The Dragon Variation (24 page)

"Guns?" she repeated blankly.

"He bids fair to become an expert on guns," Daav told her. "Everything about them interests him. How they work. Why one sort is superior to another sort. How they are put together. How they are taken apart. Relative benefits of velocities versus projectile size. The theory of marksmanship." He bowed slightly. "When I last visited, I took him a beginner's pistol and we had a bit of target practice. I would say, should his interest continue, that he holds potential as a marksman of some note."

"A
marksman
." Kareen did not even try to mask the loathing in her voice.

Daav raised an eyebrow. "Our mother belonged to Teydor's, did she not? And successfully defended her place as club champion for five years together. Why should Pat Rin not be as good—or better? Or at very least have the chance to explore his interest to its fullest?

"But you are not interested in such matters," he continued after a moment. "You are most naturally interested in knowing whether the service you offer will be accepted." He moved a hand in negation. "Your price is found too high."

"So." It was nearly a hiss. "Er Thom yos'Galan is to be allowed a bastard mongrel and not required to make so much as a bow to society! But I, who have done duty and desire only to serve the clan, must have my son fostered away without my consent, for no reason other than
you
had decided—"

"I will remind you that the delm decided," Daav cut in. "I shall also give you two pieces of advice: The first is to compose yourself. The second is that you drop the words 'bastard' and 'mongrel' from your vocabulary. The child's name is Shan yos'Galan. He is the son of Er Thom yos'Galan and Anne Davis, both of whom acknowledge him as their own, so you see that 'bastard' is inexact."

"'Mongrel' however is no more than plain truth!" Kareen cried, apparently choosing to ignore his first piece of advice.

"I find the word offensive," Daav said evenly, and sighed sharply. "Come, Kareen, have sense! Your concern is that those with nothing better to do than scrounge for trouble will scan back through
The Gazette
and find that there has been no contract between Er Thom yos'Galan and Anne Davis, with the child to come to Korval. Eh?"

"Yes, certainly—"

"And yet you choose to ignore the fact that persons of such mind will without difficulty find listed in that same
Gazette
the information that Pat Rin yos'Phelium has been taken from his fostering and returned to his mother. And that they will think to themselves,
bribe
."

"And you consider yourself equal to the task of cleaning Korval's
melant'i
among the High Houses—"

"I remind you again that I am delm," Daav interrupted with exquisite gentleness. "Should Korval's
melant'i
require repair, it is no less than my duty to see such repair done. However, there is nothing to be mended. The clan accepts who it will, and no explanations due any outside of the clan." He took a careful breath.

"I advise you to leave me, Kareen. Now."

Her lips parted but no words came and in a moment she had made her bow.

"Good-day," she stated, in a tone so absolutely neutral it might be said to be mode-less. She left him then, quickly, heavy steps rattling the paving stones.

Daav stood where he was until he heard a motor start up, far down the hill. Then and only then did he allow his shoulders to lose their level rigidness and, pulling the gloves back over his hands, went to put his tools away.

THEY WOKE EARLY,
shared a glass of morning wine and a leisurely, sensual shower. Then, like children sneaking a holiday, they had gone to explore the house.

Anne was soon thoroughly lost, her head a muddle of Parlors, Public Rooms and Receiving Chambers, and at last stopped in the middle of an opulent hall, laughing.

"Don't leave me, love, for if you did I'd never find my rooms again!" She shook her head. "I can see I'll have to carry a sack of bread crumbs with me and remember to scatter them well!"

"Yes, but you know, the servants are very efficient," Er Thom murmured, swaying close and smiling up into her face. "Likely they would have the crumbs swept up far ahead of the time you wished to return."

"Then I'm lost! Unless you'll draw me a map, of course."

"If you wish," he replied and she looked down at him, exotic and achingly beautiful in the embroidered house-robe. He shook the full sleeves back and caught her hands in his.

"Shall I show you one more thing?" he murmured, eyes bright with the remains of his smile. "Then I swear I will allow you to eat breakfast."

"One more thing," she agreed, giving herself a sharp mental rebuke:
Don't gawk at the man, Annie Davis!

"This way," Er Thom said, holding tight to one hand and keeping so close to her side that his robe bid fair to tangle in her legs.

They walked the hallway without mishap, however, and went midway down one slightly shorter.

"Here," he said, squeezing her hand lightly before he let it go.

Stepping forward, he twisted an edge-gilt china knob and stepped back with a fluid bow. "Enter, please."

Anne hesitated fractionally. The bow had been of honored esteem, but Er Thom's eyes showed an expectation that was nearly hunger. Smiling slightly, she went into the room.

The walls were covered in nubby bronze silk, the floor with a resilient grass-weave the color of
Jelaza Kazone
's leaves. A buffet along the back wall supported two small lamps and there were bronze sconces set at precise intervals around the walls. Three rows of twelve chairs each were arranged in a precise half-circle before a—

"It's beautiful," she breathed, going across the woven mat as if the omnichora had reached out a hand and pulled her forward. She stroked the satiny wood, pushed back the cover and ran her fingers reverently over the pristine ivory keys.

"It pleases you?" Er Thom asked from her side.

"Pleases me? It overwhelms me—an instrument like this . . ."

"Try it," he said softly and she shot him a quick look, shaking her head as she lifted her hand from the silent keys.

"Don't tempt me," she said, and he heard the longing in her voice. "Or we'll be here all day."

He caught her hand, lay it back on the keyboard, fingertips lazing over her knuckles.

"Turn it on," he murmured. "Play for me, Anne. Please."

It took no more encouragement than that, so hungry was she to hear the 'chora's voice, to test its spirit against her own.

She played him her favorite,
Toccata and Fugue in D Minor
, an ancient piece meant for the omnichora's predecessor, the organ. It was an ambitious choice, without the notation before her, but her fingers remembered everything and threw it into the perfect keyboard.

The music filled the room like an ocean, crashing back at her, bearing her up on a wave of sound and emotion until she thought she would die there, with the music so close there was no saying where it stopped and Anne Davis began.

Eventually, she found an end, let the notes die back, let herself come out of the glory, and looked at Er Thom through a haze of tears. She scraped her sweat-soaked hair back from her face and smiled at him.

"What a glorious instrument."

"You play it well," he said, his soft voice husky. He moved a step closer from his station at her side. It was then that she saw he was shivering.

"Er Thom—" Concern drove all else before it. She spun around on the bench, reaching out for him.

"Hush." He caught her questing hands, allowed himself to be pulled forward. "Anne." He lay his cheek against her hair, gently loosed a hand to stroke her shoulder.

"It is well," he murmured, feeling the way her muscles shivered with strain, in echo of his own. He stepped back and smiled for her, tugging lightly on her hand. "Let us go and eat breakfast. All right?"

"All right," she said after a moment, and turned to power-off the 'chora, and to cover the glistening keys.

THEY WERE IN THE dining room,
rapt in each other, various dishes scattered near them on the table. Er Thom was wearing a house-robe, the Terran scholar a plain shirt and trousers.

Petrella glared at them for several minutes, her fingers gripping Mr. pak'Ora's arm. When she was convinced that neither her son nor the guest would soon turn a head and decently see her, she hit the floor a sturdy thump with her cane.

Both heads turned then, but it was Er Thom's eye she wanted.

"You, sir!" she snapped, "a word, of your goodness." She stumped off with no more than a inclination of the head as good-morning to the guest.

Er Thom sighed lightly and put his napkin aside.

"Excuse me, friend," he said softly, and went off in the wake of his mother.

A Dragon will in all things follow its own necessities, and either will or will not make its bow to Society. Nor shall the prudent dispute a Dragon's chosen path or seek to turn it from its course.

—From
The Liaden Book of Dragons
 

"YOU WILL HAVE THE
goodness to explain," Petrella announced as the patio door closed behind the butler, "why
three
messages to your personal screen have gone unanswered from the time of sending to this moment?"

Er Thom bowed. "Doubtless because I have not gone by my rooms since an hour before last evening's Prime Meal, nor have I collected messages from the house base."

Petrella took a deep breath, fingers tightening ominously around the head of her cane. A breeze played momentary tag with the flowers at the edge of the patio, gave up the sport to tease the sleeves of Er Thom's robe, then veered again, showering Petrella with flower-scent as it chased off.

"Mother, allow me to seat you," he murmured, slipping a solicitous hand beneath her elbow. "You will overtire yourself."

It was just such gentle courtesy as he was wont to offer. Tears filled Petrella's eyes as she accepted it, though she could not have said whether they were tears of rage or of love.

Love or rage, her voice shook when next she spoke.

"If you think that I will close my eyes to any impropriety you and that—
person
—chose to perform in this house—"

"Forgive me." He did not raise his voice, but some slight edge, immediately recognizable to those who were of Korval—and those who dealt with them—warned her to silence.

"Professor Davis is a guest of the House," he continued after a moment, voice unremittingly gentle. "The Code teaches us that the well-being of the guest is sacred. Professor Davis is—accustomed—to depending upon me for certain comforts; she felt herself adrift among strangers, alone on a world far different than her own. Shall I doom her to sleeplessness and worry from a concern for
propriety
? Or shall I offer accustomed and much-needed comfort, that she might rest easy in our House?"

"All from concern for the guest," Petrella said acidly. "I am enlightened! Who would have considered you possessed the genius to twist Code in such a wise, all with an eye to gain your own way!
I
had thought you a person of
melant'i
, but I see now that judgment—and the judgment of your foster mother—was in error. I see that what I have is a clever halfling, strutting his own consequence and flaunting his faulty understanding for all the world to see! Never fear that I am too ill to lesson a disobedient boy. Give me that ring!"

Er Thom froze, eyes wide in a face gone somewhat pale.

"Well, sir? Will you have me ask it twice?"

Slowly, then, he raised his hands; slowly, drew the master trader's amethyst from his finger. He stepped forward and bowed, and lay the ring gently in her palm.

"So. We have at least a base of obedience upon which to build. You relieve me." She clenched her fingers, feeling the edges of the gem cut into her palm. "With this ring you give me your pledge, Er Thom yos'Galan. You pledge you will withhold such—comforts—as you have been accustomed to provide the Terran scholar, beginning immediately. Carry through your pledge and in eleven day's time, when her guesting is done, you may ask me for your ring." She gripped the gem tighter as she spoke, grateful for the slight, simple pain.

"Fail of your pledge and I shall return this ring to the Trade Commission, and ask that your license be withdrawn."

There was little chance that the Trade Commission would revoke the license of Master Trader Er Thom yos'Galan. But a request for revocation would mean a review. And a review would suspend Er Thom's ability to trade for a minimum of two Standard Years.

Er Thom drew a deep breath. Perhaps he meant to speak. If so, he was rescued from that indiscretion by the cheery voice and sudden advent of his
cha'leket
.

"Good-morning, all! What a lovely day, to be sure!" Daav paused beside his foster-brother and made his bow, all grace and easy smiles.

"Aunt Petrella, how delightful to see you looking so rested! I am come to speak with the guest. Is she within?"

"In the dining hall," Petrella told him, with scant courtesy, "when last seen."

"I to the dining hall, then." He turned and caught Er Thom's hand. "Good-morning, darling! Have you been naughty?"

Er Thom laughed.

Daav smiled and raised the hand he held, bending his head to kiss the finger which the master trader's ring had lately adorned.

"Courage, beloved," he said gently. Then he loosed his brother's hand and vanished into the house.

"Another mannerless child!" Petrella snapped peevishly, flicking her hand in dismissal. "Leave me," she commanded her son. "Take care you recall your pledge."

ANNE LOWERED HER COFFEE CUP,
glancing up eagerly as a shadow flickered across the dining room door.

Alas, the shadow was not Er Thom, returning from his interview with his mother, but Er Thom's foster-brother. She rose quickly and bowed good-morning, but some of her disappointment must have shown in her face.

"Ah, it is only Daav!" that gentleman cried, striking a pose eloquent of despair in the instant before he swept his own bow of greeting. "Good-day, Scholar."