Mouse and Dragon

by Sharon

  “To teach, Kiladi would need to absent himself—and myself, his willing vessel—for somewhat more than a relumma.”

  Aelliana moved her shoulders. “There’s no trick to that. We have already established that we may absent ourselves from the homeworld in the service of our courier business—which I have no intention to give up, you know! If Scholar Kiladi must remain a stranger to your kin, then it is simplicity itself to take ourselves out and away, and offload the Scholar at whatever port he likes. In the meanwhile, I will hire me a Guild copilot and work the ports, returning for the Scholar at a prearranged time and place.”

  Daav smiled and her heart constricted in her chest.

  “You’ve given this some thought, I see? Who knew you would take so well to subterfuge?”

  She bent a serious gaze upon him. “I had a good teacher.”

  Daav laughed, and folded the letter. “Well, it is a plan—but a plan, I think, for the future. Let us first have our child in arms. I do not wish to be apart from you when the event occurs, nor do I wish you to be in the hands of a hired copilot, docked on a third-tier world, when the child decides.”

  He was worried still, Aelliana thought. They had had a Healer and a physician, neither of whom felt that the birth was beyond her. She suspected that his concern had root in her past, to which he now had access, as she had access to his. The heightened sensitivity, the Healer had said, was an effect of her pregnancy and would become less potent once the child was delivered. How much less potent, he had not ventured to say, nor whether Daav would retain his late-found ability to experience her as she did him.

  “Perhaps Scholar Kiladi might plead a prior commitment,” she said, “and ask them to place him on the lists for next year,”

  Daav nodded. “I will suggest that course to him,” he said, and smiled again, tenderly. “I love you, Aelliana.”

  It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She blinked them clear.

  “I love you, Daav.”

  Having mutually renewed their bond, Daav returned to his mail and she to her paper. They worked comfortably for some time; Aelliana so immersed that it was not until she reached the end of the section and had closed her screen that she realized that Daav was very still, indeed, and that he had been so for some time.

  Carefully, her eyes on him, she put the screen on the table next to the chaise, and shifted her ankle from beneath Lady Dignity’s chin. There was a taste in the air, sharp but not unpleasant, like ozone, which she equated with profound thought.

  “Is there something that requires solving?” she asked, rising. She smoothed her robe, watching him. So very still …

  He sighed sharply and looked up.

  “Alas, it appears that the little difficulty in the Low Port is beginning to drift upward to Mid Port. Clarence’s efforts are all for naught, which leaves me not knowing precisely what to think, as my most constant source of information in the matter is Clarence.”

  Someone was targeting pilots in the Low Port; she had read Clarence’s dispatches, as well as some less detailed reports from other persons of Daav’s acquaintance.

  “Do you think that Clarence is lying to you, van’chela? What could be his reason?”

  Daav shook his head, brows drawn, which made him look fierce, indeed. She received, as if wafted on the breeze from window, one scent among many, a sense of frustrated dismay, and a hard edge of—

  “Daav!” She stepped forward, more quickly than she had intended, one hand extended, as if to ward the very thought. “You cannot consider assassinating Clarence!”

  He grimaced and held his hand out. She took it, and allowed herself to be brought down to sit on the sofa, her back against his belly.

  “I would very much rather consider assassinating any number of other people, rather than Clarence. Alas, he puts himself in harm’s way.”

  “You do not know that!” she protested.

  “No, I don’t. However, Clarence is not usually so ineffective. Time and again, he closes—only to find himself grasping a fistful of smoke. If this culprit is so clever as to elude him consistently on what he likes to call his port, that is very worrisome, and it may be that Clarence requires some aid which he is too proud—or too dismayed—to ask for.

  “If, on the other hand, it is Clarence’s office that is the source of these instances of pilot disappearances, cargo thefts, and shipnappings, it benefits him to provide false information.”

  He fell silent; Aelliana, leaning comfortably against him, felt the force of his intelligence at work, and something else. Something—a memory?

  “What is it? Has this happened before?”

  Daav breathed a laugh, which she read as carrying an undercurrent of resignation.

  “I have no secrets from you, my lady.”

  “Indeed,” she said, “there must be a way for you to have them, if they are vital to your joy. We ought to explore the subject with a Healer. For the moment, however—”

  “Yes.” Daav sighed.

  “Many years ago,” he said slowly, “my mother was still alive. She had heard of a situation in the Low Port of which she could not approve. Someone, you see, was stealing pilots. Clarence was newcome to Liad and to his station as Boss. My mother did not know him, as she had known his predecessor—and to be fair, she probably did not expect that he would last more than a relumma, following the pattern of the two replacements previous to him.”

  Aelliana held up a hand. “This predecessor. Would your mother have asked her for information, had she still been in office?”

  “Very likely; they had a very good working relationship. However, Boss Toonapple not being available, and Clarence an unknown, she sent me down to Low Port to gain the lay of the land and to see what I might find.

  “To keep a long tale as short as I might—I found a pilot-taker and Clarence, he having been on the same scent. We took her together, but alas we could not keep her. As I was shortly thereafter called back to the Scouts, Clarence mounted a thorough inspection, aided by my mother, and the predations—stopped.

  “I had until this day always believed that Clarence was as earnest in keeping his port safe for pilots as was Korval, and that the thief we had taken together—was as little of his as she was Korval’s. Now, these reports, they raise suspicions, and while I am not happy to entertain them, yet they must be invited in and scrutinized, despite—or even because—I would rather not.”

  Aelliana twisted, drawing her feet up and he shifted to allow her room to lie down, her back tight against his chest, her head under his chin. He put his arm around her, his hand resting on the mound of her belly.

  “You intend to do something,” she murmured. “What is it?”

  “Can’t you read it?” he teased.

  “I can’t,” she confessed. “Which makes me believe that you don’t know.”

  “Well reasoned. In fact, the only thing I can think to do is as my mother did before me: Send me down to Low Port to spy out what I might.”

  That was accompanied by a thrill of positive dread, whether it was hers or his scarcely mattered.

  “Low Port is very dangerous,” Aelliana murmured. “You had said it yourself.”

  “So it is, but I am stealthy.”

  “Will you go with Clarence?”

  “That would rather defeat the purpose,” he pointed out. “In fact, I would hope to pass through and come out again without him knowing I had ever arrived.”

  “You will take Er Thom, then.”

  “What? With Anne about to be delivered?”

  “It is nearly six weeks before the child is due. Surely, you don’t plan that long a visit?”

  “I don’t,” he said shortly; she read clearly that there was no moving him on that point.

  She took a breath, considering the problem. Surely, he was correct; if some agency operating out of Low Port was taking pilots and endangering ships, then that agency must be discovered and destroyed. However—

  “You will take me, then,” she said, f
irmly.

  He was silent and perfectly still for the space of two heartbeats. Then, he rubbed her belly gently and spoke. “That I will not.”

  “Daav—”

  “Aelliana, it is not as if this were my first foray; I have been to the Low Port many times. I intend to go in, look, listen, and speak with a few people who are known to me. At best, I will find a clue that Clarence’s folk have overlooked, or a route that they have not explored. At worst, I will verify that we stand against ghosts who lure the unsuspecting into the mists and steal their self-will. I do not say that I will be as safe as I am this moment, nor that it will be possible to avoid a fight. However, I do think that I may contrive to come away again with nothing more distressful than a dirty face, and in good time for the birth of our own child.”

  “To go without a partner is not wise, van’chela. Consider Avontai, where one of us would not, I think, have prevailed. The situation required both.”

  “Ah.” He relaxed slightly. “At Avontai, we had to step forward. In Low Port, I will keep to the considerable shadows, and become the most invisible Scout you never did see.” He rubbed his chin against her hair.

  “While it is often wise to to be partnered, in some instances, it is best to go quickly, quietly and alone. Two draw the eye in Low Port. One, who does not wish to be seen, is … less likely to fall into peril. And, you know, it is not as if I were entirely without backup. You know where I am going and that I intend to deprive myself of no more than two nights with you. If I fall astray, you will do as you see best, Delmae.”

  He would not be argued and there didn’t seem to be, she thought, any way to stop him, short of holding him at gunpoint. Nor, in truth, was she at all certain that she should prevent this foray. The situation was serious, and growing more so. Korval was ships, and ships required pilots, never minding the clauses in the ancient contract between the Captain and the passengers which she had only lately been set to study, along with the various diary entries that must be known to the delm.

  “When do you go?” she asked quietly.

  He sighed. “Tonight.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.

  —Terran Proverb

  “Boss?” Rof Tin waited until the door was completely closed behind him. “There’s a lady here to see you.”

  Clarence looked up from his screen. Rof Tin had been in the front office for about a local year; quite a distance from the Low Port honeycomb he’d come up in. His Terran was vernacular, his Liaden low class, and his understanding—usually—quick. There wasn’t much that rattled him, but right now, Clarence decided, he looked decidedly uneasy.

  “A lady?” he asked, probing for more information.

  Rof Tin ducked his head, halfway between a bow and a formal inclination of the head. “She says she’s a friend.”

  Clarence sat back. On the one hand, the Friendly Lady was an old, old ploy. He thought his various enemies on-world and off had moved beyond the basics, but maybe there was somebody new testing the Boss’ defenses.

  There was always somebody new.

  On the second hand …

  “It’d be a shame and a discourtesy to keep a friend waiting,” he said, setting his screen to one side, and giving a thought to the hideaway nestled snug up his sleeve.

  He nodded. “Show the lady in.”

  Rof Tin bowed, triggered the door and stepped into the foyer.

  “Please,” he said, in a mode recognizably that of Child-of-the-House-to-Guest; “Boss O’Berin will see you.”

  The lady stepped inside, both hands out in plain sight, good pilot leather on her back, and pretty far gone in a family way.

  The door closed.

  Horror threw Clarence to his feet and into the dialect of his youth.

  “For the love o’space, woman! What’s he thinking to let you come down here to me?”

  She tipped her head, green eyes considering. Before he could wrap his tongue around the proper Liaden, she had smiled and inclined her head.

  “From New Dublin you are?”

  New Dublin was a lawful world, as far away from where he’d come up as Rof Tin’s honeycomb was from High Port.

  “No, lassie,” he said, gently. “I lived in deeper than that.”

  “Ah. It is you speak as Anne speaks, in Terran.”

  “Not surprising. The Gaelic Union seeded a lot of colonies.” He shook himself and stepped ‘round the desk to set the chair more comfortably for her.

  “Sit down, do,” he said, finding his Liaden again in the mode of Comrade. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Thank you, no.”

  That was prudent, at least, he thought, trying to approve her sense. But—

  He sat down again behind the desk. “Aelliana, why are you here?”

  “I have urgent business with you,” she answered, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the galaxy.

  “Very well. But, I advise: If it happens again that you have urgent business with me, send a message and I will meet you at Ongit’s. It’s not seemly for you to come to me.”

  Also, he added silently, it was damned dangerous. What the blue blazes was Daav thinking?

  “Surely it is seemly, when I must ask you to grant me a boon.”

  He stared at her, suddenly chilly. “What boon?”

  Aelliana inclined her head. “You are the delm of Low Port. I ask safe passage.”

  “I’m not the delm of Low Port, I’m the Juntavas Boss on Liad,” Clarence said, grateful that Comrade allowed one to instruct without insult. “There’s no guarantee of safe passage through Low Port, Aelliana. Not even for me.”

  She touched her tongue to her lips, and took a breath.

  “Daav is on the Low Port,” she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice, even under the kindly mode. “He left two nights ago and he has not come back.”

  Which explained a lot of things and confused a few more.

  “His brother wishes to go after him. I—The delm—has disallowed this.” Her lips quirked.

  “So the delm wants to go in, instead?” Clarence shook his head. “I’m not such a fool as to risk both of you—your pardon—the three of you.”

  Aelliana raised her chin. “If you are not the delm of Low Port, can you prevent me?”

  Clarence grinned at her. “Yes. Remember where you are.”

  Her lips tightened, and it gave him a pang, but dammit, she couldn’t just come waltzing onto dangerous ground, like—

  “He is alive,” Aelliana said. “I can go directly to the place. I think.”

  “Might be he’ll just walk out himself, after whatever business he’s doing is done. If you surprise him in the midst, it might … disturb the balance, and place all in peril.”

  Aelliana shook her head. “I—he is not … well, Clarence. I think that he would walk out, if he could.”

  Ah, hell.

  “If you would grant an escort, someone who is wise in the streets,” Aelliana was saying. “Daav said that two draw the eye in Low Port, but I think that the risk—”

  “You are not going to Low Port,” Clarence interrupted. “I forbid it and I have the ability to enforce my will in this.” He held up a hand, as her lips parted.

  “Allow me a moment,” he said. “If you are likewise lost or taken, to whom does the Ring fall?”

  “To Er Thom,” she said promptly.

  “Correct. As much as I honor him, I do not want Er Thom yos’Galan to wear Korval’s Ring. He measures with a far heavier hand than his brother, and I fear the consequences—for Korval, for the Juntavas, and for Low Port itself—if he is required to Balance the loss of three of the Line Direct.”

  She sat quiet for a long time, looking down at her hands folded on her lap. He gave her time, and at last she looked up.

  “I withdraw my original boon,” she said. “But I ask another.”

  Clarence inclined his head. “I hear.”

  She stared into his fac
e as if, Clarence thought, she was trying to read his mind. Almost, he felt as if she could.

  “I ask that you yourself and your most trusted crew fetch Daav home.”

  That was a favor more to his liking, and in fact he had already decided on it.

  “You said you know where he is. Tell me and I’ll go in now and pull him out.”

  Aelliana laughed. “I know where he is in the sense that I can go there. Street designations, shop names—those, I cannot tell you.”

  He thought about that. “Map?” he asked, reaching to turn the screen around.

  She rose and came to the desk.

  “It’s worth a try,” she said in Terran.

  *

  The guard was Terran, and she knew his name—at least, a Terranized form of what might be his name. When he was aware, which he was only briefly from time to time, she had a tendency to chatter.

  She was chattering now.

  “Word’s come down that the boss is on the way, David. You’ll be glad of that, won’t you? Get you in the ‘doc, patch that leg up, give you a touch of detox. This time tomorrow, you’ll be feeling as spry and as sassy as you were when you broke Jady’s neck for him. Providing you’re polite. The boss likes everything nice. You take some advice and be nice.”

  He was hazy on which of the four who had beset him had been the late and apparently unlamented Jady. He thought he had accounted for two, but the quarters had been close and the lighting confused. Nor had whoever struck him across the back of the head employed any unnecessary gentleness.

  Not to mention whatever was in the hypo his guard—he thought her name was Kitten—used on him whenever he had been awake too long.

  “Boss said to hold you awake,” Kitten confided. She patted his broken leg, firmly.

  He ground his teeth and failed to scream.

  “Tough guy,” she said, apparently approving. “Bounty’s been out on you for a long time—dead or alive. Lucky thing the high price was for alive, or Jady’d just drilled you from the roof ‘cross the way and not had us all down to dance.”