Lee, Sharon & Miller, Steve - Liaden Books 1-9

by Liaden 1-9 (lit)

  "Shall I serve, Lady?"

  "Yes, and then leave us, if you will."

  * * *

  There was talk during the meal, family catch up stuff, which Jethri followed well enough, to his own surprise. Following it and making sense of it were two different orbits, though, and after a while he just let the words slide past his ear and concentrated on his dinner.

  "Of course, I will be delighted to have Jethri's assistance in the vineyard--and in the cellars, too." Ren Lar's voice, bearing as it did his own name, jerked Jethri's attention away from dinner, which was mostly done anyway, and back to the conversation.

  "That is well," Master ven'Deelin was answering calmly. "I intend to start him in wine after he has completed his studies here, and it would be beneficial if he had a basic understanding of the processes."

  "Very wise," Ren Lar murmured. "I am honored to be able to assist, in even so small a way, with the young trader's education."

  Carefully, Jethri looked to the twins. Miandra was studying her plate with an intensity it didn't deserve, being empty. Meicha met his eye square, and he got the distinct idea she'd've said, I told you so right out if she hadn't already earned one black mark on the meal.

  Jethri felt himself go cold, felt the breath shortening in his lungs. Thrown off, he thought, and didn't believe. Couldn't believe it, not of Master ven'Deelin, who, unlike his blood mother, had wanted him, at least as her apprentice. Who had plans for him, and who thought he might one day be useful to--

  And there was the B crate sitting in the room upstairs, which he surely didn't need for a three-day visit..

  "Ma'am," he heard his own voice, breathless and a thought too sharp. "You're not leaving me here?"

  She tipped her head, black eyes very bright. "You object to the house of my foster mother?"

  He took a breath, centering himself--trying to--like Pen Rel kept insisting on. It was important to be calm. People who panicked made mistakes, and, by all the ghosts of space, a mistake now could doom him to life in the mud...

  Another breath, deliberately deep, noticing that the conversation had stopped and that Master ven'Deelin's question hung in the air, vibrating with an energy he wasn't near to understanding.

  "The house of your foster mother is a fine house, indeed," he said, slowly, carefully. "Ignorant as I am, it is all but certain that I will disgrace the honor of the house, or of yourself, all unknowning. I am space-born, ma'am. Planet ways--"

  Master ven'Deelin moved a hand in the Liaden version of "stop". Gulping, Jethri stopped.

  "You see how it is with him," she said to Lady Maarilex. "So much concern for my honor!"

  "That is not an ill thing, I judge, in a foster child," the old lady said gravely. "Indeed, I am charmed and heartened by his care of you, Norn. For surely, his concern for you is but a pure reflection of the care you have shown him. I am pleased, but in no wise surprised."

  Trapped. Jethri bit his lip, feeling panic clawing at his throat, adrenaline arguing with his dinner.

  Across the table, he saw Miandra swallow hard, and Meicha close her eyes, throat working.

  "So, then," Master ven'Deelin continued. "Wine lore, surely, and a decreasing of the sensibilities. Modesty becomes a lad of certain years, but a lad who hovers on the edge of being a trader grown must have more to his repertoire than modesty and a pleasant demeanor."

  Lady Maarilex inclined her head. "We shall do our possible," she murmured. "A relumma may see some progress."

  A relumma? Ninety-six Standard Days? He stayed in his chair. He didn't yell or give in to bawling. Across from him, though, Meicha sniffled.

  "Mother," Ren Lar said softly. "It occurs to me that our guests, newly come from space, might welcome an early escape to their beds."

  "Why, so they might," Lady Maarilex said, like the idea surprised her. "Thank you, my son." She inclined her head and sat poised until he had come 'round to her chair, eased it back and offered an arm for her to lean on as she rose.

  "Good night, kin and guests. Repose yourselves in calmness, knowing that the house is vigilant on your behalf. Young Jethri, attend me tomorrow morning at eighth hour in my study. Miandra will show you the way."

  She turned then, leaning hard on the arm of her son, and left the room at a slow walk. As soon as she cleared the door, the twins popped up, bowed their good-nights and were gone, leaving Jethri staring at Norn ven'Deelin and feeling about to cry.

  "Well," she said, rising and looking down at him quizzically. "Allow me to escort you to your rooms, my son."

  * * *

  He did keep himself in hand until they reached the door of his quarters--he did. Master ven'Deelin chatted easily on about the house and how comfortable it was to be assigned to her very room--though nothing so exalted as the north wing, mind you!--suited her very well. Jethri returned monosyllables--maybe he did that. But he didn't start a fight until he had opened the door and bowed her over into his parlor.

  He pulled the door closed behind him--so gently, he could scarcely hear the lock snick, and stood for the space of a couple good, deep breaths, preparatory to laying the case out as calm and as forceful as he could.

  "Master Flinx, how do you go on?" Master ven'Deelin said delightedly. Jethri turned and sure enough, there was the cat, curled up on one of the chairs, and there was Master ven'Deelin, bending down to offer a courteous finger.

  "Come, do me the honor of renewing our acquaintance."

  Surprisingly enough, the cat did just that, coming out of his curl and sitting up tall, touching his nose to her fingertip.

  "Always the gentleman!" She moved her hand, running tickling fingers under the cat's chin. "I see that I leave my son in good care!" Straightening, she sent Jethri a quick black glance.

  "Truly, young Jethri, you will do well here, with Flinx as your sponsor."

  He cleared his throat. "I'd like to talk to you about that, if you please, ma'am," he said carefully.

  She sighed, and folded her hands together, head to one side. "Well, if you must, you must, and I will not forbid it. But I will tell you that you are doomed to failure. Remain here, you most assuredly shall, to sit at the feet of my foster mother and learn whatever she wishes to teach you."

  "Ma'am, will you not at least listen to me?" He heard the desperation in his own voice and bit his lip.

  "Did I not say that I would listen? Speak, my child. I rejoice in the melodious sounds of your speech."

  "Yes, ma'am. I don't wish to be tiresome and I know you must be eager to seek your bed, so I will be brief. The case is that I am space-based and I am apprenticed to learn trade. The whys and whyevers of planet-based society--that falls outside the scope of those things it is necessary for me to learn in order to be an effective trader."

  "A gentle set-down; appropriate between kin. And though I might protest that I have done nothing to earn your anger, I will refrain, for I well know that you consider yourself wronged. So..." She moved a hand, showing him the chair unoccupied by the cat.

  "Sit, child, and give over glowering at me."

  He sat, though he wasn't that certain in regard to the glower.

  "Good." She turned back to the second chair, scooped the cat up deftly and sat, cat on knee. Flinx blinked, and stretched, and curled round, obviously pleased with his position.

  "The fact that you are able to argue with sincerity that knowledge of planet based society has no bearing upon your abilities as a trader only demonstrates how deeply you are in need of such education."

  "Master--"

  She raised a hand. "Peace. You have made your throw. I now claim my turn with the dice."

  He bit his lip. "Yes, ma'am."

  "'Yes, mother' would be more appropriate to the case," she said, "but I do not insist. Instead, I will undertake to put your mind at ease. You are not abandoned. You are set down for the space of two relumma, that you might pursue independent study of value to the ship. These studies are two-fold." She held up a hand, and folded the index finger down.
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br />   "One, you will learn what my foster mother may teach you of the proper mode. Fear not that she will treasure you as I do--and insist that you extend yourself to your greatest efforts." She folded her second finger down.

  "Two, you will also spend time in the trade hall at Irikwae Port. I have requested that the master of the hall see to your guild certification, which is a matter I have too long neglected." Points made, she dropped her hand to Flinx's flank.

  "I have myself undertaken just such independent studies and certifications, to the benefit of the ship and the profit of the clan. It is what is done, and neither punishment, nor betrayal. Are you able to accept my word that this is so?"

  His first inclination was to tell her no, but the plain truth was that he'd never known her to lie. Some things she said that he didn't understand--but that was his ignorance and not her deliberate misleading--

  "Two relumma?" he blurted, his brain finally catching up with his ears. He bent forward in his chair. "Lady Maarilex said one relumma!"

  "Tcha!" Master ven'Deelin looked up from scratching Flinx behind the ears. "She said that one relumma might begin to show progress. What profit do you bring to the ship half-trained?"

  He closed his eyes, fists set hard against his knees. Two relumma on-planet, he thought, and shivered.

  "Child..." There was a rustle, and a thump, and then arms put 'round his shoulders. He stiffened and then leaned into the hug, pushing his face against her shoulder like she was Seeli and him not much older than eight.

  "Child, the worlds are not your enemy. Nor do ships enclose all that is good and proper in the universe. A trader must know his customers--and the grater number of your customers, when you are a trader grown, will be planet-based, not ship-born. Ignore their ways at your peril. Despise them..." There was a small pouf of sound over his head, and her arms tightened briefly.

  "Despise them," she continued, "if you must, from knowledge, rather than ignorance."

  "Yes, ma'am," he whispered, because there wasn't anything else to say. She was going to leave him here, right enough, whatever he said, or however he said it. His outlook now was to be sure she remembered to come back for him.

  "You may think me heartless," she murmured. "You may perhaps think that I have never been bade to show a calm face to exile. Acquit me, I beg you. Well I remember the wildness in my heart, when my delm ordered that I be fostered to Tarnia, away from Solcintra and from Liad itself, which enclosed all that was good and proper in the universe." Again, that small pouf of sound, which might, Jethri thought, be a gentle laugh.

  "A surly and aloof fosterling I was, too. I trust that you will be more seemly than I was--for my foster mother, I ask that you be gentle, and no more bitter than is strictly necessary."

  He laughed--a surprising, hiccupy sort of sound--and heard her laugh, too. Her arms tightened once more before she stepped back, leaving him feeling comforted, and oddly comfortable.

  "So then," she said briskly. "You have an early interview with our foster mother, and will doubtless wish to seek your bed soon. Be certain that I will return for you. I swear it, on Ixin itself."

  Jethri blinked. To swear on the name of her clan--he had the sense that was something not lightly done, could not be lightly done. If her own name was more precious than rubies, how much more precious must be the name that sheltered all ven'Deelins, everywhere? He came to his feet, still chewing on the nuances, and bowed respect to an elder.

  "I will look for you, in two relumma," he said, and straightened to see a smile on her face.

  "Indeed, you will. And now, my son, I bid you deep sleep and sweet dreaming. Learn your lessons well--and mind Master Flinx whenever he cares to advise you."

  He inclined his head, seriously. "I'll do that, ma'am."

  Together, they walked to the door. He opened it for her; she stepped out--and turned back.

  "You will wish to open that curtain, my child. The view of the nighttime sky is not to be missed."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, out of habit, and she smiled again and went away down the hall. Jethri closed the door slowly, and turned to face the curtained window.

  You told her yes, he said to himself.

  It took a month or so to cross the room, and another week to pull the cord. The curtains came back, slow and stately. Lower lip gipped tightly between his teeth, Jethri looked up from the cords and the folds of cloth...

  The sky was a deep blue, spangled with fist-sized shards of icy white light. A pale blue moon was rising, casting shadows on the shoulders of the mountains. Further out, and considerably down, there were clustered lights--a city, or so he thought. He remembered to breathe, and then to breathe again, looking out over the night.

  The moon had cleared the mountain peak before he turned away and went into the bedroom, walking on his toes, as if the floor was tiled in glass.

  Day 140

  Standard Year 1118

  Tarnia's Clanhouse

  Irikwae

  "So, then, Young Jethri," asked Stafeli Maarilex, "how do you find the view from the north wing?"

  He paused with his teacup halfway to his lips and favored her with a straight look over the rim. She returned his gaze, her face so entirely empty of expression that the lack might have been said to be an expression of its own. Glancing aside, for Liadens counted a too-long stare at the face as rudeness, he sipped his tea and put the cup gently back in its saucer.

  "I found the view astonishing, ma'am," he said, and was proud to hear his voice steady on.

  "I am gratified to hear you say it. Honor me with your thoughts regarding our moons."

  Moons? He tried not to look befuddled, and supposed he failed completely.

  "I saw only one moon, ma'am--pale blue and rising behind the mountain."

  "So?" She paused, one hand on her cup, then threw her free hand slightly up and to the side, fingers flicking out. "You must forgive an old woman's memory. Of course, we are in single phase anytime this six-day! Never mind, you will soon have the pleasure of beholding all three riding the skies. Indeed, I will ask Ren Lar to form an excursion for the house's children later in your stay, when the nights will be warmer. I am sure you will find it most amusing. Local legend is that good luck comes to those who sleep beneath the full moons."

  He inclined his head, which was polite, and put away for later wondering--or asking of the twins--the notion of a special excursion to look at moons. It might be, he thought, that Tarnia owned a starhouse and an optical scope for--

  "There are certain matters of a personal nature which we must discuss," Lady Maarilex said, interrupting his thought. "Pray forgive me if my questions seem impertinent. I assure you that I would not ask these things did necessity not exist."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, sitting up straighter in his chair. He was speaking in the mercantile mode, by special permission of the lady. She was speaking in a mode that was not mercantile, but perfectly intelligible, so long as he kept his ear on it.

  "We will need to know certain things. Your family, for instance. Norn tells me that Terrans do not form into Houses and Clans, which I must say seems very peculiar to me. However, I suppose you must have some other method for tracking lineage." She inclined her head.

  "Enlighten me, then, young Jethri. Who are you?"

  He took a little time to think about it, lifting his cup and taking a leisurely sip while he did, so as not to seem rude.

  "I am of the mainline Gobelyns," he said slowly. "Off of the tradeship Gobelyn's Market."

  "I see." She lifted her cup, buying time herself, Jethri thought, and wasn't particularly encouraged by thinking it.

  "May I know more, young Jethri?" she murmured, putting her cup down and apparently giving most of her attention to choosing a piece of fruit from the bowl in the center of the table. "Despite all Norn's efforts, I am woefully ignorant of shiplore."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said, mortified to hear his voice break on the second word. "My mother is Iza, captain; my father was Arin, senior trader. My eld
er siblings are Cris, first mate, and Seeli, administrative mate. My mother's brother is now senior trader, brought on board when my father died." He took a deep breath, and met her eyes firmly, rudeness be spaced.

  "The Gobelyns have been shipfolk since before space took ships. Arin Tomas, as he was before he married, his line was scholars and explorers; he served his turn as a Combine commissioner before he was senior trader."

  He didn't expect her to value that--to know how to value it--and so he was surprised when she bent her head solemnly, and murmured, "A worthy lineage, Jethri Gobelyn. It could not, of course, be otherwise."

  That might've just been the polite--she couldn't very well disapprove of Master ven'Deelin's choice of a fosterson, after all--but he was warmed anyway.

  "I wonder," she said gently, "if I might know your age."

  "Seventeen Standard Years, ma'am."

  "Hah. And your name day?"

  He blinked, then remembered that Liadens celebrated the anniversary of a baby's being named, which might, as Vil Tor told it, be done within seconds of the birth, or as long as twelve days past. Near as he knew, he'd been named simultaneous with being born. He inclined his head slightly.

  "Day two-thirteen, ma'am."

  "Delightful! We shall have the felicity of ushering you into your eighteenth year. The house is honored."

  He didn't exactly scan why that should be such an honor, 'specially when stood against the fact that his birthday was more often forgot than not. When he'd been a kid, Seeli'd made sure there was some special favorite eatable in his dinner, and Cris would give him a little something by way of a present--a booktape, maybe, or an odd-bit he'd found during the trade rounds. His fourteenth birthday, there wasn't any special tasty in his dinner, though the occasion of his birth had been marked by Cris, who had given him the gown-up wrench set he still wore on his belt. After that--well, he was too old for wanting after special tidbits and gee-gaws.

  Carefully, he inclined his head. "I am grateful, but the House need not exert itself on my account."