Assassins' Dawn (57 page)

“You’re mistaken, Li-Gallant.”

“You’re the Sula, head of the military, by your own admission. Why send
you
on a simple trading mission?”

“You misunderstand the structure of the Families. Yah, I’m Sula, but the Families don’t segregate along occupational lines as strictly as we”—Gyll smiled at his unintentional slip—“as
you
here on Neweden. There are no guilds as we know them. Everyone, even the soldiers, even the leaders such as FitzEvard, take their turns on the ships. I was sent to Neweden because I knew the planet, knew the society. And, as FitzEvard told me, there’s not a whole lot for me to foul up here.”

“That was almost plausible, Sula.” Vingi nodded. “It was even fairly well said, well rehearsed. But Kaethe Oldin hinted to me of plans that the Family Oldin had for Neweden, and she said that I might well fit into them.”

“Then she’s neglected to tell me of them. I seek only trading opportunities, Li-Gallant.”

“I think not.”

“Li-Gallant, all I can say is that the Family Oldin finds Neweden quite satisfactory. For trade. Or they wouldn’t have sent me here.”

Gyll smiled at the Li-Gallant and bowed in salutation—the bow of equals, of kin. Vingi slowly rose, with a groan of exertion. He stared at Gyll, measuring him for a long moment, then returned the bow.

“You
will
keep me informed of your progress here, Sula. And we’ll talk further, I’m sure.” There was no interrogative in his voice.

“Certainly, Li-Gallant. I can assure you that you stand very high in the estimation of Family Oldin.”

“As you are in mine, Sula. Just remember who it is that controls this world.”

•   •   •

The Regent d’Embry wished that Santos McClannan would shut up. Too many things about her seneschal annoyed her. His voice was mellifluous and pleasant—that annoyed her. He was handsome in a superficial, cosmetic manner despite (she told herself that she wasn’t simply being petty) an odd asymmetry to his long face. That annoyed her as well. He was efficient, if somewhat prone to overstepping his limits of authority, and he was invariably polite, no matter what he was saying to her.

That annoyed her most of all.

“I know it’s not my place to criticize, Regent, but I think you’re going to find that allowing the Traders,
especially
the Family Oldin, back on Neweden was a tragic mistake.” McClannan had been staring out the window toward the port, where a
Goshawk
shuttle was unloading cargo. Now he turned back to d’Embry, a smile of inoffensive apology touching the corners of his full lips. She returned the smile—if he wanted to play the game of excessive politeness, let him; she wasn’t inexpert herself—and sipped from the cup of mocha on her desk. The dark liquid shivered with the involuntary tremor of her hand. She wished she could lean back in the floater, but the chair’s back was high and contacted the hump of the symbiote. She was afraid of hurting it, fearful that she might dislodge the bloodroot despite the doctor’s assurance that the symbiote was quite unfragile.

“There’s the slight problem of legality,” she answered. Her voice was soft; she didn’t seem to have the energy to speak more forcefully anymore. “By the Alliance-Families Pact, the only captain I can refuse is Kaethe Oldin. Not unless I have due cause.”

McClannan’s smile widened, showing white and perfect teeth. He sat on the edge of her desk—another annoyance—and beamed down at her. “Ahh, but that’s an easy thing to acquire, that due cause. We both know that—a little money spread in the right places, a violation of the Pact swiftly enters the records, and this Sula Hermond is gone. And so are our troubles.”

“But it still wouldn’t be right, and it wouldn’t be that easy, despite all your assurances. The Li-Gallant, for one, would scream in rage. I know that the Oldins bribe him with a percentage of their profits, and FitzEvard would never allow Sula Hermond to leave until every legal and illegal channel had been pursued. We’d only give ourselves more aggravation.” She looked at him, blinked slowly. “There
are
chairs in the room, Seneschal.”

“Pardon me, Regent.” He stood slowly, seemed to hesitate, then extruded a hump-chair from the floor. He sat again, crossing his legs. Over steepled hands, he regarded her. “M’Dame, what’s better, pragmatically? To follow the regulations blindly, or, by a bit of selective blindness, avoid larger potentials for trouble? The Oldins are interfering bastards. Despite the Pact, they stick their noses in the politics of every world they visit. They undermine our influence, subvert the locals, and do us no good whatsoever.”

“Damn it, McGlannan, I know the Oldins better than anyone!” D’Embry’s breathing stuttered with her outburst. The symbiote squirmed on her back in response. She covered her discomfort by picking up her cup and pretending to study the contrast of her fingers (tinted lime green today) against the delicate porcelain. “And are such quasi-legal questions the things they ask in the Academy nowadays? Seneschal, I know the Oldins, and, believe me, you underestimate them.”

“Yet you’ve allowed them to return.” McClannan shook his handsome head carefully, his hair staying delicately in place. “When the Oldins came here last, they helped the Hoorka assassins kill a head official of Moache Mining. Gunnar, Vingi’s rival, was killed, and Vingi was able to seize dictatorial powers. The lassari organized under the unknown person Renard—whom we still haven’t captured—and lassari attacks on the guilded kin increased tenfold.” He continued to gaze at her, still without much expression, as if talking to himself. She sniffed, set the cup down, and tapped her fingers near the switch for her com-unit, hoping he would take the hint.

He didn’t. “Niffleheim Center had to explain to Moache Mining why nothing was done to catch the persons responsible for slaying their man, and this whole planet’s social system was rocked. It’s still rocking. You were nearly removed from this post. You had to call in every last political favor you’ve earned over the decades to keep this regency—and if the Legat Gioneferra weren’t your friend, it
still
wouldn’t have been enough. I
know
that, Regent. You were the talk of Niffleheim that standard. Now tell me about legalities, about why we should let Sula Hermond and the Oldins back here.”

He looked as nearly smug as he ever allowed himself to look.

“There are these things called ideals, Seneschal. Did you talk about them in between gossiping about me?” She really did not feel well. She told herself that it was the company and not just her body. “I pledged myself to follow the laws of the Alliance because I felt that, even if not perfect, they were for the most part just. I don’t intend to follow that oath only when it’s convenient for me, nor do I think myself wise enough to alter the laws I follow because I might not be comfortable with the results. Now, that’s an old woman talking, mind you; I haven’t your sophistication or education, Santos. But I
am
Regent. As long as I am, we’ll do things according to my wishes.”

“Some of your accomplishments are in the textbooks at the Academy, Regent; your work on Thule, for instance. But”—he smiled again, as d’Embry thought that, somehow, she’d known that particular word was coming—“everyone, even the best, can sometimes make a mistake in judgment.”

“We should both remember that, shouldn’t we?” She’d raised her voice to say that, and the weakness of her lungs betrayed her. She doubled over in a paroxysm of coughing. Dull, insistent pain throbbed in her stomach and chest, the symbiote moving uneasily. The attack subsided slowly. D’Embry reached for a tissue, spat into it and folded it in her fist, wishing she hadn’t given in to anger. It made her look weak, feeding the pity she sensed McClannan felt for her.

“Have you heard from your daughter lately?” Had he said it in anything but the carefully neutral voice he used, she might have been provoked again, sensing in his indelicate change of subject a placation for an old used-up woman and a none-too-subtle suggestion that she should retire.

“No, I haven’t,” she replied tartly. And just as well. Every time, Anne would try to get her to come back to the estate on Aris, to give up the Diplos. The last time d’Embry had been to Aris, it had taken only a week of sitting, surrounded by four generations of offspring, to become bored and surly. Anne hadn’t enjoyed the visit, nor had d’Embry. She wondered how Anne contrived to forget the horrors of each visit and invite her again.

“Aris is a beautiful world,” McClannan ventured.

“They spent several fortunes taking everything dangerous or unsightly out of it.”

“You have a lot to look forward to when you go there.” The prodding in his voice almost made her laugh scornfully.

“It’s an antiseptic, artificial place. It’s like living in a museum with all the exhibits chosen by someone else. After the first enthusiasm wears off, it’s dreadfully stultifying. I’m never comfortable there.”

McClannan pursed his lips, almost—but not quite—looking disappointed. He shook his head slightly. “Have you ever told your daughter that?”

“Many times. Every visit.” She felt a quick shudder of pain in her abdomen. She willed herself not to show it. The symbiote twitched; d’Embry felt a flooding of relief as it released some chemical of its own into her bloodstream. Her discomfort passed, but a faint fogginess remained, calming her but dulling her senses. She could not seem to care much about McClannan’s slick criticisms. They still irritated her, but she didn’t want to do anything about them.
Damn it, you parasite! Don’t do this to me. Leave me my feelings even if it means pain.
“You’d like Anne,” she said. “She resembles you. She listens to what’s told her, then selectively ignores what she doesn’t want to hear.”

It pleased her to see a hint of peevishness in McClannan. His fingers tightened, a faint redness touched his cheeks, and his lips pressed together, whitening. Another time, that would have been enough to make her feel childishly gleeful at having broken his facade. But this victory wasn’t as sweet as it should be. She couldn’t summon enough energy to care.

“Well, Regent, I really didn’t think I had much chance of persuading you to change your mind, and I see you’re in a bit of pain today. I doubt that you want to be bothered with Neweden affairs or idle chatter.”

Meaning that I ignore my responsibilities as Regent, you son of a bitch.
Even as she thought it, the lethargy slid back over her, making everything seem distant. She fought the tiredness, forced herself to smile.

“I probably shouldn’t be bothered with useless and stupid second thoughts on decisions already made,” she said. She waited a moment, watching the flash of anger behind his eyes. “Let me get some work done here, Seneschal. I’m sure you have duties to attend to as well. Duties other than mine.”

He rose primly and bowed slightly to her. “Always, Regent, always. If I can help you, though, please let me know. I won’t hide what I feel—I believe that you’ve made a mistake in this. Sula Hermond is an enemy of the Alliance, as are all the Oldins.”

“I knew the Sula when he was Thane of the Hoorka, Seneschal. He might have been proud, arrogant, and stubbornly blind, but he was a man whose word you could trust. He tells me he’s only here to trade.”

“He’s been eight standards with the Oldins. What if he’s changed, or what if they’re using him as a dupe? I saw the record of your talk with him—I don’t like the man, Regent.”

“I wouldn’t think you would, Seneschal. Sula Hermond speaks his mind freely, without guile, and I’ve always found that he keeps to the spirit, not just the letter, of his own morals.” She stared at him, he looked steadily back. “We disagree on most things, the Sula and I, but I find that I like the man.”

“Then I pray that you don’t discover your affection for him to be your downfall, Regent.”

“I’ll manage, Seneschal,” she said.

“I’m certain you will,” he replied, with absolutely no conviction in his voice. “Are you certain you don’t wish me to pursue this further? A thorough check of a ship’s log inevitably unearths some discrepancy . . .”

“I think you know my answer.”

McClannan nodded. He strolled leisurely to the door, stroking the replica of a d’Vellia soundsculpture as he went by—it moaned in the wind of his passage. He waited patiently for the door to open. He went through.

D’Embry sighed, leaning back gingerly in her floater. She closed her eyes. After a few minutes, her breathing deepened and became more regular. The head lolled back.

She slept.

•   •   •

He’d taken a flitter from Sterka Port to Vingi’s keep. Stepping from the gate of Vingi’s grounds into the overcast day, Gyll indulged a whim. He waved away the flitter’s pilot, deciding impulsively to walk and see Sterka again.

For the most part, the city seemed the same: cluttered, narrow streets made for pedestrian traffic and not groundcars, rich and poor dwellings separated only by a street of small shops, residences and businesses mixed hodgepodge. Chaotic. It brought a smile to his face, born of memory and amusement at what he now saw as archaic and haphazard planning. Sterka was nothing like the sleek and clean lines of OldinHome, the ordered beauty of the buildings and parks there. The scenes gave him hope that he could accomplish his mission on Neweden, the true reason that he’d kept from d’Embry.

He would take Hoorka away from Neweden, away from the Alliance. He would lead them again, under the Oldin flag.

(And as he walked, something nagged at him, some vague feeling of unease, a prickling at the back of his neck:
danger.
He stopped, turning this way and that, but he could see nothing out of the ordinary. Just a street crowded with people, that was all; a noisy conglomeration, most of whom seemed to be kin intent on their own thoughts. Gyll continued walking.)

He’d badgered and cajoled Grandsire FitzEvard, telling the wily old man that he could not give the Oldins a viable military force without a nucleus of trained people—his own old kin. Oldin wanted them too fast to start from scratch. Oh, yes, the Trader-Hoorka he had already were good people, but the Neweden Hoorka would serve as a larger training force, and the work would go that much faster. Let me go back to Neweden, Gyll had said. Let me go back and get them.