Liaden Universe 18: Dragon in Exile

by Sharon Lee

  So . . . not an apology, after all.

  “Smealy, does stupid run in your family?”

  He blinked, the grin fading out.

  “Hey, now, what kinda way is that to talk about a honest bidness ’rangement?”

  “Didn’t my partner already tell you we ain’t selling exceptions?”

  “He din’t seem to take much of a shine to the notion, not being local and unnerstanding the way we do things here. You, though—”

  “Me, though,” Miri snapped, furious as much for the stupidity as the effrontery. “Me, though, I’m local, so it’s reasonable to expect I’d take a deal my partner already told you was no deal, and what—keep it quiet from him? That’s not how it works, Smealy; if one of us says no, you just take it that both of us said no. Now!”

  She brought both palms down hard on the tabletop and was gratified to see how high he jumped at the sound. Behind him, Nelirikk stepped into the room; she flicked her fingers—hold it.

  “Now,” she said, quieter, “you get the sleet outta here, Smealy. We ain’t selling exceptions. And if I hear you’re telling people otherwise, to get them signed up for your committee, I will drag you in front of the Bosses. You got that?”

  He was standing stiff, all trace of smiling goodwill vanished.

  “I got it,” he said, perfectly flat.

  “Good. Beautiful!”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Show this man out, then lock the door. The office is closed.”

  “Yes, Captain. Lionel Smealy, come with me.”

  Surprisingly, he did that, without an argument, and without a backward look.

  Miri closed her eyes, and ran the Scout’s Rainbow, for calm.

  Then, she bent over the computer and started the shut-down routine.

  Val Con had turned once, slowly, on Ms. Audrey’s request, a second time, at her sigh—and came to rest with his hands folded before him, and his head subtly tipped to one side.

  “Ain’t that fine . . .” Ms. Audrey extended a well-ringed hand and lightly stroked the sleeve of his coat. She sighed again, fingered the lace, and gave his wrist a coquettish squeeze before stepping back out of easy reach.

  “The set of you is a danger on the streets,” she said severely. “It’s a wonder poor Sheyn didn’t melt away like a snowflake, opening the door without having any warning about what was waiting on the porch.”

  Poor Sheyn had, to Pat Rin’s certain knowledge, a surveillance screen as part of his doorman’s accessories; it had been one of the first upgrades—absent the Sinner’s Carpet—that Audrey had installed. That aside, Sheyn had seemed, momentarily, overawed. He had recovered himself with admirable quickness, however, smiling deeply into Val Con’s eyes, and introducing himself, with the information that he could be called at any hour that was convenient. Val Con had thanked him with a gravity that could only put the seal on the boy’s infatuation, leaving it to Pat Rin to ask if Ms. Audrey would see them.

  “Now, tell me what this is,” Audrey continued, “wedding or wake?”

  “Neither,” Val Con said promptly. “This is a formal dress suit, intended to be worn to very boring receptions, the purpose of which is to see who of those in attendance has the best tailor. I have today subverted its intention, in order to perhaps learn a little about someone. After, Pat Rin declared it would be cruel of me to leave the city without calling upon you.”

  “I’m not sure if it wasn’t more cruel to let me rest eyes on you.” She paused, as one struck by a sudden thought, and asked, somewhat wistfully, “Did Luken have a tailor, on the old world?”

  “One’s father employed a very fine tailor,” Pat Rin said gravely, as Val Con seemed to become suddenly fascinated with his lace. “You must have him dress for you. He cuts quite a handsome figure.”

  There was a moment of silence before Audrey shook away such thoughts as Pat Rin dared not guess, and said briskly.

  “Well, now I’ve seen you and my heart’s broken like I was just sixteen, are you going to leave me here to sigh, or is there something else I can do for either”—a brow lifted suggestively as she surveyed them at her leisure—“or both of you?”

  “In fact . . .” Val Con began, looking up from the long study of his lace. “I wonder—”

  He got no further. The daytime peace was shattered by what sounded like a box of rocks dropped from orbit striking the center of the house.

  “Dammit, Cholly, ain’t you got any idee where you puttin’ them elbows! Now you gone and woke up the pretties, an’ our bonus is slush!”

  “Because,” Val Con murmured, diverted, “shouting at the top of one’s lungs will certainly wake no one.”

  Audrey shook her head at him, lips quivering.

  “I thought offering a bonus for not bringing the roof ’round our ears while they was fixing the staircase would keep the noise down, some. Mostly, it has, but Cholly, there, he ain’t what you’d call a study in grace.”

  “Fixing the staircase?” Pat Rin asked. “Was it in disrepair?”

  “No—nothin’ like that! Nothin’ on Surebleak’s any solider than that stair. But the thing was, see, once they started in rippin’ out the old carpet, and Luken got a good look at what he calls the space, he suggested openin’ it up some. And, more fool that I am, I asked him what did he mean, open it up? So, he goes away and comes back no more’n half-hour later with a sketch, and it sure did look elegant, and the crew boss said they could do it, easy, ’cause there weren’t no supportin’ walls involved, and—I let myself get swept away, is what it was.”

  She sighed and shook her head.

  “I tell you what, I’d forgotten how expensive men are, when you take to keeping one of your own.”

  Pat Rin dared a glance at Val Con’s face, which was very grave, and braced himself.

  “You might turn him out, if you find him too dear. The clan will certainly take him back,” Val Con said.

  Audrey considered him. “I find him dear, all right,” she said. “And the clan ain’t never let go of him, Mr. Dragon; don’t you bat them pretty green eyes at me.”

  “All right,” Val Con said, agreeably.

  “But,” Pat Rin said, throwing himself into the breach, “new carpet? I thought the house had only just had new carpet.”

  Audrey turned to him.

  “Well, it had. And there’s another story hanging there, and Luken at the heart of it, again. Look, I’m gonna have to throw my weight around a little with the crew—they expect it. C’mon and take a look at what they done, if you want to.”

  Pat Rin looked at Val Con. “Cousin?”

  “Of course, I must see it.”

  While Audrey spoke with Jermin, the crew boss, and the unfortunate Cholly, Pat Rin and Val Con toured the construction site.

  White plastic stairs were exposed, where the former rug had been stripped away, and the interior wall that had hidden the stairway from the grand parlor had been taken down. Instead of being hidden from below, those who had agreed to ascend to the next level of pleasure would be in full sight. At the top of the flight, on the hall that led to the various chambers of joy, the wall had been removed also, replaced to waist height with a gilded and filigreed screen.

  “There’s gonna be pink light in the hall up above,” Audrey said, joining them in looking upward. “All the folks down in the main parlor will be able to watch the course of the lovers, as they climb to, and then cross, the bridge into ecstasy.”

  She lowered her eyes and met Pat Rin’s.

  “So says Luken.”

  “It sounds very like him,” he answered politely.

  “Expensive he may be, but this . . . conceit of Luken’s is likely to see your custom among Liadens increase dramatically. It strikes a very subtle note. Your guests must recall the Jewel Boxes and the small, elite hetaerana clubs.” Val Con nodded. “Truly, Audrey, your investment in our erring elder will be repaid six times, and quickly.”

  “I’ll consider keeping him, then. But now I’m curious. W
as Luken . . . involved with a business like mine, back on the old world?”

  Pat Rin caught Val Con’s eye. Val Con moved his shoulders. Pat Rin looked back to Audrey.

  “He may have done,” Pat Rin replied. “But, you know, my father is more than simply a seller of rugs. He designs rooms. He has an understanding of space that is very nearly unparalleled. On Liad, his eye and his artistry were—I do not embellish!—sought after by everyone who wished to bring a room to its full elegance or power. You have now released the staircase to its full range of possibility. Those who ascend it will be changed. Those who watch the ascension will be changed. The whole character of the transaction about to be joined is altered, from secretive to openly joyous.”

  “A bridge to ecstasy, indeed,” Val Con added.

  Audrey blinked, then looked up again, at the bridge.

  “Well,” she said softly. “Guess I’m gonna hafta get Quin to give lessons to us all.”

  Val Con’s eyebrows went up.

  Pat Rin cleared his throat. “Quin is tutoring Villy. A mixture, so I apprehend, of core work from Trigrace Academy, with basic kinesics and an abridged course of melant’i plays.”

  “Is Villy enjoying his lessons?”

  “So far as I understand it.”

  “And is Quin enjoying them as well?”

  “Very much, I believe.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Here,” Audrey said abruptly. She held out a square of carpeting, all a-swirl with reds, oranges, and deep browns. It seemed to glow from within, which would, Pat Rin thought, be the silk threads woven among the quetrine wool. Such a carpet was a treasure, virtually indestructible. Such a carpet—

  He gasped, and reached for the square, which Audrey obligingly put into his hand.

  Such a carpet. He shook his head, understanding that this carpet—this very carpet!—was now intended to grace the newly made Bridge to Ecstasy in a whorehouse on the transitional world of Surebleak . . .

  “Cousin?” The word was in Low Liaden; Val Con’s hand gentle on his arm. “What’s amiss?”

  He looked up, automatically answering in the same tongue.

  “It is the Queterian that Hedrede held for six Standards, waiting on the completion of the formal hall. It—Hedrede must have canceled the order. Would have been compelled . . .” He held out the sample, as if Val Con could not see it perfectly well. “That carpet is going . . .”

  “That carpet is going to the increase of joy in the universe,” Val Con murmured.

  “Is he going to get in trouble?” That was Audrey, her voice sharp with worry. They both turned to her, Val Con’s hand yet on Pat Rin’s arm.

  “Is he going to get in trouble?” she repeated, looking from one to the other. “Because if there’s any chance of trouble—any trouble, at all—I can still say no to that carpet.”

  “Gently,” Val Con murmured, in Terran. “Pat Rin is well acquainted with this carpet, you understand, and knows the party who had held it on deposit. It surprised him to find it here, his father having not yet had an opportunity to speak with him on the matter.”

  “Hedrede,” Pat Rin said, warningly.

  Val Con shook his head.

  “Hedrede is notoriously world-bound,” he said. “What are the chances that any of them might come to Surebleak? Surely, they would avoid this, of all worlds. They may hear of it—indeed, I wager that Luken will make certain that they do hear of it—but what recourse have they?”

  Audrey cleared her throat.

  Pat Rin smiled at her.

  “Forgive us. We have the old world in our bones, but it is as Val Con says. Clan Hedrede had for many years held this rug on deposit. However, as they were part of the committee which saw us—Clan Korval—exiled from Liad, their melant’i could not support the continued relationship with Luken. The only course open to them was to cancel the order, and, by contract, Luken retained all monies received, and the rug, as well.”

  “Saving when they are backed by many others, Hedrede is not known for decisive action,” Val Con said. “Nor do they range far from Liaden worlds. Luken, as you have surely discovered, has . . . high standards. His Balances are impeccable. On the old world, it was said that he was a master of melant’i, whereas we are the merest journeymen. Boys. We can only bow to the nicety of Luken’s understanding, and aspire, someday, to be his equal.”

  Audrey was watching him closely. “So—no trouble?”

  “It is extremely unlikely,” Val Con told her. “Hedrede and its allies cleave to the old world. We do not expect to see such emigrating to Surebleak. A sense of adventure, and a belief that perhaps the rest of the galaxy might hold something more interesting than Liaden society is the chief characteristic of those who follow us here.”

  “So we’re getting the best, is what you’re saying?”

  Val Con smiled at her. “For the purposes of Korval and of Surebleak entire—yes. We are getting the best. Now, I wonder—” His voice caught, for an instant only; Pat Rin thought that Audrey failed to notice anything amiss. Certainly, she did not understand that the course of the sentence Val Con had been about to speak had altered in that short pause. “—if you will forgive me for staying with you so briefly. The case is that I am wanted at the port.”

  “I never stand between a man and his bidness,” Audrey assured him. “It was real good to see you. You give your wife a nice kiss from me and tell her not to be a stranger.”

  “I will,” Val Con promised. He took her hand between both of his and smiled into her eyes.

  She laughed, and slipped her hand away. “There’s such a thing as being too good! Go on—get along with you, or I’ll tell Sheyn to lock the door. Boss?”

  “I am afraid that I, too, am called to business,” Pat Rin said, taking her hand and smiling with frank fondness. “Thank you for seeing us, Audrey.”

  “Wouldn’t’ve missed it for a blizzard,” she told him.

  He smiled again, and followed Val Con out.

  In the foyer, Pat Rin cast a look at his cousin’s profile. “What’s amiss?”

  Val Con moved his shoulders, and gave him a half-smile.

  “I scarcely know. Miri’s temper has been engaged, but . . .” Another ripple of his shoulders. “I think, perhaps, that I ought to go to the port.”

  “Then by all means do so,” Pat Rin said. “You needn’t dawdle on my account.”

  Val Con caught his hand. “Thank you, cousin,” he said, and slipped out the door.

  Pat Rin moved a few steps to the right, watching out the side window as the elegantly overdressed figure jogged down the stairs, and turned a quick step up the street, to the place where he had left his car.

  No security, Pat Rin thought, and shook his head. He would speak to Nova; perhaps she might exert influence. If not, it would have to rest until Shan came home.

  “Ready, Boss?” Gwince asked from behind him.

  “In fact, I am,” he said. “Let us call upon Boss Nova.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Office of the Road Boss

  Surebleak Port

  “Hey, Boss!”

  The voice was recently and irritatingly familiar.

  Miri looked around Nelirikk’s bulk, saw Smealy and a frowning trio that was probably his crew standing over by Jakob’s. One guy had an arm in a sling, but nobody was showing a weapon, which she tentatively decided was good. On the other hand, here came Smealy back across the street, big phony grin in place like they was long-lost best lovers.

  “Captain?” Nelirikk murmured, and it didn’t take mind-reading to know that he wasn’t real happy with Smealy, either.

  “Let’s see what happens,” she muttered back, and stepped out in front. Tall as he was, she wasn’t going to impede him, if Nelirikk decided Smealy needed to be taken off the board. Her only real danger was Smealy getting off a good shot before he went down, and, looking at the man, she considered the probability of his being a good shot . . . low.

  “What do you want, Smealy?�
�� she called back, not making any particular effort to sound welcoming.

  The grin got broader, like she’d given him a birthday present.

  “Just telling the crew about how you’re going to be working with the Heavy Loads Committee!” he said, and suddenly looked up, like he’d just remembered Nelirikk.

  Bastard, Miri thought. He was trying to force her, was he? Thought she wouldn’t stand firm, if he called her out on the open street, with his crew on backup.

  She took a deep breath, and went a step forward, ignoring Nelirikk’s muttered protest.

  Raising her hands, she grinned, just as phony and wide as Smealy, and motioned him forward.

  “I thought we was going to wait on announcing that,” she said, using the field-command voice, so’s to be heard all the way across the street.

  “Well, sure, Boss, but here I come out and there’s the crew. I had to tell them the good news.”

  “Sure you did.”

  She swung, short, sharp, and focused. Smealy went down like a sack of rocks, and stayed down.

  “Now, I don’t know what this guy told you.” She’d been a merc; she knew how to pitch her voice to be heard on a battlefield, and that’s what she did now, so they’d be certain to hear her—yeah, and all the rest of the folks who were taking note of the fact that something was going on that involved the Road Boss.

  “Here’s the straight truth. The Road Boss don’t make exceptions. We’re under contract with the Council of Bosses to keep the road open, and to enforce the policies the Bosses put into place. That’s our job, we’re gonna do our job, and we ain’t accepting bribes or going around the published policies. You all got that?”

  One of them—the burly dark guy with a head like a cannonball, and his arm in the sling—called back.

  “We got it, Boss.”

  They were attracting a crowd, which was . . . unavoidable. And with the crowd came a brace of Port Security—Hazenthull and a Terran male, who looked frail next to her.