by Sharon Lee
"Where did she come from?"
Serana smiled at him.
"Where should she come from, save Low Port? And now it is your turn."
"My turn?" He blinked at her.
"Yes, your shoulder; there is some stiffness there; I marked it when you came in."
His shoulder, gods; it seemed a hundred years ago.
"It is a day to be careless, I suppose. I went to collect the rent today –"
"Alone!"
"Of course, alone," he said gently. "In any case, I went early to Mr. tal'Qechee, who was annoyed by my impertinence, and made me wait until all of last night's winnings had been counted out to pay me. So that he did not have to open the safe, you see."
Serana muttered something in Lutetian under her breath.
"I object, as it casts curs in a bad light. But, yes; I was therefore late for my second appointment, and was in addition required to soothe ruffled emotions, before I could collect what was owed. Leaving that appointment, I saw that I might almost be on time for the third, if only I hurried. . ."
"So you hurried, and you did not look."
"Exactly. Two in Mr. tal'Qechee's employ sought to recover the rent, plus a bonus. I disabled the first, but the second had a stick. He was almost too quick."
"Almost," said Serana, with satisfaction.
"I believe that he has a broken wrist. In any case, I had the stick until I threw it away in Mid-Port."
"And your shoulder. Broken?"
"Merely deeply insulted."
She smiled in the dimness.
"It seems obvious to me, little one, that we each do better when we have the other nearby."
"I have also reached this conclusion."
He raised his hands; lowered them.
"Serana, forgive me. I had not meant to leave you alone so long, but Abra has kept me busy every hour since I returned."
"It is fortunate that he did not require you tonight," she said.
"He did," Don Eyr said. "But your need was greater."
She drew a hard breath.
"I am flattered, but he will hurt you, little one."
"No," said Don Eyr. "He will not. I am done with this sham. And I will not leave you, Serana. Not again."
"Peace." She placed a hand on his knee. "The children, Don Eyr. . ."
"I have no notion about the children; my famously twisty mind has failed me."
"Then it is fortunate that I have had a notion," she said. "What is wrong, Don Eyr, with Low Port?"
"Aside from being lawless and blighted by poverty and ignorance?"
"You put it so succinctly! Yes, exactly. We can, with these children–we can make a beginning."
"A beginning of what?"
"We may establish a Watch house, in the grand tradition of Lutetia. I may teach; and you may. We shall gather to us also a handful of senior officers. . ."
"From whence will these senior officers come?" he wondered.
"As Fireyn, they will come from Low Port. There are those who were abandoned, as she was, by her merc unit, and others, who are not naturally lawless, and who resist a devolution into brutes. They are intermittently forces of law, order, and protection, but they perhaps lack motivation, or opportunity to do more."
"And we offer them motivation–the children?"
"Indeed, little one. What master does not wish for an apprentice to carry her work on when it is come time for her to sit on the back porch, drink wine, and tell bawdy stories?"
He smiled.
"And you–I have seen how you leap to teach, who rejected the role of a teacher at the Institute. Would it not please you, to teach, as well as to nourish?"
"You paint a picture," he said slowly. "But, Serana–in Low Port?"
"In fact. Fireyn knows of a place–an old barracks, not far from here; perhaps a block nearer the Mid-Port. There is, she tells me, a kitchen, with ovens. She not being a baker or a cook, she cannot tell me if they would meet your needs. In front, there is what had been a recruiting office, which may be well for a bakery. It is tentative; I have not seen it. Indeed, I was on my way to meet her so that I might inspect it today when I fell into error. It is how she came upon me so quickly."
"Serana. . ."
"A scratch, I swear it to you. I will be perfectly fine on the morrow."
"More lives than a cat," he said softly, putting his hand over hers.
"Just so."
"What will happen, now that you have broken Serat's agreement?" Serana asked after a time.
"I think. . .nothing," he said, slowly, the other events of the evening beginning to return to him. "I must, tomorrow, leave you–for a few hours. I sent 'round to Mr. dea'Bon; it is possible that Abra has broken Code, or at least defied the terms of the contract, on the occasions when he struck me. I have had it pointed out to me that he is not my delm, who may kill me as the whim takes me, and nothing in the contract cedes a delm's authority over me to Abra."
"So," said Serana with satisfaction.
"It may not suffice; my word against his –"
"And mine," she said, fiercely.
"And yours. But, tomorrow, I must go. Also. . ." he hesitated, unwilling to raise hope prematurely.
"Tell me."
"I may have found a way to release myself from Serat, at least in part."
She stirred.
"What has Don Eyr's twisty mind produced this time?" she wondered softly.
"Do you remember the play–Degrees of Separation?"
There was a pause before Serana laughed softly.
"Do you think it will suffice, the clever na'delm's scheme?"
"I think that I will lay it before Mr. dea'Bon and allow him to determine that."
He leaned forward suddenly.
"Do you, indeed, wish to remain here, to establish a Watch, and raise these children to the tradition?"
"I do. We cannot abandon them; therefore, we must teach them. They will then teach others, and so it will spread, wider with each new generation of teachers."
"A long goal, Serana."
"But worthy."
"As you say."
Silence fell; he may have dozed, for he waked to her pulling on his hand.
"Come and lie down by me. I have missed sleeping with you, petit."
He needed no more persuasion than that, and so they arranged themselves, careful of their injuries, and fell asleep in each other's arms.
#
His account as an honorable man, with Law Officer Serana Benoit corroborating, was, indeed, enough.
"You need not return to him, my Lord," Mr. dea'Bon said, with stern authority. "While this matter is under examination by the Accountant's Guild, you may return to the safety of your clanhouse."
"Ah," said Don Eyr; "you anticipate my next topic. But, first, if I may–how much could I expect to realize from the sale of my property on Ezhel'ti?"
"As it happens, I have an offer on my desk, from your father's clan. Their offer, so my colleague on Ezhel'ti tells, me is low, though not insultingly so. We may be able to negotiate upwards somewhat. Have you instructions?"
"Yes," Don Eyr said, "sell it for as good a price as you can reasonably get. Do not endanger the sale by attempting to wring every bit from the buyer. My need is cash, in the very near future."
Mr. dea'Bon made a note on his pad.
"I will see it done, my Lord." He looked up. "I remind that you have complete control over the account which is fed by your rents. If your need exceeds those funds, I am prepared, personally, to advance you a portion of the money you will certainly realize from the sale of your property."
"Thank you; that may be necessary, but for the moment, let it remain a possibility."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Excellent; we now address the likelihood of my return to the supposed safety of my clanhouse. Under no circumstances will I do so. My intention is set up my own establishment. I will remain on-planet, for I think that may be required, but I wish to file an Intention to Separate, immediately."
Mr
. dea'Bon raised his eyebrows.
"That is. . .quite old."
"Is it disallowed?"
"Disallowed? Oh, no. No, not at all. I will have to do some research, but there is nothing to prevent you from filing such an Intention. However, you must, if memory serves me, set forth the conditions by which you would return to the arms of your clan."
"Yes. I will gladly return if and when Serat agrees to accommodate my household. Which at this moment includes Captain Benoit, nine children, and a calico kitten. I anticipate the household will grow, as we establish our base. Also, I insist that the monies belonging to my household shall be kept separate from the clan's accounts, and the delm shall be specifically barred from access."
Mr. dea'Bon had a dreamy look on his face. Very nearly, he was seen to smile. He made a brisk series on notes on his pad, and looked up once more.
"I believe I may work with this. May I ask, when we have achieved a successful outcome, that I be allowed to share the work with my colleagues? An Intention of Separation is rare enough, but these terms. . ."
He blinked and emerged somewhat from his dream state.
"You do understand, my Lord? You must be prepared to return to Serat's care, if your terms are met."
"I understand," said Don Eyr.
"Excellent. There is one more detail. While the investigation into Abra's breach of contract is taking place, your delm may freeze your quartershare, and your personal accounts." He paused.
"I advise that, in the case, Serat long ago emptied your accounts. The monies you received while you were attending school were from the rent of your house on Ezhel'ti."
He glanced once more at his note pad.
"Is there any other way in which I might serve you, my Lord?"
"I think–yes. There is an old barracks at Crakle and Toom in the Low Port. Can you find for me who owns it, and how I may acquire it?"
Another note.
"Yes. Is there a comm code I may have, in order to report my progress?"
"I will have it for you. . .tomorrow, sir. For today, we are wanted in our household."
"I understand, sir."
The old gentleman rose, and bowed.
"Until soon, my Lord. Captain Benoit."
FIVE
Some Years Later
The morning rush was over, and Don Eyr stepped out onto the porch to bask in the mid-morning sunshine. The porch faced the exercise yard, and there was a self-defense lesson in progress. Cisco and Ail Den were pushing the older children hard, and they were rising to the challenge.
The younger children were at their ethics lesson, taught by Serana. Later, he would meet them in the kitchen, and they would collaborate on making the mid-day meal for the household. A household that had expanded, from the original nine children, to a dozen, guarded and educated by five very capable adults, supported by a veritable army of cats, fierce mousers, and interested companions.
There was more–a small neighborhood had grown up around them; an area of relative peace, in which the neighbors assisted each other, and kept watch for each other. The bakery provided bread, and sweets, and a gathering place, and the children of other households often attended lessons with the children of the bake house.
Don Eyr sighed, and stretched, and, hearing the step behind him, turned into Serana's embrace.
"Is it well, little one?" she asked softly.
He laughed softly.
"It is well, Serana. Very well, indeed."
–end–
UNE PETITE LISTE DE MOTS ÉTRANGES
A small list of strange words
chouquettes (f): cream puffs
commis (f): junior chef
dacquoise (f): almond and butternut meringue cake
delm (l): the head of a clan
Ècole de Cuisine (f): School of Cooking
grand-père (f): grandfather
Lutetia (g): ...in our timeline, Lutetia was the capital city of the Parisii, a Gallic tribe. It was renamed Paris back a few years ago – Wikipedia says 360AD.
masyr: monsieur
melant'i (l): who one is, in whole or in part, depending upon circumstances
merde (f): damn. More or less.
na'delm (l): the heir to the delm
on-dits (f): "they say" aka gossip
boulangerie (f): bakery
petit (f): small
qe'andra (l): a person of business; sort of an accountant-lawyer
relumma (l): one-quarter of a Liaden year
Key:
f: French
g: Gallic
l: Liaden
ABOUT THIS BOOK
This is a story about Paris, about love, and about bread.
#
This story came about because we were commissioned to write another story in support of our 21st Liaden Universe® novel, Neogenesis, that story to be published to Baen.com on December 15, 2017. Because of the timing, our editor asked us to write a "seasonal" story.
This presented something of a problem, since. . .neither Liadens nor Surebleakans can possibly celebrate the US Thanksgiving, nor Christmas, Chanukah, Eid Al Adha, Kwanza, St. Lucia Day, or any of the other winter holidays celebrated on this, our non-fictional Terra.
Granted, Liadens celebrate Festival, but we suspected our editor didn't really mean for us to go there. . .and while Surebleakans might have a winter holiday, we felt it was a long shot, since their culture–before things went Horribly Wrong–was rooted in Standard Business Practice.
Then, we realized that Surebleak, having been founded as a Company Planet, would, very naturally, have a Company Picnic. And that's how "Block Party" came into being.
But! Having obliged us by arriving, the story brought with it another set of puzzles. The hero of the piece, for instance, appeared on Chairman Court in Surebleak, in the company of a gaggle of kids; they've been relocated to Surebleak by the mercs, after Liad's Low Port became a battleground following Korval's strike upon the homeworld.
The hero, Don Eyr, is waiting for the rest of his adult companions to rejoin him, including his lover, Serana Benoit. And Steve and I got to saying to ourselves, All well and good, but really, who are these people? How did Don Eyr and Serana meet? How did they become the caretakers of so many children? And these other people–where did they come from?
And that? Is why Degrees of Separation was written.
We enjoyed discovering the answers to our questions; and we hope that you will enjoy reading them.
Oh, you want to know about Paris?
Well, it's like this. . .
Sometimes, when we're brainstorming a story, we'll use a shorthand idea or word to hold the place of an idea, words, geography, or person that we haven't fully worked out yet. This is, by the way, how Plan B became part of the Liaden Universe®–it was stuck in the manuscript to hold the place of the name of Korval's real emergency plan; we always intended to go back and fix it, except–
We forgot.
Something similar happened when we were talking over Degrees. Sharon, who was describing to Steve Everything She Knew about the story, said, carelessly–and they send him to–oh, to Paris!
. . .and the writing backbrain caught "Paris"–and ran with it.
And that is why there is now a Liaden Universe® story which is, in part, set in Paris.
Or, at least, a Paris.
We hope you enjoyed the story.
Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
Cat Farm and Confusion Factory
January 2018
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Maine-based writers Sharon Lee and Steve Miller teamed up in the late 1980s to bring the world the story of Kinzel, an inept wizard with a love of cats, a thirst for justice, and a staff of true power. Since then, the husband-and-wife have written dozens of short stories and twenty plus novels, most set in their star-spanning, nationally-bestselling, Liaden Universe®.
Before settling down to the serene and stable life of a science fiction and fantasy writer, Steve was a traveling poet, a ro
ck-band reviewer, reporter, and editor of a string of community newspapers.
Sharon, less adventurous, has been an advertising copywriter, copy editor on night-side news at a small city newspaper, reporter, photographer, and book reviewer.
Both credit their newspaper experiences with teaching them the finer points of collaboration.
Steve and Sharon are jointly the recipients of the E. E. "Doc" Smith Memorial Award for Imaginative Fiction (the Skylark), one of the oldest awards in science fiction. In addition, their work has won the much-coveted Prism Award (Mouse and Dragon and Local Custom), as well as the Hal Clement Award for Best Young Adult Science Fiction (Balance of Trade), and The Year's Best Military and Adventure SF Readers' Choice Award ("Wise Child").
Sharon and Steve passionately believe that reading fiction ought to be fun, and that stories are entertainment. Steve and Sharon maintain a web presence at http://korval.com/
NOVELS BY SHARON LEE AND STEVE MILLER
The Liaden Universe®
Fledgling
Saltation
Mouse and Dragon
Ghost Ship
Dragon Ship
Necessity’s Child
Trade Secret
Dragon in Exile
Alliance of Equals
The Gathering Edge
Neogenesis
Omnibus Editions
The Dragon Variation
The Agent Gambit
Korval’s Game
The Crystal Variation
Story Collections
A Liaden Universe Constellation: Volume 1
A Liaden Universe Constellation: Volume 2
A Liaden Universe Constellation: Volume 3
The Fey Duology
Duainfey
Longeye
Gem ser'Edreth
The Tomorrow Log
by Sharon Lee
Carousel Tides
Carousel Sun
Carousel Seas
Barnburner
Gunshy
THANK YOU
Thank you for your support of our work.
Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
