Yes, sir, I replied unwillingly.
Good. The food is excellent; Gerrett and Susan worked hard on it. Try it—who knows, you may even like some of it.
It is good, I grudgingly admitted.
We'll have a meeting with the Captains after dinner. Please behave in a professional manner.
I was a fourth-level witch. What did he think he might do to me if I ignored his commands?
I waited to find out.
"I like your hair," Zanfield spoke to me.
"Well, Master Staggs, I've never received a compliment from someone who could wipe his eyes and his ass with money and toss it out with the other garbage," I sniped.
"I've never been accosted by one who only knows how to be rude," Zanfield shot back. "My money I can wash. You, on the other hand, no amount of washing will clear up that bad attitude."
"That's enough." Randl was now standing next to Travis across the table. "After I told you in the last fifteen seconds to behave professionally, this comes out of your mouth in response to a compliment?"
I only meant to set his uniform on fire.
Nothing happened.
Nothing.
I reached for the full force of my fourth-level talents, only to find them—gone.
"What did you do to me?" I attempted to shove my chair back and stand. I couldn't move. My chair was stuck to the floor, and I was glued to the chair.
"You're lucky I'm still letting you speak," Randl snapped at me. "I don't give a damn what your childhood did to you. I can show you fifty other people who had a rotten childhood, too. All of them are courteous when spoken to, and most of them are more powerful than you. Now, if you can't be civil to everyone aboard this ship, I can send you back to the King of Karathia and let him deal with your insubordination."
"I'll take her back," Bel Erland materialized behind me.
"No." I hung my head. "Please, I don't know why I said it."
You've done it so long, it's become habit, Randl spoke into my mind. Nobody here is going to hurt you unless you hurt them first. Understand?
I nodded while tears threatened.
Nobody had ever looked past the shields I'd built around myself. Randl Gage, the blind man, saw straight through them.
"I'll take her back to my father," the Crown Prince reiterated.
"Do you want to stay?" Randl asked me. I lifted my head to stare into sightless eyes.
"Yes," I admitted, dropping my eyes and clasping my hands together to stop their shaking.
Randl sighed. "We'd like you to join us, Perri, but we want you to be a part of us and not just someone who makes herself an unwelcome outsider."
Is that what I'd done? I shivered.
"Finish your dinner," Randl said. "I've released your power. I'll know if you misuse it, though." He turned and strode back to his own table.
"I'm sorry," I apologized to the table as a whole. "I get uncomfortable in strange surroundings, and it brings out the worst in me."
"No worries," Zanfield waved a hand. "I still like your hair."
"Thank you," I sighed.
"Then I'm no longer needed," the Crown Prince smiled and folded space.
Chapter 10
Randl
"Zan?" I knocked on his door.
"Come in," he called out. I walked inside his cabin. In all likelihood, Zanfield had never lived in such a small space in his life. He never complained about this one.
"I came to talk about Perri," I said.
"I know. She's got claws, and not in a good way," he said, waving me toward the single chair next to his bed.
"She doesn't know a damn thing about you, Zan," I said. "She needs to learn to be better than this."
"I saw plenty of the same attitude from rich people, who didn't have a reason for it," Zanfield sighed. "People who'd step on anybody they thought they could, because they could."
"You and I know there's no excuse for that—no matter whether they're rich, poor, pretty, or not so pretty. Mean or evil, on the other hand—once you figure that out about them," I snorted a laugh. The Prophet came to mind in that category.
"I totally agree. Want tea or something stronger?" Zanfield opened a drawer. I found it contained all sorts of bottles, some of it exotic liquor not easily obtained.
"I'll have what you're having," I said.
"Good." He fished two glasses from a shelf over his bed and set about pouring drinks for us.
Once a glass was in my hand, Zanfield held his up. "To wiping my ass with money if I want to," he quipped. I laughed so hard I almost spilled my drink.
Travis
Bel asked for a private meeting with Trent and me before he went back to Karathia. We sat in the Captain's cubby, having a drink and talking.
"I know it may not be easy," Bel said, sipping bourbon, "but if you could arrange to train her in bladework, I think it could help her develop discipline in her life."
"She'd have to, or we'd refuse to continue training her," Trent thumped his empty glass on the desk.
"She admires the Falchani, and her hero is Ilya Ironsmith, because he's a Karathian who fought beside the Falchani," Bel explained. "I hope her hero-worship will lead her to accept the discipline needed to achieve proficiency in the art."
"Too bad we can't get Ilya here to walk her through it," Trent shrugged. "Is there a chance she might admire High Demons, too? Vik can fight with blades better than most. He could work with her when we're busy." He pointed between himself and me.
"I don't know, and Vik may not be ah, willing to let that information out right away," Bel guessed. All of us were related to Vik, and that was something none of us were willing to tell.
"Does he stay in contact with Ry?" I asked, meaning his father, the King of Karathia.
"Fairly often. They talk late at night, sometimes. Dad's the oldest, but only by a few days. They grew up together. Went to lessons together." Bel sighed and emptied his glass. "Dad never said anything, but he was pretty upset when he thought Vik was dead."
"A lot happened at the time," I admitted. "Wasn't easy on Mom, either, as you can imagine."
"Quin says she went with Zaria to ah, pull him back from death, but that's all she'll tell me." Bel was mated to Quin, and would know of Quin's involvement in this before we would.
"What about Perri's family?" I asked. "Anything there we should know about?"
"She has a younger brother who was born void," Bel said.
I went still. Trent lifted an eyebrow. A void on Karathia was one born without power of any kind. It was a rare occurrence, and they were often outcast or adopted off-world because of what many parents saw as a disability.
Those who were raised by their families often faced adversity in their daily lives through no fault of their own. "Where is he now?" I asked.
"With her uncle, last we heard. She visits him whenever she can, and always comes away irritable and angry—likely at the way many Karathians treat him—as if he doesn't belong. For now, he's still in school, but he has obvious learning disabilities."
"Perhaps she should try to send him off-world; there are plenty of places that can help him in this," I said.
"The uncle has custody, after the parents disappeared. The uncle is adamant that Pauley stays where he is. And, as Pauley's considered incompetent, I'm sure the uncle will petition the Crown for permanent custody when he comes of age next year."
"What about giving Perri custody?" Trent asked.
"Dad will consider all requests when the petitions cross his desk. Look, I need to go—there's an early audience in the morning."
"No rest for the wicked—or for the crowned head," Trent teased.
"Have you ever tried to sleep in one of those things? It's impossible," Bel chuckled.
Zanfield
I'd gone to the dojo to work out, and found Vik there already. He grinned, tossed me a wooden blade and waited while I stretched.
I could fight with a blade, but only one. Slowly, Vik was teaching me how to handle a secon
d one. First though, I had to go through all the forms with the blade in my off-hand, to get used to it.
I had bruises on my arms and ribs from being clumsy at it, too.
Shortly after we finished, while I was checking my wooden practice blade for nicks along the edge, Zaria arrived.
"You need something?" Vik asked. If Zaria asked, he'd be ready to go anywhere or do anything—because she asked. He told me once that Zaria and Quin, the Avii Queen, were the only reasons he was alive.
"I need to speak with Zanfield," Zaria smile at Vik. "You can stay if you want."
"Stay," I told him. I couldn't imagine she'd tell me anything he couldn't hear.
"Zanfield, this is about Perri," Zaria sighed. "I need your help."
"What kind of help?" I wasn't sure what I could do to help her—something had happened to her in the past, and it affected every part of her life. She'd attacked me first because she'd grown up poor, I had no doubt about that. People generally had two kinds of reactions to me—to kiss ass, as David said, or they became angry, because I had things they never would.
Except for the BlackWing crew. I was treated as one of them—no better and no worse. I liked it.
"I need a bribe placed with her uncle," Zaria said, and then proceeded to tell me things—about Perri, her brother, and the uncle—that nobody else had heard.
Until now.
"I can do that," I said. "I'll reach out and make contact when I get back to my cabin."
"Be discreet," Zaria warned.
"Oh, you can count on that," I grinned. This was subterfuge at the highest level. I liked it. And it was for a good cause, which made it even better. "I'll have it done by the end of the week."
"Thank you. If there are any problems, send mindspeech," she turned to go.
"I don't have," I began.
"Now you do," she turned back to give me a brilliant smile. "Have fun. Don't misuse it."
"I—I," I stammered.
In response, Zaria tapped her temple.
Thank you, I sent.
You're welcome, she replied and disappeared.
"Holy shit-show, dude," Vik slapped me hard on the back. I was so stunned, I didn't even yelp.
Randl
We pulled into orbit around Horlak the following afternoon. Ex'ero Plumb lived on Horlak, and leased its smallest moon from the Horlakian government to house his scrapyard and recycling business.
Records indicated he was home at the moment, rather than visiting his vast empire of scrapyards spread across the Alliances. We wished to have a few words with him, while we sent spies to the business to scope out his inventory and employees.
With Kooper's help, the meeting was set up as an interview—with a local news personality asking questions while I acted as an assistant.
I'd know everything I needed just by looking at him. I had to disguise Mak and Jak, who refused to let me out of their sight.
To outsiders, they'd appear to have two arms and no weapons. The three of us were scheduled to meet at the news vid station, and ride with the journalist to Plumb's residence.
Dori wanted to go with Travis, Trent, Vik, Perri and Gerrett to Horlak's moon, to search it. I planned to join them the moment I learned what I could from Ex'ero.
Nari and Tiri were set to monitor the scrapyard from the ship; if anything tripped their senses, they'd let me know. David would receive comp-vid images of anything our spies couldn't identify; he was good at sorting components for ships from other items.
Zanfield and Markus were in charge of XIII while Dori and I were off the ship; Zan was more than happy with his temporary promotion.
"You're the emissary from the Governor?" I was led toward Journalist Wilm Bedard's office by a receptionist. To her, I looked perfectly normal—Zaria's disguising efforts were in place.
"Yes," I said. "We only wish to accompany Wilm during his interview."
"So many others have tried and failed to get an interview with Plumb," the receptionist said. "Wilm's status and popularity, and our news station's credibility convinced him."
Mak snorted softly at her remarks but didn't say anything. I pretended I didn't notice the puffed-up importance of it all.
Sal would say somebody had drunk the cool-ade, whatever that meant. "Thank you for your cooperation," I told her. "The Governor and his entire staff appreciate your efforts in this."
"We're happy to help," she cooed.
She's trying to come on to you, Jak sent.
This disguise is damn good, then, I replied. I could tell he was trying not to laugh.
Ex'ero's Shipyard and Recycling, Horlak
Travis
"We're looking for spare parts for older ships," I told the employee. He stood behind a desk built of scrap metal melted together, some of it still resembling the metal parts it was made of.
It could have been a work of art, if someone had bothered to put a little thought into it. They hadn't, and it showed.
"Don't have much," the employee rasped, raking a finger down a list on a comp-vid. He either had a cold or spent most of his days yelling at employees. My bet was on the latter.
Are those supposed to be coveralls? Dori sent. She'd noticed what he was wearing, just as I did. On a small patch over his left breast was the name Jincus. The remaining fabric had been covered in grease and lubricants too many times to reveal its original color, and now appeared as a mix of blacks, blues and grays.
Studded boots clomped across a concrete floor as he walked toward a rear shelf to lift another comp-vid.
Two sets of records? Trent asked.
Possible, I returned. We need Miz or somebody to get into their records, I think.
"I can show you what I have," Jincus said, returning to the misshapen desk with the second comp-vid in his hand. "This way."
We followed him through a wide door to the left, then down a long corridor toward a trans-vator. Ex'ero needs to update, Dori said, glancing at the poor condition of the trans-vator's interior as we loaded into it with Jincus.
Did they repair ancient hover-cars in here? Vik asked. I wondered the same—it smelled of oil and other vehicle fluids, made worse when the door closed on us, trapping scents inside. Jincus tapped a button that was so darkened by use and dirty fingers that I couldn't read the designation on it.
When we left the trans-vator after our arrival on a lower level, Dori sniffed the air. Rats here, she informed us. Maybe a few other things, too.
I'm not surprised, Vik said. Is anybody surprised?
Either the junk business isn't as lucrative as Ex'ero makes it out to be, or he's funneling money elsewhere, Trent observed.
He was probably laundering funds for Jewl, and that source of income has dried up, I pointed out.
That's recent, Vik said. This has taken a while. He meant the condition of the warehouse we walked through. I'm amazed the air containment systems and circulators are still in operation.
"We have to get out of here," Perri shouted aloud, as my skin began to itch furiously. Vik reacted faster than I could; he skipped us away as half the moon exploded, destroying everything on that half, including Ex'ero's massive warehouse.
"Well, Jincus, I don't suppose you know anything about that explosion, do you?" Kooper wove a path around Jincus' chair aboard BlackWing X, while the man sat there, sweating. He wasn't supposed to survive the explosion; I'd bet Zanfield's entire bank account on it.
He understood that, too.
It's my fault. Perri, who stood in a corner as far away from Kooper as she could get, sent mindspeech to me. A warlock put up a perimeter alarm. I think it was set to trigger the explosion if another warlock, wizard or witch crossed it. I felt it when I walked through it, but it was already too late to stop it.
"Director," I said aloud. Kooper stopped mid-pace and looked in my direction. "It was a perimeter alarm set up by a warlock," I said. "Perri accidentally set it off by walking through it. It was created to go off if another power-wielder passed through."
"
A perimeter alarm? Why were they worried about a power-wielder coming in?"
"Th-theft," Jincus stuttered. "All of our warehouses have b-been ransacked in the last few eight-days. The boss had some warlock in to scry two days ago. Paid a lot of money, too. I g-guess some of that money went toward the spell."
"What was stolen?" Kooper demanded. Jincus shifted uncomfortably on his chair. "Same as what he was asking for," he nodded in my direction. "Old ship parts. In the past eight-day, several hulls and old clunker ships were taken. The warlock said it was the same thief stealing from us, and that he was a warlock, too."
"Do you know this warlock's name? The one who set the perimeter spell?"
"No." Jincus dropped his head. "The boss does."
"What did we miss?" Randl folded in with Mak and Jak. I could see he was already aware of the explosion—half of the moon had blown up along with the warehouse and everybody on Horlak knew it by now.
"We need the name of the warlock Ex'ero hired to set a perimeter spell," Kooper growled.
"I have that already," Randl said. "The minute he found out the warehouse blew up, Ex'ero cursed his name. Apparently, the spell he paid for was to trap the thief, not destroy the entire place."
Jincus sagged in his chair at Randl's news.
Randl
"Stone Wicke?" Bel Erland reacted to the name in shock. "We thought he was dead."
"Apparently not," Kooper said dryly. "Perri already said it wasn't anyone she'd ever scented before."
"He's been out of sight for nearly five centuries," Bel grumped. "Dad is having a cow, as Gran would say."
"We'll be having a talk with Ex'ero—an official one, this time, to find out how he came across warlock Wicke," Kooper said. "He may have to scramble to get rid of the spells Wicke placed on his other warehouses. I imagine it cost him in the millions to get the work done, only to have it blow up in his face."
"Literally," Trent nodded. "What do you want us to do with Jincus? I still want to ask him if Ex'ero keeps two sets of records."
"Then keep him on board—in a holding cell if you want," Kooper said. "Maybe he'll give you more information on what was stolen, since Ex'ero didn't report it. Perhaps he'll give evidence against Ex'ero, too. If not, send him to the lockup on Le-Ath Veronis for a few days. If there's nothing to charge him with, he'll be sent home. For now, I consider him a suspect, until we know otherwise."
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