Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

by Lee, Sharon

  She took a breath, straightened her spine, placed the envelope on her lap, and folded her hands atop it. Mr dea'Gauss had been very kind to her during their previous meeting, she told herself. She would explain her error, and beg his pardon—surely he would accept that? Then, she would make a proper appointment, and—

  The curtain across the doorway parted to admit a man of very upright posture, wearing a bronze vest over dark shirt and trousers.

  Aelliana came to her feet and bowed low.

  “Mr. dea'Gauss, please forgive this unseemly intrusion into your day.”

  There was a pause, growing rather longer than courtesy permitted. She straightened, and met a pair of speculative brown eyes.

  “You do not intrude, my lady,” he said, his voice soothing in the mode of servant to lord. “I see that you have the transfer packet. Please, allow me to take you to my office. We may speak confidentially there.”

  Aelliana swallowed. Well, and if he would see her, she thought, then he would. She would try to keep her requests and her questions to the point and disrupt him as little as possible.

  “Thank you,” she said, and took the arm that he offered.

  “Only a step down the hall,” he murmured, keeping yet to that mistaken mode, “and a short ride on the lift. It is a fine day, and the views from the windows are quite pleasant.”

  It was, Aelliana admitted some time later, a worthy view: Most of Solcintra City could be seen from the windows of Mr. dea'Gauss' office, an orderly gridwork of architecture and parkland. Indeed, if one took the right angle, one could see the Tower in Solcintra Port, nearly colorless against the bright sky.

  “From the rear windows one may see Korval's tree.” Mr. dea'Gauss gestured toward an panel of opaqued windows. “Alas, this is not the best hour for such a viewing.” He inclined his head, and continued, somewhat more briskly, “Now, my Lady, what task may I be honored to perform for you?”

  She hesitated. It was an impertinence to call another adult's understanding of melant'i into question. However, it was . . . dishonorable to claim a place higher than where one stood.

  “I fear that, in my ignorance, I may have misled you, sir,” she said carefully in adult-to-adult. “I am the second daughter of the House, and Mizel—Mizel does not stand High. Scholar will do for me, or Pilot; each is a melant'i that I hold in my own right. I have, for a variety of reasons, accepted the protection of Clan Korval.” She raised her hand to touch the pin in the collar of her jacket. “But I am not of Clan Korval.”

  “I see.” Mr. dea'Gauss tipped his head, and moved a hand, indicating that she walk with him to the table where she had left the envelope. “Perhaps, then, Pilot,” he said in adult-to-adult, “we ought to discuss your melant'i more fully. But first—” He used his chin to point at the worktable—“you have some questions regarding the transfer paperwork?”

  “Yes,” she said, pausing by a chair to allow him to seat himself first, as was appropriate, given their relative ranks. “And also, I have a—task for you, if you are willing to undertake it. Understand, I have no good idea of how much work is involved, so you must not hold shy of telling me if it will not do.”

  “That I will not, Pilot,” he said calmly. He paused, and appeared to consider her for a moment before bowing slightly. “Allow me to fetch tea,” he said smoothly. “Pray, make yourself at ease; I will not be a moment.”

  He moved toward the back corner of the room, where a buffet like the one in the reception parlor stood. Aelliana sat down, folded her hands on the tabletop, and glanced about.

  Mr. dea'Gauss stood high, indeed, she thought, to have gained the right to such an office. A working desk holding three screens and several piles of hard copy occupied a windowed niche on the left-hand wall; the table at which she sat was one of three such placed about the room. The floor was old wood, with bright carpets here and there, like flowering islands adrift upon a dark sea.

  “Now, we may talk comfortably,” Mr. dea'Gauss said, setting a tray on the table. He poured for them, deft and neat, before taking the chair at her left hand.

  “Where shall we begin, Pilot? I am wholly at your disposal.”

  He did certainly seem to be so, Aelliana acknowledged. She sipped her tea—and sipped again in appreciation—before putting the cup aside.

  “The task for which I would like to commission your consideration,” she said carefully, “is . . . ” She leaned forward, looking directly into his face.

  “I own a Class A Jump—Ride the Luck—which is berthed at Binjali's Yard. It is—my intention to enter the lists as a courier pilot. I understand that there is paperwork—licenses to obtain, guarantees to be posted—in order to best serve and protect ship and crew along the . . . beyond Liaden space.”

  “You wish me to bring that paperwork together for you? That is perfectly within my scope, Pilot.” He reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a notepad. Tapping the device on, he glanced at her. “A few questions if you will.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Good—when do you propose to put your ship to work beyond Liad?”

  “As soon as may be,” she answered. “Much depends upon my copilot, who has some matters to put in order before he is cleared to fly.”

  Mr. dea'Gauss tapped a note onto the pad. “What is your copilot's name?”

  “Daav yos'Phelium Clan Korval.”

  She thought his fingers missed a beat; if so, he recovered so rapidly that she could not be entirely certain.

  “Of course. I have Pilot yos'Phelium's particulars on file, so there is no need for you to detail those. Ride the Luck is of course registered with the Guild?”

  “Yes. I had only just thought! Will you need ship's archives?”

  “Ship's archives are not required, though I have found that it is beneficial to include them as part of the supporting documentation,” Mr. dea'Gauss murmured, his attention on his notes.

  “I will transmit them to you this afternoon,” Aelliana promised.

  He glanced up. “You need not discommode yourself, my Lady. As the archive is in support only, its presence is not necessary for the completion of the primary documentation.”

  “It is no trouble at all,” she said. “I will be taking The Luck to Chonselta this afternoon.”

  “In that wise, I will be pleased to have all necessary information immediately in hand,” he murmured and looked up. “I anticipate that the completed and certified documents will be in your hands no later than Banim Third-day.”

  Aelliana blinked. “That's very soon.”

  “As a task, it is not difficult. There may be some delay upon the Guild's side, though we will of course do everything possible to expedite the matter.”

  He put his notepad on the table and gave her his whole attention once more. “I think we have this task well in hand, Pilot. What else may I be honored to do for you?”

  She placed her hand on the envelope.

  “I wonder if you are . . . able . . . to explain to me why I am awarded this—considerable!—settlement. Daav owes me nothing—it is I who owe him, more than ever I can hope to Balance.”

  Mr. dea'Gauss glanced down, perhaps at the envelope; perhaps at the Jump pilot's ring on her finger, then raised his eyes to hers.

  “His lordship allowed me to know of the bond between you,” he said slowly. “In . . . more regular circumstances, that bond would predicate a . . . social outcome.”

  “As it did with Anne and Lord yos'Galan.”

  “Precisely.” Mr. dea'Gauss placed his fingers lightly on the edge of the envelope.

  “Precisely,” he said again, and paused, as if gathering his thoughts.

  “His Lordship,” he said after a moment, “chose to honor the bond as if it is the social outcome, realizing that this may never come to pass. It is . . . an unusual melant'i, as he himself said, and one may therefore too easily err in proper action. One wishes to place honor—one wishes to place regard correctly, and to rightly value what is precious. His soluti
on . . . I have spent many hours considering his lordship's solution, and I cannot find it in error, my lady, nor say that I might have counseled him differently.”

  The envelope was textured and tickled her palm. Aelliana took a breath.

  “This is a lifemate's share.”

  “It is.”

  “I . . . ” She closed her eyes, opened them and considered the man before her with his practical face and canny eyes.

  “Mr. dea'Gauss, Daav and I are indeed lifemates-by-nature, as he told you. However, it is by—it is by no means certain that we can, or ought to be, lifemates-by-law. It is—I had hoped that this joint endeavor we undertake would clarify that point. You will know, sir, that Mizel is by no means High House. I would not damage Korval through my ignorance, nor would I make Daav vulnerable.”

  He inclined his head, but said nothing, apparently waiting for her to continue, though what else she might say—

  But, no, there was something else, after all, to say.

  She pushed the envelope to him and lifted her hand away.

  “Please, hold these safe until I call upon you in order to sign them, or ask that you destroy them.”

  Again, he inclined his head, and Aelliana bethought herself of yet another question.

  “In your judgment—ought I to make Daav half owner of The Luck?”

  “My lady, you ought not,” he replied promptly. “He is your copilot, and I believe you will find that satisfies him very well.”

  “Thank you,” she said, and hesitated, for surely the question that next rose to her tongue was no concern of hers . . .

  “Is there something else, my lady?”

  “I only wonder,” she said slowly. “This . . . employment as Ride the Luck's copilot will mean that Daav will sometimes be . . . unavailable to Delm Korval and the business of the clan.”

  “That had mostwise been the case with Korval's delms until very recently,” Mr. dea'Gauss said. “This firm has protocols in place to handle much of what Korval has been addressing personally. Korval's presence will naturally be required at the bi-annual meetings of the Council of Clans, but a good deal of the . . . lesser business may be handled by a designated speaker.”

  She frowned. “Does he—know this?” she asked, thinking of the sense of weariness and ill health that she had felt in him, bone-deep.

  “It is my melant'i to assume that Korval is informed,” Mr. dea'Gauss said delicately. “The conditions under which we currently operate are by instruction of Thodelm yos'Galan, acting as Korval-pernard'i, in the aftermath of the tragedy that cost Korval its delm and yos'Galan its a'thodelm. The instructions were never rescinded.”

  “I see,” she said, and inclined her head. “Mr. dea'Gauss, I thank you for the gift of your time—and for your assistance.”

  “You are most welcome, my lady. Please consider me entirely at your disposal.”

  “You're very kind,” she said and stood, Mr. dea'Gauss rising with her.

  “There is,” she said, suddenly recalling, “one more thing.” She touched the collar of the shirt she was wearing, one of several purchased from Anne's favorite store.

  “You will, I think, be receiving an invoice from the Crystal Flower. Please forward it to me when it arrives; it is my debt and I will pay it.”

  Mr. dea'Gauss bowed.

  “Certainly, my lady.”

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  Contents

  Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

  Chapter Seventeen

  A room without books is like a body without a soul.

  —Cicero

  Er Thom was in his office. Good.

  Daav pushed the door open gently, pausing just inside the room to consider his brother, who had for so long been the first tenant of his heart. He made a charming sight, to be sure, with his head bent studiously over his work, and the light from the lamp making golden hair luster.

  “You might be of some use, and pour the wine,” Er Thom said, without raising his head. “I'll be through here in a moment.”

  Grinning, Daav crossed to the cabinet, unshipped glasses, and poured—red for Er Thom, and the same for himself, there being no misravot on offer.

  “You stint me,” he said, carrying the glasses to the table and disposing them.

  “Does Pilot Caylon know you drink misravot?” Er Thom asked. He rose and stretched, hands over head, relaxing all at once, with a sigh.

  “She may well,” Daav said ruefully. “She may even know that I am not particularly fond of it.”

  “A perceptive lady, indeed,” his brother said, coming forward. He looked into Daav's face, violet eyes shrewd. “When shall I have the felicity of seeing the announcement in The Gazette?”

  “Perhaps not for some time,” Daav said slowly. “My lady wishes to hone her edge.”

  “Surely she can acquire whatever edge she feels she lacks on the whetstone of the world,” Er Thom murmured, picking up his glass and assaying a sip.

  “She makes a compelling argument against that route,” Daav murmured, tasting his own wine. “And offers an interesting proposal, darling.”

  “Which you are inclined to accept.”

  “Since it falls in with my own wishes and desires, of course I am inclined to accept. Which is why I've come creeping along yos'Galan's back hallways at an hour when we both ought to have put work away.” He sipped, and lowered his glass. “I need your advice, Thodelm.”

  Golden brows rose slightly. “Shall I be alarmed?”

  “You may well become so; who am I to know?”

  “And is it,” Er Thom asked carefully, “Korval come seeking yos'Galan's advice, on behalf of the clan's son Daav?”

  Trust Er Thom to parse the melant'i thus. Indeed, he had himself spent a goodly portion of the afternoon attempting to untangle just that point.

  “Scrutiny reveals that it must be Korval who seeks yos'Galan's wisdom—on behalf of Korval. There's no keeping Daav out of the equation, I fear, but the solving cannot be for the undutiful child alone.”

  “Hah.” Er Thom pulled out a chair and sat, waving Daav to the other. “Tell me.”

  “Put most simply, and with the best good of the clan foremost in your consideration—does it seem to you that the clan might . . . thrive . . . should the delm choose to accept employment as copilot on a courier ship?”

  “It does not immediately seem to me that the clan would founder and break apart,” Er Thom said placidly. “yos'Galan appears to take no harm from the benevolent neglect of its thodelm.”

  “True. I will tell you that I have spent some time with the Diaries today, and learn that past delms have been . . . more lightly tied to Liad.”

  “So there is precedent.”

  “There is,” Daav agreed. “Do you think it wise for both the delm and the delm's heir to be offworld at the same time?”

  Er Thom tipped his head. “Did not our mother and my mother travel off-planet together in company with my elder brother?”

  They had, Daav allowed—delm, thodelm and a'thodelm, together all. And when the trip was done, delm and a'thodelm were dead, with the thodelm crippled, and in mortal fear of her life.

  “That is hardly an argument in support of the scheme,” he commented.

  “It is merely an observation,” Er Thom said, frowning down into his glass. “We were already thin when that trip was taken—it was only after that we came to think of ourselves as endangered.”

  He lifted his head. “I think it was my mother, who came back to us so badly wounded, having lost her sister and her heir, who locked us down, brother, and insisted that the delm clip his wings.”

  Daav considered. In the terrible days after their losses, he and Er Thom had depended upon the clan's sole remaining elder for advice and guidance. Ill and grieving as she was, she might well have deemed it best to nail her reckless nephew to the ground, lest he risk his life and his bloodline.

  “It may be that she was the author of our current situation,” he said slowly. “Indeed, the entries in
the Diaries would seem to support the supposition. Perhaps it was wisdom.”

  “Not wisdom,” Er Thom said decisively. “Not malice, I think—but wisdom? No.” He straightened.

  “yos'Galan advises Korval,” he stated, in the mode of Subordinate-Line-to-the-Delm.

  Daav inclined his head. “Korval hears,” he returned, Delm-to-Subordinate-Line.

  “It is not the best care of the clan to huddle, safe, upon the homeworld. Korval is ships; Korval is pilots. If Korval allows fear to rule it, we become less than we are. More, we violate the law laid down for us by the Founder. Thus does yos'Galan advise the delm.”

  That the Founder would have found nothing wonderful in her heirs breaking faith, pirate that she'd been, Daav did not say. Instead, he inclined his head once more.

  “Korval hears yos'Galan.”

  “That is well. Does the delm require further service from yos'Galan this hour?”

  “I believe that our business is done,” Korval responded.

  “Excellent.” Er Thom smiled. “Now, tell me how matters fare between yourself and Pilot Caylon. She must think well of you, if she considers placing her ship in your hands.”

  “Her regard humbles me,” Daav said truthfully, “though there have been moments when I have wished that the Healers had meddled less with what was finished and done.”

  Er Thom tipped his head. “You speak of the bond? Truly, it is unsettling at first—who wishes to share his innermost self, with all one's flaws and pettiness? I swear you will grow accustomed, brother, and then you will wonder how ever you went on—before.”

  “Aelliana reports something very like,” he admitted, setting his glass aside. “For my part—” He raised his head and met Er Thom's eyes. “The link is only one-way, darling. She describes a condition like to what I have heard from you and from Anne. For myself, I experience nothing of the sort—”

  Er Thom shifted, pity on his face, his lips parting—

  “No—hear me,” Daav said, his eyes suddenly wet. “I do well enough—how many believe that Scouts are able to read minds, after all?”