Burning Bright

by Melissa Scott

  “Sia Chauvelin.”

  The tone even more than the choice of title was a warning that Ransome was in one of his more playful moods, capable of almost any mischief. Chauvelin nodded warily, said, “Good evening, I‑Jay.”

  “I’d like to introduce someone to you,” Ransome went on, still in the light tone that Chauvelin had learned to distrust, and motioned to the woman at his side, not quite touching her shoulder. “This is Quinn Lioe, one of the better Gamers I’ve seen in years. I’m enjoying my return to the Game much more than I’d expected.”

  “Na Lioe,” Chauvelin murmured, and the woman answered, “Ambassador Chauvelin.” Her voice was deep, soft and rather pleasant, the clipped Republican vowels adding a tang to her words.

  Ransome smiled, but it did not quite match the expression in his eyes. Anger? Chauvelin wondered. Or triumph? “I’m very grateful to you, Sia,” the imagist went on. Look what I found in the Game, his expression implied.

  Chauvelin made himself keep his expression neutral, though his mouth wanted to twist as though he’d bitten something sour. The woman Lioe– the pilot Lioe, he realized abruptly, seeing the hat hanging at her shoulder–recognized that there was some undertone of passion here; she was watchful, but uninvolved, her face set in a serene and stony calm. Whatever Ransome thinks he’s doing, Chauvelin thought, Lioe will have her own ideas. The recognition steadied him; he said, “I still owe you part of your fee.”

  Lioe lifted an eyebrow in mute question, glancing from one to the other, and Chauvelin said, “I‑Jay was good enough to hurry a commission for me–the stones on the paths in the lower gardens.” He took a petty pleasure in emphasizing Ransome’s subordinate position.

  “Was that your work?” Lioe said, and Ransome nodded, still grinning. Lioe nodded back, her expression still serene. “Yes, I can see you don’t like people to be comfortable.”

  There was a little silence, and Chauvelin wanted suddenly to cheer. Ransome said, “Why should they be? I’m not.” He paused again, and added, striving for the earlier lightness, “Who have you been talking to, anyway?”

  Lioe smiled slightly. “Other Gamers.”

  “I should’ve expected that,” Ransome murmured.

  “I still owe you money, I‑Jay,” Chauvelin said, riding over whatever else either one of them might have said. “You must have had workshop fees.”

  Ransome nodded. “Oh, I’ve submitted the bills, have no fear. But I think the result was worth it.”

  “It is spectacular,” Chauvelin agreed, and, to his surprise, Lioe nodded.

  “The faces are very beautiful,” she said. “It must have changed your garden completely, Ambassador.”

  “It did,” Chauvelin said.

  “For the better, surely,” Ransome said.

  “I think so,” Chauvelin said, and smiled. “Certainly it was a change.”

  His eye was caught by a sudden movement, a subtle gesture from across the room. He looked toward it, past Ransome’s shoulder, and saw je‑Sou’tsian standing a little apart, one hand lifted in mute appeal. Ransome saw his eyes move, controlled the impulse to look, said instead, “I don’t want to monopolize you, Sia.”

  “Not at all,” Chauvelin said. “But something seems to have come up.” He nodded toward je‑Sou’tsian, and Ransome glanced over his shoulder.

  “Ah, the Visiting Speaker’s arrived?”

  “My honored guest the Speaker has been here since the first arrivals,” Chauvelin said, not without irony. “Na Lioe, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope I’ll have the pleasure again.”

  She murmured something inaudible in response, but there was an amusement lurking in her gold‑flecked eyes. Chauvelin bowed over his clasped hands, hsai fashion, and moved away.

  Je‑Sou’tsian bowed slightly at his approach, but her hands were still, suppressing whatever she was feeling.

  “What is it, Iameis?” Chauvelin said, and kept a smile on his face with an effort of will.

  The steward’s hands moved slightly, shaping anger and apology. Her fingerclaws, gilded for the occasion, glowed in the buttery light. “I’m sorry to have troubled you,” she said, her tradetalk even more precise than usual, “and indeed I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been Sia Ransome you were speaking with, but several members of the Visiting Speaker’s household have asked permission to use the intersystems link. They’ve also asked that our technicians not oversee the linkage.”

  Chauvelin bit back his first response, knowing he was on firm ground here. “I’m hurt that the Speaker’s people should imply distrust of my household, knowing as I do the Speaker’s respect and friendship. You may tell them that, word for word.”

  Je‑Sou’tsian bowed again. “I will do so, with pleasure.”

  She started to back away, but Chauvelin said, “Iameis. Is there anything else?”

  The steward hesitated for a heartbeat, then gestured negation, the movement solid and decisive. “No, Sia. But I thought that should be nipped in the bud.”

  Chauvelin nodded. “I agree. Keep an eye on them, Iameis.”

  “Of course, Sia.” Je‑Sou’tsian bowed again, and backed away.

  Chauvelin stared after her, furious at ji‑Imbaoa for trying such an obvious and infantile trick. What can he think he’ll gain from that? And why in all hells does he have to do it now, when I can’t do anything about it? The answer was too obvious to be considered, and he made himself put it out of his mind, turning away to greet a stocky man who served on the board of the Five Points Bank. He answered mechanically, his mind on ji‑Imbaoa, and on Ransome and his new friend, and was not sorry when the banker excused himself, heading for the buffet. He stood alone for a moment, found himself scanning the crowd for Ransome. The imagist was standing near one of the windows that overlooked the garden, Lioe beside him, tall against the glass. Her coat blended with the golden light caught in the mirrorlike panes, drawing her into the reflections like a ghost; in contrast, Ransome was looking pale and interesting. It was hard to tell, these days, if it was deliberate or inevitable. Chauvelin suppressed the worry, reminding himself that he could always query the medsystems records if he really wanted to know. But whatever the cause, the look worked: Ransome had dressed with millimetrically calculated disorder, plain‑slashed jerkin hanging open over equally plain shirt and narrow trousers, his unbrushed boots a well‑planned disgrace. He made a perfect foil for Lioe’s severe elegance, and Chauvelin felt again a stab of jealousy. Who in all hells is she, that Ransome should behave like this?

  “Good evening, Chauvelin,” a familiar voice said, and Chauvelin turned without haste to bow to Burning Bright’s governor.

  “A good evening to you, Governor.”

  Kasiel Berengaria nodded back, the gesture as much of a concession as she would ever make to hsai etiquette. She was a stocky, broad‑bodied woman, comfortable in a heavily embroidered coat and trousers; a massive necklace of Homestead Island pearls made a collar around her neck, and held a seabright pendant suspended just at the divide of her full breasts. The skin exposed there was weathered, like her coarse, salt‑and‑pepper hair, and the short hands with their broken nails. “I haven’t seen the Visiting Speaker tonight, Chauvelin.”

  Chauvelin picked his words carefully, well aware of the amusement in her mismatched eyes. One was almost blue, the other green‑flecked brown: a disconcerting effect, and one he was certain she enjoyed. “The Visiting Speaker has been holding court in the inner room, Governor. I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.”

  Berengaria made a face. “I doubt it. Or at best, no happier to see me than I am to see him.”

  Chauvelin smiled in spite of himself. “Quite possibly.”

  “You have had an interesting time of it, with him in your household.”

  “Interesting is a good word,” Chauvelin said. He and Berengaria were old adversaries, almost friends by now; she preferred the Republic to HsaioiAn, but Burning Bright before both of them. It was a position he understood perfectly, and he had always admi
red her skill.

  “One hears that the je Tsinraan are rising in favor at court,” Berengaria went on.

  “One of them made a decent profit for the All‑Father on Hazuhone,” Chauvelin said. She would already know at least that much; there was no point in denying it. He shrugged, carefully casual. “I must say, I doubt it will last.”

  “One hopes not,” Berengaria said. “And not just for your sake.”

  She didn’t have to say more, and Chauvelin nodded in agreement. The je Tsinraan, having been out of favor for years, were attempting to rally other groups who had stood aloof from court politics by advocating a return to the old, hard‑line, imperialistic policies of two generations ago. Unfortunately, now that HsaioiAn and the Republic were trading freely, or at least relatively freely, through the merchants on entrepot worlds like Burning Bright, both sides would suffer from a change in attitude. And Burning Bright and her fellow entrepots would suffer most of all.

  “The All‑Father knows perfectly well where his bread is baked,” Chauvelin said aloud, and hoped it was true.

  “I hope so,” Berengaria said, in unpleasant, unintended echo. “Whatever else happens, Chauvelin, I’d be very sorry if you were a casualty.”

  “I don’t intend to be,” Chauvelin answered. His mouth was dry, and he smiled to hide the sudden fear.

  “Good,” Berengaria said. She smiled back, but the expression did not touch the lines around her mismatched eyes. “It would be very dull without you.” She nodded, and turned away into the crowd.

  Chauvelin watched her go, turning her words over in his mind. It was not a good sign that Berengaria had heard rumors of power shifts between the factions in HsaioiAn, and even less good that she was expressing concern for his future. And I wonder, did I hear a hint that she might offer sanctuary, if things get bad? There would be a price, of course– and probably a high one–but it was an option to keep in mind. At least Ransome was, for once, doing what he was told: that might buy enough time to deal with ji‑Imbaoa. They said, on Burning Bright, that Storm brought a change in luck–he could remember, dimly, his mother buying lottery chances on the first day of Storm, hoping to bring money into the household. I have to hope that’s true.

  Ransome made his way through the maze of smaller rooms off the main hall. Chauvelin’s household had thrown them open as well, knowing the space would be needed. Ji‑Imbaoa was holding court in the largest of these, and Ransome paused at the door for a brief moment, glancing in past the crowding guests. He had lost Lioe some while back, to a conversation with the novelist LaChacalle, and hoped to find her– though probably not here. The Visiting Speaker was popular with certain groups on Burning Bright, most notably and most obviously the ones who traded heavily with HsaioiAn, and he was surrounded by their representatives, but Ransome hardly thought that a Republican pilot would be likely to join them. The members of ji‑Imbaoa’s own household stood watchfully at the Speaker’s shoulder, and at the edges of the room. Their ribbons, short strands of red that fell barely to their waists, were vivid against the sea‑green panels. It was an elegant display, and one that deliberately overshadowed Chauvelin’s less formal presence.

  He had looked too long. Across the room, the Visiting Speaker lifted his hand in acknowledgment, and beckoned for Ransome to approach. It was not a request. Ransome hid a scowl, and started toward ji‑Imbaoa. The crowd made way for him, a few people murmuring his name. Overhead, false lightning flickered through holographic clouds, and Ransome couldn’t resist a quick look to see how the installation was doing. He had made the image canopy for Chauvelin a few years before; so far, he thought, it seemed to be holding up well.

  “ Tso‑eh, Ransome,” the Visiting Speaker said, granting the courtesy of a formal greeting. He continued in tradetalk, however, lifting his voice a little to be sure that the fringes of the group could hear. Conversations faded at that signal, and Ransome was suddenly aware of all eyes intent on him. Ji‑Imbaoa was making this a matter of prestige, and for Chauvelin’s sake– and my pride, too–he could not afford to make mistakes.

  “I’m told you made this display?” Ji‑Imbaoa gestured to the image in the dome overhead, where half‑hawk, half‑human figures now swirled through the gaps in the clouds, riding the illusory lightning.

  “That’s right,” Ransome answered, and forced himself not to mimic the hissing accent, the heavy emphasis on terminal sibilants.

  “It’s very striking,” ji‑Imbaoa said, without looking up. “But when will you come back to HsaioiAn and show your talents there?”

  Ransome pretended to glance up at the dome, not really seeing the roiling clouds, controlled his anger with an effort. Ji‑Imbaoa had threatened him with prosecution if he returned to HsaioiAn; this was a particularly clumsy maneuver. He looked back at the Visiting Speaker, said politely enough, “Probably when such a generous commission is offered me. Do you think your t’ueanaowould be interested, Na Speaker?” He deliberately used the word that meant more than just family or household unit, that carried connotations of political rank and power as well, and saw from the sudden convulsive clenching of ji‑Imbaoa’s hand that the implications had struck home. Chauvelin was still a member of the tzu line; Ransome carried some of the same prestige by virtue of his patronage.

  Ji‑Imbaoa mastered his annoyance instantly, though the fingers of his free hand were still crooked slightly, and the red‑painted fingerclaws rapped gently against his thigh. “Perhaps we shall,” he said. “I am sure such a–thing–would please my dependents. You would come if we asked?”

  Ransome bowed slightly, perfectly aware of where this game could lead if not precisely judged. He could not let himself be trapped into a commission, even if it meant seeming to back down. “If the price were right, and the time were convenient, and I were committed to no other business, yes, of course, Speaker.” He paused, then added, “And, of course, assuming that all issues of freedom could be resolved. Some people take offense at images when none is intended; it seems–safer–to settle that ahead of time, than risk displeasing anyone.”

  Ji‑Imbaoa showed teeth in an approximation of a human smile. The expression was delicately close to the bared teeth of insult, but not quite; Ransome admired his control even as he bit back anger. “I’m sure we could work out appropriate compensation,” the Visiting Speaker said, and looked away, lifting a hand to beckon another guest. The woman turned toward him at once, and ji‑Imbaoa took a few steps to meet her, bringing the group’s attention with him. Ransome hesitated for a moment longer, tempted to protest this dismissal, but made himself turn away.

  Lioe was standing just inside the doorway. “Were you having fun?” she asked, and Ransome made a face.

  “How much of that did you hear?” He touched her shoulder lightly, easing her out into the more dimly lit hallway. The walls here were painted a deep red, the rich color of wine held up to a light. Golden vines coiled along the ceiling just below the hidden lights.

  “Most of it, I think. I gather he doesn’t like you.”

  “Not much,” Ransome agreed. Lioe kept looking at him, one thin eyebrow lifted in an expression that reminded him suddenly of Chauvelin, and he touched her shoulder again, steering her toward one of the side rooms. It was little more than an alcove, pillared walls painted in a coppery brown, the pillars themselves painted with more delicate vines, the lighting concealed in thick clusters of sea grapes that dangled from the heads of the pillars. Bench‑seats had been built into the side walls, and the space between the central set of pillars on the rear wall had been turned into a display recess. The shelves were filled with odd objects, and Ransome was startled to recognize one of his own story eggs among them.

  “All right,” Lioe said, “why doesn’t this Visiting Speaker like you?”

  Ransome hesitated again, then grimaced. “I’m not trying to put you off, I just don’t know where to begin.”

  Lioe laughed. “You make friends easily, I see.”

  Ransome smiled back. “All ri
ght. For one thing, he and Chauvelin are from opposite factions, and Chauvelin has been my patron for years. For another–” He stopped, took a breath. “When I was younger, I worked for a local company, worked in HsaioiAn, on Jericho, and I got into trouble there. I offended some people as well as breaking a few laws, but because I was only houtathen they couldn’t do anything about it–the insults, I mean. They enforced the laws. Now that I’m min‑hao, though, they can take notice of those insults, and ji‑Imbaoa–aside from being personally stupid and therefore an irresistible target–is closely related to someone with a serious grudge against me.”

  “That does explain a lot,” Lioe said, after a moment. She cocked her head to one side, clearly reviewing his conversation with the Visiting Speaker. “Given all that, though, was it wise to antagonize him?”

  “Probably not,” Ransome admitted. “But he really is irresistible.”

  Lioe shook her head, but she was smiling. “I hope you and your patron get along.”

  Ransome winced, remembering their earlier conversation. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. It was because Chauvelin’s been pushing me, pushing me back into the Game when that’s the last thing I want to waste my time with–But that was not something he could say aloud. “Do you do your own backgrounds, for the Game?”

  Lioe nodded, obviously glad to accept the change of subject. “Yes. I carry a recorder when I go planetside. A lot of times I stumble into places that I can use later. When I can get time on the club machines, I do some manipulations, of course, but most of the time I can’t afford it. That’s the good part about this deal with Shadows. I’ve got all the time I want, and the run of their libraries.”

  “For ten days,” Ransome said. That wasn’t nearly enough time, not for any real work.

  Lioe shrugged. “I have a contract with Kerestel.”