Chapter Eighteen
On his first day of full time work, Ran-Del said his morning prayer, ate a hasty breakfast, and left the Hayden compound before dawn. He ran through the city with an easy stride, loping through the now familiar but mostly deserted streets. The street lighting made it easy to see. By the time he arrived at the warehouse, the sky was golden and the artificial lights had dimmed. No one else was in sight as he crouched on the porch to wait.
A small blue skimmer pulled up a while later, and Georges got out. He came up the steps carrying a steaming mug from which wafted a familiar spicy scent.
Ran-Del got to his feet.
Georges started, his face alarmed. He laughed as he reached his hand to the access panel to unlock the door. “Mighty prompt for a barbarian.”
Ran-Del crossed his arms over his chest. “You shouldn’t be so rude when there are no witnesses, Georges. I could take my revenge and no one would be any the wiser.”
Georges just grinned. “You’d be out of a job, then.”
Ran-Del followed him into the warehouse, ready to start his first day. None of the other employees seemed surprised to find him there when they straggled in later. Ran-Del fell into the routine easily enough. He already knew most of the work, and he knew the people well enough to be comfortable.
After his first day, he had one cup of tea at Benjie’s then ran home, ignoring the surprised looks of passersby. He showered and sat down to a late dinner with Francesca. When she asked him about his job, he described his tasks and his coworkers thoroughly, but didn’t mention anything about Benjie’s. Something told him Francesca wouldn’t take well to Janis’ long-held desire to know a Sansoussy warrior.
After his first week, Ran-Del finally understood the concept of weekends. It felt good to rest when you had worked hard the days before. And payday at the end of the week gave him a sense of accomplishment.
“Can you come to a meeting tomorrow morning in the Leong compound?” Francesca said a week later, at the dinner table.
They usually ate alone, in the sitting room of their suite. “How long will it last?”
“I don’t know.” She stirred her sautéed crabbagge with her fork. “It’s Hans’ meeting. He asked for it.”
Ran-Del glanced at the time display on the wall. It was so cleverly disguised as a view of the Jordan River, it had taken him a while to learn to read it. The hour was too late to call anyone. “I’ll let Georges know first thing in the morning.”
She nodded but made no comment.
After a while, Ran-Del became aware of her silence and of her mood. A black fog seemed to hang around her. She had eaten only a few bites of her dinner, and stared at the food as if it were distasteful.
“What’s wrong?” Ran-Del asked, pushing away his empty plate.
She lifted her head. “What?”
“Something is bothering you.” Ran-Del leaned forward on his arms. “What is it?”
She looked down again. “Nothing, really. It’s just that Quinn has given up.”
“Given up what?”
Francesca let out a deep sigh. “She’s given up trying to find out who killed Pop.”
Ran-Del digested this news. He didn’t know much about the kind of information Marina Quinn dealt in, but he could understand the concept of a trail that led nowhere. “That doesn’t mean you’ll never find out. It just means you have to bide your time, be patient, and hope for good luck.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I hope that proves true.”
He put one hand over hers in an effort to reassure her.
Her response was immediate, a warm rush of emotion—gratitude, affection, sadness, and just as she pulled her hand away, desire.
“If you’re not hungry,” Ran-Del said. “Let’s go to bed.”
She stood up at once. “Fine with me.”
They made love passionately, and when it was over, Francesca lay next to Ran-Del and put her head against his chest. “I’m glad I have you, Ran-Del,” she said, her eyes closed.
Ran-Del suffered a pang of guilt. He had come to accept his life in Shangri-La, but he couldn’t honestly say to his wife that he was glad he had married her. “Go to sleep,” he said instead. “Things always look better in the morning.”
The Sixth Discipline Page 65
