Mouse and Dragon (41 page)

She left him alone in the tiny alcove that was his prison. In happier times, he thought it had been a closet. It was big enough for the cot to which he was bound, his broken leg strapped to a board in rough first aid. A small mercy, that, and one for which he was grateful.

Daav closed his eyes. "The boss" argued for Clarence, though what he could possibly hope to gain by maintaining Daav alive—he took a painful breath.

If Daav was a prisoner, he was a guarantee of Aelliana's compliance. And if Clarence had decided to expand his operations, as this harvesting of pilots seemed to indicate, then he would very much need Korval compliant.

If—

Fire ran his nervous system, and he spasmed against his bonds, gasping—then collapsed, boneless, panting, and soaked in sweat.

Kitten appeared briefly in the doorway.

"Yeah," she said. "That'll be the withdrawal from the drug. You can expect more of the same until you get another jolt of the good stuff, or that detox like the boss might have for you."

She vanished, then, closing the door behind her.

Fire arced through him . . . 

* * *

They swept in carefully, and this time it paid off. The second-story crew took the gun on the roof across from the place Aelliana had showed him on the map without even raising dust. There were two on the door; one bolted, and fell to a trank gun; the other ran into Rof Tin's fist.

Upstairs, a burly woman in a faded orange mechanic's coverall drew a gun—and dropped it, jerking her head at a sealed closet.

"Put her to sleep," Clarence snapped, remembering the first time, when he and Daav had lost the reaper to a poison tooth . . . 

Standing to one side, gun ready, he triggered the door to the closet. What was inside—

For a moment, he thought he'd come too late; the form on the cot lay so still. Then he saw the chest move, heard the harsh sound of panting, and yelled for the kit.

They hit him with a general detox, full-spectrum antibiotic, and got a balloon brace on the leg. It was only then that they turned their attention to the cuffs, Clarence picking one and Sara on the other.

"Boss." The word was raw, barely above a whisper. Clarence looked down into half-crazed black eyes.

"Daav."

"It was you, harvesting pilots. She said you were coming . . ."

"You," Clarence said in Terran, "have just spent the last day or two in hell; there's drugs I don't care to think too close on soaking up your blood and your good sense, and you've no business thinking anything at all."

"She said—"

"You'll tell me what she said later," Clarence said firmly. "I'm here to fetch you home to your wife, laddie, just like she asked me to do. You've been gone too long, and she's having the devil's own time keeping your brother to the High Port."

Daav drew a sharp breath.

"That was my thought, too," Clarence said comfortably. "Now, listen to me, Daav. You're a fair mess and I don't want to distress Aelliana any more than she already is. We'll make a stop at my office and get you half-patched, then we'll all have a nice chat at Ongit's. Does that suit you?"

It probably scared the heart out of him, Clarence thought, but Daav yos'Phelium wasn't one to let mortal terror stop him.

"It suits me," he said in a raw, rasping voice. He shifted on the bed, newly freed hand groping along his belt.

"What's missing?" Clarence asked, though he thought he knew.

"Gun."

"Right." He slid his spare out and put it in the other man's hand. "You're welcome to mine. Have a care; it's loaded."

Daav nodded, his arm, with the gun in his hand, stretched along the edge of the cot.

"Thank you, Clarence."

He stood and motioned to Sara that she should take up her end of the cot.

"No trouble at all, laddie," he said. "Not a bit o' trouble at all."

* * *

She hadn't told Er Thom where she was going or whom she was to meet. It was foolish; she knew it was foolish and yet she did it. Which was, she thought, taking her seat in the private room deep in the heart of Ongit's, precisely what Daav had done and for precisely the same reason.

Korval was too thin. The former delm had not gone to Low Port herself, she had sent her heir. His loss would have wounded the clan, but it would not have crippled it. There was no heir or maiden uncle for Korval's present delm to send upon difficult missions. Every life was precious, and the combination of duty and necessity put them all at risk. The delm's duty, to preserve the clan, became the duty to preserve the future of the greater number of the clan, thus increasing the delm's personal danger.

She could see the graph inside her head; she could trace the lines of causation, and—

There was a tap at the door, and the elder Mr. Ongit stepped in, followed by Clarence, moving slowly, to accommodate the comrade who leaned hard on him, face drawn, and eyes haunted. Weariness flowed out from him, and a toxic wash of horror, pain, shame, and self-loathing.

She spun to where the elder gentleman waited by the door.

"Of your goodness summon a Healer immediately. Say that Korval is in need—wait!" She spun back to Clarence. "Yourself?"

He shook his head, and offered her a smile so weary it barely curved the straight line of his mouth. "I'm good, thanks," he said in Terran.

She nodded and looked back to Mr. Ongit. "One Healer—as quickly as you can."

He bowed and was gone. Aelliana turned again, finding that Clarence had gotten Daav seated and dropped into the chair opposite.

"Well," she said, taking the last chair, "which of you has the strength to tell me what has happened?"

Clarence laughed tiredly and shook his head.

"Short form, there's somebody else trying to set themselves up as boss. Whoever that is has a hit list and a nice crew of reapers. Daav's name was on the list and they took him down for the bounty, as Daav says his keeper told him. I'll know more after I've had a couple of good chats with those we brought home with us. When I do, I'll send the report along by courier, if that suits."

"It does," she said, with a glance at Daav, who was sitting where Clarence had put him, his head against the back of the chair and his eyes closed.

"He's had a bit of a bad time," Clarence said, following her gaze.

"It could have been worse," Daav murmured, sounding very nearly like himself.

"That's right," Clarence allowed, and rose with a wince. "I'll be taking myself off, gentle people." He bowed. "Aelliana, your servant. Daav—"

He moved a hand without opening his eyes. "Do not, I beg you, say so, or you will be doing nothing else with your time aside fetching me out of dreadful scrapes."

Clarence grinned. "I could branch out into bodyguard."

"So you could. Clarence—" He lifted his head with an effort Aelliana felt in her own muscles, and opened his eyes. "Thank you. I am in your debt."

"No, now
that
you're not. There are no debts between us. It's forgotten, and of your kindness you'll do the same."

There was a small silence, then Daav sighed, his mouth curving slightly.

"You drive a hard bargain, Pilot. Yes, that is the course of wisdom. Let it be so. Good lift."

"Safe landing."

He crossed the room, reaching the door just as it opened to admit Mr. Ongit, with the Healer.

A clan's treasure is its children.
—
From the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
 

The tree had given several pods, which Daav had eaten without hesitation, and with every evidence of enjoyment. Aelliana was apparently judged well enough, for nothing fell to her hand. That was, as far as she cared, as it should be. Her concern at the moment was all for him.

Though he had received benefit from both the Healer and the autodoc, he seemed to her . . . tired; his signal, normally so clear, was subdued. The Healer had said that he might find it difficult to concentrate over the next few days, which was an artifact of the drug his captor had used to enthrall him. Aelliana gathered that there were crueler drugs that they might have used, but not very many.

She sighed, her back against the tree's comforting trunk, and looked down into his face.

Almost,
she thought,
almost, I had lost him.
Her heart trembled, and she extended a hand to trace the stark line of his cheek.

"I love you," she murmured. "
Van'chela
, I love you so much that it frightens me."

"I know," he whispered. He opened his eyes and gazed up into her face. "You're weeping. It all came out well in the end, Aelliana."

"This time," she acknowledged unsteadily. "And yet it could have gone wrong in so many ways. They—"

He raised his hand and pressed his fingers gently against her lips.

"No. Do not consider what they might have done, nor even what they have done. They failed; we prevailed. That is what we recall."

She took a breath; nodded.

"That is well," he murmured. "Now, attend me, for I have been remiss and thus placed the delmae into danger. In the past, when the delms of Korval and the Boss of Liad have found it necessary to share information, a message is dispatched and a mutually acceptable time is found for them to meet at Ongit's. There is no reason for Korval to go to the Boss, or, indeed, for the Boss to come to Korval."

"Clarence said the same," Aelliana admitted. She laughed slightly. "Truly, Daav, I have seldom beheld someone so honestly horrified to see me."

"Clarence has a great deal of good sense," Daav murmured, and turned his head away, as if listening.

"Oh, dear." He sighed. "I believe we are both about to be scolded masterfully."

Aelliana frowned. She heard the breeze in the leaves, the repetitive call of a to-me, the bright burst of a rindlebird's song—and footsteps, light and quick, growing more distinct.

Er Thom appeared 'round the bend in the path, and crossed the grass to them.

With neither ceremony nor greeting, he dropped to his knees and leaned forward to look closely into Daav's eyes.

"Brother, how do you go on?" he asked.

"Well enough. The Healer did his work well."

"Good." Er Thom drew a hard breath, and sat back on his heels, his mouth tightening.

"I am going to murder you myself and save the toughs of Low Port any more losses," he said, his voice hard and distinct. He looked up, sparing a glare for her.

"And you! Do you have no better understanding than to place yourself and Korval's heir into the hands of one of the most dangerous people on this planet?"

"Neither then nor now," Aelliana said, meeting his anger with softness. "Clarence did well by us. It was he who brought Daav out of Low Port, which I don't think anyone else could have done. He was as distressed to see me in his office as you could have wished him to be, Er Thom, and lessoned me well. I honor him."

Er Thom closed his eyes and took a hard breath.

"Stipulate," Daav said, before his brother could speak again, "that we are idiots of the first water, polished and ready to be set."

There was a moment of silence before Er Thom sighed and opened his eyes.

"Stipulated."

Daav smiled. "Excellent. Now tell me, do, what else I might have done, given the contract and the ever-more-disturbing reports coming from our sources in the Low Port."

"There is no reason for you to go yourself," Er Thom said. "You might have done as our mother often did, and sent another of the clan as her eyes and her ears."

"I might have done so," Daav agreed. "Who would you suggest?"

"Myself."

Daav laughed. "Oh, yes! Twelves better!"

Er Thom looked goaded.

"They had Daav's name," Aelliana said, before he started in to brangle again. "It does speak to your point, that he should not have gone alone. But he could not have known that there was a bounty on his head, and the entire Low Port on the hunt for him."

Er Thom glanced to Daav. "Your personal name."

"In fact. Interesting, is it not? Clarence has kindly sent us a transcript of a conversation he had with my jailer, one Kitten Sandith. Kitten would have it that Terran Enterprises, Galactic is setting up headquarters in the Low Port, recruiting pilots and seeking to supplant both the Juntavas and, in her terms, 'the Liaden overlords of trade.' "

"Replacing both of those groups," Er Thom murmured, "with itself?" He sighed. "How is it that Boss O'Berin—whom I allow to be a canny man with a careful eye to his own best health—how is it that he has failed to notice the incursion of this group into his territory?"

"Because they're
wingnuts
," Aelliana explained, proud to have remembered Clarence's precise terminology.

Er Thom stared at her, before looking again to Daav.

"A wingnut is a small bit of hardware which is used to cap a screw."

"Technically correct," Daav admitted. "However, in the vernacular usage, a wingnut is a person of lamentable understanding who is unlikely to be able to find his way, unaided, out of a paper bag."

"Ah. I am to understand from this that Boss O'Berin knew of the group's presence, but unfortunately underestimated the level of threat they posed to his operations and to the pilots on the port?"

"That fairly states the case."

"Now that he is aware, what does he . . ." Er Thom paused. "No. Let us return to a former point. How came these . . . persons . . . to have your personal name?"

Daav sighed. "You will understand that Kitten is not a philosopher, nor is she disinclined to do a bit of freelancing from time to time. It would appear from the transcript that the Terran Party has taken strong exception to my gift to them of the gene maps from Grandmother Cantra's log book, and has offered a bounty. So far, they are the only organization to have paid the least attention. I suppose I ought to be gratified."

Er Thom frowned. "We had known it was a risk, which is why the gift was sent anonymously."

"Yes, and
that
makes for interesting speculation. Who informs the Terran Party?"

Daav was becoming agitated; the peace that the Healer had put on him was beginning to fray. Aelliana felt it, and did not approve.