Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) (34 page)

Branwen nodded, quietly swallowing a bit of ire at unknown, distant figures as she considered the situation. “What did they teach you, other than piloting, then?”

Merlo seemed to consider briefly. “Uh, not much. I mean, basic solar dynamics and math and stuff, but all of those things were just necessary for me to have a good enough grounding to be a pilot.” The girl seemed to get a bit embarrassed. “I… don’t think they went into anything that wasn’t directly related to flying or combat in some way.”

Branwen slapped a comforting hand down onto the girl’s shoulder. “Well, you still know more about many important things than I do, so do not feel bad.”

“Heh, saying I know more technology than the person who was raised without technology… it’s not saying much, Captain.” She cracked a hint of a good natured smile in Branwen’s direction.

“It says one thing, that all of us are uneducated in the many things we never had the opportunity to learn. There is no need for shame.”

Her pilot grinned broader at her. “Well, thanks, Captain. Glad you understand.”

Branwen nodded. “Of course.” There was something, or maybe even several somethings, about Merlo’s story that didn’t add up, and she didn’t think it was through any concealment on her pilot’s part, either. But those considerations would have to wait; there were other tasks at hand.

As they crested the hill, Branwen stopped and assessed their surroundings. Don Mateo’s manor was what she figured was palatial by most sky-people’s considerations, though it was by no means the most extravagant of the homes they had passed since departing the port at Se’char. Seated on a short cliff overlooking the bright green-blue of a vast Kepa’ohalei ocean, the manor lacked a lot of the extraneous embellishments on its decor that she had seen in wealthy domains elsewhere, instead displaying a simple, elegant, stylized dignity that spoke of status and wealth without screaming it at the top of its lungs. In that sense, the home spoke well to her of its owner.

Kala Sirrah had spoken of Don Mateo to her before they departed, giving her a brief physical description along with a professional assessment of his personality. She described him as being friendly, if proper, a gentleman who was generous with his wealth and considerations, having built up his fortune primarily from shipping claims on his homeworld of Zelturi. The structure ahead of them indeed seemed like the sort of home that would fit a savvy, ethical businessman with a strong inclination to support the arts, solid and tastefully artistic without feeling wasteful.

It allowed Branwen to build a picture of the man, and, in turn, how to deal with him or those he hired, assuming he was here. She started toward the front gate, a thick, bronze-coated metal filigree shaped to resemble some animal or other she was unfamiliar with. Fixed into a low brickwork wall that ran the perimeter of the property yet was hardly as tall as Branwen. She figured the setup was more for proprietary and privacy than functionality; she knew that she wouldn’t consider such a paltry barrier much of an assistance in repelling a serious invading force. A wind whipped past them, tugging mischievously at their hair and Branwen’s thick coat, and she breathed in deep the fresh, foreign, oceanborne scents of the vibrant Kepo world.

“I think you have to call someone,” Merlo commented, laying a hand on the polished metal of the gate in their way. “I don’t see a com system, though.”

“Perhaps we just do not recognize it.” She didn’t see any buttons either, but Merlo was used to advanced technology, and she to the lack thereof. “What is yon building?” Branwen pointed over to the side, where a small structure, not immediately obvious from outside, adjoined the structure of the wall, in clear sight of the gate from the opposite side.

“I dunno, Captain.” Merlo stuck her face near the gate, peering through it. Branwen half wondered if the small girl could just stick her head through the gaps in the filigree to get a better look. In less serious circumstances, she would have given her a playful shove to test the theory, not that shoving would do much to her sturdy pilot. “Maybe a little guard house of some sort?”

Branwen gestured at it, agreeing with the assessment. “That is what I thought. But it seems deserted.” A tingle ran up her spine. Something here was amiss. The next breeze that blew past somehow carried with it the feeling of vacancy, and she knew better than to doubt. She loosed her sabre in its sheath, shading her eyes with her other hand and peering at the windows in the distance. Fade-born eyes saw better than those from other lands, or so she was told, and whether that was true or not, she pressed the dark recesses of the building atop the cliff hard for any secrets they might conceal.

“We okay, Captain?” Merlo noted her hand on her blade and seemed to tense as well, whether it was from Branwen’s lead or picking up similar feelings of her own.

“No.” The numerous windows ahead of her stared blankly back at her, their vacant gaze silently foreboding. “This place feels abandoned.”

Merlo cracked her knuckles, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. “Should it be? Maybe he’s just not here, and everybody went home.”

There was no logical proof Branwen had to back up her feelings, but her instinct said that this was a place that should be inhabited, but for some reason was not. “Message Sirrah and ask her.”

“Sure thing, Captain.” Merlo took a step to the side, away from the gate, and pulled out her datapad. As she tapped out a silent message, Branwen studied the gate barring her way. Her blade was halfway from its sheath, and she well intended to simply use its plasma-laced edge to neatly sever the latch holding the gate together, when she realized how stupid she was being. Dropping the blade back into its sheath, she raised her arms the half foot it took to reach the top of the wall beside the gate and hauled herself up with relative ease, scraping her bust uncomfortably on the brickwork as she went and reflecting on a possible need to get in more frequent exercise.

She crouched there, extending a hand to the shorter girl, but Merlo finished her messaging and tucked the pad away with an amused look. Taking a couple of steps back for room to gather momentum, the girl leapt and grabbed the edge of the brickwork wall, holding onto it as she arched acrobatically over it, even managing to keep a dynamically low profile as she did so. She thumped down onto the other side, denting the dirt and fluffy grass with her impact, while immediately looking up so Branwen could clearly see her self-satisfied grin. The girl even had the temerity to offer her a hand down.

“Uppity girl.” Branwen grumbled to herself, eschewing the offered hand and dropping off the wall into a crouch. She gave Merlo a thin smile as she rose, and then nodded with more gravity towards the building in front of them. Similarly, the broad smile faded from her pilot’s face as she too seemed to feel the seriousness of their endeavor take hold once again.

They moved carefully up to the building. Branwen felt somewhat exposed, with all of those barren windows staring down at her, any one of which could easily obscure a canny foe. They reached the wall nearest to them, and Branwen paused as Merlo held up a hand to signal her to pause. Branwen cast about, keeping lookout for a moment while Merlo consulted her datapad again.

“Sirrah says this is where he lives,” Merlo said quietly, frequently glancing up to keep tabs on their surroundings. “She says he leaves and travels and stuff, but that there should be servants and someone here year round to upkeep his home. At least as far as she knows.” She glanced at Branwen significantly as the pad vibrated lightly in her hands again. “She says she’s worried.”

Branwen nodded. “And I do not blame her. Do you feel it?” Merlo tucked the pad away and gave a look around them, seeming to study the area in the lessening twilight sun. “Something is not right here.”

After a moment, Merlo nodded. “Yeah, Captain, I think you’re right.”

“I think if this place is inhabited at all, then it is not by the intended inhabitants.” Merlo nodded and she gestured for the girl to follow and keep alert, which she did. “Let us find entry, and answers.” She smiled grimly as she went.

The door, at least, was fast secured. While Branwen could have gained entry through it much as she had considered doing with the gate, Merlo warned her that it could well set off some sort of alarm if she did so. So they resolved to look around before breaking and entering, and, to Branwen’s waning surprise, they found entry via an open ground floor window on the backside of the manor, along one of the wings. They slipped quietly inside, and Branwen paused a moment for both their eyes to adjust to the dark awaiting them.

“This latch’s been forced, Captain.” Turning, she carefully examined the window feature in question. It looked like it had been melted neatly in twain, not unlike what she’d planned to do herself. She had missed it when she crawled in, but she was less than shocked to see proof of her suspicions. She made a couple of gestures at Merlo, and the girl nodded. It seemed basic hand gestures for soldiers were nearly universal, or close enough at least to get her point across. Merlo fell in behind her as a rear guard as Branwen quietly drew her blade, and they advanced to begin a further search of the house in the glimmer of its golden plasma light.

Two things now limited their search, the low amount of light lingering from the setting sun, and the possibility that they might not be alone here. Branwen attempted to move them along with heed paid to both concerns. Likely, if there was something of note here, it would likely be in whichever rooms Don Mateo used most frequently. They currently seemed to be in a wing populated by a uniform set of guest rooms, so she dismissed them and headed for the main section of the house.

Fantastic paintings and statuary passed them by as they slipped through the house, and inactive light sources of sculpted glass and crystal glittered overhead, but Branwen paid them little mind regardless of their beauty. She was busy not only watching and listening for anything amiss, but also trying to calculate where in the house a man like Don Mateo would store anything of value. For someone to break in, he had to have something they desired, and it was too much to assume that it was simply a coincidence and unrelated to the matter of Kala Tiala’s disappearance. Besides, had they been a common thief, they had left countless priceless art pieces safely behind, making that assumption even less likely.

If she had built a home on a cliff overlooking an ocean on a breathtaking resort world, she would personally seek to make the most of the view. So she headed toward the sunset side of the building, crossing carefully through a grand, empty foyer as they went. Branwen herself was only mediocre at sneaking about, as too many years wearing heavy armor had rendered it a useless skill, so some of her footfalls echoed tellingly in the wide open space. But the only thing they seemed to disturb with their cautious passage was a fine layer of dust.

They located a library, then an adjoining study, but found nothing during a cursory examination. Then Branwen paused, looking carefully over a desk sitting in a sheltered nook along the wall near a window. “Look,” she said quietly, drawing Merlo’s attention toward the small mahogany desk, and where dark streaks marred the dust around the drawers and handles. “Someone has been looking for something.”

“Whoever they are, they must be here for something specific,” Merlo said, and Branwen nodded. “Otherwise they could have just wiped this place clean. This has to be related, right?”

“I would bet on it, myself.” Branwen tugged open a few drawers herself, but they yielded no clues. She hoped they didn’t pass over a clue, unknowing what it was they were looking for. She wasn’t exactly a thief-hunter, nor did she know what their thief in question was looking for or even exactly what Don Mateo was mixed up in. She puffed out a quiet sigh and departed the rooms, looking for the stairs. If it were Branwen’s home, she’d put her bedroom and private rooms on the second floor, somewhere near the back side of the manor. Maybe something of import could be found there.

She found his private rooms exactly where she had expected them to be, and held up a fist to signal Merlo to stop, but the girl bumped into her lightly anyway. Maybe hand signs weren’t so universal, after all. Merlo gave her a mildly sheepish smile when she glanced back, but Branwen simply pointed at the open door ahead of them and her companion’s face went deliberately serious again.

Someone had forced entry to this room, and there was no telling how long ago. The door’s frame was damaged at the area containing the latching mechanism; it looked like whomever had forced it had abandoned the higher degree of subtlety with which they had canvassed the rest of the house. Branwen pointed to herself first, then Merlo, then the door, and counted down from three on her fingers. At “one,” she tensed to kick her way into the room, but Merlo flowed around her and beat her to it, thumping the door open and taking point. Branwen cursed silently and followed; she’d have to talk to her later about her unnecessary initiative.

A quick scan of the new room and its adjoining room proved both their caution and aggression totally unnecessary. “It’s empty, Captain. Whoever’s been here, I’m betting they’re long gone.”

Branwen grunted, sheathing her plasma blade in agreement. “Drop not your guard completely,” she said, still keeping her voice low so that it wouldn’t carry, if not hushing it to a whisper like before. “There could still be someone elsewhere in the house… though I doubt it at this point.” Better safe than sorry, though. Warriors that were not on guard when they had cause to be often became dead warriors rather quickly.

There might not have been anyone there currently, but someone definitely had been fairly recently. Whoever it was had finally abandoned careful searching, as countless books, drawers, papers, and many other things laid scattered across the floor. Rich wood walls covered in bookshelves lay half bare, their contents vomited haphazardly across the soft rugs carpeting the floor. Knickknacks lay here and there, intriguing or beautiful art or mementos peering timidly at them from between fallen volumes, papers, or more modern accoutrements.