances, and peculiarly interesting for someone who had a particular training.

  . . .as, for instance, his own training: not only to endure, but to listen to the unspoken conversations, and deduce the hidden strategies.

  Before the end of the first card party, it was perfectly plain to Tom Lei that his grandfather had managed to ingratiate himself with some members of Houses that could only be called High. During the breakfast fancy, it also became plain that there was a secret project with which those same High Houselings required assistance; a secret desperate enough that they could not afford to be choosy regarding such minor matters as social standing or melant'i.

  By the time he and his grandfather had returned home from the second card party, Tom Lei was quite frightened.

  His grandfather was ambitious, yes. His grandfather had always been ambitious; and as a result, he had always played at stakes somewhat above his reach. That he was good at the game was evidenced by the fact that Severt had not plummeted into obscurity, but had actually made some small gains in the clan's social standing.

  But this game–the game in which he, Tom Lei was somehow a high-stakes pawn–this game was dangerous even beyond his grandfather's understanding.

  Korval was involved–and Korval was not–was never–to be considered anything less than dangerous, though they had been banished from Liad, and had only days remaining until their departure.

  But there was more–something he couldn't quite hear, in the whispers between the words said aloud, but which made him shiver, nonetheless.

  It was also plain that he, himself, was being vetted and passed up a ladder of individuals who were increasingly important in this business of whispers and secrets.

  What he would find at the top of the ladder, he dared not guess.

  #

  After he had been four weeks in the house, he was called into the presence of his grandfather and his delm before the midday meal, and there received from him his instructions for the coming evening's entertainment.

  "You will dress in your best. I will send rings; you will wear them on your left hand. On the right, only the honor-ring you have from the mercenaries. You will tonight be at my side; you will follow where I lead. Do you understand me?"

  This is it, he thought; this is the big one; all the smaller hurdles have been conquered. Perhaps he ought to be proud of himself–of his skill–that he had been passed all the way to the top.

  But what was he to do, he thought, alone in his rooms, after the rings had been sent up, and he had chosen three for his left hand. The course of honor, according to the Code, was to obey his delm. But if his delm was about to ruin the clan, by engaging in a game the stakes of which were higher than even the Highest Houses ought offer? Where was honor then?

  On the few occasions when he had been required by his duty to operate at such rarefied heights, he had instructions; a goal; backup from a commander who had been bold, yes, but who did not gamble blindly, nor waste his counters.

  No, he thought, staring down into the garden from his window. The goal must be to preserve the clan, if it came to that, tonight. He must prevent his grandfather from doing anything foolish. That must be his course. He was the only one of Severt able to stand against the delm; the rest had long ago been beaten down by his will.

  Decision taken, he turned from the window and lay down on his bed, to nap and recruit his wits for the coming test.

  #

  "Lord ven'Astra, allow me to present my grandson, Tom Lei, newly returned to us after serving many years as a soldier in a Terran mercenary unit."

  Lord ven'Astra was a spoilt-looking man in middle years. He wore High House hauteur like a cloak about his elegant shoulders, and looked at grandfather with a slightly bored air.

  Tom Lei made his bow.

  "Lord ven'Astra, I am honored to meet you," he said, once again grateful for the training that had taught him to lie with ease and conviction.

  "Young pen'Chapen." The lord returned a nod, and looked momentarily thoughtful. "Newly returned from the mercenaries, are you?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Has your grandfather discussed our little conundrum with you?"

  Well, this might be easy, thought Tom Lei. Perhaps all I have to do is play the fool.

  "I don't believe t
hat he has, sir," he said politely.

  Grandfather stepped in.

  "Indeed, we have not spoken on the topic. I wished him to hear it first from you, my lord, and to give you his untutored opinion. Everyone here knows that I think we must make an example, or lose melant'i."

  "Quite," said the lordship, and turned his full attention to Tom Lei.

  "The situation is thus, young pen'Chapen. There remain in custody several mercenary soldiers–perhaps a half dozen–hired by Korval to invade our homeworld and assist in the action against Solcintra. There are those among the Council who believe that we should release these. . .persons to their units. And there are those among the Council who believe that we should make, perhaps, not an example, but a statement. And that statement would be that Liad is not a paltry world that may be invaded at will by Terrans; and that consequences attend such outrages."

  Tom Lei felt cold, hearing the whisper behind the words.

  Those others, which included this lord and his grandfather, wished to execute the mercenaries in the Council's custody.

  "The information that reached my unit regarding the strike against Liad," Tom Lei said carefully, "was that the mercenary units which supported Korval's action were properly hired by, and under contract to, Clan Korval. Was this not the case?"

  "The contracts were produced as evidence," Lord ven'Astra acknowledged. "Korval had hired them. That does not set aside the fact that they performed outrages against Liad and its citizens."

  "Indeed," his grandfather said. "It must be made plain that we will not tolerate it."

  "Do you agree, young pen'Chapen?"

  But this was absurd! The man went against. . .

  "Law and custom have long held that mercenaries properly under contract are in the same class as weapons used in acts of lawlessness: blameless tools. The hiring body is seen by law as the motivating force–the finger that pulls the trigger, if you will–and is therefore the responsible party in all legal actions."

  "Tom Lei, you do not properly comprehend the case." His grandfather was sounding somewhat breathless. "These. . .creatures! dared to move against Liad."

  "Yes," he said patiently, watching Lord ven'Astra's eyes; "because the contract required them to do so. It was not what we–the mercenaries–call a blood war, in which there is no contract, nor client, and the units act upon their own recognizance.

  "In this case, the Terran mercenaries took contract with Korval. They did not invade wantonly, but in good order, in support of Korval's action, as required by the contract. If the Council of Clans must have more blood–" He made a small bow, as if embarrassed by his lapse, and spoke to Lord ven'Astra.

  "Your pardon, sir; I fear that I may have been too long among the mercenaries. Allow me to say, instead, that if the Council of Clans feels that banishment is not Balance enough for the wrongs visited upon the homeworld, then the Council of Clans must reopen its case against the Dragon."

  Lord ven'Astra pressed his lips together, his spoiled face grave.

  "The qe'andra do not allow it," he said, and it was anger Tom Lei heard beneath the words. "There were those of us who wished to see Korval themselves executed, the Dragon's assets come to the Council, and those remaining set to work off the debt of repairing the damage. We argued for that, hotly. Alas, the Dragon had too many friends on Council. Execution was made into banishment, and confiscation of assets became divestiture.

  "Now, the qe'andra rule that, as Korval has been given the actions it must perform in order to enter into Balance, said actions having a strong deadline attached, to introduce a secondary Balance at this juncture would itself be out of Balance."

  "Even now, reduced as they are, Korval has the qe'andra in their pocket," his grandfather put in. "Why, dea'Gauss is the chair of their council! The Terran mercenaries have no qe'andra."

  "Which does not make them guilty of war crimes, sir!"

  Tom Lei felt ill. What did his grandfather hope to gain from this? ven'Astra's patronage? A blind man could see what that would be worth, once his lordship had a piece upon which he could place the blame, if opinion and law went against him. . .

  "You seem decided in your opinion, young pen'Chaben," his lordship said, his voice decidedly cool. He looked aside.

  "I suppose," he said to Severt, "that we must expect youth to be idealistic. It is a failing they soon grow out of."

  "Precisely, my lord. I had been certain that Tom Lei was past such kittenish ways!"

  "Obviously not." Lord ven'Astra looked back to Tom Lei, his eyes cold. "I would say that you are correct, sir."

  Tom Lei bowed slightly.

  "In what way, my lord?"

  "You have been too long among the mercenaries. Severt, a good evening to you."

  Lord ven'Astra strolled away into the depths of the gather, and Tom Lei was left alone with his grandfather's disbelieving stare.

  #

  "Tomorrow!" his grandfather shouted. "Tomorrow, you will go to Lord ven'Astra, and offer him your services!"

  "My services?" Tom Lei looked at the old man in astonishment. "As an executioner, perhaps?"

  "Do not be insolent, boy! This situation can be rescued–will be rescued. You need only do as you are told.

  "You will go to his lordship and you will prostrate yourself. You will tell him, that upon talking the matter over with your elders, and thinking on it overnight, you understand that the insult carried to the homeworld by these Terrans must be Balanced. You will say that you are willing to testify, as a former mercenary familiar with law and custom in such matters, before the Council of Clans."

  "His lordship will scarcely want that!"

  "Silence! You will of course testify that law and custom support the execution of barbarians who force an invasion upon Liad."

  Tom Lei stared.

  "That," he said, his voice perfectly flat, "I will never do."

  His grandfather spun around.

  "You will do it, because that is what your delm requires of you!"

  "No, sir. I will not dice with lives for your ambition."

  "Will you not?" The old man stalked across the rug, until they were toe-to-toe. He thrust his face up into Tom Lei's.

  "You will do as your delm requires, or you will find you have no delm at all!"

  "That," Tom Lei heard someone say in perfectly calm tones, "is acceptable."

  "Oh, is it?"

  Tom Lei waited, feeling utterly calm. Severt would never bend before such a challenge, he thought. He must conclude the threat.

  But, after a moment, his grandfather drew a breath, stepped back and walked across the room.

  "A glass of wine will do us both some good," he said, and poured with his own hands.

  Tom Lei, caught between relief and dismay, crossed to the wine table and received his glass.

  "So," said Severt, when they had each sipped and lowered their glass. "I see it. You were accustomed to command, a little. You were, perhaps, accustomed to being given reasons for the actions you were commanded to perform, so that you might improvise, when and if necessary. Of course, it is difficult for you to drop such habits, which have, as I must surmise, since you stand here hale before me, served you well for many years."

  He paused.

  Tom Lei inclined his head and murmured, "Yes, sir," which seemed, by far, the safest course. It would seem that he was not to be cast out and declared dead to clan and kin. Or, at least, not immediately.

  He mistrusted his grandfather in this eldritch mood. On the other hand, he entertained liveliest curiosity regarding what, in fact, the old man was about. Surely, surely, the reality was nothing so horrifying as his suspicions. Let him know, and perhaps he might sleep easier.

  "Know, then, that the work which is underway, and to which I have recruited your assistance, will result in a great improvement the clan's melant'i. Once the thing is done, we will rise into the circle of the High Mid-Clans. At least, we shall ascend to those ranks. It is not out of the question, that Severt may, as a result
of this action, rise to High House."

  Tom Lei blinked.

  "And who shall fall?" he asked, for it had been fixed for. . .a very long time, that there were but fifty High Houses.

  "Fall? Ask, rather, who will rise!"

  Tom Lei knew that he was not a fool. However, it took him more than a heartbeat to realize that his grandfather expected–no! Knew for a certainty!–that at least one clan would seek to rise into Korval's place. For that was how it was said: There are precisely fifty High Houses. And then there is Korval.

  "Korval occupied a. . .unique place because of their contract," he pointed out.

  Severt shrugged. "A contract may be trumped by contacts. And how refreshing to have a true Liaden clan, rather than a hireling, in that most unique position, eh?"

  Tom Lei raised his glass, so that his failure to agree might pass unnoticed.

  "So," said his grandfather and his delm again, after he, too, had partaken of his glass. "I will tell you now that these Terran mercenaries whose fate is to become an example for all of Liad's inferiors–they are hidden, of course."

  "Of course," Tom Lei murmured.

  "And, here is the point upon which our own ascension turns." His grandfather leaned close, and lowered his voice so that Tom Lei needed bend at the waist in order to hear.

  "We, Clan Severt, hold the prisoners, in trust for ven'Astra."

  Shock jolted him. He had been a fool to hope that the truth were less terrible than his imaginings. He had been a fool to think that his grandfather would be content to gamble only with lives. No, like any gambler, he must ever increase his stakes.

  And, now, he diced with Severt's very existence.

  "Does Aunt Manza know this?" he demanded.

  "Am I a fool to share such a thing abroad? She knows nothing."

  Relief warred with horror. He took a breath, trying to recruit his thoughts.

  "Peace, peace," his grandfather said, perhaps reading distress on his face. "Whether the scheme is executed, or the mercenaries are returned to their officer, as the qe'andra have ruled, our safety—and thus our reward—is secure.

  "Only think! If the matter falls out as ven'Astra wishes, then we are rewarded for our help. If the qe'andra prevail, ven'Astra will be grateful to us for keeping our knowledge to ourselves." He smiled, and sipped wine.