Lee, Sharon & Miller, Steve - Liaden Books 1-9

by Liaden 1-9 (lit)

  Hakan smiled again as the two figures moved farther into the shop and into the range of his shortsighted eyes.

  The woman was toy-tiny, yet there was adult assurance about the set of her shoulders and the straightness with which the large gray eyes regarded him. She returned his smile with a thoroughly friendly grin, holding comfortably onto her companion's hand. The man lacked two inches of Hakan's height, twenty of his pounds, and all of his mustache. He wore his dark hair long for a man, and the line of a recent scar marred one smooth cheek. Smiling, he raised his free hand and indicated the instrument Hakan held.

  "Very pretty," he said softly, the words accented in a way that tickled the other's ear. "It is?"

  "This?" Hakan offered the instrument, and the shorter man slid his hand out of the woman's to take it. "It's a twelve-string guitar."

  "Twelve-string guitar," the man murmured, turning it around and over. He righted it and tried a sweep across the strings with his long fingers, laughing softly at the discord he produced. He placed the fingers of his left hand carefully on the neck, tried another sweep, and nodded as if better satisfied. Working slowly, using a combination of strumming and plucking, he managed to pull a melody line out of the guitar while Hakan watched in growing puzzlement.

  The guitar was strange to the man - that much seemed certain. But he worked with it as if he had once played something similar and knew what to expect of wood and gut.

  The man came to himself with a start, glancing up with a smile of apology. "Forgive me," he said, handing the instrument back with obvious reluctance, fingers lingering on the neck. "It has been long," he said, as if to explain. "I am - "He frowned and moved his hands in what Hakan thought might be exasperation. "It is to be hungry," he concluded, head tipped as if he were unsure that he would be property understood.

  But it there was one thing Hakan did understand it was the hunger for making music. "Lost your piece?" he asked, somehow certain that only catastrophe would have separated this individual from whatever it was he played. He put the guitar aside and stood, waving his hand to indicate the rows of musical instruments. "What's your specialty?" he began, feeling an impulse his father was certain to bewail rising within him. "Maybe we can work out a - "

  From the back of the shop, the woman - forgotten in the music - called something out, emphasizing it with three musical keys pushed at random.

  The man's brows shot up, and he looked at Hakan, eyes intensely green. "That?"

  "Piano," Hakan told him. "You play piano?" But the man was already gone, heading toward the back of the store.

  It was apparent that the man did play piano - or something so close to piano that it made little difference. He spent a few moments exploring the instrument, eyebrows lifting as he discovered foot pedals; running his fingers up and down the keyboard, he located true C, sharps, flats, and scales. Then his fingers moved, half-joking, it seemed to Hakan, and produced a tinkling little tune reminiscent of cool summer evenings playing hide-'n-seek.

  His hands shifted, up-board and down, calling forth less childlike music. The woman leaning against the piano's side laughed softly and sang a line in a weird, chopping language, and the man grinned and moved his hands again, playing a clear intro riff.

  The woman grinned at Hakan, straightened, and began to sing. He stood rock-still until the song was done, then dove across the room for his guitar.

  It was thus that Kem Darnill found them some time later: Hakan painstakingly working out the melody; the piano correcting him now and then. Setting her books on the counter, she went quietly toward the threesome, trying not to disturb the music making.

  The man at the piano looked up and smiled at her. "Hakan," he murmured.

  "Hmm?" Hakan looked up, caught the other's nod, and turned his head.

  "Kemmy!" He was on his feet, his smile a warmth she could feel. Sliding his hand into hers, he brought her forward.

  "Kemmy, this is Cory and Miri. Cory plays piano, and Miri sings. Amazing stuff - you never heard anything like it. I've never heard anything like it, anyhow." He grinned at the pair on the piano bench. "This," he announced proudly, "is my fiancée, Kem."

  Kem felt herself blush but managed a smile at the two strangers. Cory smiled and inclined his head in a formal little gesture; Miri grinned at her.

  "Hi," Miri said. Her accent made Kem blink. Still, they seemed nice enough, and they were musicians...

  "Oh, goodness!" she said suddenly, leaning forward. "Cory and Meri?"

  "Cory," the man agreed, tipping his head.

  "Miri," the woman said.

  "Zhena Trelu's looking for both of you," Kem told them. "She's awful worried - thinks you've gotten lost or something." She hesitated, remembering that Zhena Trelu had said that they did not speak much Benish.

  But the woman - Miri? - had turned to her companion with an expression of comic woe on her face. "Zhena Trelu!" she cried. "Bad us!" And she dropped her head against his arm, shoulders shaking.

  Cory grinned and patted her gently on the back. Then he sighed and looked down at the piano, raising his hand and letting it fall to his knee.

  "I don't get it," Hakan said, looking from Kem to his two new friends.

  "They're staying with Zhena Trelu," Kem explained rapidly. "Helping her out around the farm. She brought them into town today to get winter clothes, and they wandered off - and that rattlepated Athna Brigsbee's out there calling them thieves and worse!"

  "But that's great!" Hakan cried, turning to the other man. "Cory, listen to me - Zhena Trelu's got a piano! Real nice one - a hundred times better than this piece of junk," he added, with a fine disregard for the basic precepts of business.

  Cory's brows pulled together, and he shook his head. "Zhena Trelu? No piano, Hakan."

  Miri shifted at his side, murmuring something in a language that jarred on Kem's ears. Cory glanced at her and then at Hakan.

  "There is a place - " He stopped, frowning, then sighed. Carefully he lifted his hands, wove the slim fingers together, and held the knot out to Hakan, one eyebrow up.

  "Locked? A locked room, maybe?" Hakan looked at Kem, who could only shrug. "That makes sense. It was her zamir's piano, Cory. He had it set up in a room by itself. Could be she locked the room when he died - ought to let you play it, though. Regular sport, old Zhena Trelu. You just ask her about it, and I'm sure - "

  "Hakan - " Cory was holding his hands out as if to stop Hakan's enthusiasm. "Too many words, Hakan."

  "Ah, wind - I forgot." He turned back to Kem. "What were you supposed to do with them, once you found them?"

  "They were supposed to be going to the library. Zhena Trelu went there, in case the two of them got ahead of schedule. I was supposed to take them to her, if I ran into them." She giggled. "I guess this qualifies as running into them."

  "Well, then that's simple," Hakan decided, waving at the two foreigners. "Let's get ourselves down to the library. I'll ask Zhena Trelu for you, Cory."

  "What about the store?" Kem demanded, vowing that nothing would prevent her from witnessing the expression on Athna Brigsbee's face when Zhena Trelu's charges were restored to her.

  But Hakan was already turning the Open/Closed sign to the Closed side and pulling the key from his pocket.

  "All for one," he said, waving them out the door with a flourish.

  "And one for all," Kem said, laughing.

  Hakan locked the door and turned up the street, slipping one hand into Kem's and the other into Miri's, as a child might. Hand-linked and laughing, the four of them began to run.

  LIAD

  Trealla Fantrol

  THAT INFORMATION IS RESTRICTED.

  Nova had swept the screen clear and entered a second, more potent, ID before the cat lounging by the keyboard had time to blink.

  There was perhaps a heartbeat of hesitation, then the response from Central Information:

  THAT INFORMATION IS RESTRICTED.

  Nova swore, though perhaps not as violently as she might have. "Restricte
d from the Council of Clans! Who dares it?"

  Neither cat nor screen ventured an opinion, and after a moment of frowning thought, she reached for the keyboard once more.

  Central took rather more time with the new request, but finally the letters began to appear, one by one, as if the computer itself was perplexed by the answer it had to give.

  UNIVERSAL ACCESS OVERRIDE. REQUESTS REMANDED TO JAE'LABA STATION. ACCESS DENIED.

  "So." Here at last, was the germ of something.

  STATIONMAP, she demanded of Central. There was no hesitation at all. The screen flowered interconnecting lines, varicolored rhombi marking primary, secondary, and tertiary stations.

  Nova paused, considering the flashing bit of purple that denoted the station at Jelaza Kazone. Korval's Own House, with Korval's own tricks up its sleeve, age upon age, Cantra to Daav...

  "Not yet," she whispered, and touched QUERY.

  JAE'LABA LOCATION?

  In the upper left-hand corner a tertiary indicator glowed a brighter gold and began to pulse.

  "As simple as that?" She was Liaden and mistrusted simplicity. She was of Korval and smelled a trap. And yet...

  DETAIL, she commanded; and watched the indicator enlarge as another map grew about it, showing the familiar outline of Solcintra. A building took shape, enclosing the pulsing gold, and a legend appeared at the base of the screen.

  SCOUT HEADQUARTERS.

  "But Val Con's a Scout, after all," Anthora said reasonably a short time later.

  "They denied him!" Nova cried, breaking the pattern of her pacing to face her sister. "Assigned to the Department of the Interior, they said! And information about the Department of the Interior is restricted - to my code and to the Council of Clans."

  "Oh." Anthora bent to the desk, offering a finger for its occupant to sniff. "Good day, Lord Merlin."

  Nova swallowed a sigh. She should have known better than to open such a discussion with Anthora, but Shan was gone with the Passage, and she was further robbed of Pat Rin's caustic intelligence...

  "If a station is in a place," Anthora asked, rubbing Merlin's ears, "must it mean that it belongs to the owners of the place?"

  Nova froze. "No. No, of course not. But - the Scouts..."

  "Scouts are not gods," the wooly-headed baby of the family commented. "Val Con said Scouts spend a great deal of time mucking about in the mud and running afoul of custom." She looked up. "It's a simple thing to shunt information from one terminal to another. Even simpler to hide information an honest user would have no reason to look for, then dump what's hidden, with no one the wiser. A tertiary station? Who would trouble to invade something so unimportant? Who would think to look for tampering?"

  The idea took simplicity and snarled it with a hundred knots, basing all on the honor of Liad's Scouts. It supposed an enemy more dangerous than an unrecorded organization disinclined to answer questions. Nova sat on the arm of a chair, staring at her sister with wondering violet eyes. The theory appealed, yes. It appealed mightily.

  "The Scouts," Anthora continued, "have no reason to lie. Were our brother eklykt'i - were he even dead! - these things have come to those of Korval in the past, have they not? And the Scouts sent word, just as to any other."

  "Truth." The melant'i of the Scouts was not in doubt. It was more possible to consider a new and secret enemy than to consider that the Scouts might have lied. "They say what they know. It worries me that they may not know all. It worries me more that this Department of the Interior has its eyes upon us while we are blind to them." She closed her eyes while Anthora bent to scratch Merlin under the chin, and for several minutes his purrs were the only sound heard in the room.

  Then Nova snapped to her feet, brushed past sister and cat, and leaned to the keyboard.

  "What do you, sister?"

  "Whoever they are, they must have money. Mr. dea'Gauss may - Good day, Sor Dal. Has Mr. dea'Gauss leisure to speak?"

  "I will ascertain, Eldema. One moment."

  Somewhat less than a moment later the wait-signal cleared to show the old gentleman himself. He inclined his head respectfully. "Lady Nova."

  "Mr. dea'Gauss. It's good of you to leave your work to speak to me." She followed the form with well-hidden impatience, mustering one of her thin smiles.

  "I am always at Korval's service, your ladyship. How may I assist you?"

  Gods, Nova thought. What can it portend that Mr. dea'Gauss becomes brusque? She moved a hand in acknowledgment of truth spoken and looked into the old dark eyes. "I desire information regarding the business we spoke of earlier, sir. Its funding and its expenditures. I desire this urgently."

  The old eyes did not flicker. "Your ladyship is wise to check all contingencies before committing her resources. I shall see to it."

  "My thanks to you, sir."

  "Line dea'Gauss serves Korval," he said calmly. "Now as ever. With your ladyship's permission?"

  "Of course."

  The screen went blank.

  "Mr. dea'Gauss is worried," Anthora said at her shoulder.

  Nova glanced over. "You can read over comm lines?"

  She looked surprised and thoughtful. "I don't think so...But I didn't need to, just now. It was obvious."

  This from one who barely noticed rain from sun! Nova hesitated over a question and, Anthora-like, the other plucked it out of air and gave answer.

  "Shannie told me to help you. Not," she added with a sniff, "that he had to. And before he left he said I must pay close attention to - things - and not be backward about speaking my thoughts. He said that there are often several ways to look at something, and I mustn't assume that because I've seen one or even two ways that you've seen the same ways. He said you need to see as much as possible, to keep Korval safe."

  "Did he? I'm in debt for his concern."

  "Don't be angry at Shannie, sister. He'll be searching, too, you know. And he has Priscilla with him. I taught her how to see Val Con." Her brow wrinkled slightly. "At least, she can't see him very clearly - and I'm not at all sure she sees him the same way I do. And it tires her, I think. But she has - a sense - of him. And of his lady. She'll be able to tell if the Passage comes near them."

  "Will she?" Nova tried to catch her mental breath. It was often thus with Anthora, who took such abilities as easily as sight and hearing, even though the very language had to be bent and twisted in order for her to speak of them. "And can you - see - Val Con with his lady now? Are they well?"

  Anthora nodded vigorously. "Val Con's more Val Con than he's been for - oh, a long time! And his lady is very bright."

  She spoke with such clear approval that Nova found herself comforted a little.

  "I'm going for a walk before Prime," Anthora said softly. "Come with me, do."

  A walk? With Val Con yet missing, even though he was "more Val Con than he'd been" - and gods alone knew what that meant! Had he been ill? What was she thinking of, that supposed lifemate, that she was so careless of him?

  "Sister..." Anthora slid her arms about Nova's waist in a wholly unexpected hug. "He is well. More - I believe him happy. We search; we do what we might, as well as we might. Val Con would never grudge you an hour's pleasure when there is nothing more for you to do."

  Nova hugged back, cuddling the warmth of her sister's body against her. "Truth..." She stood away, summoning the second smile in an hour. "Let us go for a walk, then. The day does seem fair."

  LIAD

  Trealla Fantrol

  The house was too empty.

  Nova sighed. The information in front of her was important, or it would not be on her screen. Mr. dea'Gauss was not in the habit of bothering her with trifles. Yet the house was too empty: the children, by her own order, taken by their tutors to the Port for half a day's holiday; Anthora gone with the twins to visit Lady yo'Lanna...There was no one to claim her attention, no reason to make a decision immediately. The words on the screen not yet urgent enough to -

  She blinked at the carpet, which was not blue enough
by half, and what was that tiny screen doing there on the desk, when only that moment she had been looking at the large, amber colored -

  "No!"

  Nova pushed back at the Memory, half-sick with the effort to separate the room she knew from that other - long gone, changed, changed again - knowing even as she thought that it was useless if the time was come. Dismay rode briefly over loathing; dismay of the power that the past generations of Korval women had over her. Edger had addressed her as "She Who Remembers;" she wondered - and then was certain - if Val Con had explained her "talent" of reliving the memories of those long dead. Loathing rose again and she pushed at the Memory, hard.

  The Memory expanded, the long-ago room taking on more and more substance, as the room now faded.

  Nova recalled her own past with guilt, wondering which of her decisions or experiences might be forced on some unsuspecting child or unwelcoming grandmother -

  Vertigo overtook her; she clutched at the table, then squared her shoulders and walked to the couch. She sat with unaccustomed heaviness, half expecting the thing to be nothing more than a Memory-phantom, substantial and actual to all but her body.

  Carefully, striving to put bitterness and loathing and dismay all aside, she took a deep breath - and another, began the relaxing sequence the Healers had given her...

  And it was there, as searing as her memory of the argument with Shan.

  A Liaden youth, hair clipped tight in a style dating him hundreds of years in the past, was arguing. She knew him, ached to grant him his demand, yet denied him, nonetheless.

  "Yes, Ker Lin, I did hear you. I believe you have not heard me. I am not speaking as your aunt in this. I am speaking as Delm!"