Necessity's Child (Liaden Universe®) (33 page)

“I told you! I ain’t—”

There was a sound, like Droi’s palm striking Vylet’s cheek, a grunt—and Syl Vor was through the door.

Kezzi stared at the place he had been and did not follow. This was some quarrel between
gadje
and nothing to do with her. If Syl Vor wanted to involve himself, then he could!
He
was
gadje
, but such an argument had nothing to do with
her
, a Bedel.

“Peter—stop,” Syl Vor’s voice was perfectly calm, and it was—it was
Pete
he was challenging? Pete, who was three times his mass and twice his height? Had he lost his mind?

Somebody laughed—not Pete, because it was Pete who said, “You gonna make me,
Syl Vor
?”

“If I must, but there should be no need. Rudy, come inside with me.”

Worse and worse! Rudy was no friend of Syl Vor’s; he was—

“No bidness of yours, Boss’s brat. Go back inside yourself!”

“Oh, hey, no!” That was the other one—the new one, Luce. “I got a better idea! Let’s close the door so me ’n’ Pete can have some fun. What say, Pete?”

“I say I want the cash I was promised.”

“We needed it for the rent,” Rudy said. “I
told
you. I’ll pay you, Pete; it’s just gonna take a while.”

“Already taken too long. I’m tired of waitin’—”

Sounds, as if of boots against gravel, a yell, a muffled thud, a shout—“You stupid kid!”—and Kezzi was through the door, something other than good sense propelling her into the alley and under Luce’s arm, taking in the scene before her.

Pete stood shaking his hand, a look on his face that reminded Kezzi of Rafin when he’d drunk too much beer, and needed to knock somebody down. In front of him, his back to Kezzi, was Rudy, his jacket torn. Between him and Pete stood Syl Vor in his blue jacket, yellow
gadje
hair blazing like an Affirmation Fire in the dimness. His legs were slightly apart, his balance distributed in a way that she recognized from her own knife-fighting lessons.

Except that Syl Vor had no knife.

“Get outta here, Syl Vor,” Rudy said, his voice shaking and rough. “Ain’t your fight.”

“No.” Syl Vor said. “Peter, stop this and go away.”

Luce laughed again.

“Talks tough, don’t he?”

“Let’s see how good he talks with his teeth knocked out.”

Pete swept forward, a fist jumping toward Syl Vor—

Toward the place where Syl Vor
had been
.

He’d ducked, Kezzi thought, and watched as he spun and kicked Pete’s knee.

It didn’t look like he kicked it hard, but Pete yelled and went down. Syl Vor kept spinning, grabbed Rudy by the arm, and shoved him toward the door.

“Run! Go inside, now!”

Rudy let himself be pushed, but there was Luce between him and the door, his fist coming ’round hard.

Rudy dodged, but not quick enough. Luce grabbed his jacket in both hands, picked him up and slammed him back against the wall. Kezzi heard his head hit, and when Luce let him go, Rudy just slid down the wall to the alley floor. Luce raised a foot, and Syl Vor was between him and the fallen boy, catching the rising boot by the heel and twisting.

Luce yelled and fell, and Syl Vor stood firm where he was.

“Help Rudy!” he shouted, and he couldn’t, Kezzi thought with a sinking heart, have meant anyone but her. She darted forward, fingers seeking the pulse in Rudy’s throat. He was alive, but he was unconscious. He might’ve hit his head hard enough to crack the skull, and she was only a
luthia
’s apprentice . . .

Luce had come up fast, and Pete was on his feet, too. The door was a distant country. There was no way she could get Rudy through it, even if she could carry him. The other two had Syl Vor . . . not quite boxed, but—

Luce’s hand shot out, like he was trying to grab Syl Vor’s coat. But Syl Vor was too quick. He spun away—and there was Pete, who snatched his arm.

“You little—”

Kezzi didn’t see what happened. That is—she was looking at them—at Pete and Luce and Syl Vor, but she didn’t see Syl Vor move.

She heard the bone break, though.

And she heard Pete scream.

The big boy went down, Syl Vor under him, the soft sound of the fall not masking the fighters’ harsh breathing.

Luce was up in a yell and a twist, moving toward the combatants, and Syl Vor—Syl Vor had squirmed free, coming to his feet—

“Look out!” yelled Kezzi, and her knife was in her hand. She snapped forward, staying low, just like Udari had taught her, and slashed Luce’s leg, right behind his knee

Luce screamed, swung at her, missed—and fell, grabbing his leg and cussing.

Kezzi straightened, and stared at Syl Vor. He had blood on his face and his left arm was hanging limply. The rest of his posture said
fight
, and he stood, eyes sweeping the small battlefield as if daring anyone to try him, the grimace under the blood more determination than pain.

“Are you—” she began, when the alley was filled with a sudden bright light, and there in the door was Ms. Taylor, and Sheyn, and a burly woman in a Patrol vest.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Rys woke alone, with more relief than disappointment.

The forge was empty, the fires banked, and Rafin not at all in evidence, by which Rys took it to be very early. As he had no inclination for more sleep, he crossed to the shower, emerging in short order, curls still damp, and wearing a pair of canvas pants that were only a little too large, a high-necked blue sweater of similar sizing, and a new pair of socks, still bound in paper. Rys smiled as he drew on his boots. Someone—he suspected Udari—had been into town on his behalf. He must find what was permitted to him as a Balance—and his smile faded.

Indeed, what Balance could he make—to Udari, to Silain-
luthia
, Kezzi, Pulka, Rafin—any or all of the Bedel? Together and separately, in greater part and lesser, they had given him his life and were working to return to him as much function as might be possible. The gift of the glove alone . . .  And today—
today
—Rafin said that the brace would be ready. He would be able to throw down his stick, and walk . . .

His stomach chose this moment to remind him, audibly, that he had been several hours without food. Grabbing his crutch, he levered himself upright, and was very soon on the move to Jin’s hearth.

It was there that Udari found him some while later, sitting a little removed and drinking tea from a mug held carefully in his gloved hand.

“Brother, well met!”

Udari dropped cross-legged to the uncovered floor, facing him. His hair was tousled, and he wrapped both hands around his mug like a man who had been chilled.

“Out so early?” Rys asked. “Have you eaten?”

“Oh, I ate while you still slept, before walking with the youngest of our sisters to school.”

Rys frowned. “I am behind in the news. I had thought Kezzi determined never again to return to school.”

“
She
was. But the
luthia
was of another mind, there being a question of brotherhood involved. The short tale is that our sister has found herself a new brother, and is bound by those ties to attend the
gadje
school.”

“This sounds complex. One wonders how the school fares.”

Udari grinned, and sipped his tea.

“As of this morning, the building stands. But it is of our sister’s brother that I wished to speak, for I’ve learned a thing that might interest you.”

Rys caught his breath. Did this new brother of Kezzi’s—was it possible that the child had found someone who
knew
him?

Scarcely had he thought the thought than a bolt of pain sizzled through his head.

Do you have enemies in the City Above?

“I learned yesterday from our sister that her new brother is a dragon. This morning, he told me so in his own voice.” He sipped his tea and sighed before bringing his gaze up to meet Rys’. “I believe him, though he is, as he says himself, a very small dragon.”

Rys took a careful breath. No new bolt assaulted his head, though his stomach was abruptly uneasy.

“Has he a name,” he asked, pressing his ungloved hand flat against the floor; “this very small dragon?”

“Syl Vor yos’Galan,” Udari said, soft as if he whispered love words. “Clan Korval.”

Pain shuddered through his head, lanced down his spine. “Ah!”

Strong fingers gripped his shoulder. He closed his eyes, panting, forcing himself in the quiet aftermath of the pain—
pushing
himself—to remember.

Clan Korval.

Of course,
Korval
. Tree-and-Dragon. How could he have forgotten something so . . .

But what reason had
he
to be frightened of Korval? His clan had been off-world, and nothing like High House. There could be no reason, ever, for him to—have met, to have, to have . . .

He swayed; felt the grip tighten on his shoulder.

“Why?” he breathed, scarcely knowing that he spoke aloud.

Why
was he afraid of dragons? Had he done something—something
dishonorable
? Was he here on this world because he had taken employ with Korval, incurred their anger—

Pain cracked like lightning inside his head. He gasped, gathered all of his fortitude, and
pushed
.

Jasin. Where was Jasin in this? He would not believe that she had betrayed him—abandoned him. She might, yes, have put him off-ship, if necessary. But she would not have left him without resources, without protection.

The inside of his skull was on fire; he was panting, he was weeping, and he
would know this!
He would—

Jasin. Dragons. How had he come here, to the Bedel’s very door? Who had beaten him? Why? What man had he become in the time he could not remember? A man afraid of Korval—there must be a reason!

There was a crack, as if his very skull had split. His vision whited, agony cramped his muscles—and he fainted where he sat.

* * *

“Hey, Mike.” Tommy Tilden looked up from his screen, and spun his chair around to face front. “Long time.”

“Boss keeps me runnin’. If I’d known she was gonna be this much work, I’d’ve stayed with slackin’.”

The chief of Blair Road Patrol laughed.

“You was a real slacker, okay, back in the day. I ’member your gran couldn’t figure out what to do with you.”

“I was too smart for her,” Mike admitted, settling comfortably into the chair across the desk.

“I’m tryin’ to imagine this,” Tommy said earnestly.

“Lemme know how that works out. Listen, you got a couple cool-heads on Patrol I can borrow tomorra, just midmorning, for maybe hour, hour-and-a-half?”

“This official bidness for Boss Nova?”

“Is. Got a quiet meet set up at Joan’s Bakery. Don’t expect trouble. I’ll be there, o’course, but I don’t want us to seem mistrustful. A couple Patrollers outta vest, sittin’ by, having a cup an’ a donut, not payin’ much attention to much—that’d go a long way toward easin’ my mind.”

Tommy nodded. “Can do. How many’s the other side bringing?”

“Dunno. Wouldn’t think more’n two—prolly just one, like Boss, to do any heavy liftin’ comes by. Like I say, a quiet meet, on neutral ground, no anticipated trouble.”

“But it’s always good to have somethin’ extra in your back pocket, just in case,” Tommy said, in complete understanding. He pulled a pad of paper toward him and made a note.

“No problem. I’ll have ’em in place a little ahead of your time. Prolly you won’t even see ’em.”

* * *

Jasin. Jasin, I will . . .

“Rys. Wake to me, Brother. There is none here to harm you.”

He stilled.

“Udari?”

“Open your eyes, Brother, and let me see you.”

The words woke a shiver, and a vivid memory of sharp teeth on his ear. He took a hard breath—and opened his eyes, unsurprised to find himself at full stretch, his head on Udari’s knee, his brother’s kind face bent above him.

“How do you feel?”

Cautiously, he took stock. The inside of his head felt sticky and disorganized, which he knew for the aftermath of the headache. Aside from that . . .

“Exhausted.”

Udari looked grave, and brushed Rys’ damp forehead with cool fingers.

“This Jasin,” he said. “A sister?”

Wisely, Rys did not shake his head. “A . . . lover,” he said. “First Mate Jasin Bell.”

“And her ship?”

“
Momma Liberty
.”

“Where is she now, this first mate and her ship?”

“I don’t know.”

Udari looked grave, and held up a hand. “How many fingers do you see?”

“One.”

“And now?”

“Four.”

“And again.”

“Two.”

“Well, I’m no
luthia
, but I think we haven’t done you irreparable harm. Sit up, Brother. I will bring you a new mug of tea.”

“I had a mug,” Rys said, sitting up with his brother’s aid. He looked about—and blinked in horror at the mangled thing that Udari held silently out to him.

“I will find another mug for Jin,” he said, levelly.

“Later. Today, we have other business.”

Udari rose, and Rys ran his hands through his hair, trying to order his slow, sticky thoughts.

“Here.” The mug was pressed into his ungloved hand. He took it gratefully and raised it to his lips.

“Now,” said Udari. “This Syl Vor—is he the dragon you fear?”

Rys took a hard breath. “I don’t know.”

“Is it his mother you fear? Nova, the
luthia
names her.”

“I don’t know,” Rys repeated, wincing as tiny sparks of anguish assaulted his abused head.

“What would be your reason?” Udari pursued, as if Rys had not spoken. “Did you steal from her? Has she made some demand that risked your honor? Your life?”

“I don’t
know
,” Rys said again, muscles tensing. He made to set the mug down.

“Drink, drink,” Udari said, and raised his own mug.

Rys hesitated, but it seemed that Udari truly did mean that he should drink. Again, he raised his mug, and sipped, relaxing as the tea filled his mouth.

“Your lover,” Udari murmured. “Why is she not here?”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Were you cruel to her? Did she tire of you? Did you put her in danger, too, when you despoiled the dragon?”