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

by Liaden 1-9 (lit)

  Er Thom lifted an eyebrow. "My thodelm keeps it for me," he said mildly, and smiled. "More than that loses you hair, Cousin."

  "Fairly warned," the older man said with the good humor that won him friends in both the Port and the City.

  "Announcement in The Gazette took me unaware—" he confided—"felicitations, by the way! But the last I knew of matters, yos'Galan was looking to Nexon to provide your heir—" He threw Er Thom a sudden look. "Not that it concerns me, of course!"

  Er Thom laughed. "Poor Luken. Do we abuse you?"

  "Well," the other replied candidly, "you and Daav cut up a trifle rash as cubs—and it's a certified wonder you weren't drowned as halflings. Though," he said hastily, as if recollecting himself, "I believe that to be the case with most halflings."

  "And as adults we daily snatch you hairless," Er Thom murmured, "and do you no better good than setting Kareen at your throat."

  "No," Luken said as they climbed the stairs. "No, I wouldn't have it that way. Daav visits often, you know—he and the boy are quite fond. I find him much easier now he's come back from the Scouts and taken up the Ring. You—you were always the sensible one, Cousin, and if you have from time to time been sharp, why, it's doubtless no more than I deserved. I'm not a clever fellow, after all, and it must be a trial to you quick ones to always be bearing with us slow. Kareen, now—" Luken sighed, eyes on the child who went so solemn and unchildlike ahead of them.

  "The boy makes gains," he said eventually. "No more nightmares—well, none to speak of." His mouth tightened.

  "My back's broad. Kareen yos'Phelium may do her worst to me, if it buys the child his peace."

  Er Thom lay a hand on the other's arm, squeezing lightly.

  "Thank you, Cousin."

  "Eh?" Luken gave a startled smile. "No need for that, though you're very welcome, I'm sure." He moved his shoulders. "That's always been the difference between you lot and Kareen. Good-hearted, the both of you, and not dealing hurt for the joy of hurting." He raised his voice.

  "Ho, there, boy-dear, you've gone past the door!"

  Up ahead, Pat Rin turned and came slowly back, holding the gift between his two hands.

  Er Thom lay his palm against the nursery door and bowed his cousins within.

  "Catch!" Anne tossed the bright pink sponge-ball in a lazy arc.

  Shrieking with laughter, Shan grabbed, the ball skittered off his fingertips and he flung down the long room after it, giggling.

  Anne shook her hair back from her face, clapping as he caught up with the ball and snatched it high.

  "Now throw it back!" she called, holding her hands over her head.

  "Catch, Ma!" her son cried and threw.

  It wasn't too bad an effort, though it was going to fall short. Anne lunged forward on her knees, hand outstretched for the grasp—and turned her head, distracted from the game by the door-chime.

  "Mirada!" Shan ran and threw himself with abandon into his father's arms, ignoring the other two visitors entirely. Anne came off her knees and went forward, ball forgotten.

  Er Thom caught Shan and swung him up into an exuberant hug. "So, then, bold-heart!"

  Beside them, the older of the two visitors—a sandy-haired man of perhaps forty-five, with a bluff, good-humored face— pursed his lips and lay a lightly-ringed hand on the thin shoulder of his companion. Anne smiled at the fox-faced little boy and received a solemn stare out of wide brown eyes.

  "Play ball, Mirada!" Shan commanded as Er Thom set him down.

  "Indeed not," he murmured. "You must make your bow to your cousins." He turned his head and caught Anne's eye, giving her a smile that jelled her knee-joints.

  "Anne, here are my cousins Luken bel'Tarda and Pat Rin yos'Phelium. Cousins, I make you known to Scholar Anne Davis, mother of my child and guest of the House."

  "Scholar." Luken bel'Tarda's bow puzzled for an instant, then she had it: Honor to One Providing a Clan-Child. "I'm glad to meet you."

  "I'm glad to meet you also, Luken bel'Tarda." Honor-to-one-providing had no neat corollary, so Anne chose Adult-to-Adult, which was cordial without leaping to any unwarranted conclusions regarding Luken bel'Tarda's melant'i.

  "Well, that's kind of you to say so," he said, with apparent pleasure. He squeezed the little boy's shoulder lightly. "Make your bow to the guest, child-dear."

  Bow to the Guest it was, delivered with adult precision, and a quick, "Be happy in your guesting, Scholar Davis," delivered in a husking little voice, while the brown eyes continued, warily, to weigh her.

  Anne bowed Honor to a Child of the House, adding a smile as she straightened. "You must be Daav's little boy," she said gently. Pat Rin ducked his head.

  "Begging the lady's pardon," he said quickly, "I am the heir of Kareen yos'Phelium."

  "But he has his uncle's look, certain enough," Luken added, rumpling the boy's dark hair with casual affection and sending Anne a glance from guileless gray eyes. "His mother's dark, as well. I don't doubt you'll be meeting her soon. Never one to allow a duty to languish, Lady Kareen."

  "I look forward to the pleasure of meeting her," Anne told him, with was only proper, and wondered why he blinked.

  "And here," Er Thom said gently, "is Shan yos'Galan. Shan-son, these are your cousins Luken and Pat Rin. Make your bow, please."

  Shan hesitated, frowning after the Liaden words.

  "Shannie," Anne prompted in Terran. "Bow to your cousins and tell them hello."

  There was another momentary hesitation, followed by a bow of no particular mode. On straightening, he grinned and offered a cheery "Hi!"

  Luken bel'Tarda sent a startled glance to Er Thom. "I'm afraid—oversight, of course!—I've never learnt—aah—Terran—"

  "Hi!" Shan repeated, advancing on his cousins. Pat Rin tipped his head, brown eyes wide.

  "Hello?" he said uncertainly.

  Shan nodded energetically. "Hello, yes. Hi!" He thrust out a hand. "Shake!"

  Pat Rin flinched and stared. Then, lower lip caught between his teeth, he reached out and brushed Shan's fingers with his.

  "Hello," he repeated and snatched his hand back. "I am glad to meet you, Cousin Shan," he said in rapid Liaden and held out the package he carried. "We've brought you a gift."

  Shan took the package without a blink. "Thanks. Play ball?"

  "My son thanks you for your thoughtfulness," Er Thom said for Luken bel'Tarda's benefit. "He asks if his cousin might, play."

  "That's very kind." Luken looked gratified. "It happens the boy and I are promised in the City today, but I'd be delighted to bring him to visit again soon. He might spend the day, if you've no objection, Cousin."

  "Of course Pat Rin is always welcome," Er Thom said and Anne saw the tense little face relax, just a bit.

  "That's fixed then," Luken said comfortably. He turned and bowed, giving Anne the full honor-to-one-providing treatment.

  "Scholar Davis. A delight to meet you, ma'am."

  "Luken bel'Tarda. I hope to meet you again."

  Unprompted, Pat Rin made his bow, and then the two of them were ushered out by Er Thom, who turned his head to smile at her as he was departing.

  "Well!" Anne sighed gustily and grinned at her son. "Do you want to open your present, Shannie?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  There is nobody who is not dangerous for someone. ;

  —Marquise de Sevigne

  The chime recalled him, blinking, from the world of invoices, profit and cargo-measures. He rose, half-befogged, and keyed the door to open.

  "Anne." The fog burned away in the next instant, and he put out a hand to catch hers and urge her within.

  "Come in, please," he murmured, seeing his delight reflected in her face. "You must forgive me, you know, for thrusting Luken upon you, all unexpected. I had not known you would be with our son—"

  "Nothing to forgive," she said, smiling. "I thought he was delightful." The smile dimmed a fraction. "Though Pat Rin is very—shy…"

  Trust Anne to see th
rough to the child's hurts, Er Thom thought, leading her past his cluttered worktable, to the double-chair near the fireplace.

  "Pat Rin progresses," he murmured, which was only what Luken had told him. "I thought him quite bold in dealing with our rogue."

  She laughed a little and allowed him to seat her. He stood before her, availing himself of both her hands, smiling into her face like a mooncalf.

  Her fingers exerted pressure on his, and a frown shadowed her bright face. She bent her head; raised it quickly.

  "You've taken off your ring." The tone was mild, but the eyes showed concern—perhaps even alarm.

  "Well, and so I have," he said, as if it were the merest nothing. He raised the hand that should have borne the ornament, and silked her hair back from her ear, the short strands sliding through his fingers.

  "How may I serve you, Anne?"

  She moistened her lips, eyes lit with a certain self-mockery. "Keep that up, laddie, and neither of us will get to our work." She turned her head to brush a quick, pulse-stirring kiss along his wrist.

  "And that?" he murmured.

  She laughed and shook her head so that he reluctantly dropped his hand.

  "It happens I'm going to need that car you offered," she said, in a shocking return to practicality; "and probably a driver, too. Drusil tel'Bana can see me this afternoon."

  "Ah. Shall I drive you?"

  "I'd like that," she said, with a regretful smile. "But I'm liable to be some time. If Doctor yo'Kera's notes are in as bad a way as she's led me to think—" She shook her head. "No use you kicking your heels for hours while a couple of scholars babble nonsense at each other. It's a shame to even force a driver…"

  "Nonetheless," Er Thom said firmly, laying a daring finger across her lips. "You will have a driver. Agreed?"

  "Bully." She laughed at him. "I'd like to see what would happen if I didn't agree—but as it happens, I do. I'm not at all certain of my directions, and if the work should keep me until after dark…"

  "It is arranged," he said. "When shall you leave?"

  "Is an hour too soon?"

  "Not at all," he returned, around a stab of regret. He stepped back, reluctantly releasing her hand.

  Anne stood. "Thank you, Er Thom."

  "It is no trouble," he murmured and she sighed.

  "Yes, you always say that." She touched his cheek lightly and smiled. "But thank you anyway. For everything." She lay a finger against his lips as he had to hers.

  "I'll see you later, love," she whispered, then whirled and left him, as if it were too chancy a thing to stay.

  "Scholar Davis, how delightful to meet you at last!" Drusil tel'Bana's greeting was warmth itself, couched in the mode of Comrades.

  Anne bowed and smiled. "I regret I was not able to come sooner."

  "That you came at all is sufficient to the task," the other scholar assured her. "I had barely dared hope—But, there! When I wrote I had not known you were allied so nearly with Korval. I do not always read The Gazette, alas, and with Jin Del's death—" She gestured, sweeping the rest of that sentence away. "At least I did read today's issue! Allow me to offer felicitations."

  "Thank you." Anne bowed again. "I will share your felicitations with my son and his father."

  Drusil tel'Bana's eyes widened, but she merely murmured, "Yes, certainly," and abruptly turned aside, raising a hand to point.

  "Let me show you Jin Del's office. His notes—what are remaining—have been kept just as they were found when—The state of disorder, I confide to you, Scholar, is not at all in his usual way. I thought, at first, you know, that—but it is foolishness, of course! What sense to steal the notes for a work that will perhaps excite the thought of two dozen scholars throughout the galaxy? No. No, it must only have been that he was ill—much more ill, I fear, than any of us had known."

  Anne glanced down at the woman beside her, seeing the care-grooved cheeks, the drooping line of her thin shoulders, the jerky walk.

  "Doctor yo'Kera's death has affected you deeply," she offered, cautiously feeling her way along the border of what the other would consider proper sympathy and what would be heard as insult. "I understand. When I received your letter, I could barely credit that he was gone—he had seemed so vital, so brilliant. And I had only known him through letters. What one such as yourself, who had the felicity of working with him daily, must feel I may only surmise."

  Drusil tel'Bana threw her a look from tear-bright eyes and glanced quickly aside.

  "You are kind," she said in a stifled voice. "He was—a jewel. I do not quite see how one shall—but that is for later. For now, there is Jin Del's work to be put into order, his book to be finished. Here—here is his office."

  She turned aside, fumbled a moment at the lockplate and stepped back with a bow when the door at last swung open and the interior lights came on.

  "Please."

  Anne stepped into the room beyond—and smiled.

  Overcrowded shelves held tapes, bound books, disks and unbound printouts. Two severe chairs were crowded together at the front of the computer-desk, a battered, rotating work chair sat behind it. A filing cabinet was jammed into one corner, a double row of books at its summit. Next to it was a plain table, bookless, for a wonder, though that lack was more than made up by the profusion of 'scriber sheets, file folders and note cards littering its surface.

  The floor sported a dark red rug that had once very possibly been good. The walls were plain, except for a framed certificate which declared Jin Del yo'Kera, Clan Yedon, a Scholar Specialist in the field of Galactic Linguistics, and a flat-pic, also framed, of three tall Terran persons—two women and a man— standing before an island of trees in a sea of grasslands.

  "He had gone—outworld—to study, as a young man," Drusil tel'Bana said from the doorway. "Those are Mildred Higgins and Sally Brunner with their husband, Jackson Roy. Terrans of the sort known as 'Aus.' Jin Del had stayed at their—station—one season. They taught him to—to shear sheep." Anne glanced over her shoulder in time to see the other woman give a wavering, unfocused smile.

  "He had another picture, of a sheep. He said that they were—not clever."

  Anne grinned. "My grandfather kept sheep," she said, "back on New Dublin. He contended that they were smarter than a radish—on a good day."

  Drusil tel'Bana smiled and in that instant Anne saw the woman as she had been: Humorous, vivid, intelligent. Then the cloud of grief enfolded her again and she gestured toward the laden table.

  "These are his notes. Please, Scholar, of your kindness…"

  "It's what I came for," Anne said. She spun the desk chair around to the table, reached out a long arm and snagged one of the straight-backed 'student's' chairs.

  "Do you have time to sit with me?" she asked Drusil tel'Bana. "In case I should have questions as I go through?"

  "My time is yours," the other woman said, sitting primly on the edge of the straight chair.

  Anne, perforce, sat in the battered, too-small desk chair, and pulled the first stack of folders toward her.

  Hours later, she sat back and scraped the hair from her face, staring blankly at the blank wall before her. Her shoulder and back muscles were cramped and she didn't doubt her legs would stiffen up when she finally tried to stand—but none of that mattered.

  Disordered as his notes undoubtedly were, it was plain to one who had corresponded with him and who tended in certain directions of thought herself, that Jin Del yo'Kera had found it. He had found what she herself had been looking for—the proof, the empirical, undeniable evidence of a common mother tongue, which had then given birth to its disparate, triplet children: Liaden, Terran, Yxtrang.

  Jin Del had found it—his notations, his careful reasoning, his checks and double checks—all here, needing only to be re-ordered, culled and made ready for presentation.

  All here, all ready.

  All, except the central, conclusive fact.

  Anne looked aside, to where Drusil tel'Bana still sat patient
ly in her hard chair, face grooved with grief, but otherwise composed, calm.

  "Is there," Anne asked slowly. "Forgive me! I do not wish to ask—improperly, but I must know."

  Drusil tel'Bana inclined her head. "There is no shame in an honest inquiry, Scholar. You know that is true."

  Anne sighed. "Then I ask if there are—people—who would feel their—melant'i at—risk, should a fact be found that linked Terra to Liad?"

  "There are many such," the other woman said, with matter-of-fact dreariness. "Even among your own folk, is there not the Terran Party, which would wish to deny Liad the trade routes?"

  The Terran Party was a gaggle of cross-burning crackpots, but it did exist. And if the Terran Party existed, Anne thought wildly, why shouldn't there be a Liaden Party?

  "You feel," Drusil tel'Bana said hesitantly, "that there is something—missing—from Jin DeFs work?"

  "Yes," Anne told her. "Something very important—the centerpiece of his proof, in fact. Without it, we merely have speculation. And all his notes lead me to believe that what he had was proof!"

  Beside her, the other woman sagged, tears overflowing all at once.

  "Scholar!" Anne reached out—was restrained by a lifted hand as Drusil tel'Bana shielded her face.

  "Please," she gasped. "I ask that you do not regard—I am not generally thus. I shall—seek the Healers, by and by. Only tell me if you are able, Scholar."

  Anne blinked. "Able?"

  "Able to take on Jin Del's work, to find his proof and finish his lifepiece. I cannot. I lack the spark. But you—you are like him for brilliance. It was your thought that started him on this path. It is only fitting that you are the one to complete what you caused to begin."

  And there was, Anne admitted wryly, a certain justice to it. Jin Del yo'Kera had unstintingly given of his time and his knowledge to the young Terran scholar he had graciously addressed as 'colleague'. Together, the two of them had constructed the quest represented by the notes now spread, helter-skelter, before her. That one of the two was untimely called aside did not mean that the quest was done.

  She sighed, trying not to think of the years it might take to recapture that one vital fact.