by Mark Eller
"Miss Bivins is a lawyer," Aaron said absently as he flipped through the folder. "She owns a very large and very successful firm with more than two hundred lawyers working for it. " He flipped another page. "These appear to be copies. If you don't mind, I'll take them home and look them over. I should have them returned by Monday."
Mistress Bearden's fingers twitched a pencil. "Those copies are bank property. I'm not sure it is entirely proper for you to take them. Mister Turner, I must tell you, Miss Bivins never represented herself as a lawyer. She must not be very professional. Common courtesy dictates she informs the people she deals with as to her profession."
Aaron turned another page and pretended to understand what he looked at while wondering exactly why a person's profession mattered to this woman when they put money in her bank. Did a bricklayer deserve different treatment than an accountant? For that matter, was a bricklayer or a glazer expected to announce their trades before dealing with the bank? Apparently so.
"Miss Bivins is different," Aaron agreed. "She's unconventional even for an Isabellan. Truthfully, it surprises me she traveled all this way to make a simple transaction. " He shook his head. "Four months is a long time to be away from her practice."
"Then I was correct in my assumption? She has returned home?" Setting her pencil down, Bearden folded her hands together.
"You are. Thanks for your time, Mistress Bearden. I'll see what I can do about my finances. If everything appears correct, I'll soon deposit a few pounds of silver into my account."
She laughed. "Perhaps we all should if only we had it. Please see us if you run across any."
Aaron flipped another page. "Hmmm. Oh yes. I suppose I might, but I'll have to dig some up first."
Standing, he headed for the door and opened it, ignoring her protest when he took the papers with him.
* * *
Upon entering the manor, Aaron informed the staff he wouldn't need a meal that evening. In fact, he would be gone for a couple days. No, they had no need to know where he would be. He was a grown boy, more than capable of accounting for his own whereabouts.
Apparently, they thought it appalling he would consider going on a journey while looking so disheveled. They ran a comb through his hair and straightened his clothes. The fussing over, Aaron left, taking time to wish Mistress Willow a pleasant day as he walked by her chair. She almost recognized him.
Once out of sight, he transferred to N'Ark.
Flicker
* * *
Miss Bivins appeared unsurprised when he walked out of her bedroom. She sat at her dining table, her dinner steaming in front of her. Two place settings were laid out. Smiling, she rose and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"Aaron! I should have known you'd remember my bedroom better than any place else."
"Expecting company?" Aaron gestured at the extra setting.
"Only you. I figured you'd be visiting real soon so I've set out an extra plate the last several days. " She guided him to the table, sat him down, and cocked her head to one side. "So--how do you like your new home?"
"I don't," Aaron answered. "What happened to my nice little clothing store with one or two employees? I wanted rest and peace. You gave me five hundred headaches and an empty bank account. By the way, how did you come up with the idea of a runabout?"
She placed a pork chop on his plate. Several generous spoon loads of mashed potatoes and corn landed beside it.
"There won't be any soup or salad today," Amanda said lightly. "I did the cooking myself and decided I felt lazy. Ummm--runabouts. I saw a picture you drew once. It looked stupid and ungainly, but an engineer I showed it to said it was ingeniously simple so I thought what the hey, Mister Turner is simple. The two ought to fit together."
The corner of her mouth quirked in a small smile. "We worked on the design for a while but eventually gave the project up as lost because we could never get the wheels to work well. A few months later you started your bearing factories, but by then you didn't need the runabouts because you had other things to keep you occupied. When you decided to move to Jutland, I dusted everything off and placed some orders."
Leaning forward, she fastened her gaze meaningfully on him. "Face it, pal. You don't need a rest. You need a challenge, so I bought a building going bankrupt and started a new business. Now it's your job to do something with it."
She tried a taste of the potatoes. "Not bad at all," she mumbled,"but not great. Are you going to eat? I marinated the meat and sprinkled it with lemon pepper. The potatoes have some garlic in them, and I hope you like the sacrifice I made because we both know I'm not fond of garlic."
"You know I don't like much pepper," Aaron complained. "Why did you load me down with a house full of geriatrics?"
She smiled again. "Try the pork. You'll like it better than I like the potatoes. Billowby Manor was being sold for back taxes. The servants had nowhere to go. Most have no family except themselves, and they need something to do so they can feel useful. Taking care of you should fill their needs. Now, why are you worrying? I left enough money on deposit to cover your expenses for at least six months. All you have to do is get your place running."
Corn finished, Aaron sliced into the pork chop. "I'm broke. The bank says I'll have trouble meeting payroll."
Setting down her silverware, Amanda frowned. "That's not right. I left twenty-four thousand gold on account, almost a hundred silver. I need to see some documentation."
Aaron smiled. "Thought you might. I left a folder on your bed. I glanced through it long enough to know I don't understand but every fifth word."
"Of course you don't. You're a man."
"What's that supposed to mean? I thought the problem was my not being an accountant."
"For one thing, it means you haven't complimented me on how I look. I had my hair done, put on a dress, and even wore perfume for you. The least you could do is notice."
Aaron leaned back to take in the view. Amanda's low cut black evening dress left her arms bare and showed more cleavage than he was comfortable seeing on his lawyer. Her hair was coiled perfectly, her lips glistened red, and her nails shone soft pink. Eyes glinting amusement, Amanda leaned forward so her dress gaped, improving his view.
"All right," he admitted nervously. "You look pretty good. You look fine. Now tell me a compliment is all you want because we aren't having a repeat."
"You didn't complain at the time."
"I was drunk," he protested.
"So was I. I still have no regrets."
"I do, and it happened months ago. Any reasonable person would have given up by now."
"I'm not reasonable."
He had one argument she could not beat. Aaron pushed back his chair. "Amanda, dinner was wonderful. You even kept the pepper light. As a cook, you've turned into one of the best. Unfortunately, your seduction skills are weak. Practice a bit before trying this again. Now then, I need to attend to a few things tonight so I'll see you in the morning. Let me know if you find anything untoward in those papers."
Raising a hand, she wiggled her fingers goodbye and blew him a kiss. "Another time."
Flicker
* * *
Except for a new layer of dust, Aaron's apartment looked exactly the same as when he left it months earlier. Fortunately, the place was small enough to clean quickly. While cleaning, he ran across a book he had been reading just before hopping on the ship to Jutland. Pleased with the discovery, he settled into a reclining chair with the book and a glass of red wine. The wine, he discovered, tasted a little sharp. It wasn't up to the quality of his Runeburg White. It certainly was not in the same class as the amber stuff the manor served.
In the book, Ciceilia Pernack, Chief detective of the Burnrich police department, suspected there was more to the incident than a simple burglary gone bad. Was it possible the break-in was somehow connected to the three murders at the pier?
Yes, Aaron mentally told her, they were very much connected. He knew this because he had read the
last five pages before buying the book.
During the next three hours he sipped wine and read. The experience made him feel utterly decadent. He finished the book and discovered he had been wrong. The burglary and murders were not connected. The murders were nothing more than the jealous results of a double triangle, which was a side issue to the real story. The author had been sneaky by throwing misdirection into those last pages to catch out ending wreckers like him. The lady had shown talent. It had been a good read.
He dropped the book and tried to rise. Standing erect proved to be difficult. Though of an inferior quality, the wine had proved potent. His body felt warm and prickly, and his vision wavered. The sensation felt good because he had not overindulged since he was on the ship two days past, not that he was drunk. A little tipsy. That was all. He was just a little tipsy. Aaron remembered hearing his real father use the same phrase once.
A knock sounded at the door. Before Aaron gained the energy or balance to answer, the door swung open.
"Still up are you? Let's see if I can get you up even more."
"You are the most delightful female I've seen in years," Aaron told the woman. Lantern light cast sparkling glitters off her hair, catching his eye with the tantalizing display. Her lips parted. She dampened their red contours with the tip of her tongue. Scents of jasmine washed over him in an arousing display of olfactory sensuality. His knees grew weak, forcing him to sit down while she approached.
Smiling, she shrugged out of her dress, and by the gods, her body was beautiful.
Naked, the woman curled into his lap and placed her perfect lips against his. They quivered and searched. The tip of her tongue brushed the corner of his mouth.
"Be my lover," she whispered.
Aaron closed his eyes. His senses swayed. Darkness swirled, and his arms fell to his sides. He tried to raise his hands. The effort was too great. His lips fell slack, and his breathing slowed.
"Damn!" Her weight left his lap. "Aaron Turner, did you drink the entire bottle? You never drink so much of the cheap stuff. How am I supposed to regulate the dose when you go all unpredictable on me?"
Aaron tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids refused to move.
"Now look at you. If you fall asleep, you'll be all crippled up come the morning. How am I going to get you to bed? It sure won't be the way I planned."
I win, some distant part of Aaron's mind whispered. I win--only this woman wasn't Amanda, and that surprised him. He could not quite put a name to her, but she wasn't Amanda.
Chapter 4
Tha-Thump Tha-Thump Tha-Thump
"Ohhhhhh."
Aaron rolled over and fumbled at his night stand drawer. One of the best things he had done for this world was the introduction of aspirin. The Two Gods knew he had taken full advantage of that product over the years.
Gods, he felt awful. Four pills went down his throat without water. After thinking the matter over, he decided stoic valor could fly out the window. He shook free a fifth pill, swallowed it down, and prayed for quick relief. Groaning, he noticed he was still dressed.
At least he had removed his shoes.
Clang Sssssssss
He grabbed his head. For some reason, it felt sensitive this morning, and this surprised him. He had not drank that much! Only one bottle, for the God's sake.
Aaron tried to sit up, but only made it halfway before the pounding in his skull intensified. His vision wavered, and he fell back on the bed.
Help.
He closed his eyes. Dark helped. Somebody started whistling in the kitchen, and he smelled bacon. The stench made him want to throw up. Gods, was there no mercy in the world?
Okay, Aaron, get up.
He opened his eyes, sat up, and dragged one leg over the edge of the bed where it flopped loosely. He peered at the thing as it swung in small circles.
Come on pal. A little help here.
His leg refused to answer, so he dragged his other leg around to join its mate. The two legs looked helpless. Parasites.
His knees quivered when he rose. Swaying, he wished the marching band would get out of his head, especially the percussionist. He oozed out of the bedroom, through a living room holding an inexplicable amount of luggage, and into a dining room taken over by people he didn't know.
A middle-aged man and a young woman sat at his table, eating eggs, bacon, and hashed potatoes. Aaron stared at them through blurry eyes and decided his first impression had been correct. He had no idea who these people were. He also had no idea why they sat at his table or how they had entered through a locked door.
The man glanced up. His expression showed faint traces of sympathy.
"Mister Turner, I hope you don't mind us making free with your home. Miss Bivins told us you might rip our lungs out if we woke you early. After waiting here a couple hours we decided to fix breakfast. " He gestured at the table. "Miss Bayne went out to buy food."
Miss Bayne? Cathy. A familiar ache started in Aaron's breast, but as the ache was mostly scar tissue he managed to push it back down. This woman couldn't be Cathy Bayne, the young girl who had wooed and then abandoned him more than ten years earlier. So far as he knew, Cathy was still Mistress Haig.
Aaron leaned forward to get a better look. Medium height, twenty to twenty-five years old, straight brown hair cut even with her shoulders. She had deep brown eyes and a trim figure, perhaps, a bit too generous in the chest for his tastes. Yes, she bore a large resemblance to Cathy, and the nose was the same.
"Missy?"
Missy nodded. The corner of her mouth turned up slightly, but she did not look pleased. "Mister Turner," she said,"I didn't choose this assignment. Miss Bivins handed it to me as my first job for the firm. Given a choice, I would do anything but this."
Aaron walked over to the table, feeling confused and stunned. Pulling out a chair, he sat down--hard. His head throbbed. Cathy's younger sister was someone he thought he would never encounter again.
"Why are you--no, forget that. What are you doing here? You should be in Last Chance running the Traveler's Rest."
She wasn't Cathy, but Missy's resemblance to her sister was close enough to hurt. Aaron didn't think he still loved Cathy. After all, too much time had passed since he last saw her. Still, her rejection when he assumed they were to marry and again when he offered her a Talent Stone a couple years later was a hurt he could not completely release.
"I haven't been in Last Chance for seven years," Missy said quietly. "I sold the Traveler's Rest not long after your last visit, and I used the money to buy an education here in N'Ark. The money didn't last, but Cathy sent more whenever I needed it. She owns several Bayne Reading Emporiums now. Fifteen the last I heard."
"Then she's no longer teaching the Clans?" Aaron asked, surprised. It had been several years since one of Doc Gunther's admittedly rare and sparse letters from Last Chance had mentioned either of the Bayne sisters. He had assumed the omission was Doc being sensitive to Aaron and Cathy's past history, not because both the sisters left town for good. Amanda had never said anything to him, either, and Aaron knew she kept tabs on the pair. Always overprotective, her agents kept at least occasional track of most of his connections, no matter how far in the past. Doc's letters always went to her first because he was one of her paid sources.
Missy shook her head. "She hasn't taught for several years, not since she set up a good organization and found people who were better at the job than she ever was. " Missy gave him another thin smile. "The last time Cathy wrote she said since she had worked herself out of a job, she had no choice but to go back to opening new emporiums. That was two or three years ago so I don't know how many she has now."
The man cleared his throat. "Sir, I am Patrick Jeffries, your lawyer. I specialize in overseas law, especially that of Jutland. Miss Bayne is to be your accountant. We are here because Miss Bivins wishes Miss Bayne to go over your accounts with the First National. I will then do my part. Miss Bayne is also assigned to handle your finances for Turner F
abrication."
Aaron wished the aspirin would kick in. His head ached like a bitch. What had Amanda told these people about him?
"Mr. Jeffries, Jutland is a long way from here. The round trip will take several months, not to mention the time you'd spend there. Can you afford to be that long from your family?"
Jeffries' smile was thin. "I have no family. Furthermore, my position will most likely be permanent as Miss Bivins feels the urge to branch out. Part of my responsibility is to open an office in Jutland. " He raised one eyebrow. "She also told me you own a Talent Stone so the trip will be short."
"She isn't supposed to hand out that information," Aaron grumbled, knowing his protest was useless. Amanda did exactly as she desired despite his repeated wishes. Then again, a few hundred people around this city knew his secret anyway. Come to that, the entire Freelorn Clan, tens of thousands of savages who thought Aaron was the Chosen of their One God, knew he could travel in an instant to any place he had previously visited. That probably meant his possession of a Talent Stone no longer qualified as a secret. Still, it would be nice if the woman kept her mouth shut.
"Sir," Jeffries reassured,"I am a full partner in Miss Bivin's firm. She has entrusted me with a considerable amount of money in this venture. I assure you, I know how to keep silent and attend to business. You would do better doubting Miss Bayne than myself, and frankly, I would vouch my life on her word."
Missy looked coolly at Aaron. "I've known about your Talent for almost half my life and never breathed one word of it. Some of us stay loyal to our obligations and friendships. Are you ready to eat?"
Aaron shuddered. The last thing he wanted was food. "Maybe tomorrow. My stomach isn't up to it today. " Gods, he felt horrible. Hangovers had never been this bad before.