Mouse and Dragon

Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Nine

The heart keeps its own Code.

—Anonymous

Daav's house nestled at the far end of the valley, a hollow square, glimpsed briefly as they crested the hill, with a tree soaring out of the center. Perhaps, Aelliana thought, there was also a garden in that inner court. Korval's Tree was—somewhat taller than she had expected, its arms reaching high and wide across the pale sky.

“I thought you said that your house was less grand than Trealla Fantrol.”

“And so it is! Jelaza Kazone is quite old, and while I do not say that the roof leaks, it fails to approach the first level of elegance. Historically, Korval has preferred its comfort, indolent breed that we are.”

Aelliana smiled, and hesitated slightly before asking a question that had just lately come to concern her. “Will I meet your sister again at Prime Meal?”

Daav turned his head, both eyebrows up and an expression of nearly comic horror on his face. “Good gods, whyever would you?”

“It is yos'Phelium's house that I am to guest in,” she pointed out.

“Ah, I see! Never fear that you will meet Kareen between kitchen and small parlor! She lives in the house at Grand Lake, and ventures out to the country but rarely. I fear that it is only myself, and a few staff, and of course Relchin and Lady Dignity to bear you company. You may find us a bit thin—how could you not? Immediately we are to house we will ask Mr. pel'Kana to assign a car to your exclusive use, so that you are not wingless.”

“You must not stint yourself,” Aelliana protested. “I—surely there are taxicabs.”

“Surely there are,” Daav said dryly, “and not the least need for you to summon one. yos'Phelium owns . . . several cars, Aelliana. You need only indicate which one will suit you best. In truth, you will be performing a service for the House. I have my favorite, you see, and do not give the others the attention they deserve.”

She considered him. “And if I choose this one?”

“Why, then, I would be obliged to point out that—while it is a satisfactory car in many respects—there's scarcely sufficient room to carry oneself, a passenger, and a very small box. For one who may be expected to visit the city in pursuit of shopping, it may prove to be less than ideal. There is in the garage an extremely nice vehicle, with a larger cargo space, very light and responsive to the stick, which I think you may find more suited to your needs. Though the choice is, of course, entirely your own.”

Aelliana bit her lip until the urge to laugh aloud had somewhat subsided.

“That was very well done,” she said, when she was certain of her voice.

“Thank you,” he answered gravely.

“But I would not dream of depriving you of your favorite car,” she said, as he slowed to make the turn into a hedge-lined lane.

“Thank you,” he said again, and this time she did laugh.

She had been made known to Mr. pel'Kana, who bowed grandly, and solemnly agreed with Daav's suggestion that the “blue car” be assigned to her use. That detail retired, her hand- and voice-prints were filed with the house, then she followed Daav upstairs and down a hallway to the midpoint, where he paused and stepped back, gesturing that she should proceed him.

“I hope that this apartment will win your approval. However! If it does not, please speak out immediately. There are others available.”

There was something in his voice, or in the air between them. She felt her fingers twitch toward him and folded them into her palm, placing the other hand against the plate. The Jump pilot's ring sparkled on her finger in the soft light, then the door opened and she stepped inside.

Her first instinct was to cry out that it was too precious a place to house her. The worth of the rugs alone!—not to say the couches, or the clutter of knickknacks on the mantle. Well into the room and to the left was a closed door, doubtless leading to the bedchamber itself; next to it, a compact kitchen nestled inside an alcove. So much she saw in her first glance.

It was the second glance that taught her that the furniture was, if not precisely shabby as Clan Mizel knew shabby, then at least well-used and even worn. The wooden walls were dark, perhaps with age.

The third glance caught the window, and she was lost. Scarcely attending to herself, she crossed the room, light-footed as Daav on the thick carpet, past the desk with its computer and comm unit, and put her nose against the glass, looking out and down into as wild and glorious tangle of growing things as ever she had seen.

“Do you like it?” Daav's voice breathed into her ear.

“Like it?” she repeated. “Van'chela, the little gardens of the city pale.”

He laughed softly.

“Tame and civilized has its place,” he murmured. “So I am told. We have the front gardens under somewhat more control, for the house's dignity. This . . . ” He rapped his knuckled lightly against the glass. “This is our garden.”

“I like it very much,” she said, “and the room—” She turned her head to look into patient black eyes, suddenly and achingly aware of how near he stood, and recalling a slow, growing heat the feel of his body against hers . . .

“The room—” she said again, turning away from the garden, and coincidentally putting several steps between Daav and herself, “—is . . . very large, van'chela. I daresay I will not do it justice, but the view—that I will not willingly surrender.”

He smiled at her from his lean against the window frame.

“It is yours, then, too-large as it is. Though I fear you have not seen the whole of it yet.”

Shifting out of his lean, he crossed the room to the closed door, slid it open with a touch and stepped back, bowing her through ahead of him.

The bed alone was larger than her room in Mizel's clanhouse. Heaped with pillows, it sat beneath a ceiling port through which she could see the paling blue-green sky of a fading afternoon. Chest of drawers, wardrobe, and another door, which she opened, revealing a 'fresher big enough to accommodate most of Binjali's regular crew, all at once.

“What are the rescue protocols, should I become lost?” she asked, stepping back into the bedroom. Daav, she noticed, had not followed her within, but stood in the doorway, his hands tucked into his pockets of his jacket, watching her with an intensity that made her shiver.

“Merely call out,” he said, and his voice was calm as always. “The house keeps its ear open for certain words—help and thief among them. There is a complete list in your computer, in the House file.”

He tipped his head. “Speaking of which—do you still wish to speak with Clonak? I can make the call from your comm.”

“Yes!” she said decisively. “That I must do.”

“Very well, then.” He disappeared from the doorway.

Aelliana took one more look around the room, touched the pale blue coverlet over the bed, and went out into the parlor.

“She is here now, if you have a moment,” Daav was saying into the comm. He paused, then nodded, as if to himself. “The next voice you hear,” he said, and held the earpiece out to Aelliana.

She stepped forward and took it from his fingers, looking at the blank screen questioningly.

“He asks for voice only,” Daav said.

That was peculiar, but perhaps he was in disarray.

“My thanks,” she said to Daav.

“It is no trouble at all. If you have need of anything, only call.” He bowed slightly and left her, moving swift and silent across the rugs and out, the door closing gently behind him.

Aelliana bit her lip and brought the earpiece up.

“Clonak?”

“Aelliana, are you well?” His voice was so earnest that she scarcely recognized it.

“I am most wonderfully well,” she assured him, walking over to the window and looking down at the magnificent tangle of greenery and color. “The Healers' care was beyond anything I could have imagined, and you have no least cause for concern, or to—to rebuke yourself.”

“That I have no cause for concern is welcome news,” Clonak said, carefully. “But I do rebuke myself, Goddess. More than you may know.”

“That is quite ridiculous,” she said sternly, watching a large orange-and-white cat stalk, tigerlike, through a bank of pink-and-white roses. “You could scarcely force your escort on me. If there was error, Clonak, it was mine, in ignoring your very good advice. I should have not, I see now, leaned all of my weight upon custom.”

There was an . . . odd . . . silence from Clonak's side, though Aelliana could not have precisely said how it was odd.

“Why did you refuse me, Aelliana?” he asked then, his voice low and intent. “Didn't you believe that I would stand between you and danger?”

“I believed it all too well—and that was my reason for denying you! My brother—Clonak, you must understand that, yesterday, all I knew of the world had taught me that my brother would gladly ruin anything I held dear—and that he had the power to do so! I see . . . now that the Healers have someway opened my eyes—now I see that fear had bound and blinded me. It was beyond foolish, to have refused your escort—today, I would have known to do so. Yesterday . . . I acted as best I might, to preserve my friend's honor and his life.” She closed her eyes against the garden, and wished that she could see his face. “Please forgive me, Clonak.”

There came a sigh, very soft.

“How can I refuse you anything, Goddess? If it is forgiveness you require of me, then of course it is yours.” He cleared his throat. “Daav has you under wing, does he?”

“Indeed. I am a guest of Korval for the moment. I need . . . some time to think.”

“As who does not?” he returned, with a flicker of his more usual manner. “Well, then. All's well that ends well.” That was in Terran—a Terran proverb, so he himself had taught her, meaning that, despite the methods, a fortunate outcome was to be celebrated.

“I think that it has ended very well,” she told him seriously.

“Then I shall endeavor to think likewise,” Clonak said. “Now, of your kindness, Goddess, I must leave you and attend to other matters. If you have any use for me, only tell me so.”

“Yes, of course,” she said, frowning after a particular note in his voice. It seemed to her, but surely not—

“Clonak, are you well?”

“As well as may be,” he answered. “Fair evening to you, Goddess. Until soon.”

“Until soon,” she whispered, but Clonak had already closed the connection.

* * *

“Bindan asks high,” Daav murmured, scanning the document to which Korval's man of business had directed his attention. Indeed, the amount demanded was . . . bracing. They would need to sell stocks, or perhaps one of the lesser houses, though not so much as a ship.

“Too high,” Mr. dea'Gauss said dryly. “The next document more accurately illuminates Korval's final accounting in the matter, as adjudicated. It was Bindan, after all, who called the contract void. While there is some recourse under Clause Eighteen, they failed of proving that Samiv tel'Izak has been materially harmed by the event Bindan points to as the breach point. Pilot tel'Izak herself gives as her firm opinion that she stood in less danger from the relevant incident than a pilot may find on any strange port, and further states that your care was in all ways respectful of her melant'i.”

Daav glanced from the screen to his accountant's face. “She said so? That will not have pleased her delm.”

He looked back to the screen, flicked to the next document, and blinked. Mr. dea'Gauss had worked wonders on Korval's behalf, he allowed. Again.

“Perhaps Bindan would not have been pleased,” Mr. dea'Gauss murmured. “However, Ms. tel'Brieri, who sat as the impartial qe'andra required by Guild law, ruled that we should hear the pilot's testimony in confidence. It is very true that Bindan was not best pleased with this ruling; however, the pilot was then at leave to speak her own truth, which she did, most eloquently.” Mr. dea'Gauss paused to glance down at his notepad, as if verifying a point.

“It may be, your lordship, that Korval ought to undertake an entirely separate Balance with Pilot tel'Izak. If I understand her tale correctly, it would seem that she suffered some abuse from . . . an agent of the clan.”

“Indeed, the Tree used her terribly, and Balance is surely owing. Do you advise a separate accounting? I had thought merely to attach a rider to the breach payment, marked for Samiv tel'Izak's personal account.”

“In this case, I believe that a separate accounting would . . . avoid confusion on the part of Pilot tel'Izak's delm,” Mr. dea'Gauss said imperturbably.

Daav sighed. “As acquisitive as that, is she? Well, then. It is Korval's natural desire to see Balance appropriately placed. Of your kindness, Mr. dea'Gauss, please draw up the document. I wish it to be—generous, but not so much as to seem overabundant. Those monies will be withdrawn from my private accounts.”

“As your lordship wishes.” Mr. dea'Gauss made a note on his pad. “The final documents will be on your desk tomorrow morning.”

“Say rather on your desk,” Daav said. “I have business in the city tomorrow and will come by your office—by midmorning?”

“They will be ready for your signature,” Mr. dea'Gauss assured him, making another note. “Is there any other service that I may be honored to perform for your lordship?”

“In fact, there is. Please create the usual accounts for Aelliana Caylon, seeded by precisely half of my personal fortune, prior to deducting the Balance owed Pilot tel'Izak.”

The older man looked up from his notepad. “That is,” he said carefully, “a lifemate's portion.”

“So it is,” Daav said with more composure than he felt. He inclined his head. “The situation is delicate, Mr. dea'Gauss. The Healers at Chonselta Hall believe me to be Pilot Caylon's natural lifemate. Unfortunately, the pilot has suffered . . . an injury in the past, which may prevent the bond from ripening. It is my wish, however, to honor it—and her—as . . . fully as possible.”

Mr. dea'Gauss looked rather quickly down at his pad. “Of course, your lordship. One can readily apprehend your melant'i in the matter. Those papers, too, will be awaiting your signature tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Daav said softly. “Is there anything else which requires my attention, sir?”

“We are to the end of my list, your lordship. I thank you for seeing me so quickly.”

“No, it is I who thank you, for your skill in husbanding Korval's resources. You should know, however, that Lady Kareen will be most disappointed.”

Mr. dea'Gauss paused in the act of slipping his notepad into its case. “I am of course desolate to have disappointed Lady Kareen. In what way have I erred?”

“In no way that I can perceive,” Daav said, already regretting his joke. Mr. dea'Gauss was not known for his sense of humor. “It only seemed that my sister was quite eager for the clan to be turned out onto the port, and the delm reduced to taking up employment as a pilot for hire.”

“Ah.” Mr. dea'Gauss finished sealing the case and rose to his feet. “Your honored sister was not, of course, familiar with all of the particulars of the case. Korval's danger was . . . very small and, as your lordship sees, extremely easy to contain. Shall I call upon Lady Kareen and reassure her?”

“That won't be necessary, Mr. dea'Gauss. You have done quite enough for us this day.” He touched the pad on the edge of his desk. “Allow Mr. pel'Kana to show you out,” he concluded.

“Thank you, your lordship.”

* * *

She unpacked her box, hanging her jacket, the white shirt, and blue trousers in the wardrobe, folding the new small clothes into a drawer, and draping the green robe over the foot of the bed. The remains of her old clothes, she left in the box, and tucked it into the bottom on the closet. The room swallowed her possessions without noticing them, and the rest of the apartment would do the same to her.

She shook herself, and pushed the encroaching grimness away.

Work was what she needed, she thought determinedly, and returned to the parlor.

Sitting down at the desk, she woke the computer, and was very shortly engaged in bringing her working files over from Chonselta Tech.

Having achieved that, she opened the most recent: a proof for pseudorandom tridimensional subspaces. But for once, mathematics—the elixir that had healed the damage her husband had inflicted; the magic that cast Ran Eld's constant cruelties momentarily into another time and place—mathematics failed her. Instead of the pure forms suggested by her equations, she heard Clonak's voice, so subdued. Surely, she thought, surely he had been weeping, and Aelliana Caylon, his student, his pilot, and his comrade, had been too dim-witted to ease him.

“He wouldn't show me his face,” she muttered, as for the dozenth time her eyes wandered from the screen to the window and the garden beyond.

Her failure gnawed at her, and yet she could think of nothing that she might have done—might now do—that would mend matters. She was at a loss even to know how to discover what trouble afflicted him.

Finally, with the setting sun casting deep shadows in the corners of the garden, she put her work away and rose from behind the desk.

She would, she thought, find Daav and put the question to him. He and Clonak had been friends for—since Scout Academy! Daav had been the captain of Clonak's team. Surely, he would know what was to be done to ease their comrade's dismay. Indeed, hadn't she seen that glance between Jon and Daav, when she had asked after Clonak's shift?

Scouts, she reminded herself, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway; one must always take care to ask the right question of Scouts . . .

She went down the stairs and paused, suddenly aware of her folly. Where in this enormous house could she hope to find Daav? She ought to have called him, or—

To her left, a door closed. She turned her head and here came Mr. pel'Kana, followed by a very upright man in sober business dress, with brown hair going grey, and a case tucked under one arm. Upon seeing her, he checked, murmured a word to the butler and stepped forward.

“Do I have the honor of addressing Aelliana Caylon?” His spoke in the mode of servant-to-lord, which was surely an error; his voice was precise and pleasant.

“I am Aelliana Caylon,” she said, offering adult-to-adult as a more realistic approximation of their relative melant'i. “You have the advantage of me, sir.”

“I am dea'Gauss,” he said, and bowed profoundly. “Your servant, ma'am.”

“I—That is very kind of you, Mr. dea'Gauss. However, you mustn't let me delay you, sir! I am only looking for Daav . . . ”

“Certainly,” he said promptly. “Allow me.”

With that he slipped his arm through hers and guided her down the hall to the second door. He knocked, one sharp rap of knuckles against wood, and paused, head tipped.

“Come!” Daav called from within.

Mr. dea'Gauss turned the knob and pushed the door open.

* * *

The door closed behind Mr. dea'Gauss. Daav did not so much rise as spring to his feet, spinning toward the window as if the view of the inner garden would answer his need for action. He felt every nerve a-quiver—some part of which might, after all, be attributed to relief. While he had never truly supposed that he had been the agent of the clan's ruin, he had considered it possible that his misstep had cast Korval into stern economy. Which might well have been the case, had Korval employed a qe'andra any less able than the very able dea'Gauss.

For the rest—

A knock at the door shattered his thought. Doubtless, Mr. pel'Kana come to inquire about his preference for Prime.

“Come!”

The door opened.

“My thanks,” Aelliana said.

Mr. dea'Gauss answered with a grave, “My pleasure.”

Daav turned in time to see the accountant's shadow fade away from the door, as Aelliana stepped within.

His heart rose to see her, walking assured and firm—sharp and telling contrast to the tentative, near-invisible woman who had slunk into Binjali's so short a time ago, and whispered the name of her ship.

“Aelliana,” he said, smiling. “Bored to distraction already?”

“Indeed, no,” she said, pausing at the far side of the desk. “Only bedeviled by my own stupidity and wondering if I might ask you, yet again, to help me!”

“Of course I will help in any way I can. What has happened?”

She hesitated, and it seemed to him that the glance she leveled at him was more sightful than previously, as if she saw past face and eyes and someway into his heart.

“Perhaps I should not plague you, just now,” she said slowly, and stepped 'round the desk, her hand darting out to grasp his.

He stiffened, then relaxed as cool fingers wove between his.

“Aelliana,” he said softly, “what do you see?”

“See? Nothing save a weary face and some sadness about your eyes,” she answered, her own face troubled. “However, I feel—Van'chela, what a stew!”

“Your pardon,” he said, stiffly. “I fear I'm all at dozens and daggers.” He slipped his hand away from hers and tucked it into his pocket.

“Daav—tell me true. Is your clan in peril?”

“It is not.”

She tipped her head, as if she considered whether that bald statement might yet harbor some ambiguity.

“Your sister—”

“My sister,” he interrupted, his voice sharper than he had intended, “sees a hundred-year scandal—”

Aelliana's eyes widened, and he made haste to finish.

“ . . . in a teacup misaligned within a formal setting. You must not, as much as she does herself, take Kareen too seriously, Aelliana. In this instance, you may discount her fears entirely, as Mr. dea'Gauss has just shown me the outcome of today's negotiations.” He produced a smile for her earnestness and had the satisfaction of seeing her face lose some of its tension.

“Now,” he said, “you are troubled. What may I do to assist you?”

She sighed and walked to the open window, leaning one hand against the frame as she looked out into the early evening.

“I—as you know, I spoke with Clonak—it was the strangest thing, Daav, but I feel . . . I feel that assuring him of my safety failed to ease him, and that I left him more distraught than I had found him. He was . . . very subdued—not at all in his usual mode, and—the entire purpose of speaking with him was to give him heart's ease . . . ”

“Ah.” He stepped up to the window, too, and looked out over the riot of gladioli blooms. That Clonak's case was bad—he feared it. He had known that his friend had formed an attachment to Aelliana, as had all of the crew at Binjali's. If his heart was truly engaged—and it seemed now that it must be . . .

He took a breath. “Perhaps Clonak still needs some time,” he said carefully. “We were all of us—anxious for you, and recall it has only been a day since it seemed likely that you were . . . ” he paused, wondering if he should bring such things to a mind newly Healed.

“Brain-burned and unlikely to recover,” Aelliana said crisply, which seemed to answer that question.

“That—yes. Sometimes, it is relief which plunges us into terror, once we are certain that danger is beyond us. Certainly, Clonak has been of that persuasion. Scouts are taught to act first and panic later, when one is safe from the worst effects of stupidity.”

“I . . . see.” She was silent for a long time, her attention seemingly on the darkling garden.

He took a deep breath of flower-scented air, and sighed. She was right, he thought; he was weary, and trained as a Scout as much or more as Clonak had been.

“Daav?” she asked softly.

“Aelliana?”

“Do you know—what it was that the Healers did to me?”

Now, there was a question he had hoped not to hear for some days. And yet, she had asked it, and it was his to tell her.

“I know . . . what Master Kestra told me,” he admitted. “Which I will tell you, if you like, but I wonder, Aelliana . . . ”

She turned to look at him.

“Yes?”

“Would you care to go for a walk in the garden? It's far too fine an evening to languish indoors.”

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