Flood Tide

by C. J. Cherryh

  For the first time since Hosni Kamat bought the island from the Adami, the new moon tide came and went without a First-Bath run. Richard didn't remember he'd forgotten it until almost dawn when he had, frankly, more important things to consider— like could he walk . . . could he stand . . . could he crawl to the nearest window?

  Fresh air revived him, as did the gentle rain. He faced the room, and regretted it immediately.

  There were bodies everywhere. Any surface not covered by a sleeping body was piled high with debris. Richard walked through the middle level of his house like a man in a nightmare. He vaguely remembered laughing when the huge penny-cake tipped off its cart and spilled across the hall carpet; it seemed less funny now. Nor was he amused to see the remains of the mutton sprawled across the vestibule.

  "Luck to you all," a man Richard didn't recognize at all said as he left. "Karma!"

  "Karma," Richard muttered back.

  "This is the worst. We made barricades at the top of the stairs after midnight. We let no one up, not even the family."

  Eleanora handed him a large glass of juice. Richard gulped it down.

  "Wise . . . very wise," he said between swallows. The refreshing liquid unlocked a few more memories. "Angel have mercy . . ."He handed the glass back to her. "Sour mash ... I was drinking sour mash, wasn't I?"

  "Until midnight when Fowler ran out."

  "And after midnight?"

  "I don't really know. It was something your uncle brought with him."

  Richard leaned against the banister. "I want to die."

  "You can't, not yet. There's the naming. You can bathe and dress, if you wish, but you have to hold the naming before the noon peal."

  "I'll be dead by then. Oh, God, I hope I'll be dead. If I'm not dead, I'll have a head the size of the Chattalen."

  He started up the stairs. Eleanor slipped her arm under his and guided him to the rightside branch. "Your uncle's in the library. He said you'd feel that way. He's got something for you to drink." Richard swerved to the left. "No, no ... it seems to work. Raj was much worse than you and he's eating breakfast."

  The image of breakfast superimposed on the jangled memories of the previous night moved Richard's face several shades toward green. It also took away his strength. Eleanora was able to get him into the library with no further protests. The glass they handed him smelled of turpentine and looked suspiciously like raw sewage. It packed a wallop that, mercifully, numbed the palate.

  "Yetch! What was that?" His voice was already clearer.

  "Don't ask," Mondragon advised from the bay window overlooking the mid-door behind an upraised hand. For one frightening moment he thought he was going to be ill, when that passed, so had the hangover. Richard looked around in slack-jawed amazement.

  Marina looked calm and comfortable on a bed improvised from two chairs and an ottoman. Raj and Denny were in mid-attack over a platter of sausage and eggs. Bosnou was smug with a jug of his miraculous concoction in the crook of his arm, but nothing compared with the radiant smile on Andromeda's face as she wiggled her fingers above her first grandchild's eyes.

  Richard Kamat was not one to gush over infants, especially newborns. They were, as a rule, bruised and misshapen, courtesy of their mother's labor contractions. By the time they were appealing, they'd also begun to smell. But his niece had slipped into the world without battering. She was the color of rose porcelain with storm gray eyes and a crown of pale gold curls. She looked up at Richard when he got closer and he was sure she smiled when Andromeda put her in his arms.

  "What's her name?"

  "Natalya Fumiko," Marina advised from her bed. "If you approve."

  Richard nodded and returned the infant to his mother. Beautiful or not, Natalya couldn't compete with the aroma of breakfast. By the time he'd eaten, washed, and changed his clothes, everyone necessary for the naming had gathered in the library. The Kamat bell began ringing; the glass doors of the bay window were opened.

  Marina was blonde and the fairest of all the Kamats, but when they handed Natalya to Tom for the proclamation, it was apparent that she would take after her father.

  "Use both hands. Always keep a hand beneath her head and neck!" Andromeda chided. "Haven't you ever held an infant before?"

  Mondragon rearranged his arms without answering the question. His feelings, if he had any, toward the smiling, helpless creature who was also his daughter went undetected by those who looked hardest for them: Marina, Raj, Richard, and Jones—who was foremost in the small crowd on the walkway beneath the balcony. With one hand carefully framing her head, Tom raised Natalya above his head for everyone to see. The two women standing as her Angel-mothers caught the cascade of the naming gown as it caught the breeze. Mondragon's face was hidden, but not his voice.

  "A child is born today." Tom turned her from side to side. The sun struck her eyes and she began to cry. "Natalya Fumiko . . ." Was that a hesitation because she squirmed, or a heartbeat of regret? ". . . Takahashi. The lineage of Hosni Kamat declares her. Her karma is their karma. Angel protect her now and forever."

  WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE

  by Mercedes Lackey

  Hoh's Tavern was unusually quiet, unusually empty. Of course it was early—and the two bar-singers, Rat and Rif, were not due to start their "show" for another hour. But still; there were only eight other people here besides Denny and the younger singer— and one of those was Woffling, the strange Janist who had attached himself to Denny and his brother as a kind of bodyguard, for reasons best known only to him.

  Denny rather wished he hadn't come at Rat's urging. He'd had no idea she had wanted something this risky out of him.

  "Come on, Denny," Rat hissed urgently over her beer, thin face looking even thinner with the light from the candle hollowing her cheeks. "You've got to get me in there!"

  Denny squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "I can't, Rat. I tol' ye once—"

  "You got those bridge-brat friends of yours jobs as runners for Kamat." She scowled—then glanced out of the corner of her eye at Wolfling, sitting with his back to the wall not two tables over and staring at her.

  "What's with your friend?"

  Denny resisted an urge to chuckle. "He don't like th' way yer talking t' me. I reckon he's thinkin' about fergettin' ye're both Jane—"

  "Shh!" She glanced around quickly. "This may be Hoh's, and it may be where we hang out, but that doesn't mean it's safe to throw that word around." She scowled again, then recalled Wolfling and changed her expression to one of pleasant sweetness. "Besides, Rif may be—that—but I'm not. I'm just her partner, not one of her congregation."

  "Ye better ferget that when he's around," Denny pointed out impudently. "Th' only reason he's lettin' ye talk t' me like this is 'cause he thinks ye are."

  Rat smiled dulcetly at Wolfling, who continued to stare stolidly at their table. "You're trying to change the subject, brat."

  "Look, gettin' those jobs fer th' other kids was different," he said desperately. "They wasn't askin' me f do anythin' but get 'em real work! What ye been askin'—I can't get ye inta th' Kamat warehouse! Ain't no way!"

  "You work there," Rat pointed out. "You could get your hands on the keys easy enough, long enough to get me a wax print."

  Right. With a supervisor starin' down at me all th' time. Sure, friend.

  "Besides—dammit Rat, I give up thievin'! Ye tol' me yerself t' give up thievin'!"

  She sighed, and downed the rest of her beer, signaling the waiter for another. She waited until he'd placed it in front of her before continuing.

  "Look, Denny, would it help if I told you that we won't be taking anything Kamat knows is there?"

  He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Anythin' Kamat knows—ah, hell! This is Jane stuff, ain't it?"

  She winced, but didn't deny it.

  "Why in hell," he snarled, "didja haveta go usin' Kamat t' do yer smugglin'? Kamat's the one that started them Samurai! He's gonna be double careful on his own ground!"

  "It is
n't smuggling," she said, combing her fingers through her short, white-blonde hair. "It's— something we were keeping in the warehouse until things cooled off a little. Then Kamat started this Samurai thing, and now we can't get at it."

  " 'It'?" Denny said suspiciously. "Just what's this 'it'?"

  "You don't want to know."

  "Ah, hell." He wanted to tear his own hair out in fat handfuls. If Rat says I don' wanna know—then it's Trouble. Big Trouble. Just what I needed.

  "Can they trace it back t' ye if anybody finds th' thing?" he asked, dreading the answer.

  "Nobody's going to find it," she replied resentfully. Then added, "Well, yes. Maybe."

  "Ah, hell." He clutched his beer to keep from clutching his hair. "Look, I can't promise. Okay? But maybe. I'll see."

  Rat's sour expression melted into pure happiness. Denny's heart sank a little farther. Great. Even Bigger Trouble than I thought. "Look, I didn' promise nothin' except that I'd try!"

  "That's okay, bridge-brat," she said, standing up and finishing off her beer, then reaching out with one long-fingered hand to ruffle his hair. He glared. "Anything you try to do you usually manage. I have faith in you."

  She sauntered off to the back room where Rif was presumably waiting, tuning her gitar. Denny stared down into the mug of beer that no longer held any appeal at all.

  She has faith in me. Wonderful. Just what I wanted t' hear.

  It was a little like old times. Denny perched on the edge of a roof overlooking the Kamat warehouse, legs dangling over the precarious drop below, Raj sitting beside him with his knees tucked up and his chin resting on them. They'd both escaped up here after dinner, and it didn't appear that anyone was going to miss them any time soon. The breeze was fresh up here, it wasn't nearly as hot, and the evening sun was just starting to descend. All in all, very peaceful. Unlike the rest of their lives, lately.

  "So what's it like, bein' a married hightowner?" Denny teased his older brother.

  Raj sighed. "About like it was being an unmarried student," he replied. "Nothing much's changed, except that I have to help answer all the congratulation cards."

  He looked at Denny out of the corner of his eye, and Denny grimaced.

  "Don' go volunteerin' me fer that, big brother. My scribblin' ain't that good."

  "At least you can write." Raj smiled faintly. "Not so long ago you'd have had a hard time doing more than signing your name."

  "Yey," Denny replied sourly. "Sometimes I wisht I was still back then. Things was simpler.

  Raj didn't reply, but his expression grew more thoughtful.

  Like maybe he wishes the same.

  "Lissen," he said awkwardly. "What'd ye think if I mebbe took a trip upriver fer a bit? Not home—" he added hastily at the startled stare Raj gave him. "That crazy old uncle of m'ser Kamat's asked me t' come along when he leaves. I been thinkin' 'bout it. I like 'im."

  "Besides," he continued hastily. "Old bird needs somebody t' look after him. He's crazier than a Sharrist."

  An' I don't much like what's been goin' on around here lately. Could use a break.

  "I'd—miss you, little brother," Raj said slowly. "I really would. But I don't get to see you much anymore, what with one thing and another. I think you'd do pretty well out there. And I like the old man, too—he's kind of like Granther, in a way."

  Denny snorted. Granther was no more like that old crazy than Denny was like m'sera Cardinal!

  "I think Granther got a chuckle out of my story— you know, my imaginary blond father? I guess he must have heard about what I've been telling people, 'cause his note said 'it appears you have succeeded enough in your studies to have a thorough grasp of genetics. Your application of same is quite inventive.' "

  "Huh?" Denny replied. He was concentrating on the sudden appearance of someone from the Kamat warehouse. The figure was in Samurai uniform, but Mondragon had told him to make sure everybody he saw in that uniform was someone who was supposed to be wearing it.

  "Too often people look at the uniform, assume everything is all right, and never notice the face."

  Got that right, Tom. Happen you've used that dodge a time or two, hmm?

  "About the only way the baby could be a blonde— and mine—would be if my daddy was blond and Marina had some blond ancestors somewhere—" Raj broke off as Denny frowned with recognition and distaste. "What's the matter?"

  "Nothin'." He looked at Raj's lifted eyebrow, then relented. "Well, nothin' important. Just that Sammy down there. Brian Delaney. Likes t' throw 'is weight around. Been hasslin' me when I'm on duty at th' warehouse."

  To his surprise, Raj frowned. "Delaney?" His brother leaned over and peered down at the man. "Delaney? Damn. That sounds familiar. And he looks familiar—"

  Raj's face got that funny-absent look it always did when he was trying to remember something. "Delaney," he muttered. "Now where—"

  He suddenly went white.

  "Sword," he whispered. "He's a Sword, he has to be! His older brother Darryl was one of Mama's contacts—"

  "He can't be!" Denny protested. "Mondragon passed him through!"

  "Mondragon wouldn't know him," Raj whispered. "He's not Nev Hetteker, he's from here. Local recruit. Denny, we've gotta tell Tom!"

  He started to scramble to his feet; Denny stopped him with a pull on his sleeve.

  "Take it easy," he said, his mind going six ways from Satterday, and coming up with a notion that had a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "He ain't done nothin' yet. Reckon he's waitin' on somethin'. Bet we've got some time yet; I'll tell Tom. That way ye don' haveta get inta it, an' maybe have m'ser Richard wonderin' how come ye're so familiar wi' th' face an' name an' all. Hmm?"

  Raj sank back down to the roof. "You sure?" he said doubtfully. "You will tell Tom? You promise?"

  "Oh, yey," Denny chuckled. "I'll tell 'im, all right."

  But first I wanta tell somebody else.

  This was his second trip to Hoh's in a week; in some respects, it was identical to the first. The tavern was mostly deserted (again) and Woffling nursed a beer after having popped up behind Denny out of nowhere and following him to the place. Rat sat across from him, candlelight making sculptures of her cheekbones. Both of them had mugs of beer in front of them.

  But this time it was Rat's that was virtually untouched. She was staring off into the space beyond Denny's ear, arms resting on the table, hands clasped on the mug—and she was humming.

  Rat hummed when she was thinking; the harder she thought, the more inane the tune.

  Right now she was humming a kid's counting-song.

  It hadn't taken her long to see that Denny's information was as good as having a key to the warehouse, if not better. She'd more or less promised Denny that she and Rif wouldn't be taking anything out of the Kamat's keeping that they didn't have title (however precarious) to. But if somebody else could get the blame for a theft—

  And if that somebody could also be proved Sword of God-Denny could hardly contain his glee.

  * * *

  A note to the warehouse brought Denny to the roof of Kamat two days later. It was quite dark— and quite past the time he was supposed to have been virtuously in bed.

  But virtue and Denny had seldom had more than a nodding acquaintance.

  Rat was waiting, in the shadow of the big kitchen chimney; garbed head to toe in close-fitting black, only someone who was used to looking for her would have spotted her, even with the moon to help.

  "Hey, kid."

  "Hey, yerself." Denny arranged himself on the rooftiles in the same long shadow. "So, what's the deal?"

  "This Delaney has a break-in set up for ten tomorrow night, right before the watch changes at midnight. We—ah—arranged for his message to get altered. Rif and me'U show up at ten, use the conveniently unlocked door, and get our tails out. His folks'll come in at eleven." She chuckled, and shifted a little, noiselessly.

  She looked like a giant black cat lounging in the shadow.

  Wonder if s
he's the one as wrote "Cats of Jane"? Think she's more 'n half cat, personally.

  "So I tell Tom tomorrow. Figger he'll set up a watch on this guy. How ye gonna get by that?"

  "You don't tell him until ten tomorrow. Even if he can get a watch set on Delaney that night, we'll be long gone."

  Denny pondered that one. "If he don't—how ye gonna get Delaney?"

  A long, thin shadow-hand reached over and ruffled his hair. "Pillow-talk, my naive young m'ser. Black Cal's getting the same information as De-laney's cohorts. Does that suit you?"

  Denny patted his hair indignantly back into place. "I guess it's gotta, don't it? You follered Delaney. An' figgered out what he was up to." Denny made statements rather than real questions, and Rat nodded. "What I can't reckon, is how you made his buddies think the time was gonna be later—"

  "Hmm." The voice in the darkness sounded very thoughtful. "Well, you're not too young to understand . . . Men, my young protege, can be damned fools where an attractive woman is concerned. Of course, women can be damned fools over attractive men—and my beloved partner and her current liaison illustrate both those points."

  Denny's snort of agreement brought an appreciative chuckle from the shadow.

  "Let's just say that when a man is being a damned fool, someone who isn't a damned fool can play interesting tricks with his memory. Delaney thinks he said 'ten' and that's when he'll leave the side door unlocked. He didn't. And you are now off the proverbial hook."

  "I wisht ye wouldn't use all them big words, Rat," Denny protested. "When ye get fulla yerself ye use them big words, an' I don' unnerstan' half of what yer sayin'."

  "Better get used to the 'big words,' kid," she replied, uncoiling herself from the shadow. "That's the kind of circles you're moving in now."

  And with that, she was gone.

  I didn't even see 'er go, an' I was watching. Huh. Denny scrambled carefully down the slanted roof to the gutter that led to his bedroom window. "That's the kind of circles yer movin' in," hmm? Yey, I guess so. Maybe I better start tryin't' talk hightowner better. Maybe then th'Delaney's wouldn't think so quick about hasslin' me.