by Sharon Lee
"We will show you the journals, in the library, if you would enjoy them," Miandra said. "Perhaps tomorrow?"
"That would be pleasant," he said, as they began to ascend a highly polished wooden staircase of distressing height. "However, I stand at Master ven'Deelin's word, and she has not yet discussed my duties here with—"
"Oh, certainly!" Meicha cut him off. "It is understood that the ven'Deelin's word must carry all before it!"
"Except Aunt Stafeli," said Miandra.
"Sometimes," concluded Meicha; and, "Do you find the steps difficult, Jethri?"
He bit his lip. "My home ship ran light gravity, and I am never easy in heavy grav."
"Light gravity," Miandra repeated, in caressing tones. "Sister, we must go to space!"
"Let Ren Lar catch us 'mong the vines again and we shall."
Miandra chuckled and put a light hand quickly on Jethri's sleeve.
"Be of good heart, friend. Six steps more, and then to the end of a very short hallway, I promise you."
"Take good advice and first have yourself a nap," Meicha said. "Time enough to unpack when you are rested."
That seemed sensible advice, he allowed, though he was not wanting to sleep so much as to think.
"I thank you," he said, rather breathlessly, to Meicha's back.
She reached the top of the flight and turned, dancing a few steps to the right.
"Is your home light as well?" she asked, seriously, as he achieved the landing, and turned to look at her.
"My home. . . " He sighed, and reached up to rub his head where the growing-out hair itched. "I am ship-born. My home is—was—a tradeship named Gobelyn's Market."
The two of them exchanged a glance rich in disbelief.
"But—did you never come to ground?" Miandra asked.
"We did—for trade, repairs, that sort of thing. But we didn't live on the ground. We lived on the ship."
Another shared glance, then—
"He speaks the truth," said Meicha.
"But to always and only live on a ship?" wailed Miandra.
"Why not?" Jethri asked, irritated. "Lots of people live on ships. I'd rather that than live planet-side. Ships are clean, the temperature is consistent, the grav is light, there's no bad smells, or dust, or weather—" He heard his voice heating up and put the brake on it, bowing with a good measure of wariness.
"Forgive me," he murmured.
"Truth," Meicha said again, as if he hadn't spoken.
Miandra sighed. "Well, then, it is truth, and we must accept it. It seems an odd way to live, is all." She turned and put her hand on his sleeve.
"You must forgive us for our ignorance," she said. "I hope you will talk to us about your ship at length, so that we are no longer ignorant."
"And in trade," Meicha added, "we will teach you about gardens, and streams, and snow and other planet-side pleasures, so that you are no longer ignorant."
Jethri blinked, throat tightening with a sudden realization that he had been as rude as they had, and as such was a fitting object for Balance—
Except, he thought then, they had already declared Balance—him to teach them about ship-living, them to teach him about planet-life. He sighed, and Meicha grinned.
"You are going to be interesting, Jethri Gobelyn," she said.
"Later, he will interesting," Miandra ordered, and waved a hand under her sister's nose. "At this present, we have given our word to guide him to his rooms in enough time that he might nap and recruit his strength before prime, none of which is accomplished by standing here."
"You sound like Aunt Stafeli." Meicha turned, crooking a finger behind her. "Come along then. Less than six dozen steps, Jethri, I promise you."
In fact, it was a couple dozen steps more than six, though Jethri wasn't inclined to quibble. Now that the room was near, he found himself wanting that nap, though he slept in the car—and a shower, too, while he was wanting comforts. . .
"We arrive!" Meicha announced, flourishing a bow in no mode Jethri could name.
The door was wood, dark brown in color. Set off-center was a white porcelain knob painted with what he thought might have been intended to be grapes.
"Turn the knob and push the door away from you," Miandra coached. "If you like, we will show you how to lock it from the inside."
"Thank you," he said. The porcelain was cool and smooth, vaguely reminiscent of his fractin.
The door moved easily under his push, and he came a little too quickly into the room, the knob still in his hand.
This time he shouted, and threw an arm up over his eyes, all the while his heart pounded in his ears, and his breath burned in his chest.
"The curtains!" a high voice shrilled, and there were hands on his shoulders, pushing him, turning him, he realized, in the midst of his panic and willingly allowed it, the knob slipping from his hand.
"Done!"
"Done," repeated an identical voice, very near at hand. "Jethri, the curtain is closed. You may open your eyes."
It wasn't as easy as that, of course, and there was the added knowledge, as he got his breathing under control, that he'd made a looby outta himself in front of the twins, besides showing them just as plain as he could where he stood vulnerable.
Mud, dust and stink! He raged at himself, standing there with his arm over his face and his eyes squeezed tight. His druthers, if it mattered, was to sink down deep into the flooring and never rise up again. Failing that, he figured dying on the spot would do. Of all the stupid—but, who expected bare sky and mountain peaks when they opened a sleeping room door? Certainly, not a born spacer.
"You are a guest of the house," one of the twins said from nearby, "and valued."
"Besides," said the other, "the ven'Deelin would skin us if harm came to you and then Aunt Stafeli would boil us."
That caught him in the funny bones, and he sputtered a laugh, which somehow made it easier to get the arm down and the eyes, cautiously, open.
One of the twins—now that they were out of formation, he couldn't tell one from her sister—was standing practically toe-to-toe with him, her pointed face quite plainly showing concern. To her right and little back, the other twin's face wore an identical expression of dismay.
"Not smart," he managed, still some breathless. "You stand back, in case I swing out."
She tipped her head. "You are not going to swing out," she stated, with absolute conviction. "You are quite calm, now."
And, truth told, he did feel calmer and neither in danger or dangerous. He took a breath, getting the air all the way down into his lungs, and sighed it out.
"What's amiss?" asked the twin who stood farthest from him. "Are you afraid of mountains?"
He shook his head. "Openness," he said, and, seeing their blank stares, expanded. "All that emptiness, with no walls or corridors—it's not natural. Not what a space-born would know as natural. You could fall, forever. . . "
They exchanged another one of their identical looks, and then the nearer twin stepped back, clearing his sight of the room, which was bigger than the Market's common room, and set up like a parlor, with a desk against one wall, upholstered chairs here and there, low tables, and several small cases holding books and bric-a-brac. The floor was carpeted in deep green. Across the room, a swath of matching deep green shrouded the window.
"The bedroom boasts a similar vista, in which the house takes pride, and takes care that all of our most honored guests are placed here," said the girl nearest him. She paused before asking, "Shall we close the curtains, or show you how to use them?"
Good question, Jethri thought, and took another breath, trying to center himself, like Pen Rel had taught him. He nodded.
"I think I should learn how to operate the curtains myself, thank you."
That pleased them, though he couldn't have said how he knew, and they guided him through a small galley, which, thank the ghosts of space, had no window, to his bedroom.
The bed alone was the size of his quarters on the Mar
ket, and so filled up with pillows that there wasn't any room left for him. His duffle, and of all things, the battered B crate from his storage bin sat on a long bench under . . . the window.
He was warned, now, and knew to keep his eyes low, so it wasn't bad at all, just a quick spike in the heart rate and a little bit of buzz inside the ears.
"In order to operate the curtain," said the twin on his left, "you must approach the window. There is a pulley mechanism at the right edge. . . "
He found it by touch, keeping his eyes pinned to the homey sight of his bag on the bench. The pull was stiff, but he gave it steady pressure, and the curtain glided across the edge of his sight, casting the room into shade.
He sighed, and sat down on the bench.
Before him, Meicha and Miandra bowed.
"So, you are safely delivered, and will be wanting your rest," the one on the left said.
"We will come again just ahead of twentieth hour to escort you to the small dining room," the one on the right said. "In the meanwhile, be easy in our house."
"And don't forget to set the clock to wake you in good time to dress," the twin on the left added.
He smiled, then recalled his manners, and got to his feet to bow his gratitude.
"Thank you for your care."
"We are pleased to be of assistance," said the twin on the right, as the two of them turned away.
"Aunt Stafeli will not allow you to fear mountains, or open space, or any being born," the girl on the left said over her shoulder.
"Then it is fortunate that I will only be with her for a few days," Jethri answered lightly, following them.
Silence from both as they passed through the galley and into the parlor.
"Recruit your strength," one said finally. "In case."
He smiled. Did they expect him to stay while Elthoria continued on the amended route? He was 'prenticed to learn trade, not to learn mountains.
Still, it would be rude to ignore their concern, so he bowed and murmured, "I will. Thank you."
One twin opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. The second paused a moment, and put her finger on a switch under the inner knob.
"Snap to the right is locked," she said. "To the left is unlocked. Until prime, Jethri."
"Until prime," he said, but she was already gone, the door ghosting shut behind her.
* * *
THE MIRROR SHOWED brown hair growing out in untidy patches, an earnest, scrubbed clean face, and a pair of wide brown eyes. Below the face, the body was neatly outfitted in a pale green Liaden-style shirt and dark blue trousers. Jethri nodded, and his reflection nodded, too, brown eyes going a little wider.
"You're shipshape and ready for space," he told himself encouragingly, reaching for the Ixin pin.
One eye on the clock, he got the pin fixed to his collar, and stood away from the mirror, pulling his shirt straight. It lacked six minutes to twentieth hour. He wondered how long he should wait for the twins before deciding that they had forgotten him and—
A chime rang through the apartment. Jethri blinked, then grinned, and went quick-step to the main room. He remembered to order his face into bland before he opened the door, which was well.
He had been expecting the same grubby brats who had guided him a few hours before, faces clean, maybe, in honor of dinner.
What he hadn't expected was two ladies of worth in matching white dresses, a flower nestled among the auburn curls of each, matching rubies hanging from matching silver chains. They bowed like they were one person, neither one faster or slower than the other—honor to the guest.
His answer—honor to a child of the house—was a bow that Master tel'Ondor had drilled him on until his back ached, so he was confident of his execution—until the cat.
He had seen cats before, of course—port cats. Small and fierce, they worked the docks tirelessly, keeping the rat and mouse populations in check. Their work took a toll, in shredded ears, crooked tails, and rough, oily fur.
This cat—the one standing between the twins and looking up into his face as if it was trying to memorize his features—this cat had never done a lick of work in its life.
It was a tall animal; the tips of its sturdy ears easily on a level with the twins' knees, with a pronounced and well-whiskered muzzle. Its fur was a plush gray; its tail a high, proud sweep. The eyes which considered him so seriously were pale green—rather like two large oval-shaped peridot.
Timing ruined, Jethri straightened to find the twins watching him with interest.
"What is that doing here?"
"Oh, don't mind Flinx—"
"He was waiting outside our rooms for us—"
"Very likely he heard there was a guest—"
"And came to do proper duty."
He frowned, and looked down at the animal. "It's not intelligent?"
"No, you mustn't say so! Flinx is very intelligent!" cried the twin on the right—Jethri thought she might be Miandra.
"Bend down and offer your forefinger," the other twin—Meicha, if his theory was correct—said. "We mustn't be late for prime and duty must be satisfied."
Jethri threw her a sharp glance, but as far as he could read her—which was to say, not at all—she appeared to be serious.
Sighing to himself, he bent down and held his right forefinger out toward the cat's nose, hoping he wasn't about to get bit. Cat-bite was serious trouble, as he knew. 'Way back, when he was still a kid, Dyk had gotten bit by a dock cat. The bite went septic before he got to the first aid kit and it had taken two hits of super heavy duty antibiotics to bring him back from the edge of too sick to care.
This cat, though—this Flinx. It moved forward a substantial step and touched its cool, brick colored nose to the very tip of his finger. It paused, then, and Jethri was about to pull back, duty done. But, before he did, Flinx took a couple more substantial steps and made sure it rubbed its body down the entire length of his fingers and arm.
"A singular honor!" one of the twins said, and Jethri jumped, having forgotten she was there.
The cat blinked, for all of space like he was laughing, then stropped himself along Jethri's knee and continued on into his rooms.
"Hey!" He turned, but before he could go after the interloper, his sleeve was grabbed by one of the twins and his hand by the other.
"Leave him—he won't hurt anything," said the girl holding his sleeve.
"Flinx is very wise," added the girl holding his hand, pulling the door shut, as they hustled him down the hall. "And we had best be wise and hurry so that we are not late for prime!"
* * *
THANKING ALL THE ghosts of space, the small dining room did not have a famous view on exhibit. What it did have, was a round table laid with such an amount of dinnerware, utensils and drinking vessels that Jethri would have suspected a shivary was planned, instead of a cozy and quiet family dinner.
They were the last arriving, on the stroke of twenty, according to the clock on the sideboard. The twins deserted him at the door and plotted a course for two chairs set together between Delm Tarnia and a black-haired man with a soft-featured face and dreamy blue eyes. At Tarnia's right sat Master ven'Deelin, observing him with that look of intent interest he seemed lately to inspire. Next to Master ven'Deelin was an empty chair.
Grateful that this once the clue was obvious, he slipped into the empty seat, and darted a quick look down table at the twins. They were sitting side by side, as modest as you please, hands folded on their laps, eyes downcast.
"Jethri," the old lady said, claiming his attention with a flutter of frail old fingers. "I see that you have had the felicity of meeting Miandra and Meicha. Allow me to present my son, Ren Lar, who is master of the vine here. Ren Lar, here is Norn's fosterling, Jethri Gobelyn."
"Sir." Jethri inclined his head deeply—as close to a seated bow as he could come without knocking his nose against the table.
"Young Jethri," Ren Lar inclined his head to a matching depth, which Jethri might have susp
ected for sarcasm, except there was Tarnia sitting right there. "I am pleased to meet you. We two must hold much in common, as sons of such illustrious mothers."
Oh-ho, that was it. The man's bow was courtesy was paid to Master ven'Deelin, through her fosterson, and not necessarily to the son himself. The universe had not quite gone topsy-turvy.
"I am sure that we will have many stories to trade, sir," he said, which was what he could think of as near proper, though not completely of the form Master tel'Ondor had given him. On the other, Ren Lar's greeting hadn't been of the form Master tel'Ondor had given him, either.
