Dragon in Exile - eARC (32 page)

Interlude Eleven

Vivulonj Prosperu

In Transit

The hood was raised, ozone-tanged air wafted upward and was dispersed by the air cleaning system.

Aelliana looked down into a sharp-featured face that at once looked like Daav, and like no one she had ever met. His hair was dark, but very short. She leaned closed and stroked it, feeling warm plush against her palm.

“Daav,” she said, and touched his stark cheek. “Daav.”

A sharp beep came from the board. Startled, she looked up, saw the blue line descending, into the danger zone, from which even the arts of Uncle could not restore him.

“No!” she cried sharply, and shoved her fist into her mouth before the next words—
Don’t die
!—might escape. He would do what she told him to do; he had always done so, allowing for those eccentricities that made him peculiarly himself. Was she a goddess, to deny him death, if he wished for it? Surely,
surely
, he had borne enough, and she—she was his lifemate. She would be worthy of him.

She swallowed, blinked her eyes clear.

The blue line…had paused.

Her knees gave. She staggered, teeth indenting her fist, and collapsed to the edge of the cot.

Gods, gods, van’chela, don’t leave me
.

She did not say it; she
would not
demand it, though the pain of perhaps losing him was nearly more than she could bear.

However, she thought, her eyes on the panel, an explanation was surely in order. She would not have him die thinking that she had lied to him at the last.

She moved her fist from mouth to knee, and took a deep, careful breath.

“Daav,” she said again, keeping her voice smooth. “Daav, it is Aelliana. We are separate once more, and appear to be in good order. I believe our situation is for the moment stable, and relatively benign. There are no active enemies within the scans. Your hurts have been healed, and you may take your chair at will.”

She kept her eyes on the panel, hardly daring to breathe.

The blue line began to climb.

She stared up at it; unable to look away. Now and again, barely attending, she used the sleeve of her sweater to dry her cheeks.

The blue line continued its steady climb. One, two, three of the stranger red lights blinked out. Two others faded to orange.

She dared to close her eyes, then, and for the second time since waking ran the pilot’s Rainbow, for serenity, for it would not do to greet him in disorder.

When the Rainbow was run, and calm imposed, she opened her eyes, bent forward and stroked his face.

“Daav, it is Aelliana.” Her fingers traced his lips, cold and firm. “Wake, do, and let me see you…”

She spared another swift glance at the board above him, glowing green-and-orange now, the blue line at the top of its measure. She sighed, and looked down…

…into a pair of sharp black eyes, over which strong brows were pulled together in puzzlement.

“Aelliana?” he murmured, and raised a hand to touch her cheek. “You appear to be…not quite yourself.”

“So I am given to understand. But you must admit it to be quite a trick, that I appear at all.”

His mouth twitched into a half-smile, even as he shivered, suddenly and comprehensively.

Aelliana caught her breath, and stood.

“Come, now!” she said briskly, reaching down to take his hand. “Let us get you up on your feet, and dressed in something warmer than the air!”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Galandasti

Surebleak Orbit

“What,” Quin asked, staring at the screens, “is that?”

“Looks like a cruise ship to me,” second board said, which he might have known she would do. Certainly, he had spent enough time in the company of Master Pilot Tess Lucien to gain a fairly accurate idea of her character.

“Yes,” he said, patiently, “but what is it doing in orbit around Surebleak?”

“Maybe they need ice,” she said, but she reached to the board and obligingly toggled the IDs.

“
Lalandia
, out of Moraldan?”

Quin frowned. Moraldan was a Liaden outworld with…pretensions. It was a favorite destination for the ne’er-do-wells and the disaffected. Over the years, those sorts had evolved their own hierarchy and society and dared to declare it superior to the homeworld’s social climate. It had its own council—called the Moraldan House Council—but still seated a representative on the Council of Clans on Liad.

Moraldan dared not
quite
break all the way with Liad, for there was no likelihood of its making its own way; after all, it depended upon the homeworld for its comforts and luxuries. One or another of the clans who had seated themselves there could possibly have contrived to set up as traders, or at least negotiated with an existing firm to make it the official trade line of Moraldan.

However, that, Quin thought, would have been far too much like work. Work was not a Moraldan virtue.

“As to what it’s doing here,” said his copilot, having pulled
Lalandia’s
packet, “they’ve come to observe Clan Korval’s banishment.”

“What?”

“See! The Emerald Casino, a gem of the first water, owned by Pat Rin yos’Phelium, himself a master gamester!” Tess read.

“Sample the pleasures on offer at Audrey’s House of Joy, home to the most skilled
hetaera
on the planet!

“Walk the streets tamed by Boss Conrad.

“Tour the fabulous Jelaza Kazone, walk the inner gardens, and lay your hand upon the trunk of Korval’s Tree!”

Tess shook her head.

“Guess Boss Conrad got himself a piece of the action.”

Quin gasped, stung.

“My father is not a party to this!” he snapped, even as he wondered if Father was not only involved, but had hatched the scheme for some obscure reason of his own. Or, if
Uncle Val Con
…

“The Emerald and Audrey’s House are open to anybody wants to come in the door,” Tess pointed out. “Same like walking Conrad’s turf. Nobody’s gonna tell ’em to move on, ’less they’re making a public nuisance.”

“But Jelaza Kazone and the garden are not public places,” Quin countered.

“So, OK;” Tess said. “Might be the Road Boss got some action outta it, then. Why not?”

Because Uncle Val Con would surely not open the clanhouse to strangers, nor the gardens…

But there his thoughts faltered. The relocation to Surebleak had been a strain on the clan’s resources. And…Uncle Val Con had not done it, himself, but it had long
been
done that public rooms and the
front
garden were opened to the curious on Viewing Days—all of the Fifty Houses had done so, to display and enhance their
melant’i
.

In the case of Jelaza Kazone, which had no one save the caretakers living there, Grandmother had stood as host, and answered questions about the house and Korval’s history.

Were finances so tight that Uncle Val Con would have negotiated with a cruise ship out of Moraldan for a percentage of the profits? It seemed at once like, and entirely unlike, him. What—

“
Galandasti
,” came the voice of Surebleak Control, “we have your approach scheduled. See the figures we’ve supplied—plan is to put you in a low polar orbit for one go-round, have you drop in over the pole next time, direct to your south-end hotpad. All good with that?”

“All good,” Tess said, at Quin’s nod. “Thank you, Control.”

* * *

They were in the ruckus room with Lizzie when the alarm sounded, and Jeeves’ voice spoke quietly, but firmly from the ceiling tiles.

“An unauthorized vehicle, containing in excess of eighteen persons is approaching the main gate from the Port Road. House security declares a Level Two Emergency. Repeat: We have a Level Two Emergency. All staff remove to emergency positions, now. Children and cats to the secure rooms, now.”

Miri looked at Val Con.

“Called that right,” she said.

“If they believe they have purchased the right to tour the house and garden, why would they
not
come?”

“No reason, I guess. I just sort of hoped that we wouldn’t have to do this.” She shook her head. “They ain’t bringing in excess of eighteen people up here in any town taxi, though. Where’d they find a bus?”

“Perhaps they brought it with them. Tours to frontier worlds often carry their own transport.”

“Frontier world.”

Miri sighed and came to her feet.

“Help me catch Lizzie and let’s go throw some tourists out.”

“I am perfectly capable of throwing tourists out,” Val Con said, still sitting cross-legged on the floor. “If you would prefer not to be part of this.”

“We agreed it had to be both of us when we first got wind of this thing. Besides, you knew I liked trouble when you married me,” she told him, and blinked thoughtful grey eyes. “Point of fact, I got the specific idea that’s
why
you married me.”

“You have many qualities,” he said, coming to his feet in one fluid unfolding.

“Nice dodge.”

She walked to the right of the rug on which their daughter had paused in her four-legged perambulation around the room, and Val Con swung to the left.

“Talizea,” he said, teasingly.

She looked up and Miri swooped in. Lizzie shouted laughter, and Miri grinned as she settled the small body against her.

“While I must admit that both of us are regrettably fond of trouble, it seems to me that Talizea has a gentler, more reclusive nature. Perhaps she might wish to join her cousins in the basement?”

“Weren’t you the one who told me it was never too early to start learning how to be delm?”

“Did I? That was inept of me.”

“Water under the bridge. If she’s gonna be throwing herself in front of busses as a regular thing, she might as well bag her first one now.”

Val Con bowed lightly, accepting her judgment in this, again, and straightened.

“Jeeves,” he said. “Please close the gate.”

* * *

There was scarcely room to move in the Emerald; every card table was full, and the High Stakes Room stood with doors open. The bettors were three deep around the Wheel, and the smaller backup Wheel, which had been set up near the bar, enjoyed a similar popularity.

There were some vacant stools at the bar itself, and most of the custom there were locals and Terrans, Quin saw, pausing to overlook the room. There were extra servers on, carrying drinks to the card tables, the Wheel, and the dicing stations. The players there were almost entirely Liaden, many in evening dress though it was barely local twilight. He craned his head, but the room was too full for him to see the Sticks table, and he had, within the necessities of his recent lift, lost the particulars of Villy’s schedule.

“Drink, sir?” asked the bartender—Herb, his name was—and, then, “Sorry, Mr. Quin, didn’t recognize you in the leather.” He grinned. “Truth is, might not’ve recognized you in the usual; it’s been crazy busy ’round here since that tour ship come in, an’ I’m a little muzzy in the brain.”

“I can see that it is very busy,” Quin said, frowning slightly. Herb worked day-shift, he recalled. His wife worked night shift and there were children who needed to be looked after.

“Are you beyond your time?” he asked.

“Little bit; little bit. Thing is, we’re short-staffed—well, not for reg’lar, but for this. Need two ’tenders on-shift to keep up with this, and it ain’t slowed down—not even early mornings. We only got the four of us trained.”

“I see there is extra wait staff,” Quin said.

“Yeah, we called in the friends of friends to fill in the gaps. But ain’t none of them trained ’tenders, an’ this crowd is asking for some doozies. Almost like it’s a test.”

Indeed, Quin thought, but did not say. A test of Pat Rin yos’Phelium’s
melant’i
.

“Sarath tends bar sometimes,” he said, instead,having caught sight of that senior wait person moving among the crowd with her tray.

“Sure she does, but she only knows the wines.”

“Your second on-shift is—?”

“Woody. Just now come on, a little ahead of his reg’lar time. Me, I’ll stay some late, then Lorn’ll come in and I’ll go home.”

Which still meant that Herb was doing close to a double-shift. Quin wondered who was watching his children, or if his wife was giving up hours at her job, but it wasn’t his place to ask.

What he could do, however, was
suggest
.

“Why not pull Sarath off the floor and have her fill wine orders only? Woody can oversee, and make the more complicated drinks.”

“An’ I can go home to my kids, who’re watchin’ themselfs, which you’re too polite to ask.” Herb closed one eye, which meant that Herb was thinking. Quin waited. Herb nodded.

“That’ll do it. I’ll just run that past Woody t’make sure he’s good with it.” He grinned, tiredly. “Thanks. I shoulda thought o’that.”

“In this din?” Quin asked, making light.

Herb’s grin got a little steadier.

“It’s a sight, ain’t it? ’Fore I go, you want a drink?”

“No, thank you. Though I wonder—who is on Sticks?”

“Villy went home couple hours ago,” Herb said. “He’d just pulled two-and-a-half shifts his own self, and the floor boss threw ’im out to go get some rest. That puts ’em down to two Sticks tables, and we got complaints. Don’t guess you wanna open up?”

Quin blinked. He had occasionally overseen the Sticks, when the Emerald was crowded, but…

They’ve come to observe Korval’s banishment
, Tess had said of the cruise ship.

Well, then; best they did not observe Pat Rin yos’Phelium’s heir dealing Sticks.

At least until he had talked with Father, to learn how
melant’i
was best served.

“I think,” he said to Herb, “not presently. Is my father upstairs?”

“Sure is.”

“Thank you, Herb.” He touched the man’s arm, very gently. “Remember to clear the change with Woody.”

“On my way, Boss,” Herb said, and moved off down the bar.

* * * * *

Father was behind his desk when Quin arrived in the office. He rose with a smile that was nearly as weary as Herb’s grin.

“Quin! Welcome home! How was your flight?”

“Entirely unexceptional. Pilot Lucien declared, often, that she would fall asleep at her board.”

They embraced, cheek to cheek, and Quin stepped back, holding his father at arm’s length as Father had used to do with him, when he was younger, and home from school between terms.

“You are exhausted.”

“Not quite completely spent. You arrival, in fact, is timely. Natesa will be joining me within the hour. When she does, she and I will go among our guests and inform them that the Emerald will be closing for cleaning and restocking, and will open again in eight hours, local. The regular staff is in need of down time; the games must be reset, and maintenance must be done. I am also informed that sweeping the floor becomes much simpler when one can see the floor.” He shook his head.

“I fear for the state of the cellar. We may need to offer local fruit wine when we reopen.”

“How long?” Quin asked.

“Well…eighteen hours? Twenty-two? Surely,
Lalandia
only came to orbit three local days ago. The portmaster insisted upon a staged embarkation, in order to spare the port, so we have only seen the most of it within the last sixteen hours.”

“I sent Herb home,” Quin said. “Woody is fresh as ’tender and Sarath is to come off the floor and pour wine.”

“That is well-thought, thank you. We will have temp staff to assist the regulars when we reopen, but this…visitation…took us unaware. At least I had wit enough to find Scouts willing to stand as translators on the floor.”

“This tour,” Quin said. “
To observe Korval in exile
?”

“Diverting, is it not?”

His father, Quin thought, did not look very amused.

“This was not…arranged, then? Uncle Val Con—”

Father gave him a sharp look and then laughed.

“Ah, you thought the delm had gone for a
piece of the action
? It is my belief that the clan’s finances are not yet dire, and
even then
it is my very strong belief that you will not in your lifetime see Val Con yos’Phelium
selling tickets
for views of the tree.”

“It had seemed…not quite like us,” Quin said slowly. “But one wonders, then, why are they here? Are there no greater wonders in the galaxy than Korval on Surebleak?”

“Perhaps they wish to assure themselves that we are properly chastised, brought low as we must have been.”

Quin shook his head, and finally grinned.

“If they are here for the scandal, shall I provide one? Herb tells me that the floor boss sent Villy home, leaving only two Sticks tables open for play, and our worthy patrons complaining.”

“Do you wish to do so?” Father asked. “Certainly there is nothing amiss in my heir presiding over a Sticks table.”

“Unless you need me to do something more useful, I am certainly able to deal Sticks for an hour.”

“Then go. Mr. McFarland is on the floor. Natesa and I will not be long behind you.”

* * * * *

“Finally!” the voice was carrying; the accent Solcintran; the mode High, and from elder to youth.

Quin had been counting the drawer—the total of rolled and signed bundles was eight: five of the local so-called Quick Sticks, and three Palaz Dwaygo—the classic Solcintran style. If Father’s promised hour were firm, he need not call for more. Surely even the worst Sticks player conceivable, playing the local variation, which produced a shorter game, could not lose in less than a quarter hour.

But—

“Finally one comes to challenge my skill!” broke his thought and he looked up into the thin, flushed face of a person who was surely no older than he. Which was to say—old enough to have finished one’s schooling. He might expect elder-to-youth from a man of Father’s age.