Mouse and Dragon

by Sharon Lee

  "The task for which I would like to commission your consideration," she said carefully, "is . . ." She leaned forward, looking directly into his face.

  "I own a Class A Jump—Ride the Luck—which is berthed at Binjali's Yard. It is—my intention to enter the lists as a courier pilot. I understand that there is paperwork—licenses to obtain, guarantees to be posted—in order to best serve and protect ship and crew along the . . . beyond Liaden space."

  "You wish me to bring that paperwork together for you? That is perfectly within my scope, Pilot." He reached into the pocket of his vest and pulled out a notepad. Tapping the device on, he glanced at her. "A few questions, if you will."

  "Certainly."

  "Good—when do you propose to put your ship to work beyond Liad?"

  "As soon as may be," she answered. "Much depends upon my copilot, who has some matters to put in order before he is cleared to fly."

  Mr. dea'Gauss tapped a note onto the pad. "What is your copilot's name?"

  "Daav yos'Phelium Clan Korval."

  She thought his fingers missed a beat; if so, he recovered so rapidly that she could not be entirely certain.

  "Of course. I have Pilot yos'Phelium's particulars on file, so there is no need for you to detail those. Ride the Luck is of course registered with the Guild?"

  "Yes. I had only just thought! Will you need ship's archives?"

  "Ship's archives are not required, though I have found that it is beneficial to include them as part of the supporting documentation," Mr. dea'Gauss murmured, his attention on his notes.

  "I will transmit them to you this afternoon," Aelliana promised.

  He glanced up. "You need not discommode yourself, my Lady. As the archive is in support only, its presence is not necessary for the completion of the primary documentation."

  "It is no trouble at all," she said. "I will be taking The Luck to Chonselta this afternoon."

  "In that wise, I will be pleased to have all necessary information immediately in hand," he murmured and looked up. "I anticipate that the completed and certified documents will be in your hands no later than Banim Third-day."

  Aelliana blinked. "That's very soon."

  "As a task, it is not difficult. There may be some delay upon the Guild's side, though we will of course do everything possible to expedite the matter."

  He put his notepad on the table and gave her his whole attention once more. "I think we have this task well in hand, Pilot. What else may I be honored to do for you?"

  She placed her hand on the envelope.

  "I wonder if you are . . . able . . . to explain to me why I am awarded this—considerable!—settlement. Daav owes me nothing—it is I who owe him, more than ever I can hope to Balance."

  Mr. dea'Gauss glanced down, perhaps at the envelope; perhaps at the Jump pilot's ring on her finger, then raised his eyes to hers.

  "His lordship allowed me to know of the bond between you," he said slowly. "In . . . more regular circumstances, that bond would predicate a . . . social outcome."

  "As it did with Anne and Lord yos'Galan."

  "Precisely." Mr. dea'Gauss placed his fingers lightly on the edge of the envelope.

  "Precisely," he said again, and paused, as if gathering his thoughts.

  "His lordship," he said after a moment, "chose to honor the bond as if it is the social outcome, realizing that this may never come to pass. It is . . . an unusual melant'i, as he himself said, and one may therefore too easily err in proper action. One wishes to place honor—one wishes to place regard correctly, and to rightly value what is precious. His solution . . . I have spent many hours considering his lordship's solution, and I cannot find it in error, my lady, nor say that I might have counseled him differently."

  The envelope was textured and tickled her palm. Aelliana took a breath.

  "This is a lifemate's share."

  "It is."

  She closed her eyes, opened them and considered the man before her with his practical face and canny eyes.

  "Mr. dea'Gauss, Daav and I are indeed lifemates-by-nature, as he told you. However, it is by—it is by no means certain that we can, or ought to be, lifemates-by-law. It is—I had hoped that this joint endeavor we undertake would clarify that point. You will know, sir, that Mizel is by no means High House. I would not damage Korval through my ignorance, nor would I make Daav vulnerable."

  He inclined his head, but said nothing, apparently waiting for her to continue, though what else she might say—

  But, no, there was something else, after all, to say.

  She pushed the envelope to him and lifted her hand away.

  "Please, hold these safe until I call upon you in order to sign them, or ask that you destroy them."

  Again, he inclined his head, and Aelliana bethought herself of yet another question.

  "In your judgment—ought I to make Daav half owner of The Luck?"

  "My lady, you ought not," he replied promptly. "He is your copilot, and I believe you will find that satisfies him very well."

  "Thank you," she said, and hesitated, for surely the question that next rose to her tongue was no concern of hers . . .

  "Is there something else, my lady?"

  "I only wonder," she said slowly. "This . . . employment as Ride the Luck's copilot will mean that Daav will sometimes be . . . unavailable to Delm Korval and the business of the clan."

  "That had mostwise been the case with Korval's delms until very recently," Mr. dea'Gauss said. "This firm has protocols in place to handle much of what Korval has been addressing personally. Korval's presence will naturally be required at the bi-annual meetings of the Council of Clans, but a good deal of the . . . lesser business may be handled by a designated speaker."

  She frowned. "Does he—know this?" she asked, thinking of the sense of weariness and ill health that she had felt in him, bone-deep.

  "It is my melant'i to assume that Korval is informed," Mr. dea'Gauss said delicately. "The conditions under which we currently operate are by instruction of Thodelm yos'Galan, acting as Korval-pernard'i, in the aftermath of the tragedy that cost Korval its delm and yos'Galan its a'thodelm. The instructions were never rescinded."

  "I see," she said, and inclined her head. "Mr. dea'Gauss, I thank you for the gift of your time—and for your assistance."

  "You are most welcome, my lady. Please consider me entirely at your disposal."

  "You're very kind," she said and stood, Mr. dea'Gauss rising with her.

  "There is," she said, suddenly recalling, "one more thing." She touched the collar of the shirt she was wearing, one of several purchased from Anne's favorite store.

  "You will, I think, be receiving an invoice from the Crystal Flower. Please forward it to me when it arrives; it is my debt and I will pay it."

  Mr. dea'Gauss bowed.

  "Certainly, my lady."

  Chapter Seventeen

  A room without books is like a body without a soul.

  —

  Cicero

  Er Thom was in his office. Good.

  Daav pushed the door open gently, pausing just inside the room to consider his brother, who had for so long been the first tenant of his heart. He made a charming sight, to be sure, with his head bent studiously over his work, and the light from the lamp making golden hair luster.

  "You might be of some use, and pour the wine," Er Thom said, without raising his head. "I'll be through here in a moment."

  Grinning, Daav crossed to the cabinet, unshipped glasses, and poured—red for Er Thom, and the same for himself, there being no misravot on offer.

  "You stint me," he said, carrying the glasses to the table and disposing them.

  "Does Pilot Caylon know you drink misravot?" Er Thom asked. He rose and stretched, hands over head, relaxing all at once, with a sigh.

  "She may well," Daav said ruefully. "She may even know that I am not particularly fond of it."

  "A perceptive lady, indeed," his brother said, coming forward. He looked into Daav's fac
e, violet eyes shrewd. "When shall I have the felicity of seeing the announcement in The Gazette?"

  "Perhaps not for some time," Daav said slowly. "My lady wishes to hone her edge."

  "Surely she can acquire whatever edge she feels she lacks on the whetstone of the world," Er Thom murmured, picking up his glass and assaying a sip.

  "She makes a compelling argument against that route," Daav murmured, tasting his own wine. "And offers an interesting proposal, darling."

  "Which you are inclined to accept."

  "Since it falls in with my own wishes and desires, of course I am inclined to accept. Which is why I've come creeping along yos'Galan's back hallways at an hour when we both ought to have put work away." He sipped, and lowered his glass. "I need your advice, Thodelm."

  Golden brows rose slightly. "Shall I be alarmed?"

  "You may well become so; who am I to know?"

  "And is it," Er Thom asked carefully, "Korval come seeking yos'Galan's advice, on behalf of the clan's son Daav?"

  Trust Er Thom to parse the melant'i thus. Indeed, he had himself spent a goodly portion of the afternoon attempting to untangle just that point.

  "Scrutiny reveals that it must be Korval who seeks yos'Galan's wisdom—on behalf of Korval. There's no keeping Daav out of the equation, I fear, but the solving cannot be for the undutiful child alone."

  "Hah." Er Thom pulled out a chair and sat, waving Daav to the other. "Tell me."

  "Put most simply, and with the best good of the clan foremost in your consideration—does it seem to you that the clan might . . . thrive . . . should the delm choose to accept employment as copilot on a courier ship?"

  "It does not immediately seem to me that the clan would founder and break apart," Er Thom said placidly. "yos'Galan appears to take no harm from the benevolent neglect of its thodelm."

  "True. I will tell you that I have spent some time with the Diaries today, and learn that past delms have been . . . more lightly tied to Liad."

  "So there is precedent."

  "There is," Daav agreed. "Do you think it wise for both the delm and the delm's heir to be offworld at the same time?"

  Er Thom tipped his head. "Did not our mother and my mother travel off-planet together in company with my elder brother?"

  They had, Daav allowed—delm, thodelm and a'thodelm, together all. And when the trip was done, delm and a'thodelm were dead, with the thodelm crippled, and in mortal fear of her life.

  "That is hardly an argument in support of the scheme," he commented.

  "It is merely an observation," Er Thom said, frowning down into his glass. "We were already thin when that trip was taken—it was only after that we came to think of ourselves as endangered."

  He lifted his head. "I think it was my mother, who came back to us so badly wounded, having lost her sister and her heir, who locked us down, brother, and insisted that the delm clip his wings."

  Daav considered. In the terrible days after their losses, he and Er Thom had depended upon the clan's sole remaining elder for advice and guidance. Ill and grieving as she was, she might well have deemed it best to nail her reckless nephew to the ground, lest he risk his life and his bloodline.

  "It may be that she was the author of our current situation," he said slowly. "Indeed, the entries in the Diaries would seem to support the supposition. Perhaps it was wisdom."

  "Not wisdom," Er Thom said decisively. "Not malice, I think—but wisdom? No." He straightened.

  "yos'Galan advises Korval," he stated, in the mode of subordinate-line-to-the-delm.

  Daav inclined his head. "Korval hears," he returned, delm-to-subordinate-line.

  "It is not the best care of the clan to huddle, safe, upon the homeworld. Korval is ships; Korval is pilots. If Korval allows fear to rule it, we become less than we are. More, we violate the law laid down for us by the Founder. Thus does yos'Galan advise the delm."

  That the Founder would have found nothing wonderful in her heirs breaking faith, pirate that she'd been, Daav did not say. Instead, he inclined his head once more.

  "Korval hears yos'Galan."

  "That is well. Does the delm require further service from yos'Galan this hour?"

  "I believe that our business is done," Korval responded.

  "Excellent." Er Thom smiled. "Now, tell me how matters fare between yourself and Pilot Caylon. She must think well of you, if she considers placing her ship in your hands."

  "Her regard humbles me," Daav said truthfully, "though there have been moments when I have wished that the Healers had meddled less with what was finished and done."

  Er Thom tipped his head. "You speak of the bond? Truly, it is unsettling at first—who wishes to share his innermost self, with all one's flaws and pettiness? I swear you will grow accustomed, brother, and then you will wonder how ever you went on—before."

  "Aelliana reports something very like," he admitted, setting his glass aside. "For my part—" He raised his head and met Er Thom's eyes. "The link is only one-way, darling. She describes a condition like to what I have heard from you and from Anne. For myself, I experience nothing of the sort—"

  Er Thom shifted, pity on his face, his lips parting—

  "No—hear me," Daav said, his eyes suddenly wet. "I do well enough—how many believe that Scouts are able to read minds, after all?"

  "But the full sharing," Er Thom murmured.

  "The full sharing—is perhaps not to be ours. That the link functions at all is—ought to be—a joy. Indeed, she says that she finds it so, and I—I would far rather sit copilot to Aelliana Caylon than anything else I can contemplate."

  "That is well, then." Er Thom said, and leaned over to grip Daav's hand, his fingers warm and firm. "It will be well, brother."

  "Of course it will," Daav said, and smiled, seeing some of the distress fade from his brother's eyes. "How could it be otherwise?"

  He had walked from Jelaza Kazone to Trealla Fantrol, wanting to have time with his thoughts. After leaving Er Thom, he was again glad of the walk, this time to soothe his unruly emotions. His last message from Aelliana was that she was Chonselta-bound and might not return until late. It may have been that which encouraged him to follow the more circuitous paths down-valley, though Jelaza Kazone rarely felt empty to him any more.

  Whatever the case, the stars were well up by the time he opened a side door and stepped into a hall illuminated by night-dims—and a bar of bright light from the partly open library door. Frowning, he moved silently forward.

  Aelliana was curled into his favorite chair, her head bent over some handwork. She was wearing the green silk robe he had sent to her in Chonselta; the ripple of tawny hair that hid her face from him was damp, the light casting the drifting dry strands into an aura.

  He pushed the door wider.

  She looked up, smiling.

  "Daav. Good evening."

  "Good evening," he answered, stepping into the room. The object she had been so concentrated upon was a remote, its screen dense with figures. "Am I disturbing your work?"

  "Not at all," she answered. "I was waiting for you. This—" She shook the remote lightly—"is a notion I've been considering. Only let me close down."

  Her fingers flickered across the small keypad; the screen dimmed and she put the device on the table at her elbow. Daav came further into the room—like a moth drawn to the moon, he chided himself—and perched on the arm of the chair opposite.

  "How went your errands today?" he asked when she looked up.

  She sighed, very lightly. "Mr. dea'Gauss was everything that was accommodating and agreeable. Director Barq was . . . less so, I fear."

  That dea'Gauss had been accommodating was scarcely surprising. Director Barq, however . . .

  "Was there a difficulty?" he asked.

  Aelliana moved her shoulders, as if she would cast the memory away.

  "There was no difficulty," she said, "unless you count the realization of an unwelcome truth difficult." She looked down at her hands, folded tightly on
her lap. "Director Barq had apparently felt that my decision not to renew was a . . . strategy, and that my . . . relationship with Korval, as he phrased it, had given me insight into the fact that I had in the past been neither advertent, nor careful of my own best good. And so I became someone whom it was easy and natural to cheat."

  The set of her shoulders and the tight clasp of her hands told him precisely how profound was her unhappiness.

  "We are all cheated, once," he commented, which was the truth as he knew it personally. "It is how we learn not to be cheated twice." He tipped his head. "Are you hungry?"

  She glanced up at him, green eyes wide and misty. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Are you hungry?" he repeated. "I confess that I am."

  "Since you are so bold—yes, I am hungry. However, I didn't wish to disturb Mr. pel'Kana."

  "No need," he said, rising and holding his hand down to her. "Come, we will forage for ourselves."

  She put her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. "This sounds risky," she commented.

  "Not in the least! You must learn to have faith in me, Pilot."

  * * *

  "There's wine in the keeper," Daav said, jerking his head toward the rear of the kitchen, as he opened the coldbox. "If you would be so kind as to pour for us?"

  Aelliana tightened the sash of her robe and moved off in the indicated direction, the floor tiles cool beneath her bare feet. By the time she had extricated a bottle of white wine by a process that could only be defined as True Random, Daav had taken over the corner of the counter nearest the stove, knife and cutting board to hand.

  She carried her burden to what was obviously a wine station, with glasses and cups hanging ready over a table topped with stone. Reaching up, she unracked two glasses, unsealed the wine and poured.

  "Where will you have it?" she asked.

  "In hand," came the answer, so she took a glass to him.

  He had it from her with a smile, sipped—and laughed. "Yes! This will go excellently!"

  "I suppose I should have told you that I know nothing of wine," Aelliana said ruefully. "But my mission came upon me so quickly . . ."