by Mark Eller
Something prickled inside Kim, a brief hormonal surge. She concentrated, dampening down her body's natural reactions.
"You are mostly correct," Kim acknowledged. "So then, I am curious. I understand much of Aaron Turner's reaction to this assault. His home has been invaded. His people have been killed or injured. He must show a strong response if he wishes to maintain his position and make others fear him. What I do not understand is his concern for the girl. Is she part of his future plans? Does he need her for an arranged marriage?"
Missy's eyes bore into Kim like accusatory knives. "She is his daughter."
Kim nodded. "Yes, I know. Otherwise she would have no importance at all."
"How long have you known Aaron?"
"A few weeks."
"Then know this, Aaron loves children. He has orphanages all over Isabella. When he first came into Last Chance, I was a child. He loved me and arranged for me to have a place to live. Because of him, I no longer got wet when it rained. I didn't get cold when it snowed. He made sure I was taught to be somebody, and then he arranged for me to have a future. Kim, I'm not a special case. He's done this for thousands of children he's never met. If he does this for strangers, how do you think he feels about his own daughter?"
"But daughters are easily come by," Kim protested. "They are easily expended. I have not been outside my chapter house for long, but I remember a time before I entered it. My father had many daughters. He gave little thought to any of us. He sent most of us to a place where we would probably die. I know the worth of daughters, Miss Bayne. That is why I am confused by the effort Aaron expends on this girl."
Missy's eyes grew moist. "How old are you?"
"I turned seventeen less than two months ago."
"That explains a lot. Why are you protecting Aaron? Remember, I can tell when you lie."
Suddenly edgy, Kim stood and walked to the window. She put her hands on the sill and felt the raised wood grain beneath her sensitive fingertips.
Outside, the sun was bright, warming her through the glass. Tree leaves were changing colors. In Nefra, the leaves only turned brown and fell away for winter. She had heard of colored leaves but had not believed the tales. She had heard of many things. She had even heard tales of people who looked to more than their own self interest. Like so many other things, she had thought those tales were fables.
"He saved my life," she found herself saying. "I was being raped, would soon be killed, and he stopped them. He killed people because they hurt me. Nobody ever did something like that for me before. Nobody ever showed con-concern."
Her voice became harsh. "I owe him for saving me. I am only staying until I pay back what I owe."
Missy shook her head no. "You're not quite the machine you believe. The last was a lie, Miss Kim. You care for him, but I'm not sure in what way. There was a lot of little girl longing in you for a moment. There were parts of other things too, but it's gone now. Tell me, this rape, do you have bad dreams about it?"
"Why would rape give me dreams? It wasn't the first time. I have been raped dozens of times by both male and female masters. The experience makes us stronger."
Kim wished she had not started this conversation. How had the subject gotten around to her and off Aaron?
Kim heard Missy rise and walk closer. Kim turned to face her.
Missy sighed. "So much has been burned out of you, but it's still there. Miss Kim, I'm going to do something I think no one has done in far too long. I'm going to hold you just because you need to be held. Then I'll open myself to you so you can share my feelings. I want you to remember what true emotion really is. I'm doing this for you, Kim. Nobody else knows I can do it, so don't spread it around."
Reaching out, Missy's arms wrapped around Kim, pulling her close until their cheeks touched. Kim stiffened in surprise, amazed she even allowed such familiarity. A mental check showed her defensive instincts were almost quiet, although one small section clamored for escape. Missy's lips drew near her ear. They parted, and a breath of moist air touched her.
"Please forgive me."
And suddenly Kim's mind was filled with the most unsettling sensations as Missy opened to her. Missy's being was a morass of hormonal responses and impulses. She was frightened and concerned and loving and a dozen other fragmented things. Unconstrained emotion bit into Kim, tore deep, and demanded attention.
Kim's knees grew weak. They would have collapsed if Missy had not held her up. A full minute passed before Kim separated herself from the alien emotions. Missy's fear and love did not just center around the man lying in the bed. Missy loved Patton. She also loved Aaron Turner, but in a different way. She wanted Aaron as a beloved friend. Part of her wanted him as her lover, but those parts were small compared to the part desiring Patton. Even so, her love stretched to others: a sister, children who were not hers, dozens of adult faces, and Autumn Turner. Surprisingly, some of Missy's love was even directed toward Kim, but it was almost lost in compassion and pity.
Kim heard a moan. Her moan. Protesting that which was broken, she shivered. The bombardment lessened, and Missy whispered. "This is the best I can recreate how Aaron felt about you when we first met."
Kim felt concern, care, respect, and yes, only the tiniest touch of fear. Overriding everything was something Kim almost did not recognize, something she could not recall even in her vaguest memories.
Aaron Turner felt total and complete trust. Trust. For her.
Missy's probe withdrew, leaving Kim once more alone within her empty shell. Clutching her arms about her body, Kim huddled in on herself until her will regained control. Her legs gave way. She almost fell, but Missy caught her, lowered her to the floor, and settled beside her.
Missy pulled Kim into an embrace so fierce Kim's ribs began to bend. Almost against her will, Kim's arms rose, looped around Missy's neck. Missy's hand pulled Kim's face down to a shoulder's curve.
And for the first time in seven and a half years, Kim opened her defenses and allowed herself to cry. It was a little cry, soft, distant, but it was a cry, and it was hers. She cried for most of a minute because someone cared.
Raising her barely wet face, she looked into Missy's eyes, seeing compassion and sadness. Kim tried a small kiss on the corner of Missy's mouth. Missy gently kissed her back. That was all. Two soft kisses. They were enough. Kim knew she was more than an assassin, more than a cold weapon waiting.
She was trusted.
* * *
"Your plan was a little less than perfect," David Flintlow observed wryly.
"How the hell was I supposed to know the entire city would turn out to look for the brat? Kids disappear every day. " Gwen watched while David scrutinized her over folded fingers.
"But they don't usually disappear in such a dramatic fashion," he pointed out. "I am disappointed in you, Gwen. I find no joy in having the cattle paw through my home several times a day. Resolve this situation. Soon. I assume the girl is someplace secure?"
"She's outside Londanary. The city is so much larger than Galesward it will never be adequately searched. Besides, only a couple dozen people there work for him. " Gwen shifted uncomfortably in the hard, straight backed chair. David liked his guests to be uncomfortable.
"I want this situation resolved," David repeated. "In one week I want Turner broke or dead. Amel tells me we cannot keep this case out of court for much longer. When an honest judge sees the records, we won't stand a chance. Thirty years, Gwen. We are looking at thirty years."
He slammed a closed fist into the top of his desk and leaned forward.
"Thirty years," he said again. "Our assets will be seized. Your home will be taken away. I'm sixty. I'll never serve out my sentence. Amel will be an old woman when she gets out. I won't allow this to happen because of your incompetence."
Enough, Gwen decided, was enough.
"David, shut-up."
He stiffened. "What did you say?"
"I told you to shut-up. Look, I'll admit things are not going the way I pl
anned, but they have not gone so very wrong either. We have the girl. She is safely stored away, and my ransom note will be in Turner's hands tomorrow. My people think we are getting twenty-five or thirty thousand instead of the three hundred thousand we are demanding, so there is a great profit coming our way. The girl helped us out there. She turned out to be quite the little liar."
She fastened her eyes on his. "My plan will gain us twice as much as all the ham-handed embezzling you managed these last ten years."
"Maybe so, but I want insurance. Amel has a woman I want to put with the girl. She refuses to work in Galesward but has no problem with Londanary. Make Turner pay the ransom in person and then dispose of their bodies."
"Once again, you are behind the times," Gwen said. "The woman is someone I gave to Amel. I mentioned her to you before. Don't worry, I'll have Vel give her proper orders. This woman doesn't make mistakes. Entire graveyards prove it."
"Keep those graveyards out of our backyard," David demanded.
"Of course. Now, I really must go. Jerry is waiting for me outside."
David studied her, once again sizing up her potential and motives, a routine she was used to enduring. She had become very adept at evading judgment.
"Clean up the mess. I want none of this coming back on us."
"Have I ever failed you?"
"Are you still breathing?"
"Yes," Gwen said over her shoulder as she turned to leave. "And I plan to keep breathing."
Both fuming and amused, Gwen made her way through the house and into the front room. Frowning, she waited impatiently until a servant pulled the door open for her. Things were not progressing as smoothly as she had hoped. She had underestimated Turner's resources. That irked her and made her wonder what else she had overlooked. Nodding to the servant opening the door, she exited the house and headed toward her son.
"Well," Jerry Flintlow asked when she joined him in the buggy.
"Your father is upset," Gwen admitted. "Things are not looking good for him. Frankly, I lack his confidence this investigation will ever clear up. I've had word from a few of my people. It seems Turner is much more than he initially appears. Probably more than he realizes himself. We won't break him, and if he dies, his estate will continue the suit."
Jerry flicked the reins, frowning in thought. "Where does that leave us? I won't stay around when the crash comes. I'm not going to prison."
"Oh, Jerry," Gwen laughed. "Little Tiger, of course you won't. You and I have no direct connection to the bank other than being wife and son to the man who owns it. I've made sure of it. We have several tens of thousands put away, and we'll have several hundred thousand more once this deal is completed. Just don't stand too near your father. You don't want to be around when the lightning strikes."
Jerry frowned again. "It doesn't feel right to leave him hanging. Are we going to bring along any of the others?"
"No, sweetheart," Gwen answered. "You are my only son, and the girls are damaged. They would not fare well with us, and they could never be trusted. It will be just you and I, dear one."
Momentary guilt ran through her---an uncomfortable and unusual emotion. Still, there was little she could do for the girls until they started doing for themselves. For now, well, like she said, they were damaged.
She trickled her fingers gently across Jerry's inner thigh. "There's never been anybody but us. Don't ever forget that."
* * *
Autumn didn't like tunnels. They were cold and damp and held crawling things, but that wasn't the worst of it. Her precog didn't work underground.
She had been alone in the dark for the last several hours. She kept her breathing quiet so she would hear when they approached. For hours all she heard was the soft drip, drip of water falling from the ceiling, her heartbeat, and her breathing. She was trapped in a smuggler's passage, fastened hand and foot to rock walls by brass shackles.
She found the experience totally irritating.
"Wish I'd seen this coming," she whispered to herself. Her voice sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness.
The dripping water's answer was less than clear.
"A lot you have to worry about," she told it. "All you do is fall to the floor and get people's feet wet. I have to worry about doing the right thing. I made people get killed, but if I'd warned people, Daddy would be dead."
Her cheeks felt damp. Not tears. It was only water dripping from the ceiling. She never cried. Not usually. Autumn wiped at her wet face and swore unladylike words at the chains binding her ankles and wrists.
"I wish I could see what's going to happen," she whispered several minutes later. "Will it turn out like I think?"
"And how is that, little one," a voice asked. "Like a storybook, maybe?"
Autumn startled. The invisible woman's voice sounded like whiskey soaked gravel shoved through a tight throat.
"It's supposed to be like a story," Autumn responded. "A rich handsome hero will come to save me. He'll kill all of you, and when I'm old enough, he'll make me his first wife. We'll have six handsome boy children."
A low chuckle sounded. "Fables to entertain the weak. I give you the gift of my name. I am Mistress Swiftstrike. It is not my true name, only the name given to me by my guild."
"I'm Autumn."
"I am aware of this."
The silence was broken by a soft rustling.
"What…?"
"Rice paper mats. Nobody will sneak up on me. I warn you now. I do not like talking. Speak without permission and I will hurt you."
Autumn nodded even though she knew the woman could not see the movement. She felt relief. Her Talent might not work underground, but it had worked before they shoved her down here. This moment, this woman, they were something she had seen.
"You are a good child," the woman said, low voiced. "We will not have problems. Will we?"
"No, mam."
"Good. I would hate to kill you too soon."
* * *
Selma waited until Vel left. She waited even longer to make sure Vel had time to travel down the tunnel and reach the girl. She wanted the woman far away from her. She wanted the woman to have never seen her.
The number of conspirators was growing, and she did not like it. She didn't like huddling like a criminal in her cousin's house while people searched the countryside for the kidnapped child. She especially did not like Vel bringing in new people without asking so much as a by your leave.
Admitted, the remaining people of her group were too few to watch both ends of the tunnel. New conspirators were needed. She had no problem with that, but she wanted people she could trust. She wanted cabbies, people who were out of a job because of the bastard's runabouts.
She frowned and thought of the people Vel had brought in, especially the mysterious money man, Mister Baldich. Neither Paul nor Milt could vouch for Vel's recruits. Indeed, once they began talking, it turned out nobody could vouch for Vel. She had just turned up one day, hanging about the bar, drinking more than any of them and complaining about work and runabouts and her starving kids at home. Somebody came up with the idea of the kidnapping. Selma had no idea who, but she wondered if it might not have been Vel.
Helen, Selma's cousin, tossed a bowl of stuffing on the table. Sitting down, she frowned at Selma before serving herself from the chicken.
"I thought it would be a cold day in hell before I played servant to you, Selma Helman, nor to the likes of your worthless man or that one there. " She gestured toward Milt.
"Shut up, woman. You're being well paid," Milt snapped.
Selma had never fully liked Milt. He thought himself superior to others because he was tall and strong.
"Milt, be nice," Paul interceded. "She didn't have to let us stay here."
"She's nothing but a common criminal. She's a smuggler."
"Which is why she lives near the caves. Besides, who are we to judge? We're kidnappers and murderers."
Milt's face hardened. "For the common cause. For all people under the
Lady and Her Lord who have been injured by that spawn's hell begotten machines."
"For our own good," Paul corrected,"which is getting less certain with every person Vel adds. Our numbers are up to ten, though I do agree the other end of the tunnel needs to be guarded."
"Eleven," Helen said. "I'm not putting myself to this risk for the little money you're offering. Not after the things I've heard."
Something in her tone made Selma feel cold. She pushed her plate away, suddenly repulsed by the chicken.
"What," she heard herself ask,"have you heard?"
"I heard this Turner character is the richest man in Galesward. My friend's sister's co-wife is a guard at the place Turner does his banking, and she say's the man has more money than the Lady--or at least more than the Flintlows. Another source says Turner hasn't even gotten a ransom note yet. " She slapped the table several times in a staccato beat. "Why are you people playing around? Get moving!"
Selma didn't like the look in Milt's eyes.
"Vel told us she saw to the note's delivery two days back," he said. "She confirmed Turner's account was low. Her Mister Baldich told her Turner only had twenty-six thousand."
Helen snorted. "The man is worth at least eighty."
"I think Vel's playing games," Paul noted. "I think she's trying to take most everything for herself."
"Maybe," Milt said. "It's time we played our own game. Helen, do you know how to write?"
"I know enough for other people to read it, but I don't have anything to write on. Never felt a need to keep paper around."
"Then," said Milt,"find some paper and start writing. Nobody runs a scam on us. "
* * *
Aaron set the two bags down. "Are you ready?"
"I suppose" Melna answered. "What's in the bags?"
"I bought a few things in N'Ark to help you impress people."
Melna grinned. Not the most flattering thing he could have said. Did he think she needed his help to be impressive? Never mind. He was a man. There was no telling what he thought.
She looked at her two female guards. "I'd like some introductions."