The Dragon Variation

by Sharon Lee

  "Luken. Well-met, Cousin." Er Thom's voice carried real warmth, as had his bow. He smiled and held out a ringless hand. "Hello, Pat Rin. I'm glad to see you."

  The tense face relaxed minutely and Pat Rin left his foster-father's side to take the offered hand. "Hello, Cousin Er Thom." He held up the festive box. "We have a gift for Cousin Shan."

  "That's very kind," Er Thom said, matching the child's seriousness. "Shall I take you to him, so that you may give it?"

  Pat Rin hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at his foster-father.

  "Of course you would welcome the opportunity to meet your new cousin," Luken coached gently and Pat Rin turned his serious eyes back to Er Thom.

  "Thank you. I would like to meet my new cousin."

  "Good. I will take you to him immediately. With my mother's permission . . ." He bowed respect in her direction, gathered Luken with a flicker of fingers and moved toward the hallway.

  Petrella gripped her chair.

  "Er Thom!"

  He turned his head, violet eyes merely polite in a face still somewhat pale. "Mother?"

  "An announcement of your child's acceptance," she said, with forced calm, "appears in this morning's Gazette."

  "Ah," he said softly, and, seeing that she awaited more, added: "That would be the delm's hand."

  "I see," Petrella said, and spun back to her desk, releasing him.

  HE HAD JUST REVIEWED the last of the day's pressing business and was considering a climb up the Tree. Seated on the platform he and his brother had built as children, the world below reduced to proper insignificance, surrounded by the benign presence of the Tree—there he might profitably begin to consider Er Thom's tangle.

  Indeed, he had pushed away from the desk and was half-way across the room when he heard his butler's familiar step in the hallway beyond and paused, head tipped to one side, wondering—

  In another moment, wonder was rewarded by delight.

  Mr. pel'Kana bowed in the doorway, "Scout Lieutenant sel'Iprith," he announced, standing aside to let her pass.

  "Olwen."

  Smiling, Daav went to meet her. Mr. pel'Kana discreetly withdrew, pulling the door shut behind him.

  She was in leathers, as if new-come from space, and carried a small potted plant carefully in both hands. Looking up, she returned his smile, though somewhat less brightly than usual, and went past to put the pot on the desk.

  Daav watched her, abruptly cold.

  "Olwen?"

  She spun away from the desk and flung against him, arms hard around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest.

  She was sweet and familiar, warm where he was so suddenly chill. Daav hugged her close, rubbing his face in her hair.

  They stood thus some time, neither speaking, then she stirred a little, muscles tensing as if she would move away.

  He loosened his embrace, though he did not entirely free her. Olwen sighed and seemed to melt against him.

  "Wonderful news, old friend," she said, so softly he could barely make out the words. "I'm recalled to active duty."

  "Ah." He closed his eyes, acutely aware of the softness of her hair. He drew a careful breath.

  "When do you leave?"

  "This afternoon." Her arms tightened bruisingly; she released him and stepped back, one hand rising to brush his cheek. "Be well, Daav."

  He caught her hand and kissed the cool fingertips. "Good lift, Olwen. Take care."

  "As ever," she returned, which was the old joke between them.

  He walked with her to the door, and watched as she went down the path and slipped into her car.

  When the sound of the engine had gone beyond his hearing, he returned to his office, taking care that the door was well-closed behind him.

  Nubiath'a sat upon the corner of the desk, where she had placed it. He shivered and bent his head, gasping, hands coming up to hide his face, though no one was there to see him cry.

  "IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS," Luken muttered for Er Thom's ear alone as they strolled along the hall, Pat Rin well ahead, "and you needn't bother snatching my hair off if I'm expected to turn a blind eye. But I wonder what's happened to your ring."

  Er Thom lifted an eyebrow. "My thodelm keeps it for me," he said mildly, and smiled. "More than that loses you hair, Cousin."

  "Fairly warned," the older man said with the good-humor that won him friends in both the Port and the City.

  "Announcement in The Gazette took me unaware—" he confided—"felicitations, by the way! But the last I knew of matters, yos'Galan was looking to Nexon to provide your heir—" He threw Er Thom a sudden look. "Not that it concerns me, of course!"

  Er Thom laughed. "Poor Luken. Do we abuse you?"

  "Well," the other replied candidly, "you and Daav cut up a trifle rash as cubs—and it's a certified wonder you weren't drowned as halflings. Though," he said hastily, as if recollecting himself, "I believe that to be the case with most halflings."

  "And as adults we daily snatch you hairless," Er Thom murmured, "and do you no better good than setting Kareen at your throat."

  "No," Luken said as they climbed the stairs. "No, I wouldn't have it that way. Daav visits often, you know—he and the boy are quite fond. I find him much easier now he's come back from the Scouts and taken up the Ring. You—you were always the sensible one, cousin, and if you have from time to time been sharp, why, it's doubtless no more than I deserved. I'm not a clever fellow, after all, and it must be a trial to you quick ones to always be bearing with us slow. Kareen, now—" Luken sighed, eyes on the child who went so solemn and un-childlike ahead of them.

  "The boy makes gains," he said eventually. "No more nightmares—well, none to speak of." His mouth tightened. "My back's broad. Kareen yos'Phelium may do her worst to me, if it buys the child his peace."

  Er Thom lay a hand on the other's arm, squeezing lightly.

  "Thank you, Cousin."

  "Eh?" Luken gave a startled smile. "No need for that, though you're very welcome, I'm sure." He moved his shoulders. "That's always been the difference between you lot and Kareen. Good-hearted, the both of you, and not dealing hurt for the joy of hurting." He raised his voice.

  "Ho, there, boy-dear, you've gone past the door!"

  Up ahead, Pat Rin turned and came slowly back, holding the gift between his two hands.

  Er Thom lay his palm against the nursery door and bowed his cousins within.

  "CATCH!" Anne tossed the bright pink sponge-ball in a lazy arc.

  Shrieking with laughter, Shan grabbed, the ball skittered off his fingertips and he flung down the long room after it, giggling.

  Anne shook her hair back from her face, clapping as he caught up with the ball and snatched it high.

  "Now throw it back!" she called, holding her hands over her head.

  "Catch, Ma!" her son cried and threw.

  It wasn't too bad an effort, though it was going to fall short. Anne lunged forward on her knees, hand outstretched for the grasp—and turned her head, distracted from the game by the door-chime.

  "Mirada!" Shan ran and threw himself with abandon into his father's arms, ignoring the other two visitors entirely. Anne came off her knees and went forward, ball forgotten.

  Er Thom caught Shan and swung him up into an exuberant hug. "So, then, bold-heart!"

  Beside them, the older of the two visitors—a sandy-haired man of perhaps forty-five, with a bluff, good-humored face—pursed his lips and lay a lightly-ringed hand on the thin shoulder of his companion. Anne smiled at the fox-faced little boy and received a solemn stare out of wide brown eyes.

  "Play ball, Mirada!" Shan commanded as Er Thom set him down.

  "Indeed not," he murmured. "You must make your bow to your cousins." He turned his head and caught Anne's eye, giving her a smile that jelled her knee-joints.

  "Anne, here are my cousins Luken bel'Tarda and Pat Rin yos'Phelium. Cousins, I make you known to Scholar Anne Davis, mother of my child and guest of the House."

  "Scholar." Luken bel'Tar
da's bow puzzled for an instant, then she had it: Honor to One Providing a Clan-Child. "I'm glad to meet you."

  "I'm glad to meet you also, Luken bel'Tarda." Honor-to-one-providing had no neat corollary, so Anne chose Adult-to-Adult, which was cordial without leaping to any unwarranted conclusions regarding Luken bel'Tarda's melant'i.

  "Well, that's kind of you to say so," he said, with apparent pleasure. He squeezed the little boy's shoulder lightly. "Make your bow to the guest, child-dear."

  Bow to the Guest it was, delivered with adult precision, and a quick, "Be happy in your guesting, Scholar Davis," delivered in a husking little voice, while the brown eyes continued, warily, to weigh her.

  Anne bowed Honor to a Child of the House, adding a smile as she straightened. "You must be Daav's little boy," she said gently. Pat Rin ducked his head.

  "Begging the lady's pardon," he said quickly, "I am the heir of Kareen yos'Phelium."

  "But he has his uncle's look, certain enough," Luken added, rumpling the boy's dark hair with casual affection and sending Anne a glance from guileless gray eyes. "His mother's dark, as well. I don't doubt you'll be meeting her soon. Never one to allow a duty to languish, Lady Kareen."

  "I look forward to the pleasure of meeting her," Anne told him, with was only proper, and wondered why he blinked.

  "And here," Er Thom said gently, "is Shan yos'Galan. Shan-son, these are your cousins Luken and Pat Rin. Make your bow, please."

  Shan hesitated, frowning after the Liaden words.

  "Shannie," Anne prompted in Terran. "Bow to your cousins and tell them hello."

  There was another momentary hesitation, followed by a bow of no particular mode. On straightening, he grinned and offered a cheery "Hi!"

  Luken bel'Tarda sent a startled glance to Er Thom. "I'm afraid—oversight, of course!—I've never learnt—aah—Terran—"

  "Hi!" Shan repeated, advancing on his cousins. Pat Rin tipped his head, brown eyes wide.

  "Hel-lo?" he said uncertainly.

  Shan nodded energetically. "Hello, yes. Hi!" He thrust out a hand. "Shake!"

  Pat Rin flinched and stared. Then, lower lip caught between his teeth, he reached out and brushed Shan's fingers with his.

  "Hel-lo," he repeated and snatched his hand back. "I am glad to meet you, Cousin Shan," he said in rapid Liaden and held out the package he carried. "We've brought you a gift."

  Shan took the package without a blink. "Thanks. Play ball?"

  "My son thanks you for your thoughtfulness," Er Thom said for Luken bel'Tarda's benefit. "He asks if his cousin might play."

  "That's very kind." Luken looked gratified. "It happens the boy and I are promised in the City today, but I'd be delighted to bring him to visit again soon. He might spend the day, if you've no objection, cousin."

  "Of course Pat Rin is always welcome," Er Thom said and Anne saw the tense little face relax, just a bit.

  "That's fixed then," Luken said comfortably. He turned and bowed, giving Anne the full honor-to-one-providing treatment.

  "Scholar Davis. A delight to meet you, ma'am."

  "Luken bel'Tarda. I hope to meet you again."

  Unprompted, Pat Rin made his bow, and then the two of them were ushered out by Er Thom, who turned his head to smile at her as he was departing.

  "Well!" Anne sighed gustily and grinned at her son. "Do you want to open your present, Shannie?"

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  There is nobody who is not dangerous for someone.

  —Marquise de Sevigne

  THE CHIME RECALLED HIM, blinking, from the world of invoices, profit and cargo-measures. He rose, half-befogged, and keyed the door to open.

  "Anne." The fog burned away in the next instant, and he put out a hand to catch hers and urge her within.

  "Come in, please," he murmured, seeing his delight reflected in her face. "You must forgive me, you know, for thrusting Luken upon you, all unexpected. I had not known you would be with our son—"

  "Nothing to forgive," she said, smiling. "I thought he was delightful." The smile dimmed a fraction. "Though Pat Rin is very—shy . . ."

  Trust Anne to see through to the child's hurts, Er Thom thought, leading her past his cluttered worktable, to the double-chair near the fireplace.

  "Pat Rin progresses," he murmured, which was only what Luken had told him. "I thought him quite bold in dealing with our rogue."

  She laughed a little and allowed him to seat her. He stood before her, availing himself of both her hands, smiling into her face like a mooncalf.

  Her fingers exerted pressure on his, and a frown shadowed her bright face. She bent her head; raised it quickly.

  "You've taken off your ring." The tone was mild, but the eyes showed concern—perhaps even alarm.

  "Well, and so I have," he said, as if it were the merest nothing. He raised the hand that should have borne the ornament, and silked her hair back from her ear, the short strands sliding through his fingers.

  "How may I serve you, Anne?"

  She moistened her lips, eyes lit with a certain self-mockery. "Keep that up, laddie, and neither of us will get to our work." She turned her head to brush a quick, pulse-stirring kiss along his wrist.

  "And that?" he murmured.

  She laughed and shook her head so that he reluctantly dropped his hand.

  "It happens I'm going to need that car you offered," she said, in a shocking return to practicality; "and probably a driver, too. Drusil tel'Bana can see me this afternoon."

  "Ah. Shall I drive you?"

  "I'd like that," she said, with a regretful smile. "But I'm liable to be some time. If Doctor yo'Kera's notes are in as bad a way as she's led me to think—" She shook her head. "No use you kicking your heels for hours while a couple of scholars babble nonsense at each other. It's a shame to even force a driver . . ."

  "Nonetheless," Er Thom said firmly, laying a daring finger across her lips. "You will have a driver. Agreed?"

  "Bully." She laughed at him. "I'd like to see what would happen if I didn't agree—but as it happens, I do. I'm not at all certain of my directions, and if the work should keep me until after dark . . ."

  "It is arranged," he said. "When shall you leave?"

  "Is an hour too soon?"

  "Not at all," he returned, around a stab of regret. He stepped back, reluctantly releasing her hand.

  Anne stood. "Thank you, Er Thom."

  "It is no trouble," he murmured and she sighed.

  "Yes, you always say that." She touched his cheek lightly and smiled. "But thank you anyway. For everything." She lay a finger against his lips as he had to hers.

  "I'll see you later, love," she whispered, then whirled and left him, as if it were too chancy a thing to stay.

  "SCHOLAR DAVIS, how delightful to meet you at last!" Drusil tel'Bana's greeting was warmth itself, couched in the mode of Comrades.

  Anne bowed and smiled. "I regret I was not able to come sooner."

  "That you came at all is sufficient to the task," the other scholar assured her. "I had barely dared hope—But, there! When I wrote I had not known you were allied so nearly with Korval. I do not always read The Gazette, alas, and with Jin Del's death—" She gestured, sweeping the rest of that sentence away. "At least I did read today's issue! Allow me to offer felicitations."

  "Thank you." Anne bowed again. "I will share your felicitations with my son and his father."

  Drusil tel'Bana's eyes widened, but she merely murmured, "Yes, certainly," and abruptly turned aside, raising a hand to point.

  "Let me show you Jin Del's office. His notes—what are remaining—have been kept just as they were found when—The state of disorder, I confide to you, Scholar, is not at all in his usual way. I thought, at first, you know, that—but it is foolishness, of course! What sense to steal the notes for a work that will perhaps excite the thought of two dozen scholars throughout the galaxy? No. No, it must only have been that he was ill—much more ill, I fear, than any of us had known."

  Anne
glanced down at the woman beside her, seeing the care-grooved cheeks, the drooping line of her thin shoulders, the jerky walk.

  "Doctor yo'Kera's death has affected you deeply," she offered, cautiously feeling her way along the border of what the other would consider proper sympathy and what would be heard as insult. "I understand. When I received your letter, I could barely credit that he was gone—he had seemed so vital, so brilliant. And I had only known him through letters. What one such as yourself, who had the felicity of working with him daily, must feel I may only surmise."

  Drusil tel'Bana threw her a look from tear-bright eyes and glanced quickly aside.

  "You are kind," she said in a stifled voice. "He was—a jewel. I do not quite see how one shall—but that is for later. For now, there is Jin Del's work to be put into order, his book to be finished. Here—here is his office."

  She turned aside, fumbled a moment at the lockplate and stepped back with a bow when the door at last swung open and the interior lights came on.

  "Please."

  Anne stepped into the room beyond—and smiled.

  Overcrowded shelves held tapes, bound books, disks and unbound printouts. Two severe chairs were crowded together at the front of the computer-desk, a battered, rotating work chair sat behind it. A filing cabinet was jammed into one corner, a double row of books at its summit. Next to it was a plain table, bookless, for a wonder, though that lack was more than made up by the profusion of 'scriber sheets, file folders and note cards littering its surface.

  The floor sported a dark red rug that had once very possibly been good. The walls were plain, except for a framed certificate which declared Jin Del yo'Kera, Clan Yedon, a Scholar Specialist in the field of Galactic Linguistics, and a flat-pic, also framed, of three tall Terran persons—two women and a man—standing before an island of trees in a sea of grasslands.

  "He had gone—outworld—to study, as a young man," Drusil tel'Bana said from the doorway. "Those are Mildred Higgins and Sally Brunner with their husband, Jackson Roy. Terrans of the sort known as 'Aus.' Jin Del had stayed at their—station—one season. They taught him to—to shear sheep." Anne glanced over her shoulder in time to see the other woman give a wavering, unfocused smile.