He was still smiling as he made his way to the exit when a rather firm grip on his arm stopped him.
“You. From the restaurant. Ansel?”
Ansel turned to find it was the unpleasant Denebian who had dined with Fem ’Sme. Her manager, the note had said.
“Hom,” he returned. He had not been impressed by the individual, but manners dictated he be polite. “Thank you for the tickets.”
“Fem ’Sme wanted you to have them,” the Denebian said dismissively. “How did you like the show?”
“It was wonderful.”
“Good, good. I don’t mean to keep you from your date,” he added with a glance around.
“I came alone,” Ansel explained. He knew no one who would appreciate a show such as this and had planned on using the second ticket himself.
“Ah, that’s fine, then,” the Denebian patted him on the back. “I have a favor to ask, Hom,” he continued as he maneuvered Ansel back into the now empty showroom. “Fem ’Sme is still rather upset with me about the other night. She believes I lack diplomacy. One of the few things we agree on. But it has little to do with my job,” he shrugged.
Ansel thought a manager’s job would have a great deal to do with diplomacy, and he mentioned this.
“Not as such,” came the reply. “You, however, are quite good at it. She was rather taken with you, Hom.”
“There was a need. I was happy to assist.” It wasn’t the first time he’d filled in for M’Tisri in that capacity.
“And I have need of you now, Hom Ansel. As I said, I am in some difficulty with the Fem. If you could go backstage and say hello, tell her how you liked the show, it would go a long way toward her forgiving me.” The Denebian smiled, which made Ansel somewhat uncomfortable, but he very much wanted to see Fem ’Sme and tell her how much he enjoyed her singing.
“Certainly,” he said with a small nod.
The Denebian led Ansel backstage to a door framed by two intimidating and well-tattooed Humans. One male, one female. Neither spoke. Fem ’Sme’s manager knocked once on the door, then opened it.
“Get out, Pezet,” came the immediate tinny response.
“There is someone to see you, Fem,” the Denebian said, pushing Ansel in ahead of himself.
Fem S’ur pri ’Sme sat at a vanity table, angled in such a way that she had to turn to see the door. Her crest rose from flattened and she held out a hand, inviting Ansel into the room.
“Hom Ansel.” The trilling once again rendered into Comspeak. “Welcome.”
With a slight shove from the Denebian, Ansel stepped farther into the dressing room and heard the door close behind him. “Fem ’Sme,” he said with a nod.
“That particular Human has no discretion.” Click went the beak. “I hope he did not force you back here.”
“He was kind enough to offer me the chance to compliment you on your show this evening, Fem,” Ansel answered diplomatically. “I very much enjoyed it. Thank you for the tickets.” As he gave another small nod, he caught a shimmer of light off her beak. During the show he had noticed how the light played off her dark eye rings as well as the curve of her beak. He could see now that she had applied glitter to those areas. “You have a striking stage presence.”
She trilled, and the translator delivered, “Not as important as how I sounded.” She wiggled her fingers; she was making a joke. “But still, you are kind to say so.”
“You sing beautifully, Fem ’Sme,” he said earnestly. “Rarely have I heard such an accomplished contralto. I found A Night In The Trees to be especially stirring.” The theater owner had prepared programs with the set list rendered into equivalent Comscript. “All due to your talent.”
Her crest rose to its full height, acknowledging the compliment. “You seem very knowledgeable, Hom.”
“I have always appreciated the vocal arts, Fem ’Sme.”
She gave him a curious look. “Not merely a restauranteur?” she asked with a small wiggle of fingers.
Ansel blinked, then smiled, “Merely a humble accountant, Fem.”
“Oh, you are quite gracious, Hom. Something I do not often experience in the company I am forced to keep.” One emerald eye swiveled toward the door of the dressing room as her crest lowered for just a moment.
“Fem?” Ansel asked curiously.
Both eyes aimed back at him. “Forced to share another’s company when the only thing you have in common is business can be taxing. To both of us,” she explained. “And I so rarely have time to myself,” a slight click of her beak. “I hear Plexis is an experience not to be missed.”
Ansel’s face lit up. “That is true. I would be happy to escort you, Fem. At your convenience.”
* * *
• • •
Inside his sparsely furnished apartment, Ansel relaxed in his favorite chair, an album laid open on his lap. Each page held several 2D images. He turned them slowly, occasionally pausing. On one such image his fingers ran along the outline of a treasured face. He hadn’t thought of Emelia in a long time, not that he had forgotten her. Her voice had been beautiful.
He had been happy for her when she’d won admittance to the National Conservatory School. It was the best on Imesh 27, but it had been on the other side of the continent. It was what she had always wanted, and so it was what he had wanted for her. He would have followed her had she asked. She hadn’t. Eventually, he had left as well.
He laid his head back and closed his eyes, remembering Emelia as she had looked. He could almost hear her voice.
* * *
• • •
Ansel tapped out the rhythm as he hummed the melody. Incapable of mimicking the Tolian language, he instead happily sang his folderol as he looked over the week’s accounts.
The door to his office slid open suddenly, startling him. The enormous black bulk of his employer filled the doorframe.
“Ansel, my friend! What is that sound you are making?! Are you in pain?!” the large Carasian boomed in concern and took a step into the small office. “Has Chef been forcing his experimental dishes on you again?!”
Ansel blinked, then said, “What? No. I, I was singing, Hom Huido.”
“That was singing?” Huido asked after a moment, then settled his bulk down into a more relaxed pose. “We have been friends for years, and I didn’t know you could sing.”
“Yes, well—” Ansel began with some embarrassment and a slight pique.
“Excuse me. Hom Ansel?” a voice called from the hall. Amber pupiled eyes peered around the Carasian’s massive shape. “There is someone to see you, Hom Ansel. She’s waiting at the front-of-house. A Fem S’ur pri ’Sme,” the small Neblokan said.
Ansel immediately stood and made an effort to smooth his tunic. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said as he waited just long enough for Huido and the Neblokan to make room before he squeezed by them and disappeared down the hall.
Six of the Carasian’s eye stalks followed Ansel as he disappeared around the corner. The ones remaining were fixed on the small being standing before him.
“Fem?” Huido asked the Neblokan.
She couldn’t help staring up into that mass of black bulbous-tipped stalks. “Yes,” she managed. Then, “A singer, I believe, Hom Huido. Performing on station,” she added, nervously stroking her small pale blue wattle.
“I think he was blushing,” the Carasian said, always amused by that Human biological response. “Can Humans still become smitten at his age?”
Unsure of the answer or whether the question even required one, the Neblokan performed her species’ version of a shrug.
By the time Ansel had reached the host area of the restaurant, he had slowed to a more respectable walk, smoothing his tunic again.
“Fem ’Sme,” he said as he gave a short bow. “It is a pleasure to see you again. I am afraid,” he began, “that the restaurant
doesn’t open for several hours yet.”
“I came to see you, Hom,” she said. “You offered your services when we last spoke. I was hoping to steal you away for a short time.” One slim, delicately scaled finger moved across her cheek, making to tidy already perfectly placed feathers. “The station air is so drying and I thought to purchase some bertwee oil, but I have no idea where to look. I was hoping you could accompany me.”
Ansel recalled a Tolian sous chef that the restaurant had employed some time back. He seemed to have had a penchant for bertwee oil. There had been the question of a bill from Rose Red’s Tree of Life Emporium, care of The Claws & Jaws. Ansel had paid it to avoid any problems with Rose herself, then deducted the amount from the minor chef’s pay. Personal grooming products were not covered in employee benefits. Ansel remembered the level where the shop was, if not the exact address.
“I would be grateful,” Fem ’Sme added. “I am sorry about not calling ahead. I suddenly had some free time and hoped you might be available.”
“I would be honored,” Ansel said happily. “If you will wait just a moment.”
He made a quick trip back through the kitchen to take one of the blue employee airtags off the notice board, ignoring the odd looks the Neblokan gave him.
“I’m going out,” he told her. “Please inform Hom Huido.”
He was gone before she could ask when he’d be back.
Once on the correct level they did some sightseeing on the way to the Tree of Life Emporium, including a shop that sold what appeared to be small scaled animals, shaped like balls, enclosed in plas spheres. Fem ’Sme thought them adorable. Ansel could only wonder how the creatures were fed or otherwise taken care of. Eventually, they arrived. Once Fem ’Sme had finished with her purchases, she suggested a light snack and would Hom Ansel know of a suitable place.
One level up was a café Ansel occasionally visited when he wanted a less hectic setting than the Claws & Jaws. The O Claire was a quiet café that served only Human dishes, making it a safe choice for both of them. Ansel ordered an antipasto platter along with a fruit juice for himself. Fem ’Sme ordered water.
When the waiter had left, she said, “I find water to be the least troubling when I am touring. I have to be careful,” she said gently stroking the feathers at her throat. Then she leaned forward conspiratorially and trilled softly, “I admit to being tempted by the selection of drinks at your restaurant, Hom.” The translator relayed the words in the same quiet tone.
Ansel, also leaning forward, said, “I admit it as well.” He was pleased the translator did not attempt to render her laughter into Comspeak. It was far too beautiful a sound. “Where are you going after Plexis?” he asked.
She drew some of the water into her beaked mouth before answering. “This is our last stop. We return to Deneb after this.”
“Deneb?” The answer surprised him.
“Yes. My family does business on Deneb. I’ll be able to shed my entourage,” she wiggled her fingers in humor, “once back there. Pezet can be overly protective.” She nibbled a cube of white cheese.
“I am grateful your manager allowed you to go shopping, then,” he said, taking an olive.
“Yes,” came the short tinny Comspeak though her trill was drawn out. “About that. I confess to departing while Marls and Fuyo were otherwise distracted. You no doubt saw them at the theater.”
He did remember the large presence at her dressing room door.
“They are a constant presence and lack any skill in conversation. I desired more stimulating company,” she continued. “And you were so gallant to offer escort,” she added quickly, resting her delicate four-fingered hand briefly on his before he could offer protest.
Ansel felt himself blush. “Fem, I don’t wish to get you into any trouble.”
“And you won’t,” she insisted. “Pezet needs a good reminder of his place every so often,” she added with another wiggle of fingers.
Fem ’Sme chose to return to the theater instead of her lodgings, since she was performing later on. When asked if he would attend, Ansel apologetically said he would be working but hoped to see another show before she left Plexis. He still had the extra ticket.
“As this is the last stop, the contract is open-ended. When Pezet decides he’s had enough, we move on. Not the best manager I have had.” She clicked her beak. “But we work with what we are given. Thank you for escorting me, Hom Ansel. I do hope to see you again before we leave.”
“My pleasure, Fem ’Sme. Are you sure,” he added quickly as she turned toward the theater door. “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” The little hints she had let pass in conversation had concerned him.
“Gallant,” she trilled. “I am sorry if I caused you worry. I assure you I will be fine.”
With a nod he watched as a young Human let her into the closed theater, closing the door behind them.
Ansel let out a breath he had not been aware he was holding after the door had shut. Perhaps he could convince Hom Huido to let him have his night off a bit early.
* * *
• • •
As the door to his apartment slid shut, Ansel set his packages down. He had been able to get a few errands done himself while out with Fem ’Sme. The sound of fabric on fabric made him spin about.
“Hom.” Pezet, Fem ’Sme’s manager, was sitting in his reading chair. The smile on his face wasn’t what Ansel would have called pleasant. “A productive shopping trip, I see.”
“Hom Pezet. What, what are you doing here?”
Pezet gestured to the room. “Waiting for you.”
“Me? How did you get in?”
Pezet merely shrugged in answer then continued smoothly, “I’m looking for Fem ’Sme. She left her lodgings without my permission. And since she doesn’t know Plexis well enough to venture out on her own . . . ?” he indicated Ansel.
Ansel straightened as a sudden protectiveness of the Tolian came over him. “Your permission?” The pert retort escaped his mouth before he could stop it.
The tattooed Human laughed, seemingly unfazed by the question or the tone. “Yes.” His stare fixed on Ansel. “It’s my job after all.”
“You make her out more hostage than client,” Ansel retorted, the protectiveness not yet having run its course. “What kind of manager are you?”
“Oh, she isn’t my client,” he answered obtusely. “We have an arrangement. You might call her my charge.”
That caused Ansel to pause. Among other things, Deneb was known to be the home of two notorious crime syndicates; the Blues and the Grays. Fem ’Sme had said her family did business on Deneb. She hadn’t said what kind of business.
“Your charge? You mean a plevnr c trvt,” Ansel said in his native language.
The Denebian didn’t react.
“Ransom Guest,” Ansel repeated in Comspeak. “Hostage.”
Pezet tsked. “Hom, such hostile sounding words.” He made a motion with his right hand. The pair Ansel had seen at the theater entered the room from the small hallway that led to his bedroom, making the already small room seem that much smaller. Pezet held his hand up, and the two stopped.
“Someone could get the wrong idea. Fem ’Sme is willingly under my protection as a,” he gestured thoughtfully, “guarantee of promises made.” His hand went to his chest. “I would be remiss if I let anything happen to her. It would be regrettable to all involved if something like this were to happen again.”
It was a warning not lost on Ansel. He felt himself tense. “I won’t allow you to—,” he began but Pezet’s cold smile stopped him.
“I can assure you,” Pezet said. “She is as safe as can be. With me,” he added. “Now, where is she?”
Ansel’s gaze went from Pezet to the two figures across the room and back. Fem ’Sme had not seemed fearful. On the contrary, she had made light of her secret foray.
The Denebian gave a slight nod. “I can see why she likes you, Ansel. Direct and, above all, honest.” The last word was not said as a compliment. Pezet motioned for his two silent companions to follow as he went to the door.
As it slid open, Pezet’s movement was stalled momentarily by the presence of someone else in the hall.
“We’re just leaving,” Pezet said to the figure in the hall as he and his guards moved past.
To Ansel’s dismay, Jason Morgan stood in the hall, a concerned look on his face.
“Ansel—,” Morgan began.
“Hom Morgan,” he acknowledged before letting the door close, effectively cutting off any further comment.
* * *
• • •
Ansel let out a frustrated sound as he shuffled through a handful of invoices. He’d just gone over them and couldn’t remember a single one. Pezet had rattled him and it made him angry, not that there was much he could have done. He’d stopped himself twice before he could call the theater. It would do nothing but provoke that rude Denebian, and he didn’t want to cause more trouble for Fem ’Sme. As he placed the stack he held onto a pile reserved for Hom Huido’s inspection, the door to his office opened and in came the Carasian himself.
“Ansel,” he boomed, startling his longtime retainer.
“Hom Huido,” Ansel began, relieved at the distraction. “I have some invoices I need to go over with—”
“Later, later! Your Tolian singer is here!” Huido boomed. “Lovely example of the species, or so M’Tisri tells me. But she seems to have a rather large cirrip accompanying her.” A cirrip being similar to a barnacle; universally regarded as bothersome and difficult to remove. Ansel doubted the description was literal.
The Clan Chronicles--Tales from Plexis Page 29
