Necessity's Child (Liaden Universe®) (6 page)

“You are expected. Please proceed.”

The big man went down the hall, walking firm and centered. Syl Vor kept pace with an effort, his dirty boots making gritty, skittish sounds against the floor.

The door to the library stood open, Diglon entered, pivoted so that he stood with his back against the door, and said, expressionlessly, “Syl Vor yos’Galan.”

There was nothing to do but step into the room, and so he did, expecting to see Grandaunt in the chair nearest the window, but no—the lowering sun struck hair that was red, not pepper-and-salt.

Syl Vor’s stomach plummeted to his feet, anchoring him to the spot.

Mrs. pel’Esla hadn’t gone with half measures.

Mrs. pel’Esla had invoked
the
delm
.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice cool in the High Tongue. “You may leave us.”

“Captain,” Diglon acknowledged. Syl Vor heard a rustle of fabric behind him, and the snap of the latch catching.

The
delm
, Syl Vor thought. He had breached security, endangered the House entire. He could not imagine what she would do to him, but he did not doubt that it was deserved.

“Come here, Syl Vor,” the voice said, warmer now, in the Low Tongue.

He swallowed. The
delm
would not speak to him in the Low Tongue. Grandaunt had explained very carefully that the
delm
was not
of
the clan, but the clan embodied. It was difficult to understand; he was not certain that he understood it perfectly, even yet. But on one point, he was clear—

The
delm
would not speak to him in the Low Tongue—that was for kin, and for agemates. That being so, it was not the
delm
, but Aunt Miri whom he faced.

He was not completely sure, but that he would have preferred Grandaunt Kareen.

Taking a deep breath, he went forward to stand before the chair by the window.

Aunt Miri closed her book, and slowly looked him up and down. If Syl Vor had not already taken the full measure of his own misdeeds, he might have suspected her of smiling.

“What have you been doing, child?” she asked. “Wrestling in the mud?”

“No, Aunt. That is—I have been helping Mr. Shaper set the spring seedlings.”

Slim eyebrows rose over grey eyes.

“Indeed? How do you find Mr. Shaper this day?”

“Very well,” Syl Vor answered, and took some thought. “He spoke very little, but taught much. He said . . .” He hesitated, not wanting to overwhelm her patience.

She inclined her head, which meant that he should go on.

“He said to tell—Granduncle Daav that the soil was settling at the boundary, and that he should—he should call in more.”

Aunt Miri nodded. “We’ll put that on the to-do list,” she said, in Terran.

“Yes, ma’am,” Syl Vor said. He took a breath and bowed his head. “I am ashamed, Aunt. I endangered the House. Please forgive me.”

She sat silent so long that Syl Vor began to fear that forgiveness was, after all, out of the question. Perhaps he should have knelt. Had it been the
delm
in truth, he would have knelt, if only because he suspected that his knees would not have supported him. Should he kneel now? Or would that—

“We seem to have survived the breach,” his aunt said at last. “Stand up straight and listen to me.” She waited until he had raised his head, and a moment longer, looking closely into his face.

“I understand that you were at liberty and felt that a walk would be beneficial,” she continued. “We all have such times. However. You will in future sign out with Jeeves, or directly into the house base. It is not damage to the House we fear so much as damage to yourself. Had you fallen and broken a leg, and all of us unaware—that could have been very dangerous for you. Life threatening. So, it is not
only
for the protection of the House, but for protection of a valued child of the House. Do you understand?”

Syl Vor bowed. “Aunt, I do.”

“Good. Tell me more of Mr. Shaper. Did you leave him in good spirits?”

He nodded—caught himself and bit his lip.

“I believe so, yes, ma’am. As we were leaving, he called to us, and said that—that he had a barn that wanted painting, if I wished to work with him again.”

Aunt Miri laughed. “Barn, is it? Well, we will see. In the meantime . . .” She stood and held out her hand. Syl Vor hesitantly placed his dirty one in hers.

“I am glad that your day was enjoyable and instructive. We don’t wish to clip your wings, but to provide a net, should it be needed. Now, you must go upstairs and make your peace with Mrs. pel’Esla, who feels that she fell short of her duty. Also”—she extended her other hand and ran her fingers down his cheek, grinning openly—“I think a bath is in order.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

The comm unit on the edge of her desk gave tongue, bringing Nova, blinking, out of an intense study of the plans for the first phase of the warehouse district recovery. So much unused space, under roof aboveground, as well as levels below grade, where it was warmer, for Surebleak values of warm, that might be utilized for—

The comm sounded again. She shook herself, and glanced at the screen. Her brows rose as she looked to the clock—and snapped the speaker on.

“Mother?” Syl Vor’s voice was strained.

“Yes, my child,” she said soothingly. “Are you well?”

A small hesitation, which instantly placed her on guard. Syl Vor was not an untruthful boy, but he was becoming adept at the fine art of phrasing.

“I am well, yes,” he said now, politely. “And yourself? I hope I am not disturbing your work.”

Cousin Kareen’s influence there. Nova carefully did not sigh. One must know the forms, after all, and to sigh after the artless conversational style of only a year ago was to serve no one. It was the order of things, that straightforward children became facile adults.

“I find myself in the bloom of health, thank you,” she told her son. “As it happens I was working, and must therefore claim you for my rescue, for I believe I have been working far too long this day.” That style was a little forward of his current ability, she thought—but see what he made of it.

“I am pleased to be of service,” he answered, which was perfectly apt, though delivered rather more seriously than was strictly in mode.

“We are well-aligned then,” she said, matching his seriousness. “Now, you must tell me how I may serve you.”

That hesitation again. Nova closed her eyes; the better to listen on all levels.

“Is Quin well?” Syl Vor asked, wistfully.

“He was perfectly well when last I saw him,” she said. “He has piloting lessons every afternoon with a Scout, which reconciles him, a little, to the learning of Boss Conrad’s business.”

“I don’t think he wants to be Boss,” Syl Vor said.

“Nor did your cousin Pat Rin. Indeed, I believe that the Rule of Succession must be the same for Bosses as for
delms
.”

“Who wants it least will do it best,” Syl Vor quoted.

“Exactly.”

“Padi has gone with Uncle Shan, on the
Passage
,” her son said, after a moment.

“Padi is overdue to take up her training. Only consider! You will be in her place in a very few years. How do you think you will like that?”

Flying on a tangent he might be, but Syl Vor was not to be diverted by so simple a ploy as that.

“Granduncle Daav was kind enough to reprogram the shadow-spar so that I might learn the bridges. I practice every day. Sometimes I practice twice a day. Uncle Shan had recommended I study counterchance, but I fear the unit in the nursery is defective. I’ve done all my lessons ahead. Tomorrow, I will ask my tutor to unlock the next two levels.”

This litany of industriousness was of course gratifying—one wished for one’s offspring to be diligent. It came to her then that Syl Vor had perhaps not veered so very sharply on tangent, after all.

“Do I hear a request for a change in schedule?” she asked.

A sigh, perfectly audible. “If you please, Mother. I had asked Mrs. ana’Tak if I could help her cook, but she only gave me an apple and told me to get along outside. I—perhaps I might assist the gardener? I . . . think I should like to know more about gardening. I am—I am willing to work, ma’am.”

Indeed, he was willing to work. A concerned parent might even say—rather too willing. Nova frowned. The burden of Plan B had altered them all, but it seemed that the conditions of refuge in Runig’s Rock had exerted strange pressures on Syl Vor. She had hoped that a return to normalcy—but, there. Nothing about Korval’s current situation approached normalcy. Even the nursery must know that.

“Mother?” His voice was uncertain, as if he feared that he had made a misstep.

“Forgive me, my son; I was thinking. I wonder—might this discussion of your schedule wait until we are face to face? Some planning is done better, thus, and I would rather that we give ourselves the best opportunity to plan well.”

“Y-yes,” he said, audibly disappointed.

“That is what we shall do, then,” she said, with another glance at the clock. “And now, young sir, it is time for you to seek your bed.
Chiat’a bei kruzon
.”

“Yes,” he said again. “Sleep sweetly, Mother.”

* * *

Nova flipped the comm off, and sat back in her chair, abruptly aware of a presence in the doorway—Michael Golden, tea tray in hand.

“Forgive me,” she said. “I did not hear you.”

“No problem,” he answered, coming forward and depositing the tray on the corner of her desk. It had become their custom, to take tea and some small snack together at the end of the day, comparing notes before each sought their rest.

Nova poured as he settled himself into the desk-side chair.

“That was the boy calling? Everything going aces for him, up under Tree?”

Nova picked up her cup and sighed.

“I fear that he is feeling . . . somewhat isolated. He has no age-mates, and had lately been accustomed to the companionship of his elder cousins, who are now called to duty. His hours hang on his hands, and he asks after other occupation.”

“Nobody to play with—that’s tough,” Michael Golden said, with an air of knowing something about the topic on which he discoursed. “Kids’ve gotta play.”

This was true. Children ought to play. Especially serious children ought to play. She had herself been a serious child, though she had shared the nursery with Shan and Val Con, neither of whom had been serious in the least. It had not seemed so at the time, but in hindsight she had been well served by her brothers’ shatterbrained companionship. She shook her head, as her mother had used to do, a gesture of not knowing, rather than denial.

“At ho— on Liad, Syl Vor had been accustomed to spending time with the children of yo’Lanna, a—an old friend of our family. The
delm
willing, he would by now have been fostered into the house of an ally with near-aged children,” she said. “I had considered that, perhaps we might—But, no. It is ineligible.” She sighed again.

Michael Golden sipped his tea. She did the same.

“Word’s come in that the school site’s been left alone six nights in a row,” he said eventually.

Nova raised her eyebrows. “That . . . is almost wonderful, Mr. Golden. To what do you attribute this sudden lack of popularity?”

“Well, now, there’s the thing. I can’t pin it on any particular something. Could be the folks behind it just got worn out. Could be they’re gathering themselves together for a big surprise, and they don’t wanna risk being caught at the small stuff.”

“Could it be that those who have been taken up in the sweep were the decision-makers, and those they leave behind are without orders?”

Michael Golden frowned, his nose wrinkling slightly with the intensity of his thought. Nova, who by this time knew his ways, warmed his cup, and hers . . . and waited.

“
Could
be,” he said at last, “but I can’t say that’s for sure the case. ’Less you got something from the Road Boss?”

She shook her head. “Merely speculation.”

He picked up his cup with an appreciative nod to her. “Thanks. I don’t say it wouldn’t be convenient if that was the case, but I’m thinking we’d better not count on convenience.”

“I agree. What do you suggest?”

“Seems to me we got enough watchers on-site, now, and as reliable as we can make ’em. What we wanna be sure of is that nobody gets paid to go temporarily blind, if you understand me. McFarland says he can set us up with long-distance surveillance, and a couple pairs o’Scouts to mind the screens. I think we’d best take him up on that.”

Nova nodded.

“Please proceed,” she said. “Quickly, in case this big surprise you argue for so persuasively is near to fruition.”

“I’ll get it set up tomorrow. McFarland’ll give me everything I need. Wanted to clear it with you first.” He raised his cup. “Figure it’s only smart, to open up extra eyes, but I’d rather that notion of yours was right, Boss. Long run, it’d save us all some trouble.”

* * *

It was a fine, warm day on the top of the world when Kezzi pushed open her own door to let herself and Malda out.

Before opening the hatch, she had used the mirror tube to look up and down the street. It had been empty, which the street usually was. That didn’t mean that there was no use in looking, though. Once, she had seen Rafin stalking toward the
kompani
’s fifth door, his toolbelt clanking and a scowl on his face. Rafin’s temper wasn’t good at the best of times, and she didn’t want to meet
that
frown on the street, or have her ears cuffed, and be dragged back below because she was only a Small, and not permitted to be out alone.

That was the Rule: Smalls were not to go to the top of the world or the City Above, except with an elder.

The Bedel said, “Rules are for weak heads.”

Also, Kezzi thought, closing the hatch behind her and snapping her fingers for Malda to follow, she was
not
a Small. That there were no others Smaller, did not mean that
she
remained Small forever.

Because the day was so fine, she and Malda walked out of the quiet streets and down where Those Others—the
gadje
—moved about, busy and important. Far too busy and important to notice a girl and her little black-and-tan dog.