Eyes of the Calculor (50 page)

"Quite an unusual pregnancy, I think it requires an assisted birth," said Velesti, drawing her knife and slashing it across the cushion.

Feathers poured out onto the floor. Velesti released Elene, who swept the gown from her head, then glared at her, her face scarlet with mortification.

"I have the feeling that Martyne walked out of our house a virgin," said Velesti. "On the other hand the idea of carrying his child did remain with you. Trick him into marriage, then begin a real pregnancy. So convenient. Two great mercantile houses united with a single heir. And when were the Camderines introduced to the scheme?"

Graten and Telsa remained silent and sheepish. Julica was so still and silent that she could not even be seen to be breathing.

"Timid, drunken sot couldn't get it up," muttered Elene after a short but poisonous silence.

Velesti pointed, and four pairs of eyes followed her gesture to Julica.

"As you may have noticed, I like to keep track of such things as the dalliances—or attempted dalliances—that are going on around me," said Velesti. "Julica, did you really think I would not have noticed what you did with Reclor?"

Julica shook her head in silence, while Elene sat with her mouth open. Julica got to her feet but Velesti stepped between her and the door.

"There is the future of the Disore household," she concluded with a grand sweep of the knife with which she had cut open Elene's cushion. "Frelle Mica was generous and compassionate enough to lie with Reclor some hours before his duel, so that he did not enter it a virgin. Now she is carrying his child—and your grandchild, Mother."

For some moments nobody moved, then Elene shambled over to Julica and put her arms around her. Elene began to sob, then fell to her knees and pressed her head against Mica's swollen abdomen, crying "Reclor, Reclor, you're still alive."

"I was too ashamed to tell, you, Frelle," explained Julica. "I came here, I wanted to earn enough to raise the child myself, alone."

"Oh, silly girl, good girl."

"Aunt Velesti, the name appeals to me," said Velesti, returning her knife to its sheath.

"Will—will Martyne be coming here at all?" asked Graten Cam-derine. "We owe him an apology."

"Some of you more than others. Actually, one of my informants told me some minutes ago that he has unexpectedly arrived back in Rochester after only a half day away, but no matter, we can take him out to lunch tomorrow."

"Perhaps a little boat trip where we can talk with discretion," said Graten.

"Perhaps," conceded Velesti. "The preserved meats and sausages of the Camderines may not be united with the wool and hides of the Disores, but then children should not be the currency of commerce, should they, Fras and Frelle Camderine?"

Elene got to her feet and cradled Mica's head in her arms. "You are my foster daughter now, and you are returning to Griffith with me. Everybody will be told, and damn what is whispered. I am so, so proud of you."

"Actually, I checked the civil legislation," said Velesti, drawing a folded poorpaper from her jacket. "The letter of the law states that: 'a coupling preceding a duel presided over by any legally qualified official of a mayorate, city, the Dragon Librarian Service, or the clergy is looked upon as associated with, and bound to, for the pur-

poses of civil law, proceeding, and matters related to the duel, that specifically involve property and property associated therewith.' '

All four of Velesti's audience looked quite blank.

"Could you possibly repeat that a little more slowly, Frelle?" asked Telsa Camderine.

"I shall do better than that, Frelle, I shall translate it. By relieving Reclor of his virginity as part of the preparation for the duel, Mica became technically betrothed to Reclor. Frelle Mica, due to a legal technicality you appear to be my legal sister-in-law."

Velesti left the astounded group to themselves and returned across the alleyways, steps, and plazas of Libris to her room. She removed her jacket and had done sixty-five chin-ups when there was a rap at her door. It was Marelle.

"It's Martyne," she announced.

"Explain," replied Velesti, already apprehensive.

"Remember that girl he's besotted with?"

"Samondel?"

"Yes."

"Well, her long-lost true love has arrived in Rochester. Martyne has taken it badly, very badly—"

Velesti dropped to her knees, put a hand over her head and began pounding the floorboards with the other.

"You didn't know about any of this, did you?" asked Marelle.

Velesti stood up, glared at Marelle, then snatched a dueling shirt from the rack.

"No, I did not," she conceded. "Do you happen to know what Samondel's lover is named, and where he resides?"

"He has a room at the Celestial registered under Serjon Feydamor."

Velesti went curiously blank for a dozen or so heartbeats.

"Thank you for telling me all of that," said Velesti, snatching up her jacket. "I shall be out and about."

"Where are you going?"

"To remove the last of the complications from Martyne's life."

Mighliber Dramoren was working in his study when there was a pounding at his door. He admitted one of his personal guard, who brought with him a request for an audience from Velesti Disore of the Espionage Constables. The priority code was Direct Threat of Invasion. Velesti was hurriedly admitted, and the door closed behind her. Dramoren started the little water-baffle fountain to muffle their voices.

"Now we can talk," he said breathlessly. "What is this?"

"I have been keeping a student of the university under watch for some time, a girl named Corien Meziar. She is actually an agent of the Reformed Gentheists, and she keeps a list of activists for and against their causes and beliefs."

"I am aware of several such agents, herself included."

"She has just sent a coded message to Peterborough concerning a fellow student, Samondel Leover. Frelle Leover is the second of the American flying machine's crew."

"The devil you say! Are you sure?"

"Oh yes, and the tale worsens. Another American agent has just arrived in Rochester, and has joined her. They are passing as lovers, dining and carousing this very night. They are suspected of connections with that Christian Gaia Crusader movement that recently sprang up locally, and of smuggling advanced weapons from the North American continent for Reformed Gentheist use— against us."

"I see," said Dramoren, rubbing his hands together. "But what has she been doing for these two months past?"

"One can do a great deal in two months, but I do not know specifically. However, Frelle Leover is also an American head of state, and her lover is one of their greatest warriors."

"Ignore my last question," Dramoren said urgently. "I want them arrested. Now!"

"Highliber, one does not casually arrest a head of state."

"One does if she is conspiring with other foreign powers to invade the Commonwealth!"

"You do not know that."

"In that case I shall go down to her cell and ask her, in half an hour or so. I shall now repeat myself, which is something that some of my staff have discovered—very painfully—that I dislike doing. Arrest her!"

"At once, Highliber, but. . ."

"But?"

"Might I suggest, Highliber, that very few know what I have just told you. The Americans have fueled engines powering their flying machines, in flagrant violation of the Prophet Jemli's teachings. There is clearly a contradiction to be resolved before we can prove that they are in some conspiracy."

"True, quite true. Arrest them with discretion, then take them to the cloisters of the University Library. There we shall have a private inquest, and possibly a trial by ordeal. Should the worst suspicions be brought to light, they can merely vanish, and we can blame Reformed Gentheist assassins."

"Useful people, those Reformed Gentheist assassins."

"Can I name you as my champion against Frelle Leover's warrior, Frelle Velesti?"

"I can secure you a better champion than I, Fras Highliber."

It is a quite well known fact that most people who go drinking in the hope of finding some more sympathetic company than a barrel will generally find only a barrel. Martyne was, however, only in search of barrels, and he had sampled the contents of several. He stumbled into his room alone with a thumblamp in his hand, looked at his neat but empty bunk in annoyance, then set the lamp down, blew out the flame, and crawled beneath his bunk to sleep. He lay fully clothed on the floor while the darkened room spun around him at a truly distressing speed. After another minute there was a knock at the door.

Martyne did not answer. There was a sharp bang and the door burst open. Velesti stood in the doorway holding another thumblamp. Martyne put his head out from under the bunk.

"Oh, God in heaven, had I wanted female company this night I would have prayed for someone more sympathetic," chanted Mar-tyne in slurred Balesha plainsong.

Velesti entered the room, set the thumblamp down, reached under the bunk and dragged Martyne out. She hauled him to his feet while batting her hand back and forth across his face.

"Get your train back on the paralines, Sensei, the Rochestrian Commonwealth has need of you," she said, dropping Martyne onto a stool.

"Screw the Rochestrian Commonwealth."

"What were you doing beneath your bunk? Were you expecting to be attacked?"

"Frelle Velesti, you are a woman. You cannot understand the workings of men's thoughts."

"Try me," Velesti replied.

She selected a shirt from the peg rack, then removed Martyne's cloak and began to unlace his tunic.

"If anyone happens to ask how I spent this night, I can in all honesty say that I visited Amar At'agnine, drank rather more than was good for me at the Ugly Friar and elsewhere, and did not end up in my own bunk. It is highly unlikely that anyone would ask me such a question, but the fact that I have an answer that is both honest and impressive gives me a measure of comfort. Now I can even add that the tunic was ripped off my back by a woman who—ow! You have cold hands! Please, leave me alone, what is this? Give me facts!"

"Fact: Your beloved Samondel is being dined and feted by her American beloved. Fact: My mother is not pregnant. Fact: Julica is pregnant with Reclor's child. Fact: Julica has been adopted by my mother. Fact: In June I shall become an aunt. Fact: You no longer have to marry my mother."

Elation, despair, hope, confusion, and agonized grief flickered across Martyne's features like lightning bolts amid thunderclouds. He fell to his knees, weeping.

"Too late, too bloody late!" he moaned.

"Fact: Samondel and her lover are about to be arrested."

"What? Why?"

"Fact: She is a head of state called an airlord, all the way from the continent of North America. Well-founded speculation: She appears to have been spying on the Commonwealth, conspiring with the Reformed Gentheists, and possibly conspiring against Avian as well. Fact: The Avianese attacked America and stole flying technology from the locals. Fact: The Americans are a bit cross, understandably so, if you ask me. Fact: There is to be a secret trial by ordeal. Fact: Because of your association with Saireme Airlord Samondel, also known as Red Death, victor in six clear air combats, and leader of the secret expedition to this continent, you have been chosen to demonstrate your loyalty to the Highliber, Overmayor, and Commonwealth by standing as champion against her."

The barrage of revelations crushed Martyne's already reeling senses.

"Samondel? My Samondel? Beautiful Samondel?"

"Beautiful and devious Samondel. How much did you tell her?"

"About the Espionage Constables? Nothing—fact."

"Good. You must go to the University Library cloisters. There you will meet the Highliber, who has named you as his champion."

Martyne's head suddenly cleared considerably.

"There is to be a secret hearing, and probably a duel. Dramoren is a good librarian but an average shot. When I suggested that you might be willing to be his champion, he welcomed the prospect of having a former Balesha monk fighting on his behalf."

Velesti hauled him to his feet again and draped his cloak over his shoulders. Taking Martyne by the arm, she marched him to the landlord's bedroom. When the man did not answer her knock she struck the door with the side of her left fist, just above the lock. The door swung open. The landlord and his wife sat up in bed, clinging to each other.

"Fras Martyne's lock is broken," Velesti announced. "Repair it. Now."

"Yes, Frelle Dragonliber, yes, Frelle Dragonliber," babbled the landlord.

Out in the dimly lit street Martyne saw that ten Tiger Dragons were waiting for Velesti.

"Fras Clemento, make sure that my friend reaches the University Library within the quarter hour, and make sure that a strong coffee is within him by then," said Velesti. She put an arm around Martyne and whispered in his ear. "The prospects are good for a very ugly night for all of us, little brother. Just remember that Fortune guards those unlucky in love, and that all is fair in love and warfare."

"What do you mean by that?"

"When the time is right, you will know."

Clemento and Martyne hurried off down the street, and when they came to a corner Martyne looked back. Velesti and the other Tiger Dragons were nowhere to be seen.

"She must have an almighty battle on the brew with someone," said Martyne to the portly but broad-chested Clemento. "I have never known her to need the help of even one Tiger Dragon, let alone nine."

"I have been told nothing, Fras, but doubtless we shall hear the fight all the way from the University."

Derjon returned to his room with Samondel after a delightful dinner at the Banquet and Barrel. They had with them ajar of sweet hargen-wine, and as they entered his room Samondel flopped backward onto his bed with her arms spread out.

"Sorry that I have mugs instead of glassware, but perchance it will have been worth waiting for," he said as he took two mugs from the bedside stand and placed them on the tray.

"We have waited so long, what is a few minutes more?" she replied.