by Robin Owens
“GrandSir Cherry, I think you should tour the house,” the guard said.
“Yes, of course.” Raz had taken a chest that had had its top ripped off and put the fragments of the starship models in it, along with other models of what might have been transports, airships, and gliders. He found the curved top to the chest and carefully placed it on the box.
Del had been occupied with a brisk cleanup and hadn’t realized that sadness and depression had flooded his thoughts. She put her basket away, dusted her hands, and linked arms with him.
His smile was crooked as he lifted Rosemary to his shoulder.
They walked across the entryway into a mainspace and he flinched, his eyes scanning the room. His mouth flattened. “We had three very good holo paintings—works of art—in this room.”
The guard made a note. “Gone?”
“Yes. The safe was in the dining room.” With quick strides he passed through the door at the end of the mainspace and moved into the dining room, stopped just over the threshold. Del kept pace.
“The safe was open and empty,” the guard said.
“I can see that.” Raz raked his fingers through his hair, set his shoulders. “I’m not sure of the contents.” Now he gave a casual shrug that belied his distress, an actor again. “You’ll have to speak to my father or sister.”
“Some gilt and jewelry,” the guard said. “Original property documents.”
“Ah,” Raz said, but it was more like a noise stuck in his throat. He turned back to the mainspace and Del pivoted with him. Good thing she could keep up with the man. Her arm was clamped against his side and he was gaining comfort from her but not thinking of her. Thinking of his past and his Family, as he should.
His observant gaze scanned the mainspace. “Lighting full,” he said, and the room brightened to summer daylight. The silkeen wallpaper hung down in strips near the corners where apparently the thieves had been looking for secret compartments. Occasional gouges in the wall showed.
The guard cleared his throat. “They were diligent about looking for hidey-holes.”
Raz flinched, said in an emotionless voice, “I guess that means that every wall of the house has been marred.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Right.” Raz slid his hand down to Del’s fingers, moved quickly around the room, cataloguing the missing items for the guard.
“We think the break-in occurred a couple of days ago,” the guard said. “None of your neighbors noticed anything.”
Rosemary mewed. I need food.
Raz ran a hand down her. “Of course you do.” He gave the room a last glance. “I’ve detailed the loss in here, let’s head to the kitchen.” His mouth twitched in a false smile, his eyes were dark and aching. “Not that I know much of what might be gone there.” He took Del’s hand, frowned as if he tried to visualize the place. “Were the no-times opened and food—”
But the smell of spoiled meat answered that. The kitchen was a wreck, with doors of the no-time food storage units opened. Again their power had been drained.
“Cave of the Dark Goddess,” Raz muttered.
Del recognized regular no-times that would have held all meals and snacks at the exact temperature they’d been when placed inside. She saw one that must have contained special food for rituals, some elegant platters were bare of treats. There was a whiff of cider and cinnamon.
The huge meat no-time was empty, and most of the contents thrown on the floor, looking like a rotting massacre. The whole had a containment shield around it that prevented more spoilage and kept insects away, but the odor remained.
“We did what we could,” the guard said gruffly.
“Of course you did.”
Rosemary eeped and buried her head in Raz’s neck.
Del plucked her up, cuddled her, and strode back into the dining room. She put the kitten down and removed a package of bite-sized soft furrabeast bits she carried for Shunuk and herself from her duffle, snagged a nearby saucer with only a slight chip on the bottom, and dumped the food into it for Rosemary.
“A good woman to have in a crisis,” Raz said. His smile was strained.
Her mouth lifted on one side. “Not much of a crisis, feeding a kitten. But she needs milk.”
His face hardened. “I’m sure we don’t have any.” With deliberate steps he moved close to her, took her hands, looked into her eyes. “I want a tracker on this case. Now.”
The best tracker in the world was Straif T’Blackthorn.
Del hesitated—it was a big favor to ask Straif—but she nodded. “Fine.” She moved into the kitchen. Raz frowned.
Taking her perscry out, she tapped it and said, “Straif.”
Twenty-six
Raz waited tensely. After a minute there was a buzz and a grumble. “Here!” Straif T’Blackthorn said. No image showed in Del’s perscry; the man had blocked it.
Then Straif swore, said, “Looks bad.”
Raz recalled that Del’s perscry was full-sized, not showing just a head or torso. He looked at the meat and the destruction; again his stomach turned and he had to glance away.
Del said, “We need your help tracking the vandals.”
Straif cleared his throat and an image formed, showing him sitting up in bed, hair tousled, his wife opening sleepy eyes beside him.
“Straif, this is a life-sized perscry,” Del said.
Straif stared. He grabbed a robe and moved from the bed. Raz noticed the man’s limbs were ropier than his own. He had scars and looked tough as old leather. When he faced them again, his gaze was that of a FirstFamily lord. “Cherrys’, Gael City?”
“Yes,” Del said. “T’Cherry can have transportation for you on the way in a coupla minutes.” She glanced at Raz and he understood he should be contacting his father. He nodded and moved away but kept an ear on the conversation as he scried his father and let him know what was going on.
“Can’t teleport to Gael City,” Straif was saying in the background. “No place midway. Damn mountains, too. Tricky.”
Raz’s father’s brows rose high when he heard that Raz had called on the FirstFamily lord to help. T’Cherry, too, had a rumpled and satisfied look. The creases in his face were heavier than a few days ago. “I’ll have a glider sent to T’Blackthorn’s or he can ’port to the Nobleclass lounge at Southern Airpark. An express private ship will bring him to you.” His father’s eyes gleamed. “We’ll try the new pass. A good test.”
“Yes,” Raz said. “I doubt any of your pilots would think of zooming crazy at night with a FirstFamily lord as a passenger.”
T’Cherry rubbed his graying whiskers. “Got that right.” He nodded again. “A good test.” His face set. “We’ll find the gilt to pay the man his going rate.”
Astronomical. Raz said, “I have savings.”
“We’ll work it out. Maybe the lord would work for a silver favor.”
“I heard that,” said Straif. “I will.”
Del walked closer and the images of Straif and T’Cherry stared in astonishment at each other.
“How can this be?” asked T’Cherry.
Del coughed. “My perscry is an experimental one.” She lifted her chin. “Given to me by my late cuz, Elfwort, who developed them.”
“Got to get the technology and spells,” Straif muttered.
Del rolled a shoulder, pointed her scry at Raz’s perscry.
T’Cherry’s head bobbed out of sight as he bowed. “T’Blackthorn. I’m grateful beyond words that you’ll be helping us.” He straightened his shoulders. “Ah, payment—”
“One silver favor for my Family, to be cashed in at any time in the future, with the standard conditions,” Straif said.
Raz was foggy on the conditions, but his father would know.
“Done, and many thanks,” Raz’s father said. “I can have a glider—”
“I heard that part, too,” Straif said. “I’ll ’port to Southern Airpark.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m more familiar with public teleportation
pad twelve than anything else.”
“I’ll have a pilot meet you there.” Raz’s father rubbed his unshaven cheek again and the rasp came through. “You should be in Gael City about four and a quarter septhours from now.”
Straif blinked. “That soon? More new technology?”
“Express run, new pass.” T’Cherry puffed his chest out.
“I’m impressed.”
“Good, then you can tell the FirstFamilies about it.” He winked and ended his scry.
Straif met their eyes in turn. “Keep the containment shield on the kitchen and the trail fresh for me. Later.” His full-length image vanished.
“Lady and Lord,” the guard said. He was rubbing his temples with forefinger and thumb. “Straif T’Blackthorn.” He eyed Del. “You have him on your perscry by given name.”
Del shrugged, stuck her scry in her pocket. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she scanned the kitchen. “He’ll be here in a little over four septhours.”
“I’m heading upstairs,” Raz said.
“GrandSir Cherry, it’s bad there,” the guard said, shaking his head as he tromped from the kitchen. “All this waste. So much Flair and energy needed to restore.” Anger laced his tones, enough to set off the lava flow inside Raz again. Once more he kept it from erupting, spewing. Kept his temper. He didn’t think even Del understood how furious he was.
At his side, her arm entwined in his, she nudged him from the kitchen and he realized his skin had heated; his skin would be ruddier than ever. He started breathing and sending his anger away, through his feet. It would be best if he could find a grounding pad. There was one in the exercise and fighting salon.
Out of the kitchen, he scooped up little Rosemary, who’d curled into a ball next to the dish. His mother wouldn’t be pleased that this set of dinnerware was broken.
He put the kitten on his shoulder and immediately felt nearly as good as when he’d taken Del’s hand. The little cat stretched out, burped as her tummy came in contact with his muscle, purred before she fell back to sleep.
Again he went through breathing exercises to control his emotions. The thieves had been setting the pace, and the plot, and the action, his Family reacting or letting the guards take care of the business. Now he’d taken action, moved onto the stage, ready to do what had to be done, no matter the gilt or the personal cost.
He hadn’t liked bringing Straif T’Blackthorn in, admitted to himself that he might not have done so if Del’s ex-lover hadn’t been HeartBound to another woman.
“Lights,” Del murmured, and Raz comprehended that he’d been stalking through the dim house and Del didn’t know the place. Now the spell lights in pretty round, efficient globes lit and he stopped at the stairs and swore again. The Family portraits marching up the wall above the stairs had been slashed.
Del put her arms around him and he leaned his head against hers.
One big breath, and another, and he could speak. “Mostly reproductions from those in the Residence.” But “mostly” wasn’t good enough. He forced himself to look at the originals, narrowed his eyes as he realized the oldest were the most defaced, though squares where a holo painting had projected were drained and gone forever.
“The oldest of the Family . . .” Del murmured.
“Yes.”
“You don’t have a pic or holo of your ancestress, the colonist? Tabacin?”
“No.” He smiled grimly. “She didn’t like images of herself. We’re not sure who she looks like, if there’s any Family resemblance at all.”
Del nodded and they ascended the stairs. These walls, too, were marred.
“How much do you know about Tabacin?” Del asked, and Raz knew she was trying to divert him from the destruction.
Meanwhile his anger had grown enough that his ears felt hot, he thought the top of his head would sizzle. He kept his breathing steady, his steps even, but his voice was tight when he answered. “Not a lot.” He managed a hitch of his mouth in a semblance of a smile. “She liked cherries and baking, I think. Made the trek from Lugh’s Spear to Druida with the rest of those colonists. Was supposed to have kept a diary about all the journeying. Married late in life and had several children. Four? The colonists were more fertile than we.” He hesitated, turned left down the corridor to the sparring salon. He needed that damned grounding mat, his feet burned as hot as his head and he wondered that he didn’t leave smoking footprints in the carpet behind him.
Del cleared her throat. “Surely, if you had something as valuable as the diary, you’d keep it in the main estate’s HouseHeart.”
Raz’s teeth clicked together as his jaw clenched. “You would think so. But it’s not there, not in the HouseHeart safe, not in the Residence. Nothing of Tabacin’s.” He made an abortive gesture. “I’m supposed to have some divination cards that she created. If so, she was a good artist.”
Del’s eyes widened. “Cards.”
“They do seem to be homemade, and of materials more Earthan than Celtan. Of the old Earth image system, not the Celtan Ogham.”
“Fascinating.”
The door to the exercise and fighting room hung off its hinges.
“Lights,” he said. Sucking in air, he marched forward. A grounding strip ran along the base of one of the short walls. A few seconds later he was there and shoved the anger roiling within him through his soles to the mat. His feet no longer burned, red no longer edged his vision, though his muscles trembled as his rage renewed when he saw more long slashes in the walls.
“I’m sorry about this.” Del wrapped an arm around his waist and the heat he felt from her told him that she was using the grounding mat for her anger, too.
He buried his face in her hair. “This wasn’t even my favorite place. I’ve always loved the Residence and Druida more than this hick town.”
“Oh.”
“I didn’t say that to Trillia when she was auditioning for a part down here, though.”
Del stroked his head, sifting her fingers through his hair, and they sighed together. “I’d forgotten about seeing that show,” she said.
He raised his head. “You don’t want to see Heart and Sword?”
“Sure I do. I love plays.”
On another steady inhalation he examined the room. The exercise mats were too thin to have held anything, but they’d been cut up. The ballet barre was broken in three pieces. He shook his head. “The thieves really tore this place up.”
Del leaned against him and he felt the wave of comfort she was sending him. “Thank you,” he said.
“Welcome.”
“Mirrors,” he ordered and the upper panels shimmered and turned reflective. There were some dark spots here and there, but they looked better than the wood, and whatever they were made of hadn’t shattered. “Not too bad,” he said.
Del grunted and he didn’t think it was agreement. She said, “Comparatively better.”
“Yes.” He nerved himself, sent the awful anticipation away into the grounding mat, too. “The nursery next.”
“Nursery?”
“Where my sister’s dolls are.” He swallowed hard. “She loved—loves—this place and didn’t want to come. She wanted me to check on the dolls.”
Del stepped behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, dug her fingers into him in an excellent massage. First she worked on his tense neck. He deliberately relaxed his back, groaned as she loosened a tight knot, let his head fall forward.
When his thoughts began to drift, she dropped her hands and stepped off the mat, offered her fingers. “Ready to do this?”
“Yes.” He took her hand, dry and warm and strong, as usual.
At the door he turned left. “At the end of the hall.” They walked and he saw drunken cabinets where a leg had been snapped, more walls damaged.
The nursery was nearly as wrecked as the den. The plank floor had been torn up, most of the toys broken. No books or holos or vizes remained here, either, not one single page. “Cave of the Dark Goddess, they took all our
books!”
“Bad,” Del said. “Full lighting.”
“Terrible,” Raz said. He trod gingerly around holes in the floor, the jutting or sunken wood. Stopped. His stomach clenched when he saw the pile of dolls in the corner, like bodies. He froze. Could not take one more step forward.
Del let go of his hand and walked to the corner; she bent down and her fine, taut derriere stretched against her summer trous, and Raz welcomed the distraction, the curl of lust inside him driving out dread, transmuting the anger. Another way to ground fury—turn it into lust. He didn’t think Del would mind doing that with her own anger, coming together in wild sex tonight.
After this endless tour of the house was over. “How are they?” he rasped.
“Not too bad.” She stood and turned, holding a doll no larger than her hand. “Mostly just tossed aside. Do you know which one was your sister’s favorite?”
“Yeah.” He was afraid to hope that the face hadn’t been smashed in, cut up, the eyes . . . no, he wouldn’t let his imagination rule. He took the room in bounds, jumping over messes. When he reached the corner, he found that Del had sat most of the dolls against the wall. They didn’t look too bad . . . until he saw his sister’s favorite soft-bodied one slit open from neck to legs.
“We can have her restuffed and mended,” Del said.
“Good.” He changed the topic. “We’ll need to clean a room for Straif.”
“He isn’t fussy.”
Raz didn’t believe her.
They worked on a guest room, swept the crumbled bedsponge into a trash receptacle, pushed the broken furniture against the wall and used a housekeeping spell to cleanse it. Raz wasn’t pleased with the poor result and his jaw hurt from where he’d clamped it shut.
“We can sleep here.” Del studied his old room. “I have enough energy and Flair for a housekeeping spell to get rid of the sponge.”
“Not a decent bedsponge in the house,” Raz said.
Del patted her duffle. “I have two groundmats here.” She smiled. “One will be crowded, but I don’t think we’ll mind.”
“No.”
“The other we can use for Straif.”
