Crystal Dragon (19 page)

Jela took a breath.

On the counter, the cat paused in its grooming and raised its head, amber eyes meeting his with the look of an equal intelligence which was, at the moment, slightly put out with him.

Trust
, Cantra's voice whispered again.

The cat blinked, breaking their shared gaze, and returned to its grooming. Jela went to tend the tree.

A seed pod dropped into his palm. He gave silent thanks, and ate it while mentally reviewing the so-called proving, for the tree's interest. It had been a shocking business, badly done and proving nothing but that the man challenged had been more accomplished with his blade than his challenger. He'd known that the scholars of Osabei Tower rose and fell by such "proofs" of their work; Cantra had insisted that he read the codes and histories of the Towers. But knowing and seeing were two different processes. Which he'd also known.

Not to mention, he thought, opening the hidden door in the tree's pot, that Prime Chair tay'Palin's death had been of benefit to the mission, for the man had recognized a Series soldier and had been, so Jela thought, on the edge of asking difficult questions when he'd been interrupted.

The cat came wandering by, snuffling at the grid. Jela pushed it gently away, and it jumped onto the dirt that surrounded and nourished the tree. He gasped, remembering sharp claws and tender bark—and received a clear sending of a dragon curled 'round the base of a sapling, slitted eyes alert.

For its part, the cat circled the tree, one shoulder companionably rubbing the bark, then jumped down on the opposite side and disappeared into the depth of the quarters.

Jela sighed, lightly, and finished assembling his equipment.

THE MOOD OF THE common room was frenetic. It was often so, after the passing of a Prime Chair, and all the moreso this evening. tay'Palin had been well-liked, and had held his seat for almost three Common Years. Had his tenure not been cut short, he would have been eligible on his anniversary date to petition the Board of Governors for a place in the Masters' Wing. Whether the Governors would have granted so audacious a request—was, tay'Welford acknowledged as he took a glass of wine from a passing tray, entirely up to the whim of the Governors. And in any case was no longer an issue.

"Well, there he is!" Regrettably, vel'Anbrek's voice carried easily over the ambient din. It would not do to be seen to snub so venerable a member of the department. No, tay'Welford thought, moving toward the group clustered about the old scholar; there were far more satisfying ways of dealing with vel'Anbrek open to him now.

"Prime." dea'San, never a fool, inclined her head as he joined them.

"Colleagues," he replied, smiling 'round at the three of them. Scholar tay'Nordif gave him his due as well, her beige hair shimmering. When she raised her head, he saw that her face was quite pale. She stood preternaturally still, with none of the overt signs of "vigilance" she had displayed yestereen. Perhaps, tay'Welford thought, today's contest of scholarship had proved a tonic for the department's newest member.

"Today's proving turned out rather well for you, didn't it?" vel'Anbrek said, raising his glass and taking a hearty drink.

tay'Welford frowned slightly. "I am not entirely certain that I understand you, colleague. Are you hinting that I would have wished for anything like today's outcome?"

"You're not such a fool as that, I'd think," the old horror replied. "Certainly, anyone here could have predicted tay'Palin stood on the edge of error. Did so myself, just last night. But who could have imagined he had that last stroke in him—and that he would be moved to save you the trouble of killing chi'Farlo yourself?"

"Gor Tan!" dea'San cried. "What do you say?"

"That chi'Farlo was ambitious," the old man retorted. "Had she won her point, she would have risen from Third Chair to Second, while our good friend and colleague tay'Welford ascended to Prime. And how long, I ask, before she marshaled the tactics that had worked so well against tay'Palin and brought them against our beloved new Prime?"

"Tactics?" Scholar tay'Nordif asked, her voice rather subdued. "What tactics?"

vel'Anbrek shook a finger at her. "It had long been apparent to those of us on the hall that someone had determined to advance by guile, rather than by scholarship. An increasing number of challenges were issued against the work of Prime tay'Palin, and by some of the hottest heads in our department, as even cautious Scholar dea'San will admit is true. Though you knew him so short a time, Scholar tay'Nordif, I am certain it will not surprise you to learn that tay'Palin was a solid scholar—a very solid scholar. Over and over he proved himself. But even a solid scholar becomes wearied by constant challenge. It is my belief that Scholar chi'Farlo had today determined that he was worn down enough to err, and thus she called that point—which ought, Prime Chair, to have been disallowed! Are we to permit challenges based on Wander-work which is tangential to the token that gained us our chair? What next, I ask you? Challenges on the 'quations we proved at our tutor's knee?"

"I will," tay'Welford said, keeping his voice serious and soft, "take the matter to the Governors, colleague. It may be that protocol was breached."

"That's very well, then," sniffed vel'Anbrek.

"You would say," Scholar tay'Nordif murmured, "if I understand you, Scholar—that Scholar chi'Farlo felt the Prime—past-Prime! Your pardon, Prime tay'Welford!—would be physically unable to withstand her, and so issued a spurious challenge?"

"A light-minded challenge, let us say," vel'Anbrek answered. "But, yes, you have the essence of it, Scholar. And since it was clearly her wish to rise to Prime—which I do not scruple to tell you she
could not
have done on the strength of her scholarship—plain logic dictates that she would soon have launched the same sort of attack at tay'Welford here, from her position as Second Chair."

"It seems," Maelyn tay'Nordif protested, "a very risky business, Scholar. How if she were found out?"

"But she was found out, was she not?" dea'San said briskly. "The challenge fell to tay'Palin." She fixed vel'Anbrek in a stern eye. "The system works. Though it does occasionally allow for certain ...untidiness, balance is eventually restored."

"Yes, of course," said tay'Nordif, "but—"

The bell rang, and tay'Welford stepped forward with a smile to offer his arm to dea'San, leaving tay'Nordif to share the meal with vel'Anbrek, much joy she might have of him.

JELA'S 'BOTS AND seekers had been busy while he'd been fetching and carrying and seeing bloody murder done. He therefore immersed himself, sitting on the floor next to the tree, eating a second seed pod, absently, and a third after it hit his knee a little harder than local gravity could answer for.

The cat had come by again and stuck its nose once between him and his portable array. He pushed it—
gently
—away, and it took itself out of his sight and consciousness.

What he was looking for was the safe-place where Liad dea'Syl stored his equations. He had been forced to make certain broad assumptions in his instructions to his constructs. The quick recon tour he'd taken of the data banks last night had revealed the not-exactly-surprising information that there were many fortified areas within the Osabei Tower architecture. The challenge had then been to build his seekers clever enough to eliminate all but the most likely lockups. He'd at least built them clever enough to move within the Tower brain without lighting any alarms; and they'd also managed to amass a tidy list of six possibles.

The rest of the finicky, risky work was his to do.

He eliminated two of the six before he noticed the timer light blinking insistently at the bottom of the screen. Quickly, he broke the array down, stowed the pieces in the tree's pot, leaned against the wall and became a napping kobold.

No sooner had he closed his eyes than the door chuckled and opened. He heard Scholar tay'Nordif's firm steps, quickly followed by her sharp voice.

"Jela! Open your eyes and rise!"

He did so, in a kobold hurry, which was none too quick, taking care not to crush the Tower servitor who stood just inside the door, a basket held in both of her tiny hands.

"Give the basket to my servant," the Scholar directed the Small, and to him, "Jela! Receive the basket and take it to the kitchen." The exchange made, the scholar waved an imperious hand. "You may go."

The blind servant bowed, turned and exited, silent on tiny, bare feet. Behind her, the door closed, and the scholar stepped forward to seal it while Jela carried the basket into the galley and put it on the counter next to the bowl of water he had drawn for the cat. The animal itself didn't come immediately to sight, and the bowl appeared to be untouched.

Looking into the basket, he saw it full of sealed food packets, not unlike single-rations. Cat food, he surmised, and wondered again where the cat was, which a kobold would not ever wonder, and so he did not look around for it.

"Jela!" Scholar tay'Nordif snapped. "Open a single packet and place it on the counter by the water dish."

He did this while she walked toward the larger room, voicing "
s-s-s-s-s
," and then exclaiming in warm, pleased tones, "
There
you are, clever fellow! I'm pleased to see you making yourself at home. I will be wanting that chair directly, however, and you, I believe, will be wanting your supper."

Jela kept his eyes on the business of unfolding the ration pack into a bowl and spreading the lips wide. He heard the scholar's light-but-not-light-enough steps approach, smelled Cantra's scent over the strong odor of the cat's meal.

"Stand back, Jela," the scholar directed him, and he did what he was told, as she slid the cat smoothly from her arm to the counter, its nose pointed at the food.

The orange tail twitched, the ears flicked—and the cat was at once wholly occupied with its dinner, like any good soldier at mess. Jela dared to look up and observed a smile upon the face of his mistress—a fond and slightly foolish smile, which chilled him to the core, it was so unlike any expression he had ever seen on Cantra yos'Phelium's features.

The eyes moved from the cat to himself, and hardened in an instant. "Jela!" she snapped. "Put the sealed packets—
neatly
—on the lowest shelf of the middle cabinet. When the basket is empty, place it by the door."

Ordered, he obeyed. The scholar watched the cat for a few heartbeats more, then he heard her move back across the room to her workstation.

He finished stocking the cabinet, and turned, basket in hand. The ration pack was empty, the cat vanished again. She hadn't told him to clean up the animal's mess, so he passed it by to place the basket, as directed, next to the door.

"What shall I call you?" the scholar inquired, in a high, foolish voice.

Jela turned, slowly, and found her sitting on the chair, cat on her lap, tickling it under its chin. The cat, far from displaying predator-like behavior and having off with her hand, expressed every indication of ecstasy, its eyes slitted and its mouth half-open in pleasure.

"Perhaps," Scholar tay'Nordif said dreamily, "the simple name is best, eh? After all, as the great bin'Arli teaches us,
it is neither name nor house which makes fair fortune
. Therefore, you are now and shall henceforth be—Lucky."

The cat purred, loudly, and the scholar chuckled fondly. Jela, his tasks complete, stood next to the door, hoping that she'd notice soon and order him to do something, or else go to sleep so that he could continue with his—

"Ah, what gossip we had at the common gather this evening, Lucky! Truly, you would be horrified to learn how scholars do gossip—but no! You have been employed by a scholar, have you not? You will therefore perhaps not be surprised to hear that Scholar vel'Anbrek believes Prime tay'Welford engineered not only today's proving, but a number of previous challenges made against the work of the previous Prime. Scholar vel'Anbrek believes—ah! not in so many words, you understand; he has not survived so long under walls because he is an idiot, I think—Scholar vel'Anbrek believes that Prime tay'Welford wishes harm to our beloved Master dea'Syl. Is that not diverting, Lucky?"

The cat yawned, widely. The scholar laughed, scooped it off her lap and dropped it lightly to the floor as she came to her feet.

"Well, to bed, I believe, so that I am alert for tomorrow's labors!" Without a glance or a glimmer toward the door, where Jela still waited in hope of an order, she stripped off the robe and bundled it untidily onto the shelf that held the half-unpacked travel bag. She kicked off her slippers, pulled a blanket from the storage cabinet and lay down on her cot.

"Jela," she said. "Dim the light and go to sleep."

Bring the lights down, he did, and returned to his place beneath the tree. He waited until the rhythm of her breathing told him that she was asleep before he pulled his equipment from its cache and commenced in again to work.

He roused once, when a seed pod pounced off of his knee, and paused long enough to eat it, sending a silent thanks to the tree. He roused a second time, briefly, when the scholar shifted in her sleep; and a third time, when the cat tried to lay across his array.

And some time just before the end of the scholar's sleep shift, he hid his equipment, settled back against the wall and considered two data points.

One, if Liad dea'Syl's work was locked inside the Osabei data bank, it was well-hidden indeed.

Two, he had the location of Muran's damn' planet-shield, that Commander Ro Gayda had ordered him, as his last mission, to procure for the troop.

"Business on Landomist?" The clerk cast a bored glance over his license, and ran it through the reader.

"I carry data for a scholar seated at Osabei Tower," Tor An said steadily. His shoulder—where he had been shot—hurt in good earnest now, and his thoughts had an alarming tendency to wander. He had dosed himself with antibiotics from the ship's kit, and rewrapped the wound tightly enough that his second-best trading jacket—a hand-me-down from Cor Win and thus a little large—fit over the additional bulk of the dressing.