Mouse and Dragon

Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Friends are a costly necessity.

—Anonymous

“You're about early,” Anne said, looking up from her screen.

Daav came up onto the patio and perched on the arm of the chair across from hers.

“It is too glorious a morning to simply lie abed,” he told her, earnestly.

Normally, such a performance would have gained him a peal of Anne's ready laughter and a change of subject. This morning, he caught a sharp look and a small shake of the head.

“I'd like to know what's going on in that woman's head,” she said, darkly.

That woman, Daav surmised, was Mizel. He sighed.

“She merely wishes to gain the best advantage for her clan. It is what delms do, you know.”

“If she wins Korval's annoyance for her clan, what's best there?”

“No, you misapprehend. In the usual way of things Korval and Mizel would have . . . very little to do with each other. Our means are so far apart that it must be so. Once this—very rare—bit of business is done, we will each drop back into our appropriate orbits and scarcely heed the passing of the other. That being the case, Mizel must look to immediate gain.”

“Which is to say, cash,” Anne said sourly. “Wouldn't there be benefit in alliance?”

“There might have been, but you must recall that it was I who provided the means to expose the nadelm's villainy, leading to his death. An alliance with the murderer of one's son—well! I don't say that I could do it, no matter how much Korval stood to gain.”

He leaned forward to glance over the top of her screen. “But, come! What is it that occupies you so early on this lovely morning? Not more student work?”

“No, I'm saving that for a treat after lunch,” she said seriously. “This morning, I'm sorting applications from universities that want to host a Gallowglass Chair.”

“Ah.” This was a pet project. When it had eventually borne in upon Anne precisely how much discretionary funding was available to her, as a full adult member of Clan Korval, she had lost no time in setting up a trust to fund a university chair to be filled by scholars who excelled in the teaching of comparative cultures, cultural genetics, or any other of a very short list of diversification studies.

Once she, and more importantly, Mr. dea'Gauss, was satisfied with the terms of the trust, universities galaxywide had been solicited to apply for a grant.

“We have two chairs already in place—at University, of course, and also at Delgado—which is a coup!”

He remembered the excitement generated by the receipt of the application from the University of Delgado, a catalyst school with a stellar reputation in the academic galaxy.

“What have you now?” he asked. “More than one, else there would be no need to sort.”

“Bontemp has applied—a well-established school with a strong cultural diversities component already in place. It seems we'll have them, if they meet the financial test, which I'm certain they will. No, what's interesting is that we have an application from Islington College, which is very small and very . . . Terran. I can't imagine they'll pass the financials, but—the opportunity! We ought to try to accommodate them . . . somehow.”

“Perhaps a co-op?” Daav murmured.

Anne frowned. “Co-op?”

“Indeed. Perhaps three or four worthy but underfunded institutions of higher learning can between them more than adequately support the Gallowglass Scholar? Might they make a joint application, with the understanding that the scholar would travel between schools?”

“That . . . ” She snatched at her screen and made some rapid notes. “We don't want to muddy the waters around the Gallowglass, but that's a good notion you have there, laddie. Let me think about it a bit.”

“Certainly,” he said, absurdly pleased to have been of use. “Remember to consult with Mr. dea'Gauss.”

“You'd best believe it! That young man's a fountain of ideas.”

Since Mr. dea'Gauss was, in fact, a good dozen years Anne's senior, Daav supposed “young man” to be a pleasantry. He therefore smiled and rose, inclining his head slightly.

“As much as I would like to sit here in the sun with you all day long, I fear that duty calls. Is there a commission I might discharge for you in the city?”

“Not a thing, my dear; thank you for asking. Will you be seeing Mr. dea'Gauss today?”

“We have an appointment after midday,” he admitted.

“Fingers crossed he'll have good news for you,” Anne said, with another unusually sharp glance up into his face. “If it happens that the news isn't as good as you'd like, you know you can stay here.”

All of Korval's houses were open to the delm, of course. Still, it warmed him that she offered—a gesture of sisterhood the like of which he was unlikely to receive from his own sister.

“I know,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek. “Thank you.”

Eyla dea'Lorn had provided him with several bits of fabric—a slip of misty green silk and a finger-length of silvered lace. These he set out on the board between himself and Master Moonel, and waited while the artist considered them.

“Tell me about her,” he said, stroking the lace with a delicate, scarred fingertip.

Daav settled himself on the stool and glanced about the shop. No pretty client room, this, but the Master's own workshop, tools hung to hand, calipers, alembics and scales set out on the tables, amid the bits and pieces that would, soon or late, become one or more of the most sought-after pieces of jewelry on Liad.

“As one looks at her, she seems frail,” he said slowly. “Her face is thin, the bones show clearly at her collar, impossibly delicate. I can span her waist with my two hands. Her hair is light brown, shot through with gold, yellow and amber, like a Perthian tapestry. Her eyes—” He leaned forward to touch the bit of foggy silk.

"Her eyes are green, gloriously so; when she is troubled, or very deep in thought, they seem to mist over, like fog shading the ocean.

“When one comes to know her, it is obvious that she is very far from frail. She has strength of purpose enough for the captain of a starship, wit, humor—aye, and a temper. She flies like a Scout and mathematics is her first and truest language.” He raised his head, but Moonel was not looking at him. He was sketching something with a bit of chalk onto a torn sheet of dark paper.

“Naturally, Mistress dea'Lorn did not feel that she could safely entrust the details of her design to me. However, she asked me to say that she awaits your call, Master.”

Moonel did not look up from his sketching, though he was heard to vent a small chuckle.

“It is always a pleasure to speak with Eyla,” he murmured. “Will you be wanting a ring?”

“I think not. She holds two—a Jump pilot's cluster and an old silver puzzle ring. More would overpower her hands.”

“She will wear the cluster, of course,” Moonel murmured, perhaps to himself. “We may echo.” The chalk moved once more, delicately, and the Master at last looked up.

“I will undertake it,” he stated. “The jewels will be delivered to you in good time. Good-day.”

Daav came immediately to his feet and bowed, as novice-to-master.

“Good-day, Master Moonel. I thank you for your favor.”

There was, after all, no good news from Mr. dea'Gauss. Korval's counteroffer, reiterating the life-price of a pilot-scholar and a bonus, as that scholar was the author of the ven'Tura Revisions; plus the life-price of an accountant, which Mizel might put toward the adoption of an adult to replace the nadelm—Korval's counteroffer was spurned with so little discussion that it must seem that Mizel considered it an insult.

“Mizel's qe'andra is not permitted . . . discretion in the negotiation,” Mr. dea'Gauss had murmured. “I have produced another offer, along the lines which your lordship and I had discussed previously. If it is likewise rejected, then we must assume that the desired outcome is that negotiations fail and Pilot Caylon remains as a member of Mizel.”

That chilled the blood, that did. Daav sat very still until his heart resumed its normal rhythm and he felt that he might, with some care, manage a breath.

There was no law or custom that dictated that an offer of lifemating must be accepted. After all, a delm must act for the best good of the clan, and to accept an offer that would cripple the clan . . .

He closed his eyes.

He was a fool. He had depended upon Korval's melant'i to win everything; indeed, he had behaved as if everything he wished to accomplish was already so, as if the laws and custom of Liad were so many inconvenient trivialities. To have high-handedly removed Aelliana from her clanhouse, thereby making her delm his enemy . . . worse than a fool. Yet, what else could he have done? Out of the question to allow her to remain, newly Healed, and vulnerable. He might have—he supposed he might have prevailed upon the Healers to aid them, pled his case at once and—

No. She would not have accepted him; she would not—they would not—have known the extent of their bond, the depth of their love. They must have had that time with each other . . .

“Your lordship?”

He started, reminded that he was not by any means alone. Carefully, he took a breath, and opened his eyes.

“Your pardon, Mr. dea'Gauss.”

The other man took a breath at least as careful, and inclined his head. “We will prevail, your lordship.”

Of course they would. As long as Mizel preferred to play games, there existed the possibility of a win. It was, therefore, imperative that Mizel not be brought to the point of uttering the single syllable that would kill all hope, forever.

No.

“I repose every faith in you, Mr. dea'Gauss,” he murmured, which was true. He rose and bowed. “Thank you for your efforts on Korval's behalf—on my behalf and that of my pilot.”

Mr. dea'Gauss rose from behind his desk and returned the bow.

“It is my very great honor, your lordship.”

Daav shifted in his chair in one of Ongit's private inner parlors. He had chosen one of the smaller, unthemed rooms for this tête-à-tête. For the business he intended to negotiate, a thunderstorm or a waterfall would only be a distraction.

Alas, his guest was late; verging, indeed, on very late. Normally, he might not have minded, but in the extended solitude it was far too easy to wonder after Aelliana, her probable state of mind, and what, if any, damage might come to her through their continued separation. It was she, after all, who bore the weight of the gift. She—he had no idea how much she depended upon the receipt of his “signal”; if such contact nourished her in some manner that only their separation would reveal.

Based on his own experience last night, he doubted that she had slept—but there! He was forgetting where she guested. Most assuredly, the Healers would have provided comfort, to the limit of their House's considerable ability. He hoped she had not held shy of accepting such comfort, though—was it only he with whom she might share such comforts and pleasures? If Mizel withheld agreement, was Aelliana doomed yet again to an existence devoid of all joy?

He came to his feet, eyes stinging. Damn Mizel, he thought, dispassionately. Damn Liad and the ties of clan and kin.

And damn most of all this small, empty room where he had waited too long in vain for companionship of his own. He had been, he thought, in Anne's peculiar phrase, stood up.

He turned toward the door.

Which opened, admitting a slim, red-headed person, wearing a leather jacket over a dark sweater—and limping. Limping rather markedly, in fact, off of his left leg.

“Clarence!” He caught the other man's arm, offering support to the nearest chair.

“Gently done,” came the murmur, as between comrades. At least, Daav supposed that Comrade had been the intention; the mode was just slightly off. He shivered and looked to where the elder Ongit tarried yet by the door.

“Wine, if you will—the house's preferred red. Also, the plate that I had ordered may be brought now.”

The Ongit bowed and went away, soft-footed. It was the most discreet who served private parlors, which is why he had suggested meeting here, but—

“A message saying that you were wounded would have found me, you know,” he said in mild Terran.

Clarence laughed, just a bit breathless. “No, now, it was only a fortunate fall. My own fault, too, so I'm doubly dismayed.”

Daav moved forward and placed another chair across from him.

“Thank you.” The other man brought his leg up, stiffly, and settled his boot on the chair seat with a sigh. He smiled up at Daav. “It's good to see a friendly face.”

“That fall may have been less fortunate than you suppose,” Daav said, but could not bring himself to frown.

The door chimed softly, and opened to admit their server, bearing wine, glasses, and platter. He disposed them about the table, bowed, and retired, the door sealing behind him.

Daav poured, handing the first glass to Clarence. Cradling the second, he settled into his former chair.

“To fortune,” Clarence said, raising his glass with a shaky flourish.

“To the luck,” Daav agreed, holding his glass high.

They sipped—and Clarence sipped again. He sighed, shifted in the chair, and nodded.

“Now, then, what's on your worry plate this evening?”

Daav nodded at the elevated leg. “I think we may be on my topic. It comes to my attention that pilots are once again hunted in Low Port. There are attending lesser tales of cargoes going missing, ships disadvantaged, and crew bewildered. The culprit, according to my information, is the Juntavas, which has grown out of reason bold, and the lightest word from the boss' lips held as law.”

Clarence laughed and shook his head.

“Now, if that were the way of it . . . ” he murmured. He raised his free hand and rubbed his eyes, tiredly.

“I'll admit it sounds like we've got the same old problem. It isn't me causing concern—which I'm bound to say and you to take with as much salt as you like. That done, I'll admit there's some of mine mixed into it. If I don't find out who—and soon—then I'm going to have to choose . . . and I'll tell you, that's a course I hate to fly. Bad for business.”

Daav sipped his wine, chose a savory, and pushed the platter closer to Clarence's hand.

“Thanks,” he said absently, helping himself to a cheese square.

“Surely,” Daav murmured, “you must have something—a hunch?”

Clarence snorted. “Oh, I had a hunch, didn't I just!” He shifted the bad leg meaningfully. “Much good it did me.”

Daav put his glass down.

“But—”

“Concealed gunman, and me not close enough to my best guess to be able to be sure. Nothing wrong with my hearing, at least—” He sent Daav a bright, unreadable look. “A fortunate fall, and no mistake.”

Daav let his breath out slowly.

“My crew lit out after, but lost them—that's been the story lately.” Clarence shook his head. “I want them off my port, mind you; they're causing no end of trouble.”

“I agree,” Daav said. “Perhaps we can pool information?”

“That's all right by me. I'll send what I have tomorrow by public courier—acceptable?”

“Perfectly acceptable,” Daav said. “Clarence—”

“It's late, you know,” the other man interrupted. “Shouldn't you be going home to your wife?”

“I haven't a wife,” Daav said, his voice much cooler than he had intended.

Clarence shot him a hard glance. “No, now, that's not the way to go about it! Get yourself home, man, and make it up.”

In spite of himself, Daav laughed. “It sounds as if you've been married.”

“Happens I was,” Clarence said, soberly. “We were too young for it, o'course. I had my second class, doing in-system work, but still, a lot of lonely nights for him and me not there. We worked at it, but then—it was a hard world, and money wasn't easy, even with both of us working like we did. The fees on a pilot's labor—” He glanced down at his glass.

Daav lifted the bottle and poured, adding some more to his own glass.

“Thank you. In any case, I'd flown my hours and was burning for first class, but we'd never afford the buy-in. Come a woman to port offering to pay it all, and hire me when I had my ticket, if I agreed to do her a favor, if you understand me.” He shook his head. “He wouldn't stand with that, not at all. It was terrible, that fight, but in the end I chose the ticket, and the doin' of that favor.” He drank, deeply.

“And that's how I come to work for Herself as a courier pilot, before she come here to be Boss before she got transferred and I did . . . ” His voice faded out and he looked down at his hand where it rested on his knee.

“And your spouse?” Daav asked, though surely it was no business of his, if Clarence kept a harem.

“Eh?” The other man looked up, eyes distant with memory. “Oh, he left me, and right he was to do it. The doin' of favors, well. Look where it's got me.” He shook his head and offered Daav a half-feral grin. “The choices we make, those're what shapes us. You go on home, now, and make it up with her.”

“In time,” Daav said softly. “Do you have someone here to escort you?”

“Several someones,” Clarence assured him. “They're outside.”

“Then the first thing I will do is see you safely into their care. After, I will indeed go home.”

“If you're of a mind to coddle, then I'm not the one to stop you,” Clarence said. He put his glass on the table and rose, gingerly, most of his weight on his uninjured leg.

Daav offered his arm. “Off we go now, two comrades, deep in our cups.”

Clarence laughed as they turned toward the door.

“Y'know, I'd rather that was the reason. Gods, I hate being stupid.”

“Stupid would have seen you dead,” Daav said, opening the door and guiding him into the hall.

“They're watching the shadow door?” he asked, meaning Ongit's discreet—and well-guarded—back exit.

“Yeah. That stupid, I'm not.”

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