by Alma Boykin
With great dignity she reached for her glass of tea and took one small sip before eating more curry. Anna dug into her own meal, inhaling it like the growing teenager that she was. Rada took more time. She would be damned before she admitted that she’d met her culinary match!
Mike came past their table again. “How is everything?”
“Great! This is delicious,” Anna gushed.
“Quite good, thank you,” her mum managed, hiding the pain and perspiration as best she could.
Rada finished the beef and most of the sauce before draining the rest of her tea and pouring a glass of water. After the ladies finished, Mike whisked their dishes into the kitchen. He emerged with two small dishes of what appeared to be cream pudding. “On the house,” he explained, then wove his way between tables to confer with the hostess about something.
The rich, creamy mango custard eased a little of Rada’s pain. She heard a polite cough and glanced up to see a True-Dragon peering out of the kitchen door. When neither Rada nor Anna shrieked or fainted, more of the black-scaled True-dragon emerged. Rada spotted a white chef’s scarf tied around the long neck. «Pardon me, but how is the custard?»
Anna replied for them, «It’s great! The mango cuts the butterfat and the texture is perfect.»
«The custard is excellent, as is the beef curry,» Rada confirmed.
Black whiskers floated up and down, and the round ears came up from their worried droop. «Oh good. Thank you. I’ve been adjusting the custard recipe and was a little concerned about the balance.» A voice from behind the kitchen door called, “Drak? Is the sauce supposed to separate this soon?” and the True-dragon shook his head a little. «If you will excuse me, my lady, miss.» He vanished back into his domain.
“Well, that was interesting. I thought dragons only worked at grills and bar-b-ques,” Anna grinned, winking. «And how did he know that you are a House head?»
“You have been reading far too many local legends,” and Rada read over the bill, then slid her bankcard under the scanner and confirmed the charge. «Mike the waiter must have seen my sigil.» “Good choice for supper, love.”
“Can we come back?”
“Yes, but only for treat nights.” She did not care to find herself turning into a fire-breathing feline!
8: Autumn Haze
Rada Ni Drako, or Rowena Vangadren as the neighbors knew her, leaned against the wooden rail of the back porch and blew lightly on her tea. She heard Anna foraging in the pantry and shook her head at the human girl’s voracious appetite. “Mum, there’s nothing to eat,” came the familiar plaint.
“There’s venison sausage in the cooler. Scramble it with a few eggs and some flatbread,” Rada suggested, loath to leave the porch. She liked watching the cloud shadows sliding across the pine-filled valley behind the log and stone house.
“But Mum, that takes time and I have to be... never mind.” Anna knew better than to whine. Rada heard the hum of the fast convection cooker and glugging sounds like milk being poured. Something dinged, followed by, “ow, ow,” and puffing breath. Rada smiled at her adopted daughter’s impatience. Anna pushed the back door open with her shoulder, carrying a glass of milk and a steaming sausage dog. “You hid these!” the brown haired, brown-eyed young woman accused, waving the bread-wrapped meat and cheese.
“No, I put them up so that she-who-buys-the-groceries might at least get to try one before the rest vanished into the gravitational singularity that is Anna,” Rada explained, straight-faced. Since both females all but ate their body weight in food in a month, Rada’s teasing contained a large element of truth. “So. What are your plans for the day?”
Anna took a few more bites before answering. “I need to finish that art project for my portfolio. And we’re doing inventory at work, but that’s just making certain that everything matches the computer record. So I’ll be home around seven, Mum. Has Todd called?”
“No, but you said last week that it would be at least two weeks before he finished looking at all the design submissions,” Rada reminded her.
“Oh yeah.” Anna finished her sausage dog and chugged the glass of milk. “Gotta run. Short bus schedule today, remember?” She kissed Rada on the cheek and smiled before rushing off, leaving the glass on the table.
“Don’t forget your pastels,” Rada called into the house.
“Mum! I never,” and the door shut with a firm thump. Rada counted to ten, heard the door open very quietly, followed by rummaging sounds, and an equally stealthy closing noise. She shook her head and finished her herbal tea. Anna could be almost as scattered as Rada at times, and the Wanderer often speculated whether it was imitation or just similar natures.
Rada poured the last of the tea and returned to watching the pine forests behind the small rented house. The property manager must have all but danced with joy on the day that “Rowena Vangadren” signed the long-term rental papers. No one wanted the place: too small for a growing family, too large for one person, too remote from town at the end of a long unpaved driveway, old appliances, a “quaint” outbuilding of exactly the wrong size, and tied up in an estate fight that precluded either sale or short-term rental. Rada appreciated the house’s strong bones and stout walls, the shed for housing the Dark Hart, and good views. Anna had loved the real logs in the walls, the wood-burning fireplace, and the smell of trees and dirt. Zabet had pronounced both mammals “utterly mad” and had stolen Anna’s flame-browned marshmallows after draining the cider jug during the housewarming party.
What Zabet did like were the textiles Rada found. She’d poked and prowled until making the acquaintance of the son of one of the local indigenous tribal leaders. He vouched for her to his mother, who had agreed to include “Rowena” in the group’s next auction. “Rowena” bought the seconds and odds, passed them to Zabet, and made a tidy sum for Zabet and herself. That provided the starter cash until “Rowena” reestablished her credentials as a paramedic and “alternative medicine” therapist. She still sold a few rugs and blankets to Zabet, but neither partner wanted to flood the market or to inspire curiosity.
Rada finished her tea. Returning indoors, she put in her contact lenses to hide her eye color. Then she hunted around until she found what Anna had done with her hats. The young woman pronounced them “embarrassing,” and “outdated” and borrowed them at least once a week. To her surprise Rada found every hat on the hat rack in the hall. She selected a soft one with a rounded crown that neatly covered her ears without pinching. The color also went with Rada’s skirt. Not only was the fluffy, ruffled look trendy, but long skirts and hats let Rada stay in her true shape, tail and all, when she went shopping.
Rada washed her empty mug, made certain that everything had been turned off and that Anna remembered to close the cooler door, confirmed her shopping list, picked up a folding cart, and walked down the hill to the bus stop. In keeping with the town’s deliberately archaic image, the public people-movers resembled 20th century diesel buses, without the smoke and fumes. Rada nodded to a few people she recognized, put her thumbprint on the debit screen, and found a seat. The vehicle hummed along on an air cushion as it proceeded toward town. “Back to short routes for the next weeks,” a man commented.
“Un huh,” an older woman nodded. Between summer season and the onset of skiing, the town stopped running the busses out to the park, meaning that Rada and Anna needed to find other ways to go places. Every year they and a few others on their route complained and every year the council invented new reasons to trim the routes in spring and fall. Rada grumbled, shrugged, and ended up renting a private transport since Anna had to get to class.
Rada smiled when one of her occasional clients boarded the bus. The elderly man nodded and smiled back. He found a seat closer to the front window, leaving Rada’s thoughts to wander back to their previous trail. Trust Anna to find an educational track that required her to be physically present at school, Rada snorted. Anna could have gone into computer science, or business, or medicine, but no, sh
e insisted on taking art courses. Art courses that required her to be in the sculpture, pottery, and mixed-media lab, as well as doing painting and graphic design from home. Aunt Zabet had encouraged Anna, much to Rada’s irritation. “Neither of us does plastic art. If she does, she can appraise and contract for that and we’ll have another market line,” the True-dragon had pointed out with impeccable logic—at least, impeccable for a reptile who did not have to deal with the vagaries of intentionally archaic public transportation in the back of beyond.
The bus glided to a stop at the edge of the market district and Rada hopped out. She bought early apples and two bags of pine nuts before procuring vegetables for Anna, then visited the meat cart and bread stand. She took a quick glance at the line and decided to come back to the dairy section later, once the crowd thinned. She rented a cool box on the square and she put her purchases inside, then locked it. She’d return later in the day and take everything home.
A bit of motion caught her eye and she glanced around. An unfamiliar man seemed to be staring at her as she stored her purchases. She used her hand to cover the combination on the food-keeper as she spun the dials, scrambling them in case he was trying to learn the combination. As she watched, the man frowned, looked down, looked up, tilted his head, and glanced down again. As the market crowd thinned for a moment, Rada saw a sketchpad in his hands and relaxed. Either she’d gotten in his way, or he wanted “quaint local color” and decided that she’d provide it.
“Hola Rowena.” Rada looked around, smiling when she saw Father Pedro, the parish priest.
“Buenos días. How can I be of service?”
He shook his head, smiling back. “Please remind Anna that she agreed to lead the youth hike next Sunday.”
“Remind Anna that she is leading the youth hike next Sunday. Does she need any supplies or equipment?”
“No. Just good shoes and a sense of humor. They are going to the chapel beside Mirror Lake.”
“I’ll remind her, and put it on the calendar,” Rada promised.
“Thank you,” and the priest strode off in the direction of a woman selling strings of ripe chilis. Rada ducked into a doorway and jotted the note into her portable data pad, lest she also forget. She finished her marketing and had a quiet word with a woman about trading labor for a kilo or two of shelled pine nuts. Then she unfolded her cart, loaded the groceries, bread, and some cleaning supplies, and joined the short line for the next “bus.”
As she waited, Rada saw the sketching stranger again. He now occupied a bench in front of the old mercantile building, with paper and several small boxes that looked like charcoal or soft pencils spread out beside him. She shrugged. At least he wasn’t blocking the road like that lady from the eastern coast had back in spring. That had been a mess and a half, with her threatening to “tell all her artist friends not to come to San Pablo” because “people were so unkind and didn’t understand art.” And she didn’t understand that even in the twenty-fourth century, large motorized vehicles have to make deliveries and remove construction debris, Rada thought with a derisive snort. The bus arrived with a pre-recorded wheeze and rumble and getting herself and her purchases on board took all of Rada’s attention.
Once back home, Rada surveyed the chore list with a sigh. “Might as well start now.” Anna loved the wood-burning fireplace. Anna’s “mum” hated parting with perfectly good credits for firewood. So after putting away the perishables, and eating one of the sausage dogs, Rada changed into heavy work clothes, tucked her tail securely into her belt, and walked down to the wood shed. She’d already sharpened two axes, cleaned the wedges, and stacked the rough-cut wood in order of harvest, the oldest closest to the front. The Wanderer wrestled the first section of dead tree into place, picked up an ax, and began swinging.
“Mum?” a voice called from the house. “Mum, is that you?”
Rada stepped out from the back of the shed. “Yes, it’s me. You’re home early.”
“It’s almost six o’clock, Mum!” Anna sauntered down from the porch and studied the chest-high pile of cut and stacked firewood. She pushed back a few stray brown curls with one hand before folding her arms and whistling. “Wow. Who made you mad?”
“No one. I got a rhythm going and lost track of time.”
Anna gave her adoptive mother a look of pure teenage disbelief. “Right. And Aunt Zabet just joined the Little Sisters of the Poor. What’s for supper?”
“Something heavy on the animal protein. You can go from there while I get cleaned up.”
After supper, Rada worked on the monthly budget while Anna studied. “Oh, before I forget, Father Pedro asked me to remind you that you are helping with the youth hike on Sunday.”
The lean young woman stretched and twisted, making her back pop. “Thanks. We’re having early vespers at the private chapel by Mirror Lake.”
“So I don’t have to get you up for early mass, then?”
“No. Sunday is the Feast of St. Matthew, so there’s going to be a full mass at ten thirty—chanting, choirs, incense, everything. Father Pedro says early mass will be bare-bones, so I can sleep in.” Anna ran a hand through her wavy hair, shook her wrists, and went back to studying. After a few minutes she looked back up. “Mum, where are my baptismal records?”
Rada thought back. “Erm, probably lost during the Dutch wars against the Spanish, or Louis XIV’s wars, or destroyed in WWI. Assuming I could find where you were baptized, which is tricky at best.”
“But you know I was baptized?”
“Absolutely. You were born alive, in northern Europe prior to the Reformation, so you were baptized by a Roman Catholic priest. Do you need a certificate or would a note from me suffice?”
“A note should do it. The diocese is getting picky again about only wanting Catholics to teach Catechism. I’ve got my confirmation certificate, but they want baptism as well. Can you write up something by tomorrow morning?”
Rada decided to use the same story she had when Anna was small: her records had been lost in the terrible flooding in the Low Countries that had forced them to emigrate to North America. She called back, “I’ll write it this evening if you’ll do the rest of the dishes.”
Rada heard muttering, then the sound of running water, a few thumps, and the whirr of the dish sanitizer. “Mum, have you heard anything about another kidnapping? A girl my age, this time from Chama?”
“No, but I missed the morning news feed.” As she spoke, a shadow of uneasiness touched Rada. She set aside the ledger she’d been battling and opened her portable computer, linking it to the Dark Hart and calling up local news. “Here’s a little announcement that one Melissa Baca was found unharmed. The state police are asking people to be careful, but no other details, except this is the third catch-and-release in six weeks.”
“Catch-and-release? Did someone really write that?”
Rada pointed to the screen, shaking her head at the reporter’s strange sense of humor.
Anna peered over Rada’s shoulder. “He did. The police say ‘be careful.’ Oh, that is so helpful,” she rolled her eyes. “Be careful of what? Strangers? Mountain lions on roller skates?”
Rada scrolled down. “No, mountain lions walking dogs,” and she pointed to a story about someone losing a small pet.
«Idiot. If they saw tracks, why did they let the dog out?» Anna snarked into Rada’s mind.
«Because it only happens to other people,» her mother reminded her. “What time do you have to be in tomorrow?”
“Noon. But Mr. Chee assigned us a plein air project: sunrise lighting a historic building or structure. I picked the Atocha shrine, so I’ll need to be up by five.”
“Good night, then.” Rada turned off the computer, wrote the note for the diocese about Anna’s missing baptismal certificate, and returned to the ledger.
Anna started to snap a retort but yawned instead, then yawned again. “Good night. Love you.”
“Love you too. Sweet dreams.”
The next mor
ning, after escorting Anna to the bus stop, Rada spent some time with the Dark Hart. She’d not been exactly honest the day before: she’d lost track of time not only because of the rhythm of chopping and stacking firewood, but also because she’d been in a light link with the ’Hart. This time Rada sank fully into a trance, connecting her mind to that of the creature that lived in the timeship. Together the Wanderer-hybrid and the psycho-symbiote studied the time-threads surrounding their current location. They found a split developing, one that could affect Rada and Anna, but Rada could not tell precisely what it meant. At least four separate threads branched off from the primary but none of them seemed especially probable. Rada also sensed a different sort of energy, the kind she’d come to associate with the creatures she called Powers. Do the Powers respond to temporal energy flows and potentials? That might explain why I’m sensing both.
Rada emerged from the trance and fed the creature a little high protein chow and a few treat flakes. She wondered once more if a purebred Wanderer could see split potentials clearly, or if all personal threads blurred. Her Trader instructors had never talked about it. Yes, well, the Elders and Trademasters never gave apprentices or journeymen any options, so it never mattered to us, and so why mention it to us? Which brought up another troubling thought: what to do about Anna?
Rada made some catmint tea and retreated to the back porch to think. Anna had reached the humans’ age of majority as well as the Traders’ and Azdhagi. At this point she and Rada faced some hard decisions. Anna could stay here on Earth and make a good living, but that would mean not seeing either Rada or Zabet very often. She could join Rada and Zabet’s business, travel the stars, and run the risk of the Traders’ wrath. The Traders still wanted Rada dead, and they’d either kill Anna as well or dump her back into the mid 14th-century, where she’d probably die before she could find a protector. And then there was the little problem of the Azdhag Empire and Rada’s position there. It was one thing for Zabet to pose as Rada’s concubine, but to bring a young female mammal to Drakon IV? “The old lizards would have vapors,” Rada half groaned, half laughed, imagining one especially hidebound noble collapsing onto a fainting couch and calling for smelling salts. Well, it would be for Anna to decide, Rada reminded herself as she sipped her tea.