The Dead One did as none of the Dead had done before: he reached out with a meaty hand, clamped fingers on the jussar’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Hey!” the jussar said, angrily, as he turned, but the Dead One’s fist stopped his words. The boy held his nose in pain and surprise, blood trickling from one nostril and over the fingers. For a moment, the tableau held, the jussar sniffing in consternation, the Dead One with his hand still fisted at his side, his composure shattered and his mouth slack with surprise. The chant-bell the Dead One held in his other hand dropped to the pavement with a dull clunking.
The jussar, with a scream of rage, hauled the man from the Dead’s procession. The rest of the Dead walked on, seemingly uninterested in their fellow’s plight. The group of youths surrounded him, leering; he made no further resistance, head down, hands at sides. The jussar closed about him. Fists rose and fell, the whine of a vibro shrilled. They beat him bloody and senseless, leaving him in the puddles of the street.
The Dead, uncaring, went through the arch and away from Sterka. They would seek Hag Death elsewhere.
• • •
The Regent d’Embry laced her fingers together on her bare desktop. The fingers were alternately blue and red—bodytint shimmered at the interface of color.
“I’m glad all of you were able to be here on such short notice,” she said. “This business could have been conducted over com-units, but I prefer the more personal contact.”
The two Hoorka seated across from her looked everywhere but at the Regent. Kaethe Oldin, cloaked in a heavy and glaring-orange cape, had her back to the rest of them, intent on the d’Vellia soundsculpture in the corner of the room. D’Embry was slightly puzzled by the attitude of the Hoorka. All her reports had said that Gyll and Valdisa were quite close, lovers, yet the two were seemingly at odds: it showed in the way the Ulthane leaned away from Valdisa, in the covert glances the woman sent toward him. D’Embry shrugged mentally. She felt good, for once; she would allow none of this to bother her, not a tiff between the Hoorka, not the presence of Oldin, not the dreary rain that pattered on her window. She’d not realized just how much the annoyance of Oldin had permeated her moods.
“You’re kicking me off Neweden.” Kaethe spoke without turning from the sculpture. As the others glanced at her—d’Embry with a sudden, unbidden scowl—Kaethe touched the artwork with an appreciative forefinger. She took a step toward the desk. Under the metallic arch of her eyebrows, her face revealed no distress. “It doesn’t matter greatly to me, Regent. I’ve been thrown out before. You’re by no means the first to do so; the Families are quite used to it. How long do I have?”
D’Embry determined once more that she would not let Oldin antagonize her. She regarded the woman blandly—no one noticed the whitening of flesh under the bodytint as her hands clenched together more firmly. “Since you’ve anticipated me so well, I won’t bother with niceties, Trader Oldin. I want Peregrine and you and all your paraphernalia out of orbit and heading away tomorrow.”
Oldin glanced toward Gyll. D’Embry saw the contact and wondered at it. Valdisa too looked at Gyll. “By the terms of the pact”—Kaethe returned her attention to d’Embry—“I’ve a right to know why you’re taking this action.” She stepped forward again, so that the full cape touched the edge of d’Embry’s desk. The cloth was distressingly bright; d’Embry found the color hideous and most unflattering to Oldin’s skin.
“For our part, I wonder why you’ve asked the Hoorka here,” Valdisa said.
“Your guild is peripherally involved in this, and I’ve other business to discuss after Trader Oldin has left. However, if you want to leave until we’ve concluded this . . .”
“No, Thane Valdisa, by all means stay. It’ll be an education for you.” Oldin smiled, but there was little friendliness in the gesture. Still, of the four, she alone appeared relaxed, neither uncomfortable nor impatient. Oldin glanced about, reached down to extrude a hump-chair from the floor, and seated herself heavily and too quickly. “I’ll never accustom myself to this much gravity,” she said. She arranged the cape loosely around her. “Set out your case, Regent.”
“Very well.” D’Embry turned cold gray eyes to Oldin. “First, there is the matter of two voided guarantees on items purchased by Neweden citizens.”
“That’s petty, Regent.” Oldin dismissed the point with a wave of her hand. “That can easily be rectified.”
“I don’t doubt that, Trader. But there is also the Hoorka contract you signed against Cade Gies. In itself, I can do nothing about that, as much as I find it distasteful. But . . . in his work for the Alliance, Gies had access to the Center terminals. We’ve discovered that he had abused that privilege, having illegally obtained records from the archives. There was some attempt at deception, but the man was rather clumsy, and his access-code has been traced. We’ve searched his office and rooms thoroughly, but have been unable to find the printouts of that information he acquired. We also have found that Gies ‘purchased’ several expensive Trader items—they were in his rooms. He could not possibly have afforded them on his salary.”
“I see your implications, Regent—you needn’t go any further with this. I have heard no proof that I’m in any degree responsible for the alleged espionage.”
Oldin leaned forward in her seat. Elbow on thigh, she cupped her chin in her hand. With the same faint mocking smile, she waited. “And what else, Regent?” she asked.
“There’s another matter, which may or may not be directly related to the first: the death of Sirrah Guillene on Heritage.”
D’Embry, anticipating, saw the glance between the two Hoorka. It confirmed her suspicions—the Hoorka were involved in Guillene’s murder. She felt no anger. From what she had heard of Heritage and Moache’s practices there, Guillene was not someone that would be greatly mourned. Still, it irritated her that Valdisa and Gyll would have circumvented her authority in that manner.
Oldin slouched back in the chair. “That’s just rancor on your part, Regent. I know Niffleheim’s been screaming about that one, and I think you’ve been listening to your own paranoia.”
Damn the woman. So frigging smug . . . The thoughts surged, and d’Embry choked them down, trying to retain the good humor, the anticipation of success. “Ulthane Gyll was ferried up to Peregrine the day Guillene died. He was there for quite some time.”
“That’s not exactly an offense.” Oldin glanced at Gyll, the smile widened. D’Embry watched Valdisa watching Gyll.
“Yet you have to admit that it arouses suspicions,” she said. “I’ve no delusions about the Families’ wiles—you could have easily slipped past our monitors.”
“Proof, Regent?”
D’Embry shrugged. “I’ll admit that I have very little at the moment. Still, I’ve forwarded a record of my order to Niffleheim. I asked you here so that you’re legally informed and to see if you wish to have a court examination to determine the justification of the eviction order. By the pact. Do you want it, Trader? I assure you that if you say yes, I’ll have my people begin digging, very hard. I think we both know what will be found.”
“There’s nothing to find, Regent. Believe me. I guarantee it.” For a brief second, their eyes met, locked in interior battle. Then Oldin’s lips lifted in her mocking smirk, and she leaned back “But Peregrine was leaving soon in any event. Our sales have slowed, and your port charges aren’t cheap. I’d already told Ulthane Gyll of that intention. Having you bring together the courtmasters and arranging for my defense would take up more time than I’d planned to spend on Neweden. It’s simply not worth the trouble, Regent. I’ll obey your damned order.” With a groan of exertion, she stood. The cape settled around her knees “Which means that I’ve much to arrange. Is that all, then Regent?”
“Almost, Trader Oldin. I’ve heard that you may have extended an invitation to Hoorka, some offer.”
Oldin pursed her lips, nodding. “Good, good. Your sources are excellent, and I compliment you, Regent. I’ll have to check the tongu
es of some of my crew. But . . . any agreement between the Hoorka and Family Oldin is only my business and theirs.”
D’Embry looked from Oldin to the Hoorka. Valdisa stared into a blank corner of the office. Gyll examined his callused hands. “Oldin’s right,” he said. “It’s not the concern of the Alliance.”
“As long as the Hoorka are based on Neweden, everything the Hoorka do affects the Alliance.” D’Embry’s voice had the inflections of a teacher scolding a child. It snapped Gyll’s head up. His mouth was a tight line, but he said nothing.
“You see, Ulthane—the Alliance always works on bluster and force.” Oldin, near the door, grinned back at them. “They try so hard to make you fear them, so that you do what they say and don’t upset their nice, safe, little boundaries.”
“Trader Oldin, if you wish to see force, keep Peregrine in orbit after tomorrow.” Softly.
Oldin shook her head. A brief coruscation, her eyebrows caught light. “It’s not worth it, Regent. I’d love to be the one to teach you a lesson about overestimation of abilities, but it’ll have to be postponed for now. Grandsire would be upset if I endangered the pact without his permission. You played out the scenario nicely, though, timed it just right. It will look like you succeeded in getting rid of me, when all you had to do was wait a few more weeks. I’m certain it’ll look good on your record. Niffleheim can say to Moache, see, we got rid of the nasty troublemakers.”
“For a woman with much to get ready, you talk a lot.”
Again, that eternal smile. “I’ll be going now. Ulthane, Thane; whatever she says to you, remember that what we’ve spoken about is still valid. Don’t make a decision just because you’re scared of jeopardizing your standing with the Alliance. They’re a lying breed. They’ll soon join the ippicators and the Hag like all he rest.”
Oldin slapped at the door control, swept through, and strode into the corridors of Center.
D’Embry watched the door sigh closed. She’d not moved from her position. The hands were still in an attitude of reverence on the desk, the spine was erect against the straight-backed floater. “That wasn’t a scene I wished the two of you to see.”
Valdisa shrugged. She brushed at the shoulder of her nightcloak. “How does it affect Hoorka? That’s all I care about.”
“Did you send someone to Heritage?”
“We’d declared bloodfeud against Guillene, m’Dame. All we wanted was his death, in any manner it could be accomplished. If someone else did the deed before us, it really doesn’t matter. Guillene’s Hag-kin now, and we don’t speak of him.”
“You haven’t answered the question.”
Silence.
After a moment, d’Embry exhaled heavily, closing her eyes. She unclenched her hands, her posture sagged. The movement aged her. She tapped at the desk with a finger the color of ice. “I don’t know where this leaves us, Thane, Ulthane. Niffleheim was upset with the entire Heritage affair—the Hoorka work well enough for Neweden, but Heritage . . .”
“Which means what, Regent?” Valdisa asked the question
“It means that there has to be some reevaluation, an examination of Hoorka and the Alliance.”
“But you’re not restricting us to Neweden again?”
“I didn’t say that, Thane.”
“What are you saying?” Gyll broke in. He was tired, tired of the evasion, tired of the semantic games he’d seen played here this morning. He’d rather be out in the drizzle and clouds, or back in Underasgard—to have time to think.
D’Embry smiled faintly. “I’m sorry, Ulthane. You’ll have to forgive an old woman her whims. I’ll try to be more direct. I do feel that the Hoorka can still find a place in the Alliance. But I think we—you and Thane Valdisa and I—need to examine the offworld contracts more carefully, with an eye toward the compatibility of social structures. For the time being, I’m going to hold all contracts in abeyance, until I’ve had the opportunity to study this more.”
“But we’ll eventually have offworld work?” Valdisa.
“I would think so.”
Valdisa looked at Gyll. He was unable to decipher her expression. It seemed to waver between triumph and uncertainty.
“In that case, you may consider the Hoorka to have dropped any thought of working with the Trading Families.”
D’Embry nodded. “That’s good, Thane. I wouldn’t have liked the other options open to me.”
Gyll could only seethe, silent, in frustration.
• • •
The thin, cold drizzle glazed the expanse of Sterka Fort. The rain-slicked surface darkly mirrored the ships on their pads, the spires and conveyors that fed and relieved them. Farther back were the huddled buildings of the city, looking miserable under the mist and low clouds.
Gyll turned from the window and handed his identification to the impassive gate-ward. “I’m boarding the Peregrine shuttle,” he said.
The ward nodded, glancing at Gyll, the full pack over the Hoorka’s shoulder, the bumblewort in its traveling cage. He rustled the flimsies in pretended scrutiny. “You know Peregrine’s asked for clearance to leave orbit.” The sentence fell halfway between declaration and query.
“I know,” Gyll replied. He gave his attention to the view outside the window again.
It had not been a pleasant day. He and Valdisa had begun arguing from the moment they’d left d’Embry’s offices. It was a quiet disagreement, marked by an exaggerated politeness that bothered him more than any violent confrontation. The apprentice driving their flitter had kept his eyes discreetly averted, but Gyll knew that the ears had been busy. The gossip would spread through Underasgard as soon as his shift was done. Valdisa had left him at Tri-Guild Square, saying that she had errands to run. Gyll knew the excuse was to avoid continuing the discussion in her rooms where the civilized pretense could be dropped. And he knew that her position was now set in stone, hardened by her fear of losing authority as Thane. She would not bend.
He’d begun packing as soon as he’d returned to his rooms. He took very little beyond a few essentials, amazed at what he felt he could do without for the few months he would be with Oldin. He could have given the wort to Cranmer for the duration, but he indulged a whim and shrank the field-cage down to traveling size. A few months . . . and then he would know whether the Families were worth further expenditure of energy. He told himself that Valdisa’s anger would be softened by time.
And he told himself that he wasn’t simply avoiding Valdisa by doing it in this manner. He left a short note for her in her com-unit; it would have to be enough.
The ward snapped shut the paper-case with a grunt. “You’ll need to be quick, then. You’ll only have a few hours before she leaves.”
He nodded—the ward did not have to know that he didn’t intend to return before Peregrine left. Gyll started toward the field entrance.
“Gyll!”
The shout turned him. Down the corridor stood Valdisa, breathing rapidly as if after a long run. Port workers and passengers moved aside, away from the Hoorka woman with anger on her face, her nightcloak back to reveal the dagger at her belt. Gyll watched her approach, waiting, willing himself to stay calm. The wort moved in the cage, curling itself in a corner. Valdisa stopped a few meters away, hands on hips, frowning. The gate-ward began to come forward and demand her papers, but Valdisa quelled him with a look.
“Ulthane,” she said. Her voice was dangerously quiet. “I hope you’re not taking the shuttle. I hope it was just an airing for the wort.” Over her dark eyes, lines deepened.
He shrugged helplessly. “I’m sorry, Valdisa.”
“Thane Valdisa, Ulthane. You left Underasgard without my permission. You break your own code—obedience to the Thane is paramount.”
“I told you what I intended.” Then, after a pause: “Thane. We’ve gone over it too many times. I’m doing this for the good of your own authority and for Hoorka. That’s not exactly deserving of censure.”
“You’re doing it for yourself first.
I know you that well, Gyll.” For a moment, the harshness softened, the lines of her face smoothing. Gyll thought she might smile, that they might hug and depart still friends. But her stance had not altered, and if her fingers clenched uneasily, they still strayed near the hilt of her dagger. Her eyebrows lowered, the corners of her mouth twisted down. “I didn’t want it to come to a confrontation, Gyll, but you seem to want to force it. Fine. As Thane, as kin-lord of your guild, I’m telling you to return to Underasgard. We’ll talk there, try to settle our differences—maybe we need to split the guild, start another guildhome on Illi or the Waste, with you Thane of one. I don’t know, but we can find some way to assuage your boredom, your ennui. But first you have to come back.”
Almost, he stepped toward her. He swayed. Then his resolution hardened. “I can’t.”
“You mean you won’t.”
Again, he shrugged. There seemed to be nothing else to do. He stared at Valdisa, willing her to back down, but she would not—she returned his gaze flatly. Gyll shifted the pack on his shoulder, hefted the wort’s cage in his right hand, wiped at the sweat on his forehead. The gate-ward examined papers to one side. Passersby stared curiously at the two, sidling past and giving the Hoorka as much space as possible in the corridor.
“Valdisa, you know how I feel about you. I really don’t want to hurt you. That’s partly why I want to go with the Families.”
Her face spoke disbelief.
“I don’t want to hurt myself, either,” he continued. “It’s better this way. When I come back, much of the pain’ll be gone. We’ll both be surer of ourselves, more confident of our positions.” He waited for her to answer, half-wanting her to say something to convince him to stay, half-impatient to leave. His fingers drummed the strap of the pack. When she said nothing, he finally turned away. Through the windows of the port, he could see the Trader shuttle. Under the spidery bulk, a figure lounged near the lift: Helgin.
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