by Jaleta Clegg
His eyes narrowed. "The samples are in the garden room. And I was unaware of an appointment with the florist today. That is scheduled for next week. The dressmaker is coming today."
"Then I must have misunderstood." I got up from the desk. "This house is just so big, I get confused."
"The garden room is this way," Georges said. He took my elbow in an iron grip and steered me out into the hallway. He made me wait while he deliberately locked the study door. I was positive Lady Candyce would be informed of my indiscretion within the hour.
I let Georges escort me down the hallway and into the big plant room. One table was piled with samples of dress fabrics. Two more were covered with pictures of flowers. A third was covered with lace. And yet another was covered with ribbons. The last table in the room, a very long one, held samples of papers.
"Lady Candyce informed me you were to spend the morning here."
"Thank you, Georges."
He left me in the room.
I crossed to the windows, almost screened by the exuberant plant growth. The garden outside wasn't any more inviting than the room. It was pruned and shaped and held three of Vance's friends, including Garret. I felt a perverse satisfaction when I saw the bruise along one side of his face. He deserved it.
I went back to the tables.
There were a full dozen peach satins on the table, along with a smattering of other pastel colors. I picked one at random and set it on top. No, that was too quick. I sat down and laboriously spread out each piece and stared at it for a long five minutes. Time crawled.
I heard giggling voices. I sat very still and hoped they would go away. I didn't have that much luck. The door opened and the women spilled into the room. I made myself smile and greet them.
They crowded around me, picking through the fabric and exclaiming over each piece. I made myself pretend I was interested. Time passed even more slowly.
By lunchtime, we'd been through the fabrics and the ribbons. We'd just started on the lace. They all had strong opinions about everything. I waited until they had all commented and then I picked whatever my hand touched first and declared it was my choice. I felt like an idiot, but it seemed to work. Their rude comments about each other were more frequent than the catty remarks about me.
Georges announced lunch. They moved towards the door. One of them, Ginger, hung back, waiting for me. She eyed my long sleeves.
"Did the cat scratch you or is it something else?" she asked. Her sly sideways glance at my arm told me she thought I had other reasons for hiding my arms. I had no idea what, though.
"The cat. It isn't pretty, but it's just a scratch." I didn't pull up my sleeve to show her. Let her wonder.
Lunch was a noisy affair. Vance sat at one end of the table after putting me at the other. Garret sat near me, deliberately ignoring me. He kept his bruise prominently displayed.
I ate my lunch without saying much. I just smiled and pretended to be enjoying myself. I really didn't like any of them. Vance was quiet as well. He was watching me and pretending not to.
After lunch, Ginger yawned and stretched, showing off her figure. "I'm beat. I think I'll lie down for a while."
There was a general murmur of agreement. They'd stayed up late last night, after all, and were planning on staying up again tonight. I wondered what they did that was actually useful.
"And you, Dace?" Vance asked.
"Dace? I thought your name was Zeresthina," Garret challenged me.
"Just a pet name," Vance said quickly.
"Haruk'shepperet," I said in the language of the Sessimoniss. For some reason their language was clear in my head. The phrase meant son of the non-warrior who cleans up after beasts. I smiled at him.
"Besk Tashneskit." He mangled the pronunciation.
"Heshk Bashnessit," I corrected him.
"Terkat ness sonnuratik," he said.
I couldn't figure out what he was trying to say.
"Does anyone else think it's strange they're gargling at each other?" Ginger asked the group at large.
"It's the language of the Sessimoniss," Vance said. "I was supposed to be going out there next year to negotiate trade agreements with them. Did you know they are the source of skystones?"
"Really?" one of the nameless gigglers, the one who brayed like an animal, said. She fingered her broach, which was a skystone.
"And how do you know it?" Garret asked me. "Vance studied it and since he has a degree in linguistics, we expect such strangeness from him."
"I was their high priestess for a while," I said.
They gawped at me. The woman brayed loudly.
"You had us convinced for a moment there," she said. "I do believe you have the most wicked sense of humor."
"And right now, I have paper samples to examine," I said. "I believe you were going to go lie down?"
"True, I'm exhausted," she said.
I left the room first. I went back into the garden room and stared at the paper laid out neatly on the table.
The door opened after a moment. I looked over, hoping it wasn't the women back to help me. I didn't think I could stand that. It was Vance, and he was alone.
"What was the point of what you called me?" he asked me. "If I translate it correctly, you called me an animal herder of some sort."
"Not quite." I didn't elaborate. "What is the point of having them here all the time?"
"They are my friends. Mother invited them. She wanted you to make friends. I take it you don't care much for them."
"No, I don't," I said as pleasantly as I could. I picked up a piece of paper that looked almost exactly the same as the rest. "Why am I really here, Vance?"
"Because we're getting married."
"Not if your mother gets her say in the matter. She doesn't like me."
"She doesn't know you yet."
I put the paper on the table and picked up another sheet. "She will never like me, Vance. She will never approve of me. I'm not good enough for you."
"No, you're too good for me." He reached for my hand.
I put the paper on the table and moved away from him, out of reach. "Did you really mean to call me drosht fodder?"
"I thought I was telling you how much I love you." His eyes told me it was a lie. He'd been trying to tell me something else, but his grasp of the language was poor.
"What do you think of these?" I said, holding up a paper plucked at random from the table. The conversation was getting too personal. I didn't want to love him, but I could see myself giving up and loving him back. It was easier.
"What's it for?"
"I have no idea."
"Dace, mother is just upset over Charise." He leaned against the table, leaving the space between us. "She wanted me to marry Charise. She had her heart set on it. And to tell the truth, I don't care much for my friends either."
"Then if you're serious about marrying me, let's run away. Go somewhere far, where no one knows either of us."
"I couldn't do that to my mother. And I'm the Second Speaker. I can't run away."
"Then neither can I."
He moved close. He ran his hand down my sleeve. "How's your arm?"
I studied his face. He looked troubled, but he also looked more like the man I'd lived in a cave with.
"Fine," I said, looking away. He was too close. "It's only a scratch."
"I didn't know you cared about cats so much."
"I care about a lot of things, Vance."
He looked to my face, meeting my eyes. He searched them, his face serious.
"Sometimes you care too much."
He cupped my cheek in his hand. He was close enough I could smell the faint scent of his cologne. He traced my lower lip with his thumb. His touch sent tingles through me.
"Why am I here, Vance?" I asked again, my voice barely a breath of a whisper.
He gave me half a grin. His eyes were sad, haunted by something. He didn't answer. He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead.
"I like the cream
parchment," he said and handed me a sheet of paper.
He left me standing in front of the table, staring at the page in my hand.
The room was suddenly stifling. I dropped the paper on the table and fled outside, out into the front garden, as far from Georges' disapproving eyes as I could get.
There was no sign of the cat on the bench. The afternoon heat was brutal. Clouds drifted far to the south, big puffy shadows in the blue sky. I wanted it to rain, to drown me in noise and rushing water. Every day pulled me farther from my goal. It seemed so clear when Commander Leighton explained it to me. Use your position to gain access to the inner circles of society. Find the traitor and you can go. In return they'd find Tayvis, only he was gone beyond their reach. It had been too long and I'd heard nothing.
My last memory of him was the hurt in his eyes as he turned away from me. I pulled my knees up to my chin. He'd walked out on me. Could I be happy with Vance? Only if his mother stayed out of my life.
I heard a cracked meow. The brown cat crouched near my feet. I gently lifted the cat into my lap. It settled down, purring noisily. I stroked it, glad to see it still alive.
"His name is Falada," a man said behind me. He stepped around the end of the bench and leaned on a garden tool. "I've been watching you. You aren't like the others. I saw what you did last night. Who taught you to throw a hook like that?"
"The bully in the orphanage where I grew up," I answered.
The man leaned on his tool, resting his chin on folded hands on the end of the long handle. "Falada means faithful friend. He doesn't trust most people. He's a very good judge of character."
"And you're only talking to me because Falada approves?" I glanced up from the cat to the man.
"Something like that." He looked past me towards the front windows of the house. "Watch your back," he said as he sauntered away into the garden.
I suspected Georges or one of the maids had seen us. Talking to the help was probably forbidden. I sat and petted Falada through the heat of the afternoon.
"Faithful friend," I murmured. The cat twitched an ear. He was asleep on my lap. "Maybe you can tell me what to do." I told the cat everything, my feelings about Vance and my suspicions about his mother. I told the little cat why I was really there, that I doubted a wedding would ever happen. I told the cat about Tayvis and Jasyn and Clark and my ship. I told him about Lowell and my father.
I don't know how much Falada actually understood, but his warm body in my lap made me feel better. I still had no clear idea what I was going to do. Would I marry Vance? Could I live with him for the rest of my life? That future seemed more possible the longer I stayed here. What if I never found the traitor?
Chapter 41
Sector Chief Querran didn't look up at the knock on her door. She finished reading the report on her screen before she looked at her visitor. "I thought I told you never to come into my sector again, Lowell."
Lowell turned a chair around and straddled it. "But this time, Suella, you'll like what I have to say."
"Last time, you left chaos in your wake. It took me months to straighten things back out. Go away. Whatever you have, I don't want it."
He made no move to leave. She sighed and leaned back in her chair.
"I appreciate you bringing me another Patrol cruiser."
"They aren't here to stay," he said. "They are supposed to report back at Besht within two weeks. You can't keep them."
Her face tightened. "They're still Patrol? We aren't anymore, Lowell." She pointed at her shoulder, where the outline of a patch still showed. "Cygnus Sector is part of the Federation now."
"Yes, I'm well aware of that."
"Are they taking you into custody? I heard you had an arrest warrant out in the Empire."
"No, they aren't taking me back to Besht. Sorry to disappoint you. I hoped you'd let me stay here for a while."
"No."
"Did your grandchildren make it out of the Empire before you seceded?"
"The ones who wanted to did. Why are you here, Grant? All right, I admit it. My curiosity is tweaked."
He grinned. "I knew I'd get you eventually."
"Spit it out," she said as her com beeped urgently. "I've got a dozen crises to deal with."
"Including attacks by Patrol cruisers? Or at least ships pretending to be Patrol?"
She stopped the beeping by pressing a button. All her attention was focused on Lowell. "What do you know about it?"
"The ships are crime syndicate, which one doesn't seem to matter. They've merged. I know where their shipyards are, but I have a slight problem." He cocked his head to one side. "I want your help, Suella."
"Last time you asked, it cost me a dozen good men and most of my reputation."
"It might cost more this time, but it will help stop a shooting war with the Empire. One which you are bound to lose, no matter that you kept your Fleet intact."
"What do you want, Grant?"
"I need ships. I've got the Praetoris, but I need more ships and more men if we're going to take out the shipyards."
"We?" Querran lifted one skeptical eyebrow.
"You know, Dace is right, that is annoying, the whole eyebrow thing."
"What have you done to that poor girl this time? I've read the news vids about her. She sounds miserable."
"She's marrying the Second Speaker. She should be ecstatic."
"Then why don't you sound happy about it?"
He rubbed his forehead with finger and thumb. "It gets very complicated and I don't know most of what's going on anymore. She chose to be there, let's leave it at that."
Querran shook her head. "Marshay," she spoke into her com, "fetch some drinks and something to eat. Oh, and hold my calls. I have the feeling I'm going to be here for a while." She turned her whole attention on Lowell. "Talk to me, Grant. Tell me everything."
"Everything? I'm sworn to secrecy on a lot of it."
"And you only keep that when it suits you."
"You'd be surprised, Suella." He sighed and put his chin on the back of the chair. "I've spent my life trying to keep the Empire in one piece. Now I don't know if it was even worth it."
"We've all had to make hard decisions. I've served in the Patrol all my life, until a few months ago. Do you think I like being branded a traitor?"
"But you're a hero in Cygnus Sector. I'm a traitor again in the Empire, even though I'm not." He got up and paced restlessly. "How much do you really want to know, Suella?"
"Let's start with the shipyards," she said, noting the stress lines in his face, the shadows that hadn't been there before. "You can tell me whatever else you think I need to know."
"Then you'll help?"
"If it will stop the raids, yes, I'll help, as much as I can."
He stood over her desk. His smile was strained. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to. You do understand that, don't you?"
"Is that an apology? From you? I'm touched."
"I always did like you. Even way back in the Academy when you were a know-it-all snob."
She laughed. "Tell me about the shipyards. And you were the sneakiest, most irritating little jerk back then. You were so full of yourself."
"Ouch," he winced. "That hurt, even if it was true."
"I like to be honest."
Marshay, Querran's secretary, entered the office with a tray of juices and small pastries. She set them on the desk and gave Lowell an evil look.
"You may want to get the governor on the line," Querran said. "Set up a conference with her as soon as you can."
"Yes, ma'am," Marshay murmured on her way out of the office.
"That would be a good idea," Lowell said. "You may also want to get your seconds and anyone else you want in at the command level."
"Tell me what you've got first," Querran said.
"I've got Paltronis bringing down the plans," Lowell said. "We were still correlating the information when I caught a shuttle. And I had to convince your people not to confiscate my ship."
; "They were doing their duty."
"I know. That's why I'm not upset about it. It did make for a bit of a rush. I convinced them not to do anything until I'd talked to you."
"I'll send orders for them to leave the Praetoris alone." She pushed buttons on her com and relayed the order to Marshay. "You've delayed long enough," she said when she finished.
"Here's what I've got. The syndicates began to merge sometime after Blackthorne was destroyed. Blackthorne had a secret shipyard turning out copies of Patrol cruisers. They even stole id chips from Patrol drydocks. Everything checks out as legitimate Patrol. Except they're pirates."
"And they've been raiding our planets," Querran said.
"They've been shooting up Patrol ships, too. Theodys blames the Federation.He's itching to shoot it out."
"I heard about Flanigan's plan to confiscate ships. We had a sudden influx of merchant ships shortly after that rumor made the rounds."
"It's true. Although nobody is happy about it, except Flanigan. Commander Wexford has been letting as many ships as he can slip away."
"And you trust him?"
"To work with us? Absolutely."
"You don't trust him not to collect the reward I'm sure is posted for your capture?"
"Not yet. He wouldn't dare. I know too many of his secrets. And I have too many allies."
"If you have allies, why don't you use them instead of coming to me?"
"Because they are merchants. Where do you think I got my information?"
She shook her head again. "How did you ever get them to cooperate with you?"
"They came to me, not the other way around. I never would have thought of using them if they hadn't suggested it. Do you have a map handy?"
She didn't bother with a rude comment. She was Sector Chief. She had the best map of Cygnus Sector and the surrounding area. She pulled it up on her desk screen. Stars floated over her desk.
"Everything points to the Prelain Nebula as their base. There's an abandoned mining facility there that would work quite well as a drydock."
"And Ylisini, Kimmel, and half a dozen other manufacturing worlds close by. Blast it into little bits, why didn't I notice? These planets are the ones being harassed the most. They've been claiming missing shipments for years now. I could never seem to catch the pirates."