"Where did Dagmar hold the knife, Gordy?”
"Across my throat. Under my chin."
"All right, Gordy. Priscilla stopped. Then what?"
"Dagmar said Priscilla had to stay there. She asked where Shan was. I tried to get away again, and she—she hurt me. She said if I was good she'd let me live for a minute or two." There was another small pause. The port master snapped her fingers, never taking her eyes from that damp face.
"She said Priscilla had to watch. To tell Shan what it looked like." An aide arrived with a glass of water. The port master waved her to the boy.
"Rest a minute, Gordy, and drink."
He did, draining the glass thirstily.
"All right, Gordy. Dagmar said Priscilla had to watch, so she could tell Shan what it looked like. Then?"
"Priscilla started to talk. I don't remember what she said, but it made my head feel funny. She talked and walked forward a little bit and Dagmar's arm got loose and I thought about running away but then there was a noise in the next street and Dagmar's arm got tight again and she made Priscilla stop. Priscilla tried to talk some more, but Dagmar asked if Shan had bought Priscilla's things. She said she broke Priscilla's earrings into dust and then spaced the dust. She said Shan wasn't smart and that he wouldn't catch them selling the stuff.
"Priscilla started to talk again and my head felt funny again and then there were footsteps and Dagmar tried to make me go with her 'cause it was too public, she said. But I was scared and I didn't want to go with her and I grabbed on to the pole and held on and thought about the Tree like Priscilla'd taught me and Dagmar turned on the knife. I heard it hum and I was scared and I hung on and thought about the Tree and I heard a—roar. Like a big animal. And Priscilla was running fast—faster than Shan runs and Dagmar let me go and Priscilla—it was so fast! She grabbed Dagmar and twisted and did something with her hands. I heard a snap, like a stick breaking. Dagmar fell down. Priscilla stood for a minute and then she fell down, too." He swallowed.
"I went and kicked the knife away from Dagmar and then I tried to make Priscilla get up. It was hard and I thought she was—I thought she was dead. But she woke up and called me 'Brand' and her voice was all funny, like it hurt her to talk. Then she stood up and told me to go back to the Passage. I told her Shan wouldn't like it if I left her alone when she was in a scrape and she hugged me and threw a stone into the window of Marcel's Tailoring Emporium. Then she said she'd killed Dagmar and the cops would come in a minute and arrest her for murder. She told me to leave again, but I wouldn't. Then the cop came."
The port master leaned back in her chair and counted to twenty-five, eyes closed. She opened her eyes.
"Precinct Officer Velnik," she said very carefully. "I will now see the recording of Priscilla Mendoza's… confession."
The woman was slim, middling tall by Terran standards, doubly dwarfed by Velnik and the arresting officer. Her hair was short and black and curly, her face dirt-smeared; her eyes were enormous, ebon—and exhausted. "Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza," she answered the precinct officer. Her voice was a ragged whisper.
"Planet of origin?"
"Sintia."
"Are you employed on a trading vessel?"
"Yes."
"State the name of the vessel, its home port, your rank."
"Dutiful Passage. Solcintra, Liad. Pilot, first class pending. Second mate."
"Did you kill the woman Dagmar Collier?"
"Yes."
"Did you deliberately murder the woman Dagmar Collier?"
"Yes."
"Where did you kill Dagmar Collier?"
"In front of Dillibee's Digital Delights in Nietzsche Street in Crown City on Theopholis."
"When did you kill Dagmar Collier?"
"One hour ago."
"Did you attempt escape after you killed Dagmar Collier?"
"No."
"Why?"
"There was no place to go."
From the young captain came a wordless protest.
As if cued by that slight sound, Precinct Officer Velnik asked Priscilla Mendoza, "Why didn't you return to the Dutiful Passage?
"No murderers are allowed on the Passage."
The captain drew a sharp breath.
"Your name," the precinct officer pursued, "is Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza?"
"Yes."
"Did you intentionally kill the woman Dagmar Collier?"
"Yes."
"Describe your actions that brought the death of Dagmar Collier."
"I called the Dragon. When it was with me, we roared and threw a fireball to distract Dagmar's attention from Gordy. Then I broke her neck."
There was a slight pause while precinct officer and cop exchanged glances.
"You, Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza," the precinct officer said carefully, "broke the neck of Dagmar Collier, fully intending to bring about her death?"
"Yes."
"Are you a native of Troit?"
"No."
"What is your legal name?"
"Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza."
"What is your planet of origin?"
"Sintia."
"Did you kill Dagmar Collier?"
"Yes."
There was a small pause. "Where is the Dragon now?"
"Above the Tree."
"How much is two plus two?"
"Four."
"Have you said any lies since you were brought here by the arresting officer?"
"No."
"Did the dragon kill Dagmar Collier?"
"No."
"Who killed Dagmar Collier?"
"I did."
"You see," Velnik said to the room in general as the lights came up. "Dragons, trees…"
"The Tree and Dragon," Mr. dea'Gauss cut him off, "is the shield of Clan Korval. It depicts a dragon, guarding a full-leafed tree. The motto is 'I Dare.' Lady Mendoza is quite familiar with the shield. It is displayed prominently on the Dutiful Passage."
"So they had meaning for her; she was self-aware."
"Yes," the port master snapped, coming to her feet. Velnik retreated a step. "She knew what she was doing. The boy is alive. The person he names his potential assassin is dead. Priscilla Mendoza was not asked why she willfully and intentionally killed Dagmar Collier, Precinct Officer. Your interview was less than thorough."
Velnik licked his lips and came to rigid attention.
"Doctor, is the serum you gave Mendoza still in forcer
He shook his head. "It runs through the system pretty fast. She'll be on the downside by now." He glanced at the bench. "Can't give her another shot for two days. That's a medical fact. She mightn't recover."
She nodded. "It won't be required, thank you. My ruling in this case is that Priscilla Delacroix y Mendoza is found not guilty of murder. Defense of a child is not a crime here! Arresting Officer, bring Priscilla Mendoza here, so that she may be released into the care of her captain."
Mr. dea'Gauss caught the young captain's eye. "Daxflan—"
"My office is currently dealing with that difficulty, sirs," she said, turning back. "Granting even unheard of levels of inefficiency, it should at this moment be sealed in close orbit. And there, I think, we may all let it wait until the morrow."
The old gentleman bowed. "It is as you have said, madam. I should mention that the feud between Lady Mendoza and Dagmar Collier is one of long standing. Dagmar Collier threatened her ladyship and Master Arbuthnot with violence once before to my certain knowledge. On Arsdred."
"I would appreciate receiving the particulars of that event, sir. Also—Captain. I am deeply ashamed that my inefficiency has caused this circumstance. Dagmar Collier should never have been in this port. I am responsible, and I am grieved. Please consider me at your disposal in the resolution of the matter."
"You're very kind, ma'am," he replied, smiling wearily.
"Port Master," the arresting officer said, arriving alone and looking very nervous. "Port Master, she—won't move. I open the door and call, but she
just sits, Port Master."
"I'll come." The young captain slid away from the boy, beckoning to the old gentleman. "By your kindness, sir."
"Certainly." Mr. dea'Gauss sat carefully and slid an unaccustomed arm about young shoulders, enduring the head resting upon his chest.
"Let's go," the captain snapped at the cop as he strode by. She had to run three steps to catch up.
PRECINCT HOUSE DETENTION HALL
CROWN CITY THEOPHOLIS
HOUR OF FOOLS
The room was mercilessly bright—shadowless. In the center of the cot huddled a ragamuffin creature, legs crossed, arms hugging her waist, head leaning against left knee. She was trembling minutely and constantly.
"Let's go, Mendoza!" the cop called briskly, unlocking the cell port.
The bundle of misery did not stir.
The cop licked her lips and tried again. "Come on, Mendoza! Your boss is here!"
Nothing.
Shan laid his hand on the cop's arm. "Leave us. I'll bring her."
She began to shake her head, lips parting to prate some senseless law.
"Go!" He augmented the command with a lash of fury. The cop jumped—and fled.
The anger was blue-hot in him—Korval rage. With an effort he contained it, banked it, and shut it away until it might be used. Calmed, he went to the edge of the cot. "Priscilla."
She flinched, and he caught his breath; he calmed himself again and hunkered down before her, his hands resting on the edge of the mattress. "Priscilla, it's Shan."
"Shan." There was anguish like a knife in the ragged whisper. "Shan, there wasn't enough time to be sure!"
Her agony caught him by the throat, even shielded as he was. The next moment he had cast protection aside, spinning a line of comfort, of love…
He was met by terror-desire-longing-grief-shame-love—a whipping windstorm of emotion, punishing in its intensity. He gasped, fingers clawing into the mattress as he scrambled for the line he had spun for her—he gripped it, following it back into himself by painful jerks, and finally called up the Wall.
It slammed into place with a force that drew a soft moan from Priscilla, though she did not lift her head.
"My dear friend…" Slowly he unclenched his hands. "Priscilla, please look at me."
She was silent, motionless but for the constant shivering.
"Priscilla?"
"I'd rather—talk—to you. Please, Shan… They're going to—to kill me. I—can you stay with me? Please… Until they come…" She drew a shuddering breath. "You keep—going away…"
He forced his brain to work, to consider that last. "Have I been here before, Priscilla?"
"I think—yes. I was talking to you—trying to tell you… I tried to—to reach athetilu, but you were closed and I tried to—to hold you and you went away and I thought I'd made you angry…" She moved a fraction, tightening her arms about her waist. "Cama se mathra te ezo mi…"
Sintian. He was losing her, crippled as he was, not daring to step beyond the Wall. Shaking, he extended a hand and stroked the bedraggled curls.
"Priscilla, please look at me. I grant I'm hardly a feast for the eyes, but it would spare my feelings."
She gave no sign that she had heard him. Then, slowly, almost clumsily, she unbent and sat straight, her right arm cradled in her left, her eyes bottomless ebony pits in a filthy, exhausted face.
He smiled and dropped his hand from her hair to her knee. "Thank you. Now, since I seem prone to this fading in and out—your hand, please, Priscilla."
It took a moment for her to manage the movement, but she held a quavering left hand out to him.
"Good." He tugged the master's ring from his finger and slid it onto her thumb, where it perched precariously. "If you find I've gone away again, notice that you have my ring. I'll come back for that, at least, won't I?"
She considered it. "Yes."
He sighed, holding her hand lightly. "What a brute I am! It's a wonder I'm allowed your friendship at all, Priscilla; I marvel at you. What's wrong with your arm?"
"I burned it."
"Throwing fireballs?"
She jerked. His fingers tightened on hers, and she relaxed, licking her lips. "Yes. I'm not—accustomed—to throwing fireballs."
"I'd think not. Are you well enough to walk?"
"Yes."
"Good." He stood. "Let's go."
She stared up at him, her hand moving in his. "Go where?"
"To the Passage. You're hurt and sick and tired, and I'm tired and Mr. dea'Gauss is tired and even Gordy's tired." He grinned. "The port master's tired, too, but she doesn't come with us."
She tried to pull her hand away. He did not allow it.
"I can't…"
He frowned. "Can't?"
"Shan…" Tears welled out of her eyes and spilled over, making streaks down her face. "Shan, I killed Dagmar."
"Yes, I know." Bending to take her other hand, he found her face close, so that he might lay his cheek against her—Priscilla, I love you… He fought the emotion and found the control to address her gently. "I'm sorry, Priscilla. It should never have come to that. You should never have had the need. Forgive me; I've taken poor care of you."
"You said—"
"I said ‘no murderers,' may my tongue be damned! But self-defense isn't murder—nor is protecting the life of a friend." He took a breath, cooling the sharpest of the pain. "Please, Priscilla—for the friendship we have between us—allow me to take you to the Passage. You need care, healing—a sheltered place to sleep. When you are able, I will personally escort you anywhere you choose to go. Let me aid you."
There was confusion in her face and in her eyes. She was silent.
He raised a hand to touch the platinum hoop in her right ear and stroke the curls above it. "Please, Priscilla."
"The trial…"
"Has been performed. Gordy testified. The port master sat as judge. You are acquitted of murder. No one is going to come and take you away to die. Only Shan is come, to take you home."
"Home." Her hands clutched his, then relaxed. She looked into his face, her expression unreadable through the grime. "Please, Shan, take me home."
"Yes, Priscilla."
She staggered when she stood, clutching his arm for support. "Are you well enough to walk, my friend? Or shall I ask the port master to provide a chair?"
"No." She straightened, face set.
"Very well." He slid his arm around her waist, turning her toward the door. "Mr. dea'Gauss," he predicted with a merriness he did not feel, "will be appalled."
If Mr. dea'Gauss was appalled, he hid it well. The bow he performed was profound. "Lady Mendoza."
She inclined her head, which was all that dizziness and Shan's arm about her waist allowed. "Mr. dea'Gauss. I'm pleased to see you."
"You are kind." He glanced at Shan. "The physician has given Master Arbuthnot a drug he feels may counteract the worst of the side effects, or at very least allow him to sleep through them. He has also provided a printout of the structure of both drugs."
"Well enough," Shan said calmly, as if it were no surprise that Gordy should be lying so white and quiet upon the bench.
"I don't—" She shifted, half intending to go to the boy. The arm tightened about her fractionally, and she turned to look into silver eyes. "He was all right! They were going to send him to the Passage."
"But he would not go without you," a new voice explained. "Afterward it became necessary that he be given the drug, that his testimony might be heard."
Priscilla blinked, clearing her vision. The tall, handsome woman in glittering evening dress smiled formally and bowed. "Ms.—Lady—Mendoza. I am Ely ana Ro-minkoff, port master in the regent's service. Allow me to present my apologies: this should not have befallen you in the city under my care. When you are rested—at your convenience!—please contact me, that we may sit together and discuss fair recompense."
"Yes, of course," Priscilla mumbled, unable properly to attend to what the woman said to h
er. She was sinking into an indigo blur where the only realities were Shan's arm about her and the warm strength of his body steadying hers. Abruptly she pushed at the creeping indigo and reached out, tapping that near source of energy.
Strength flowed unstintingly from him to her, clear and bracing. She straightened as the room came back into focus and inclined her head to the woman before her. "Port Master, forgive me. I am—unwell—at the moment. I will call you, and we will talk."
"That is well, then." The woman shifted her gaze beyond Priscilla, smiling with warmth rather than mere formality. "Captain yos'Galan, remember what I have said. I am entirely at your disposal in this matter. My eyes and ears are yours to command at any hour." She bowed then and moved back, cutting off his reply with a wave of her hand. "At this hour, you have folk to care for. My car awaits you. If you allow, the precinct officer will carry the boy. Lady Mendoza, Mr. dea'Gauss holds your license and your papers."
"Thank you," Shan said gently. "You're all kindness, ma'am."
The walk to the car was blessedly short. Priscilla settled into the seat, Shan's arm still about her waist, his strength buoying her. She curled her fingers around her thumb, gripping his ring tightly. Then she reached within and turned off the tap.
The last thing she remembered was resting her head upon his shoulder.
SHIPYEAR 65
TRIPDAY 181
THIRD SHIFT
14.00 HOURS
He poured unsteadily, brandy splashing the bar top and, incidentally, the cup. Gritting his teeth, he managed to fill the thing halfway and set the decanter decently back into the rack.
Priscilla was in sick bay, under Lina's capable eye, and Gordy was there too. Both were asleep and abed—which was where he should be, working through the exercise that would grant his pounding head relief and rest. Brandy was not the best cure for an empath in his condition.
He sipped, frowning in momentary puzzlement at the stain on his cuff. Blood.
Lee, Sharon & Miller, Steve - Liaden Books 1-9 Page 24
