“Not at present. Ooof!”
The swift kick I gave her ankle was worth the way their weapons swung from rest to ready.
“Luggage,” indeed.
The Kraal ship had been tucked on the far side of the line of docking tugs, fin-down where they could safely launch without having to be moved to the field itself—although Port Authority would doubtless attempt to fine them for such behavior. Not to mention the probability of needing new paint on the nearest tugs. Debts that would be paid, among others, Skalet assured me, by Pa-Admiral Mocktap.
“Shouldn’t you wait until we are off one of her ships?” Paul commented. Skalet had demanded and received all of the officers’ quarters on the Octos Ra, giving us two decks and eight cabins of private luxury at our disposal.
Including the captain’s. Skalet had been in luck again, since Captain Arzul-ro was not only an affiliate, but member of another House for which S’kal-ru spoke as Courier. He’d been overjoyed to have such an illustrious guest, professing an earnest and likely sincere desire to die in her service.
“Her ship?” I repeated. “Hardly.”
“Paul is right, Youngest,” Skalet said absently. She was busy at the captain’s desk, using his comp to see what had been happening during her time in the Abyss. She hadn’t wasted time getting back into uniform, although Captain Arzul-ro had apparently been traumatized by the lack of something suitable to offer. I began to wonder how long Arzul-ro had been stuck on this scoutship. “I don’t want to underestimate Mocktap’s affiliations on board. We should be safe from some methods of assassination simply by having these two decks. Others we’ll have to deal with as they come.” There was distressing amount of anticipation in her voice.
“Which is why you didn’t want to be greeted by Kraal at the dock.”
“One can’t tell affiliation from that distance, Youngest. You know that. I was hardly going to risk a confrontation without such knowledge. As for your little stunt—”
I interrupted: “Got us a ship, heading for Picco’s Moon.”
Skalet swiveled her chair to face me, a lean figure in unrelieved black, her strong thin hands pressed together heel to fingertip, as though in prayer. There was nothing of the supplicant in her harsh: “Where you will take me to what I seek.”
“Give Paul the antidote.”
She shook her head. “Always in a hurry, Esen-alit-Quar. Still, it’s as well the Octos Ra is a fast little ship.” Her hands separated, palms up as if offering me something, then her left hand turned over. “The duras has already begun to damage every cell in his body. Nothing irreparable—yet. But in another couple of days?”
My Human heart seemed to beat too quickly. I didn’t dare look at Paul, didn’t dare think of what was happening to him. “Skalet. Please. I promise. You know I keep my word.”
“That was when you were Youngest, and trembled at the thought of Ersh’s displeasure. But you’re Senior Assimilator of the Web of Esen now,” she mocked.
“Skalet, please?”
“Easy, Es,” from Paul. “I feel fine. Don’t antagonize her—”
“Listen to your wise, vulnerable friend, Esen-alit-Quar.” Her wicked smile warned me even as she said: “Still, a child your age should keep busy, or she’ll get into trouble. Let me offer you a game to while away the time, Youngest. One or more of these officers will employ duras. It’s still very popular among the upper classes of Kraal society. You might just find a vial of antidote in one of the cabins. I give you leave to hunt to your heart’s content.”
“Paul—”
“He stays with me. To protect him from traps. Not to mention that there could be an assassin or two. You’ll be fine, I’m sure. You did pay attention to my teachings, I trust.”
I gave myself one more look at Paul, who appeared torn between launching himself at Skalet’s throat or trying to stop me from leaving. Something in my expression must have reassured him. His fists opened and he settled back in his chair. “Yours? No,” I told her with immense satisfaction. “You were a lousy teacher.”
Then I left.
Opulence became boring very quickly. My Ket-self would have enjoyed visiting cabin after cabin, running those sensitive fingers over carved wooden doors and luxurious upholstery. Well, to be honest, my Ket-self was also inordinately fond of plumbing fixtures.
As Bess, I was impatient with what seemed nothing but distraction. Which it was, in a sense. Stuffing their quarters with expensive furnishings allowed each Kraal officer to create a bewildering maze for eyes as well as feet. There was nothing standard, no repeating pattern from one room to the next to help a searcher locate secrets.
A lie. There was a commonality. Every cabin contained a shelf of duras plants, their tough stubby leaves a promise of death as well as mass. Skalet’s plan had succeeded to the point of obscenity.
Two days.
I didn’t bother being polite. When it was faster to walk over a sofa than move around it, I climbed over priceless embroidery and left footprints in rare fur. I did bother being careful whenever I opened a drawer or other hiding place. I might have living mass at hand and so could cycle to remove poison from this body, but it wouldn’t help if some paranoid Kraal had rigged a cupboard door with explosives or—
Or something more specific. The thought stopped my examination of a truly obsessive collection of cosmetics.
Ersh. What if this wasn’t some internal rivalry? What if Skalet’s newly discovered enemy knew what she was?
It could be. Mocktap had history with our kind—not just relatively recent events, either. I had no trouble remembering every detail of Skalet’s misadventure on Ersh’s mountain, including that name on the lips of Uriel-ro.
I should keep searching, despite the probability that any valuable toxins and antidotes likely left with the cabin’s displaced resident.
I should, but . . . Ersh.
Cosmetics forgotten, I turned and ran out of the cabin, heading for my web-kin.
I’d been forced to buy sandals with tiny metal strips on the toes. The resulting sound on cobblestones was considered charming by Prumbins. It had likely helped every Kraal in Gathergo follow me. But I could move as quietly as thought over the plush carpeting the corridors of the officers’ deck. For that reason, I wasn’t surprised, at first, when no one called out a greeting as I walked in the door to the captain’s cabin.
At second glance, I was alone. No sign of Paul. No sign of Skalet.
I fought to calm myself as I hurried through the various rooms. No sign of struggle. No blindingly obvious message left to warn me. They hadn’t been kidnapped.
But no message left to inform me either.
A stroll around the ship? Unlikely. No, I told myself bitterly, this was some plan of Skalet’s moved into action by my convenient absence.
She’d made a fool of me again.
Instead of Ersh’s “voice,” I seemed to hear Paul’s suddenly. When in doubt, don’t. While this was his favorite expression in regard to my desire to experiment with the menu at a new restaurant—being the one responsible for getting my Lishcyn-self home afterward—I knew he felt it was something I could apply more broadly. There had, I admitted to myself, been times when acting without all the facts had had less than stellar results.
This was Skalet’s chosen environment. This was Paul’s true form. Each had a vested interest in the other’s survival until we were off this ship. If the two of them couldn’t handle potential assassins and Kraal politics, no one could.
Relieved, for the moment, of responsibility for my elders, I finally paid attention to myself. My mouth had a foul taste and my skin itched from dried salt. There was sand where there shouldn’t be. Surely this hair wasn’t supposed to be stiff.
So, while the rest of the universe conspired, plotted, and generally readied itself to cause me more grief, I treated my Human-self to a well-deserved bubble bath, without Busfish, in the gilded marble tub belonging to the captain of the Octos Ra.
Otherwhere
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br /> THE strong upsweep ended with a flourish. Not flamboyance—a statement. This handwriting, Kearn thought, said as much about the author as the words. Confidence. Determination. An attention to detail verging on obsessive. They were all there.
The words? He stretched, feeling and dismissing the complaints from his neck and lower back from hours spent hunched over his desk. Perhaps he’d been a little obsessive himself, to want every word translated. But there’d been no page he dared ignore. The key, some revelation, could be in front of him, waiting for him to recognize it.
Rudy had tested the pages for biological tracers, proving the book had been in the possession of Sybil’s enemy.
Kearn allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. The translation was complete—his contribution, his expertise. Now they knew why.
“You haven’t slept.”
He glanced up to find his office door ajar, Timri standing in the opening. “You never knock,” he said mildly, smiling.
Timri didn’t smile back, but then, it wasn’t an expression she used often. She was prone to seriousness, the fine lines edging her mouth and eyes those of concentration, not mirth. Right now, they were deeper than usual. “Rudy’s still complaining you didn’t give him his old cabin back.”
“It’s yours now,” Kearn pointed out. “How’s the crew taking the switch in command?”
“As you’d expect. They can’t imagine you doing something as bizarre as pulling in a civilian, so there’s a rumor Rudy has been working undercover as a freighter captain to catch smugglers. I think he probably started it.” She hesitated, then came to sit in the chair across from his desk. “About the cabin. Rudy says you play favorites. Why would he say that, Lionel?”
“I have no idea.” Kearn felt his cheeks warming and hastily put his hand on the book. “You came at a good moment. I just finished the translation. We’ve imaged the pages, taken all the samples Rudy can imagine. It can be returned.”
“To this Sybil. Cristoffen’s Kraal contact.” Timri narrowed her eyes. “I hope you aren’t suggesting we let him go through with this meeting. Beyond the fact that he can’t be trusted—he’s a wreck. He’d throw up on her boots.”
“I really shouldn’t have lied to the poor boy,” Kearn shook his head. “Being shot at must have jarred loose my morals.”
“That’s what I came to talk to you about, Lionel. I haven’t had a chance to—”
Kearn shook his head. “No. There’s no need.”
Timri scowled. “There’s every need. Shut up and let me thank you for saving my life.”
He fussed with sheets, managing to send several to the floor by accident. As he bent to pick them up, he mumbled: “I didn’t save it. The weapon didn’t work.”
“That doesn’t change what you tried to do.”
Kearn replaced the dropped sheets, patting them into alignment with their mates on his desk, putting others on top and patting those. “I happened to see him first, that’s all. Either of you would have done the same. A reflex.”
A slender hand pressed on top of his, trapping it on top of the pile of notes. He met her eyes reluctantly. “Lionel. You knew I was a member of Paul’s Group. You knew I’ve spied on you since coming on board—lied to you. Yet you put yourself between someone who believed in you, and me, who didn’t.” There was the beginning of anger in her voice; she hated puzzles.
Her hand was warm and strong. He’d thought it would be. “You heard what I told Rudy.”
“That you’ve come to your senses about Esen and Paul? I heard.” Timri withdrew her hand; his felt suddenly cold. “Puts me out of a job,” she added lightly, “if you weren’t lying.”
“Lying?”
“Relax,” the corner of her mouth lifted. “You’ve always been a terrible liar, Lionel. Your face goes all red. You sweat. You even stammer if it’s going to be a really big lie.”
“I d-do not—” Kearn began, then blushed furiously as he stumbled over the words. “Rank insubordination,” he complained weakly.
“So kick me off the ship at Picco’s Moon.” The moment of humor faded, replaced by a look he knew very well indeed: obstinance. “I want to know why you let me keep spying on you. I want to know why you stepped in front of Cristoffen’s weapon. In all our years on this ship, no matter what ridiculous thing you’ve done, I’ve understood why, Lionel. Now I don’t.”
Kearn let his eyes travel over her face, lingering on the perplexed creases above her eyebrows, savoring the line of cheekbone and jaw. He closed his eyes briefly to keep it all.
Then opened them, and abandoned fantasy. “My reasons are my own, Comp-tech,” he said briskly, despite feeling as if he stood in front of Cristoffen again and stared into the muzzle of his own death. “If you have a problem with not knowing, I suggest you consider a transfer. I will provide a message of recommendation, of course.”
“A transfer? I was joking, Lionel.”
“I’m not.” Somehow, Kearn found the strength to keep his eyes on hers and his voice even. “It’s time you considered your own career and life as well as the needs of your—friends. There will be serious repercussions at the end of this—not just because of my putting a civilian in command of a Commonwealth ship. Cristoffen. I don’t intend to let him to walk away from what he’s done, but we both know I will be held at least partially responsible. And should be.”
“You couldn’t have known what he was capable of—”
Kearn shook his head at her protest. “I knew he was trouble. I brought him on board thinking I could control him, to protect Esen and Paul. And don’t forget that my name is on the orders taking us to Urgia Prime, bringing us here—and who knows what else he’s done using my codes.” He managed a smile. “It doesn’t matter. Not really. I was planning to retire anyway.”
“I hadn’t thought—” she paused, seeming to look inward. The creases on her forehead gradually eased. “The captain of the Resolute offered me a post last month. It’s an explorer. When I saw it, I thought it would be a chance to look for web-beings beyond the Fringe.” The creases reappeared. “It’s ridiculous to talk about things like this now, Lionel. We’re in the middle of—”
“It’s not ridiculous to look ahead, Timri,” Kearn said, wondering if it was lack of sleep or the emptiness of his own future that thickened his voice. He coughed to clear it. “The Resolute would be a wonderful opportunity. You’ve turned down too many offers already. I know.”
“Probably more than I do. Seems to me you blocked most of them to keep me here,” she said, but without bitterness. “It’s all right. I couldn’t have left before. Not while I was, well, before you—This really does change everything, doesn’t it?” A note of wonder crept into her voice. “I am free to go.”
From the look on her face, she’d already left. Kearn opened the book and riffled pages. “I should get back to this. It isn’t long until we reach Xir. Was there anything else, Timri?”
“Get some sleep before you fall over,” she suggested, almost jumping from her seat. “And, Lionel—”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. Good night.”
The smile of someone who used it rarely was a wonderful, dangerous thing. Kearn knew he’d remember it, always.
Even after she was gone.
Rudy was taking a late supper—or was it breakfast?—when Kearn walked into the otherwise deserted galley, book in hand. “You’re up late,” the new captain of the Russell III commented. “Or is it early? My system’s not running on shiptime yet.” Never went to bed, given the purple bruising under those eyes. “You finished the translation,” he guessed, pushing the sombay across the table as Kearn sat to join him.
Kearn nodded and poured himself a cup. “Yes. The bridge told me you were here. I thought you’d want to know as soon as possible.”
Rudy waved the hand that wasn’t full of toast. “Please. As long as it isn’t something that will spoil my appetite.”
“It might if you were Sybil.”
“Go on.”
Kearn placed the book on the table between them, moving his cup a cautious distance away. “As I told you, very few could read this.” His tone was tired, but triumphant. “If I hadn’t attended that lecture—with a fine luncheon, I might add—and Professor Strasig hadn’t kindly shared his data on Naskhi script with me? Plus this is an older style of Kraal. But once I knew the corresponding lettering, it was quite straightforward to decipher.” Rudy waited patiently as Kearn carefully turned pages until he reached the beginning. “It starts by listing the founding Kraal Houses. That’s not unusual; the culture is obsessed with genealogy. But here they are named in order of their inheritable flaws, with blunt comments on the viability of each line and the most potentially successful alliances. And here.” He chose a page near the middle. “This describes a property: hills overlooking a seashore. No location, but everything else you’d need in order to build a substantial estate there, from fortifications to designs for gardens. The rest of the book is filled with notes about materials, personnel, supply lines.”
“I don’t want to diminish your accomplishment, Lionel,” Rudy was forced to say when Kearn finished. “But what do plans for a new house have to do with Sybil hiring me?”
“Not a new house,” Kearn corrected, eyes glowing with excitement. “A new House. This is a blueprint for the establishment of a new power within the Kraal.”
“That happens?”
Kearn traced a gilded skull on the book’s cover with his finger as he spoke. “Often enough to spawn most of their wars. I did some research. There are various methods, almost all involving the destruction of an existing House.”
“Why doesn’t this surprise me?” Rudy asked grimly.
“The founding of the Lysar is fairly typical. They claim to have won their status through battlefield heroics. True, in a way. They captured the flagship of their own ally and affiliate, the Noitci, killed every member of the family they could find, then made off with the Noitci Artifacts. A House proves its legitimacy within the Kraal hierarchy by possessing ancestral relics that link it to the time of the founding families. Those relics were in the artifacts—which now belonged to the House of Lysar.”
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