A small area, the whole front of her cottage, mainspace, kitchen, hallway to the bedroom could fit in his home's ResidenceDen. Cozy, tidy, and smelling like Giniana, he felt comfortable immediately.
Until Thrisca appeared at the end of the short hall moving from the bedroom toward the kitchen. Johns felt her low growl more than heard it, discovered resignedly that he had a link with this Fam, too.
She sauntered to him, and now that he studied her in good light, she appeared even older, thinner than a cat should be, and damned arrogant.
She lifted the top of her muzzle, showing long fangs. I do not need 'checking on.' She glanced toward the back of the house. I do not want you here. Go away.
Raising his hands, he said, "You look fine to me. Just say you'll eat some food and I'll go." Naturally, he trusted no cat's word, but he didn't care about the thing, either.
She showed long, yellowed fangs. I will eat.
"I'm sure Giniana knows exactly how much of your food is in the no-time and will see whether you eat or not," he pointed out.
You call her by her given name.
"She gave me leave."
A rough sigh that caught on a cough. You are an actor and smell like My old Family, but you are not.
From what Johns had heard, her old Family, at least Giniana's actor parents, weren't that nice so he took no offense. "You said you'd eat. I believe you." He gave her a false smile. "Leaving now."
Good! Then she coughed so hard she hunkered down. Her eyes closed … with him, a stranger in her house.
The spasm went on too long. Johns inched forward to just outside paw-strike distance. When she paused between hacks, he asked, "What can I do for you?"
Chapter 8
Nothing. Go away, Thrisca demanded mentally.
"Not until I believe you won't croak right here and now. I can't have that. It would spoil the relationship I'm building with Giniana."
Thrisca hissed between coughs. GO AWAY!
Johns took a pace back. "Nope, changed my mind. Finish coughing, eat a coupla bites of food, and I'll be gone."
Her eyes slitted open, showing a virulent green. Johns reached out to the nearby no-time, but didn't want to look away from the now-rising and stalking cat to open the appliance and get her food.
When she reached him, she angled her butt toward him and switched her tail aside.
"Don't you piss on me," he rumbled a threat.
She glanced back. Or you will do what? You will NOT hurt me. You are a big alpha-type male and will not tell My FamWoman.
"No," he replied calmly.
Even if you did, My FamWoman thinks all actors lie all the time. She will not believe you.
That confirming insight into the Healer's personality didn't sound good, but he'd think on it later. "I won't have to tell Giniana. I'll just step out of my clothes and leave them, teleport home." He smiled down at the cat, with teeth. "Then she'll have to clean them and return them to me. We'll have more privacy at my home than here." He glanced around.
Thrisca grumbled in her throat.
Johns cocked his head. "A good sound. I'll think on that sound for the future."
Lash, lash of the tail. Actors, she sneered, as if now reversing her attitude.
Cats. "That's right,” Johns said. "Giniana Filix comes from a long line of actors."
She is a Healer, a Winterbloom, Thrisca said, then coughed again.
Johns looked at the no-time and checked the meals. A whole section belonged to special food for Thrisca. He glanced at her. "There are five flavors of meat and greens here, you got a preference?"
One wet hawk of stuff that hit the floor, then disappeared. She sat up straight and licked her paw. And he knew an actor's gesture when he saw one.
He waited.
Her eyelids half-lowered. Is there fish with clucker egg and greens?
Sounded terrible to Johns. He glanced at the menu. "Yeah, you want that?"
She lifted her nose in a superior manner. In the brown bowl. With a flick of a forepaw, she indicated one of three on the counter. She wanted him to wait on her. Eh, may as well. Keep the FamCat happy, make Giniana appreciative. He opened his mouth to quiz the cat more about Giniana and the Filix family, then shut it again. This cat would squeal on him.
He took out the lukewarm meal, the same temperature as it went into the appliance, and dumped it from a white crockery plate to the brown bowl, put that down for Thrisca.
The cat sniffed and sniffed again at her meal, stuck out her tongue to taste it, stared at Johns.
He raised his hands. "All yours."
You won't pounce on Me?
Yeah, she expected him to do to her what she'd been planning to do to him. He practiced his own sniff. Sounded a little dry, but good enough. "I am not a cat, Thrisca." Still, he stepped around her in the old fashioned kitchen. One counter contained a sink like his place, and he washed and dried the dish and left it on the counter, then three paces and he'd returned to the hallway to watch her.
Boring. "How do you really feel?" He smiled another insincere smile but the cat seemed to buy it.
I cough, and I COULD go to the Wheel of Stars, if I wished. But I do not wish to leave FamWoman alone. She did not take her father leaving well.
Johns grunted in response as he thought of the right thing to say, wondered if the cat tested him.
"Rough," he commented.
Her father, Mas Filix, said he would send gilt for Me and Verna and Giniana and We should come to him in Chinju. He did not.
"Rough," Johns repeated.
Or he sent the gilt once and Verna spent it and did not take US to Chinju.
Uh-oh, family secrets and drama and how really fast Johns sank deep into Giniana's family mess. She wouldn't like him knowing this stuff.
I am not going to the Wheel of Stars. I am more interested in going back and forth through time and having My lungs and My cough cured that way. The FamCat glanced up at him, eyes gleaming, mouth dropped a little in amusement.
Of course she would be. Lord and Lady, most people would be. With one whisk of a red tongue she cleaned her bowl, belched, then stretched long and lean and he saw her ribs.
I am an old Cat and I will be older still. I may become the Oldest Cat Who Ever Lived.
Some goal, but at what cost to Giniana? Traveling through time sounded damn expensive to Johns.
Thrisca sat and stared at him. You may wash and dry My bowl, now.
He stared back.
Then her head tilted and one of her ears rotated toward the back of the cottage. Then you may go.
"Move from the kitchen and get out of my way, then." He wasn’t going to step over her or near her so she could snag his trous.
She rose slowly to her feet, sauntered into the mainspace.
Not wanting to leave even the smallest chore for Giniana to do, he put the bowl and no-time cooking dish in the cleanser and started the appliance running on an anti-bacterial setting.
Are you finally DONE? snipped Thrisca.
"Yeah." He walked to the front door, found her sitting right in front of it. Tell the lights to lower to twenty per cent, she ordered.
He gave the verbal command and she stropped his boots and trous and left hair and something wet … he hoped that was old-cat drool … before she trotted back into the bedroom, radiating satisfaction.
The next morning, Giniana rose a half-septhour before Workbell. She'd taken herself into trance-sleep the night before to recharge her energy naturally. She only had to work her very hardest for a while, until she accumulated enough gilt for Thrisca's time Healing procedure.
Just work hard for an eightday and a half. That reminded her, she had the appointment with D'Willow this afternoon during her break from the annual Spindle staff physical examinations.
As usual, they'd been scheduled to begin at this time of year, the nearest full twinmoons to T'Spindle's nameday, and, as usual, the FirstFamily GrandLord himself would be the first to be checked out.
Very p
oor timing for Giniana this year.
As soon as she went to T’Spindle Residence's Healing suite, she double-checked the order of her supplies, cleansed the rooms again. Before the FirstFamily GrandLord arrived, she contacted the Residence telepathically. I have a patient in my infirmary …
The Residence replied immediately, using a more austere tone than its standard cheerful lilt. I noted the man, the agent Blakely Wattle, did not sign out with any of the guards. But I also understood he sickened with some illness and went in your direction. I extrapolated that you found him and cared for him.
I did. As I said, he is staying in the sickroom attached to my cottage. He succumbed to a case of flill. I trust you sanitized the areas he passed through.
Naturally, FirstLevel Healer Filix. All my in-dwelling staff are hale. You will see that I take excellent care of them as you proceed through their annual examinations.
I know you are a dedicated Family member, Giniana stated only the truth.
The walls literally glowed around her.
She continued mind-to-mind with the Residence, I anticipate my patient will be well enough to send him to an empty home within three days.
An empty home! the Residence sounded completely shocked. It hadn't been empty or without Family for centuries. The thought would be nearly inconceivable.
Yes, he lives alone. He probably has rooms somewhere.
We can watch over him when sick, then. It is the decent thing to do, the Residence replied stoutly.
So I believe. You take care of us all very well, Residence.
Thank you, Healer. A tiny window creak. I think the puny man poses no threat, so I will not tell T'Spindle unless he asks specifically about that one. My lord is deep in important business negotiations with T'Hawthorn. T'Spindle is also considering running for the office of Captain of All the Councils.
The most important position on Celta. Giniana hesitated, but she was being paid for her own professional opinion on the physical, mental and emotional health of her employer. I think that may be a mistake for T'Spindle, and might toughen him in ways we would not care for.
I agree! the Residence trilled by stirring a windchime hung outside the window. We are not considered the highest or smartest or richest of the FirstFamilies—
But the Spindles are valued for their generosity and common sense. She paused, thought of her basic education in the FirstFamilies and their characteristics. For their… sweetness.
YES! We do NOT want to lose that, ever—
But any further conversation between her and the Residence stopped as T'Spindle walked through the door. Still, she felt better that the Residence confirmed it knew of her "guest" in the Healer's Cottage infirmary.
Though T'Spindle seemed more restless and impatient than usual, Giniana refused to rush through his examination, and he finally settled down. She pronounced him extremely healthy, but as he placed his fingers on the door lever to leave, she reminded him that before he ran for political office he must have a deep session with D'Sea, the mental and emotional Healer of Celta. She must certify him sane and healthy and able to fulfill the solemn Vows of Honor toward the people and the planet a Captain of AllCouncils promised.
He sent her a narrowed-eyed, considering look, nodded brusquely and left without another word.
Giniana sighed.
You did well, the Residence stated. Neither T'Spindle nor she had asked the Residence to keep the Healing Suite private and not to observe.
Thank you, she responded mentally.
But you are low in energy. I will send you some.
Not necess— but huge Flair gushed into her from the massive reservoirs of the Residence. She choked, windmilled, and stumbled to her chair in the examination room, fell into it. When she could breathe normally again, she said, Thank you, Residence.
You are always welcome. I am also rescheduling the staff physicals. I told you last year that you organized too many appointments a day. Three this morning, only, the Residence decreed. Since you scanned T'Spindle himself. Break, then two this afternoon.
An "I told you so" from the Residence. She smiled. Nothing it liked better. Last year her workload had been fine, this year not so much. All right, Residence, she agreed meekly. She should be able to pick up extra work from the HealingHalls, and easily fit in the meeting with D'Willow. The Daisys hadn't canceled her nightshift with the baby. She could handle that, too.
When Giniana finished with her duties at T'Spindle Residence—the two other Family staff checkups and a quick caff break with the GrandLord and Lady—she walked back to her cottage. Her steps slowed as she let the ambiance of nature surround her, breathed in the sweet smell of summer leaves in the sun, let the dappled light paint pretty pictures of bright and shadowed flowers.
Enjoy the moment. Too many times lately she'd let moments of her life slip by without notice, focused too much on the future instead of the now.
And, she realized that in the back of her mind, along her bond with her FamCat, Thrisca seemed more her old mischievous self, also contented.
The cat must have caught the slight health check, and sent pure satisfaction down their bond. The man has been most amusing, Thrisca said. He talks to himself.
So did Giniana, or, rather, she talked to Thrisca often, but knew the cat ignored her. If Giniana had been alone, she'd have talked to herself. Not a bad thing, in her opinion. She wondered if the actor St. Johnswort talked to himself, somehow, she didn't think so. She felt her mouth turning down. If he was like her father—other actors—he might try on different personalities, posture in front of a mirror.
But something in Thrisca's dismissive tone clued her in that the cat had much more to say.
Yes, Thrisca? Giniana prompted.
Man has secrets. Didn't tell you everything.
That often happened with Healers, patients didn't tell them everything, and especially not all at once. Giniana grimaced out a sigh. She reached the shed, opened the door and discovered he'd suffered a relapse of the illness. He must be more susceptible than she'd thought. And he was talking to himself. Also thrashing around in a fever, which Thrisca hadn't bothered to tell Giniana…
He mumbled, "Gotta find the pages. Gotta. Best chance for good gilt. Need the whole thing. Maybe they don't know what they stole, how valuable. Must find pages…"
She checked his progress, found that though he'd hit a setback, he still followed the regular parameters of flill sufferers. Then she cleansed the cottage, the man, the linens, as she had when she'd gotten off shift in the early morning, and did what palliative Healing she could.
Thrisca watched all, lying in the sunshine on the outside step to the sickroom. I sniffed at the papyrus he had in his hand. The cat pointed with her nose to the side table where Giniana had placed the crumpled sheet, not even smoothing it out. Not her business.
Page smells like this man, like sweat of scared men and rough men—
"Johns?" the question spurted from Giniana's lips.
Of course not. Brute man.
Well, Giniana didn't know of any brutish male actor, past or present.
Odors of this man, scared men, rough men, brute man, too-sweet perfume. A definite sniff. Most interesting smell is like Our estate, some grass, some pine, some mousie droppings.
"Oh," Giniana said.
I looked around Our cottage and near the place where the gliders were parked during the party and the terrace.
Thrisca had ranged farther from the cottage lately than she had in a year. All to the good, stretching and movement and activity, mental as well as physical. That kept a person healthy.
Giniana lay down on a lounge, half in shade, half sunny, and let herself doze and her mind relax. Thought she might be soaking in more strength and Flair from the estate. How lucky she was!
For some reason, she let Klay St. Johnswort dance through her thoughts.
Johns awoke and stretched long and luxuriously, allowed a grin to curve his lips. Things were looking up. He felt great, physi
cally, and not inclined to slip into a brood because the run of his play might end in a couple of weeks.
All because Giniana Filix came to his play, admired his work … responded to his kiss. Oh, yeah. He hopped out of bed and into the waterfall, scrubbed, groomed.
He grinned until his calendarsphere reminded him of a breakfast date with Lily Fescue.
What had she wanted to talk to him about? Ah, the script by the playwright Amberose with a role for him! He'd forgotten that fabulous bit of information and the idea lifted his spirits.
He glanced at his scrybowl cache and the one on his perscry. That agent of Amberose's, Blakely Wattle, hadn't called him. Huh. Johns had sure figured the man would. Johns tried reaching for the guy along the tiny bond they'd developed but it had fizzled away.
Dressing like an actor who'd received seven curtain calls the night before—successful, confident—he prepared to leave his home. As professional as he'd been when he dropped by the Theatrical Guild the day before. He'd acted well, then, pretending to be unconcerned when he saw no upcoming casting calls posted, heard no rumors of a new show. Of course his own agent would have contacted Johns if the man got wind of a prospective part. The guy might even get industry or production rumors before Johns…but always best to put in an appearance at the guild and let people know in person you were available. And he'd liked talking with others in his profession.
Lily Fescue preferred good costuming by her escorts, and Johns must admit that her current leading man, Raz Cherry, outdid Johns regularly on that issue.
Johns belonged to a group of MasterLevel actors who routinely breakfasted at the Thespian Club, men and women he admired, who worked at their craft, who shared stories and techniques and a common outlook. There were six of them, three men and three women, none of them romantically involved with each other. Those who currently weren't working ate early—and he'd be in that crowd next month, if he continued the habit, which he doubted—and those in a show met later.
Script of the Heart Page 8
