by Sharon
"Whose palm was greased?" she demanded awfully. "Suspicion of theft? Information forthcoming? And I'm to be detained and questioned, treated like a thief on the strength of information that will never arrive, and so I swear!" She straightened haughtily. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Well," Budoc said carefully, "you've got no choice, miss. We've got the warrant, and you've got to come. It's the Law."
Priscilla sniffed. "This is a Liaden ship. You have no authority here."
"You're Terran," Budoc pointed out with a fair semblance of rationality.
"I should perhaps explain," Shan broke in apologetically, "that Ms. Mendoza serves on this ship because of a personal contract between her and the Heir Apparent of Clan Korval."
There was a moment's silence. Then, in accents between dread and wonder, Budoc asked if that wasn't the Tree and Dragon Family, trade representative for Trellen's World?
"Exactly the Tree and Dragon." Shan beamed at him. "Precisely Trellen's World. The contract between us extends back nearly two hundred Standards. How clever of you!"
That information might have impressed his partner, but to Relgis it conveyed nothing more than a blatant attempt to thwart the Law. He stiffened his resolve and advanced upon Priscilla's position by one step.
"Be that as it may," he said sternly, "the Law is still the Law. This woman's Terran, and she goes with us." He shifted his eyes to the man behind the desk and thrust out his chin. "She's not Liaden, even if this heir or whatever it is, is. We don't have a warrant for her contract—we've got a warrant for her!"
"Heir Apparent," Shan corrected gently. "Not, praise gods, the Heir. Ms. Mendoza is correct, you know. A personal contract of this kind assures her of the Heir Apparent's protection. Which amounts to the protection of Clan Korval. And Clan Korval is a legal Liaden entity." He finished his wine and set the glass aside. "An interesting point, isn't it? I'm sure the lawyers would be able to argue it for much more than ten local days, don't you?"
"Now, Captain," Budoc said nervously, "be reasonable. No one wants to get into that kind of protracted debate. Think of the expense! Better to just let her come along with us. Maybe the judge will allow her back right after the questioning—in light of her contract, you know!" He licked his lips again. "I'm sure we can work something out."
"Are you?" Shan asked. "Good. I think so, too." He picked up the disdained warrant and made a show of frowning perusal. "There doesn't seem to be anything here about bail," he murmured, feeling Priscilla's gaze bent on him in speculation. "An oversight on the part of the judge, no doubt. Who was—oh! Judge Zahre? What a delightful circumstance!" He smiled with exquisite stupidity at the two officials and avoided Priscilla's eye.
"We'll have everything settled soon!" he said gaily. "I'm acquainted with Judge Zahre. What a fortunate circumstance!" He flipped a toggle on the panel by his desk.
"Tower," a crisp voice informed him.
"Good shift, tower. Are you busy? Would it be possible for you to find Judge Abrahanthan Zahre of Port City, Arsdred, for me? I'd like to speak to him."
"Right away. Captain. Route the call to the office screen?"
"That will be perfect, tower, thank you. Do hurry. We have guests, and I seem to be wasting their time."
"Yes, sir." The connection was cut.
Shan nodded to himself and called the commlink from its slot, then turned to the infoscreen and tapped in a quick series. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Priscilla drift over and perch on the arm of the nearer chair, dividing her attention between the two officials and her captain.
Budoc and Relgis exchanged glances and remained uncomfortably silent. Relgis nurtured the hope that the judge would drop one of his thundering lectures on the heads of both captain and crew member.
The commlink buzzed gently.
Shan spun his chair, tapped the violet key set along the left margin of the screen, and inclined his head to the austere individual in ruby-colored robes. The other man also wore a ruby turban, held by a glittering nelaphan brooch. His eyes were dark and deep-set, and the authority of his nose exceeded that of Shan's own.
"I am Judge Zahre," he said emotionlessly.
"Yes, sir," Shan agreed easily. "We are acquainted, though I doubt you remember me. My father, Er Thom yos'Galan, and I guested you aboard Dutiful Passage several Standards ago, upon the occasion of your Honesty's succession to office."
The face in the screen thawed somewhat; the lips bent a trifle. "Indeed, I do remember you, sir, and most kindly. How does your father do? It would honor me if you and he would dine at my residence, if the length of your stay permits it."
Shan took a breath, hardly aware that it was deeper than the one before it. After so many repetitions, the phrase had become merely rote, and the inward voice that had keened "My father is dead!" was now but a wordless flicker of pain.
"I regret to be the first to inform you," he said evenly, pulling the words verbatim from the High Tongue, "that my father's heart ceased its labor nearly three Standards gone by."
The lines about the judge's mouth grew deeper as he bowed his head. "It grieves me to hear it. I am richer for having had his acquaintance, though it was for so brief a time."
"I will tell my family you said so, sir. Thank you."
The older man nodded. "Now, tell me what I may do for Er Thom yos'Galan's son."
Shan smiled. "A misunderstanding has occurred. At least, I think it must be a misunderstanding." He held the warrant up so that the other could read it. "This was delivered by two officials of Arsdred Court—Budoc and Relgis. It's a warrant for the detention and questioning of one of my crew members, Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza. Apparently Trader Sav Rid Olanek accuses her of theft."
Judge Zaire nodded. "I remember him. I admit I did not like to let him swear out such a thing and then immediately depart the sector, but he pleaded urgent business and paid penalty and swear-charge. All was according to Law, as he promised further information by bouncecomm, within ten local days. I performed my office, as set out in the Book."
"I am certain you did," Shan said soothingly. "However, there are several points of which you could not have been aware. One is that Trader Olanek has taken Ms. Mendoza in severe dislike. I am not certain of the cause. It is a fact, however, that far from her stealing from him, he has stolen from her. A member of his command has within the last local day sold personal articles belonging to Ms. Mendoza at a shop in Parkton Way—Teela's Treasures. The proprietor is Frau Pometraf. She has a very good memory."
The judge inclined his head. "I am grateful. The information, of course, will be verified." He looked up, his deep eyes shrewd. "You have yet to say what I might do for you, Shan yos'Galan."
"A small thing, correction of an oversight." He rustled the paper. "There doesn't seem to be any mention of bail here, sir. Now, Ms. Mendoza is an important member of my crew. I can't spare her for ten days. Not for ten minutes! What shall I do?"
The older man's lips twitched, though he gravely agreed that it did seem to be an oversight. "You must understand that a warrant has been sworn to, sir. The Law must be served."
"Of course it must." Shan spun the infoscreen around. "I had nearly forgotten! This is Ms. Mendoza's record, sir. Now, I ask you: Is it likely that a person possessing such a record would sully her honor by stealing?"
After a longish pause, the judge said, "I believe bail of one cantra—cash, of course—is sufficient to this case. You will guarantee Ms. Mendoza's presence, should the matter in fact go to trial?"
"Korval guarantees," Shan said formally, and jerked his head at the gaped-mouth officials. "These two gentles may take the money with them? It will be secure?"
"Relgis and Budoc are completely trustworthy."
"I'm sure they are. No thought of their venality crossed my mind, sir. It's only—a cantra, you said? You're certain they won't want an armed guard to escort them?"
Relgis made an outraged noise; the man on the screen smiled.
"I believe
that no guard will be necessary, sir. I appreciate your concern."
"One cannot be too careful," Shan said earnestly. "What with innocent persons being attacked by ruffians in the streets of the city." He sighed and spread his hands. "You've been very kind, sir. I find it necessary to impose upon you still further." He held the second document up.
The judge scanned it quickly and shook his head. "This matter is out of my jurisdiction. However, I am acquainted with Judge Bearmert, who is among those signed. Allow me to call him and ask if he will speak with you."
"You're very kind, sir," Shan said again. "Forgive me the trouble."
"There is no trouble. It is my duty to see that the Law is served, not that the innocent suffer." He bowed stiffly. "Be well, Shan yos'Galan. Will you come to dine tomorrow evening?"
"I would like nothing better, sir. But I believe that the ban on my crew visiting your pleasant world applies to me as well."
"Nonsense," the judge said crisply. "I will send my yacht for you, sir. You will be conveyed directly to my home. You will experience no difficulty."
Shan grinned. "In that case, of course. I'll be delighted."
"Good. Until then." The screen went dark.
Shan thumbed the yellow stud, and the screen slid back into the desk. Absently, he pulled open a small drawer on the right side and fished out a battered lacquer box.
"Cantra," he muttered, and dumped the box over.
Coins tinged and tumbled, rolled in tight circles, and sped away to catch against the block of wood supporting the hatchet: Terran bits of all denominations, Liaden coins, local money of half a dozen worlds, several rough-cut citrines, and a loop of pierced malachite.
"Cantra," Shan murmured again, conscious that Budoc was drawing closer. With clumsy care, he selected ten tenth-cantra from the jumble of money and beckoned the man still closer.
"One, two, three. . ." He counted all ten carefully into the sweaty palm and nodded. "Ten, are we agreed?"
"Yes, Captain," Budoc breathed.
"Good." He pointed at Relgis. "You, sir. A receipt, please."
Relgis glowered but did as he was bidden. Shan flipped a toggle by the desk. The door chimed instantly and slid away on his word to admit a grim-faced Gordy.
Shan smiled. "These gentles are leaving now, Gordon. Please conduct them to the reception hall and arrange for refreshment. Seth will conduct them worldside in good time." He turned his smile to the officials, striving for complete vacuity. "Thank you so much for your visit, sirs. I enjoyed it immensely. Good day."
"Good day, Captain," Budoc said, bowing low. Relgis sniffed and bowed, silently and slightly. Both turned and followed Gordy out.
The door closed, and Priscilla stood, holding out a hand. "May I refill your glass, Captain?"
He considered her warily. "Thank you, Priscilla. The red, please. And pour yourself something."
Priscilla stared a moment at the hatchet in the block of wood, then turned to busy herself at the bar.
"It's Pendragon," she announced suddenly.
Shan frowned at her neck. "Pendragon? Oh, the fellow with the table. One of Val Con's favorite stories, I recall. Named one of his infernal felines Merlin." His frown deepened. "It's only Uncle Richard's fancy, Priscilla. Coincidence. Dragon-analogs are fairly common around the galaxy, you know."
She nodded and handed him a glass before settling into the chair across.
"One hundred bits the night before last, a terrible scare yesterday, a cantra today. What am I going to cost you tomorrow?" Her tone was mild, but her eyes were very bright.
Shan considered the Wall; he left it in place and raised his glass. "I don't expect you'll cost me anything tomorrow, Priscilla. You didn't really cost me anything today. Sav Rid's thought was to cause me discomfort—so it seems I'm taken seriously! How gratifying." He sipped. "He has accused the Passage of running contraband. That's creative of him, isn't it? We're to be investigated—by officials of Arsdred Court."
"Unless the friend of your friend brings his authority to bear," she said dryly.
"Well, I don't think he will, do you? It's worth a try, of course. No sense rousing Mr. dea'Gauss until we need him. My sister the First Speaker prefers our man of business to stay close to hand. His tact and finesse are a good balance for her temper, you see. By the way, you were magnificent."
"I thought that was it." She considered him for a moment out of half-angry black eyes, then shook her head and smiled a little. "Are you Heir Apparent to Korval?"
"Of course I am. It's not the sort of thing one lies about, after all. You could find yourself in a great deal of trouble if you did. Besides that, if you want truth, I'd rather not be Heir Apparent. Especially with Val Con adventuring around the universe, busy being a scout and making no push at all to place an heir of his body between myself and destiny." He sighed. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be a very good Delm."
There was a pause while Priscilla tasted the wine, her eyes on the hatchet. Shifting her gaze to his face, she asked, carefully, he thought, "Will you do me a favor?"
"I'll certainly try, Priscilla," he said with matching caution. "What is it?"
"I wonder if you wouldn't make me a list of all the people you are, so I know who to ask for."
He grinned. "I'm afraid it might get a bit lengthy. And a few are so close that only a Liaden would make a distinction." He set the glass aside and began to count on his fingers. "Head of Line yos'Galan. Heir Apparent to Korval. Guardian to the Heir Lineal—that's a joke. Brother to Val Con, Nova, Anthora. Cousin to Val Con. Guardian to Anthora. Father to Padi. Master pilot . . . ."
He sighed. "This is too tedious, Priscilla. You could call me Shan if you get confused, and I'll sort it out for you."
"Why don't I just call you Captain?"
"I knew you were going to say that," he complained.
Surprisingly, she grinned and pointed at the hatchet. "What's the idea?"
"My father used to say—so I was informed earlier—that if your host wears a dagger, you should wear a dagger and a dirk. I think he might have meant it in some other context, but Rusty did me the favor of calling it to mind this morning when he told me of the presence of our visitors." He wrenched the hatchet free, sending two sundered chunks of wood skittering across the polished desk top.
"My brother, now, says there's nothing will give one pause like the sight of a naked blade." He extended it, and Priscilla leaned back in her chair. "He's right, I see. That's comforting. I thought I would give our visitors a visible reminder of might." He grinned. "Liaden tricks, Priscilla. Forgive me."
She shrugged. "It worked, didn't it? And they were using tricks, too. Blustering and acting as if all justice were on their side."
"High-handed, in fact."
"I'll never live it down." She sighed. "Will it help if I say I'm sorry?"
"Are you sorry? You might ask me to forgive it, if you think I'm offended. But Liadens don't in general say that they're sorry. It's an admission of guilt, you see. Asking forgiveness acknowledges the other person's right to feel slighted, hurt, or offended without endangering your right to act as you find necessary."
She blinked at him. "Which is why Kayzin Ne'Zame was so infuriated with me when we met at the main computer! I kept saying I was sorry . . . ." She sipped, working on the concept in silence.
Shan toyed with the weapon, turning it this way and that, taking note of its balance and the feel of it in his palm. Laying it aside, he took up his glass again and sipped, allowing himself the luxury of watching her face.
As if she felt his eyes on her, she glanced up, a slight smile on her lips. "Is there anything else, Captain? I'm supposed to be having a piloting lesson."
"Teaching me how to run my ship?" He waved his glass toward the door. "Go back to work, then. And thank you for your assistance."
"You're welcome, Captain," she said serenely. "It was no trouble at all."
Arsdred Port City
Midday Bazaar
Mr. dea'Gauss leaned b
ack in the seat and allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation. Progress thus far was satisfactory. Not, he reminded himself, that he was in any way reconciled to being shipped harum-scarum off Liad and flung out into the galaxy with barely an hour's notice. If his heir had not just recently entered into a contract marriage that tied her to the planet, Korval would have found itself represented by the younger, less-tried dea'Gauss; and so the elder had informed Korval's First Speaker.
Lady Nova had acknowledged that statement with a slight tip of the head and continued outlining his task in her calm, clear voice. Mr. dea'Gauss experienced a reminiscent glow of warmth in the region of his mid-chest. She was a great deal like her father, and competent beyond her years.
She'll do, Mr. dea'Gauss thought with satisfaction. They would all do eventually. It was simply a sad pity that so powerful a Clan as Korval should have been left untimely in the hands of persons too young for the duty. Even the eldest, Shan, now Thodelm yos'Galan, had not attained his full majority. And young Val Con, the Delm-to-be, was barely more than a halfling, no matter how gifted a scout he might be.
The old gentleman laid his head against the cushion. It was his duty to insure that all continued as it should during this period of readjustment, just as Line dea'Gauss had kept Korval's business for generations—to mutual profit.
They were intelligent children, after all, he reminded himself with a shade of avuncular pride, and quick to learn. He and his would be unworthy indeed of the post they had held so long if Korval were to lose ground before Val Con placed the Clan Ring upon his finger.
The taxi glided to a stop. Mr. dea'Gauss opened his eyes and glanced out the window. Satisfied, he gathered up portfolio and travel desk, slipped the proper Terran coin into the meter's maw, and exited the cab as the door elevated. He blinked once at the din and the colors and the smells of the Offworld Bazaar, then turned his steps with calm dignity toward the shuttlecradles.
There was an armed guard before Cradle 712. Mr. dea'Gauss was untroubled; he had expected no less. What did puzzle him was the presence of two additional individuals engaged in vociferation with the guard.
