Trader's Leap (Liaden Universe Book 23)

by Sharon Lee

  “I’m all right,” she said, to the eyebrows, and added, “I think.”

  “Your ability to soothe a father’s fears is remarkable,” he commented, and looked beyond her.

  “Karna, have you taken harm?”

  “No, sir. Just a headache.”

  “From what cause?”

  “Breathing in too much vya.”

  “So? You will please apply to Charlie for a medic. When you are cleared, you will have a meal in the staff room, and wait for us to call.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Karna turned, pushed the call button, and then triggered the door, stepping out into the hallway.

  “Now,” said Trader Denobli, who had one arm around Vanz’s shoulders, and was leaning in, close and comfortable as kin. “If Trader yos’Galan will be so good as to tell us what happened?”

  * * *

  Padi told the story down, as neatly as she was able. During her discourse, a handwich was set on a plate before her, and a glass of lemonade. She ate and drank, one-handed, finding that she was hungry. Vanz turned his face from food and lemonade, though he thirstily drank two glasses of water.

  “We left, quickly, and called in aid, whereupon you find us here,” she finished.

  “It was a setup,” Vanz said, his voice stronger now, though the arm Padi still gripped continued to tremble. “Several of the vendors on-market described Madame Zoe’s Whimsies as a specialties shop that couldn’t be missed, which is how we happened to arrive there.”

  “The names of these so-helpful vendors?” Trader Denobli said.

  Padi stared at him, her mind a blank, then reached into her belt, pulling out her receipt chip.

  “They will be on here,” she said. “Your pardon, Trader.”

  “It is a small thing,” he assured her. “We will look later. And it may be that Madame Zoe will be helpful, in her turn.”

  “If she’s still there,” Vanz muttered.

  “Do you think she won’t be?” his uncle asked with interest.

  “I think it possible that she’ll remove herself.”

  “Hah. But such a shop, so prettily made; and the scent—the vya—it will linger. It is equally possible that she will brazen it out. Now, this fear that you will seek the shop, or the lady, if left alone. From what is this born?”

  “From the drag against my center, and the conviction that I must return, now, immediately.”

  “And you would obey this urging?”

  “I fear so, Uncle.”

  Trader Denobli sat quiet. Father spoke.

  “I may be able to rectify this problem. At the very least, I may make an examination and provide a comprehensive report of the damage.”

  Padi . . . didn’t gasp. Didn’t quite gasp, but Trader Denobli was perceptive. He turned to her.

  “It will be dangerous for the master trader, this rectification?”

  Padi met his eyes.

  “Not if he will accept my assistance,” she said, suddenly seeing—suddenly knowing—how this could be made to work without exhausting Father utterly, and with the best chance of Healing Vanz now, before this—compulsion—took any deeper hold upon him.

  She turned to look at Father.

  He sighed.

  “They grow up,” he said to Trader Denobli.

  “They do, and we should not impede it, though we know it’s possible that they will not always be perfectly happy.”

  “It’s both of us in the soup, then,” Father said, looking back to her.

  She nodded.

  “I’ve been in the soup before,” she said, “though I realize it will be a new experience for you.”

  Father laughed.

  “Wretch. Very well, Padi yos’Galan; I accept your assistance. Pray do not open your shields until I ask you to do so. I will be making several preliminary examinations.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now, she finds her manners,” he murmured, and she was about to make answer, but he had already turned his attention to Vanz.

  “Trader, I am a Healer. I believe that I may repair or, at the very least, mitigate this trouble that afflicts you. In order to test this proposition, I must have your permission to proceed. Will you allow me to examine you, and give you what ease I may?”

  Vanz took a hard breath.

  “Yes. Please, sir. Make it stop.”

  “I will endeavor to do so. First, I will examine Padi, as she was struck also, but reports no ill effects. We all wish to be certain that there are no ill effects. A moment only . . . ”

  He turned to Padi, his eyes holding hers. She took a breath, feeling as if she were floating, and time seemed suddenly to stop. Into this period of timelessness, Father spoke.

  “Janifer.”

  “Shan?”

  “You will please call whomever you know in station security. There is a very powerful dramliza on this station. She is enslaving the unwary, and she has attempted at least one murder during this station-day.”

  “What?” Padi said, shaking her head. “How—”

  “I go now to do this thing,” Trader Denobli stated. “Vanz—”

  “Padi has promised not to let me go,” Vanz said. “Quickly, Uncle. That person is dangerous.”

  “Yes.”

  He was gone on the word, the door snapping shut behind him.

  “Murder?” Padi demanded.

  “Attempted murder. I know you have lamented your shields, child, but anything less would not have stopped the blow you were delivered. As it is, I can see the image of the strike on your shields, and fissures in the fabric. Had Madame been given the opportunity for a second blow, she may well have killed you.”

  He took a breath, and inclined his head.

  “Well done, Padi. Now, let us continue.”

  He turned his attention to Vanz.

  “What is your name, Trader?” he asked gently.

  “Vanz Carresens-Denobli, sir.”

  “How would you prefer me to name you?”

  “Vanz, please, sir.”

  “Vanz, my name is Shan. As we have discussed, it is probable that you have had a compulsion placed upon you. I See that you are distressed by this event, as you should be—but you have had some very good luck. The person who sought to control you was interrupted before she could do very much more than begin her work—I can See that it is unfinished—and that what she did accomplish is less than two hours old. This means I will be able to remove it with relative ease.

  “I am going to tell you what I will do, so that there are no surprises.

  “In a few minutes, you and I will seem to meet in a very peculiar place, filled with soft fog. I find it a pleasant space, and soothing. I hope that you will also find it so. Once we are together in this space, I will remove the compulsion from you. Nothing I do ought to hurt you or frighten you. If you are hurt or feel threatened, you will tell me so at once, and I will stop.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. There is one more thing that I must ask, before we begin. Do you wish to remember this incident? I am able to . . . allow you to forget, if you wish.”

  “Forget—no! No, sir. I can’t forget this. We need to be able to tell people.”

  “Very well, then. As soon as your uncle returns—”

  As if on cue, the door opened to admit Trader Denobli, face somber. He resumed the seat next to Vanz, and again put his arm around the younger man’s shoulders.

  “Events move,” he said to Father, who inclined his head.

  “That is well. We are about to begin here. I have explained the process and discussed the outcomes with Vanz. He has chosen to remember what transpired with Madame Zoe. My part is therefore limited to removing the compulsion which has been laid upon him.”

  Trader Denobli inclined his head.

  “I understand that you will follow Vanz’s wishes. What is my part?”

  Father smiled at him.

  “Your part is to watch and call for help in the unlikely
event that one of us seems imperiled. You will also deal with the outside world should someone knock on the door. We three will be . . . elsewhere for a time.”

  “Does the time have a distance?”

  “One minute beyond a full hour is too long.”

  “Understood.”

  Father extended his hand, and met her eyes with a smile.

  “Your part, Padi, will be to open your shields, and accept what comes. I will require also your hand, and your very good will.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  She took a deep breath and imagined flinging the heavy, rough panels of her shields open, felt a warmth like sunlight, and a crescendo of what might have been music, fading, as she put her hand in his.

  “Freely given,” she said, and smiled.

  * * *

  Father’s hand was warm, his grip firm and comforting. Padi sighed, content, glanced down at their linked hands, and blinked.

  Surely, she could not be seeing their linked hands wrapped in silver threads? And yet, she did see that, so plainly that she looked to Trader Denobli, to find if he also saw—but Trader Denobli was watching Vanz’s face, his expression tender.

  Padi looked down again. The lines bound her to Father, and then led—somewhere. She couldn’t quite follow where they went, after they passed the point of her fingertips. She squinted; the thread blurred . . . and blurred again, into a soft fog, faintly pink, and there just before her were Father and Vanz, their hands on each other’s shoulders.

  Between them, the fog boiled, thick and silver-shot. Padi brought her attention closely to that space. A . . . diagram . . . no, an artwork . . . a tapestry . . . a . . .

  It was Vanz, she realized abruptly. Vanz as she might have seen him with her Inner Sight. She focused more tightly still, and heard a sharp snap. She blinked, feeling Father standing quite close beside her.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Attend now, child; I will do and you will watch.”

  Before her, the tapestry continued building out of the fog, a thing of heartbreaking complexity, bright and potent. There were, Padi saw, a few dark threads, but for the most, it was brilliant, focused, cleanly, and sane.

  “Splendid,” she heard Father say, and then, “Now, what have we here?”

  It was a flower, Padi thought—a delicate, dark bloom, exotic. Padi felt its allure, even through the cushioning fog, and she also felt that it was incomplete, that there ought to have been many more than one single set of petals. That the mature flower would be so endlessly fascinating that one could happily lose oneself forever within its pattern.

  “And that,” Father murmured, “is precisely how Madame operated. She ensnared the vulnerable into an eternal meditation upon her construct, whereupon she might access their will, and motivate them to accomplish any deed or task. This, my child, is unethical. Now, attend.”

  Her attention sharpened on the weaving that was Vanz, his heart, his soul . . . There, the ebon flower, incomplete, ineptly twisted around half-a-dozen thick bright strands. A second glance revealed rather that the placement of the flower was no accident, and that the seeming ineptness was rather a subtle hand at weaving. The threads entangled by the alien flower felt strongly of honor, love, conscience, purpose . . . and Padi felt her stomach clench. If Madame had finished her construct, it would have required a master, or two, to address it, and even then, they would only have pruned it, leaving some of the Other within Vanz’s pattern. Cutting it entirely away held the very real possibility of killing Vanz, though someone who thought himself Vanz would still continue.

  “So we see that the lady has skill, for these knots are firm. But they have not cut into the threads that they are intended to replace. The compulsion is woven into the base pattern, as insurance against this very eventuality—if a victim slipped away before the weaving was complete, they would—they must—return to Madame, whereupon she would finish what she had begun.

  “If we beheld the entire construct, we would see that the first threads placed would have grafted themselves onto the threads natural to the pattern, and strangled them. If it had gone so far as that, it would have been beyond any repair I might effect. This, however . . . ”

  The fog stopped its boiling; the tapestry was revealed in its entirety, the black flower a . . . blot, a . . . wrongness . . .

  “Vanz,” Father said, “I am going to remove the compulsion that has been set upon you. This will not hurt. Indeed, you may feel a pleasant warmth, a lassitude . . . ”

  The fog swirled lightly around Vanz, who smiled slightly.

  “This is a delightful place.”

  “It is, I agree. One moment only . . . ”

  From the depths of the fog came a knife, its thin blade the very ideal of sharp. It slid along the surface of the tapestry, steady and sure. The black flower fell away, melting into the fog, which flared—and began to disperse.

  “We are done here,” she heard Father say. “Let us return, all three.”

  * * *

  Padi blinked, and looked down. She was still holding Father’s hand, but there were no glowing threads binding them.

  “Ah!”

  She turned her head, and met Vanz’s eyes. He smiled.

  “You can let me go now, Padi.”

  II

  Sosacilli

  br>

  Til Den ven’Deelin was eating breakfast at his desk, vanquishing the last bit of paperwork that stood between him and a proper leave, when the comm gave tongue to the particular tone that indicated receipt of a high-priority communication.

  Of course, he thought, crankily.

  Cup at his lips, he spun to the screen—and choked, having inhaled a mouthful of hot tea.

  The high-priority message was from Master Trader Shan yos’Galan, Dutiful Passage.

  Recovering his breath, and his wits, Til Den ven’Deelin looked at the screen again.

  Master Trader Shan yos’Galan, Dutiful Passage.

  One could wonder what Master Trader Shan yos’Galan might want of new-made master Til Den ven’Deelin, but it wasn’t likely an invitation to tea.

  Or not only an invitation to tea.

  He reached to the screen, the light glinting sharply off the edges of the amethyst, and tapped the letter open.

  On the matter of Dyoli ven’Deelin.

  Til Den blinked again.

  Dyoli? What in the name of the gods—Dyoli had been missing for every minute of three Standards. The delm, to the best of Til Den’s knowledge, would not declare her dead until the traditional six Standards had passed, but it was believed within the family that Dyoli his sister was dead.

  He had himself subscribed to that melancholy theory, but now, here—On the matter of Dyoli ven’Deelin.

  Had yos’Galan found his sister?

  Breathless, he read the letter—read it again . . .

  Dyoli ven’Deelin and her companion . . . in distress . . . Pommierport—Pommierport? Whatever had Dyoli been doing on Pommierport?—would he see to their proper care?

  See to her proper care? His favorite sister? What else did yos’Galan imagine that he might do?

  He snatched open a reply screen and typed, rapidly.

  III

  Dutiful Passage

  Priscilla sat up, and looked to the console across the darkened room. It was halfway through her sleep shift; and the console was dark. Whatever had wakened her, it had not been the ping of an incoming comm call, nor any sort of alarm.

  No . . .

  What had waked her was—Shan.

  She opened her Inner Eyes; the links they shared were blazing bright, Shan himself a lambent presence.

  “No . . . ” she whispered, for he could not, in his present state, have conjured so much power save by burning his very life.

  Horror melted in the brilliance of his will; she had already flung herself as wide as she could, reading the flow of power, finding another silver-charged presence, quiescent, but burning bright. Priscilla placed her attention on that second presence, findi
ng with a certain amount of relief that it was Padi, open, quiescent; allowing what really must be a modest draw upon her considerable resources.

  What in the name of the Goddess had transpired to put them both at peril, linked, and working . . . working . . .

  She focused on Shan, drawing closer, until she felt the fogs of Healspace swirling nearby. A Healing. An emergency Healing, given the suddenness, the deliberate disregard of plain common sense, and the best health of both.

  Priscilla flung back the blankets and stood, pulling on a robe as she crossed to the console.

  “Tower. Service, Captain?”

  “Please patch me through to Karna Tivit, Tower.”

  IV

  Finley’s Corner Bar

  At least, they had all had something to eat before Volmer Security arrived with a request that Trader Padi yos’Galan and Trader Vanz Carresens-Denobli come with them to lay personal evidence against Zoe Martenegsburg, registered deck-holder and licensed vendor of Volmer.

  There was a small silence before the elder Trader Carresens-Denobli spoke.

  “The vendor stands accused of mind control. My ’prentice is dear to me, so I ask—how is she held harmless?”

  “We have enlisted the services of the Blades of the Goddess, a registered mercenary unit certified by the adepts of Chaliceworks,” said the guard with the two white stripes on her dark blue sleeve. “They have the skills to hold one possessing the abilities Zoe Martenegsburg has been accused of abusing.”

  Father tipped his head, but said nothing.

  Trader Denobli actively frowned.

  “I have heard rumors of this company,” he said slowly, and Padi noted that he refrained from passing on dockside gossip. Instead, he rose, and Vanz with him. “This trader is both my blood-kin and my ’prentice. I accompany him.”

  “Of course,” said the two-striper, and turned her attention to Padi.

  “Trader Padi yos’Galan.”

  Padi sighed and rose, and Father rose as well.

  “I fear you find a like situation in us,” he said to the guard. “The trader is my ’prentice and blood-kin. I will accompany her.”