Dragon in Exile - eARC (20 page)

“Those are good,” Yulie said, as one giving art its due. “Me, I’m partial to them soft brown ones with the raisins and the little bit of white icing on top.”

“Ah, yes; those are very good, too.”

He considered it safe enough to lower his hands, and did so, slowly. Yulie didn’t seem to notice.

“May I ask why you are shooting at…me?”

“Well.” Yulie took off his cap and resettled it over his straw-colored hair. “Wasn’t shootin’ at you, in particular. Got a little out o’true, there, but here’s why—somebody tried to break into the growing rooms last night. Mighta done it, too, ’cept the larm-bell went off in the house, woke me up outta sound sleep, and at first I didn’t know what it was—only ever heard the larm-bell once, maybe twice, back when Grampa was still alive; me and Rollie, we was just tads—no older’n that Syl Vor o’yours.

“So, anyway, it took me bad, but I r’membered; got on out here, and chased ’em off. Had the idea that I hit one sorta bad, but his crew musta carried him away. Heard a car, figured they was gone, but then I couldn’t get easy, y’know? Thought I oughta get the big light and do a walk around, check the locks, but what if they’d left somebody to watch? There’s just me and the cats; and there was five, six of them.

“Went back in the house. Made some coffee; went out to walk a couple times, just to show ’em there was somebody up and watching. Sun come up, then I went to see what they done.”

He shook his head.

“Did you take losses?” Val Con asked. “If there are repairs to be made, I—as your neighbor—would be pleased to send someone over to assist.”

“That’s neighborly, and I tell you what; if you got somebody to spare, I could use some help getting things right. Used a damn’ crowbar on a vacuum door! Bent it all up; tore the seal. Not sure I got another seal. Just luck it ain’t a room I use, but I like to keep everything up, like in the binder.”

“Indeed, indeed. Doors ought to open, and seals should seal. We are in agreement. Allow me to send Tan Ort to you, with his toolbox. He is an extremely able—” He paused, considering the proper way to present Tan Ort in all his many talents—“
handyman
. He may even have a seal that will do, at least as a stopgap.”

“That’d be good, if he has the time. Have to ask, though, how I’ll know him.”

“Tan Ort is shorter than I am, with very red hair, and a portly bearing. He will be bringing a wheeled toolbox, and also a plate of Mrs. ana’Tak’s iced raisin cookies. Will that suffice?”

Yulie Shaper was a hard-faced man who rarely smiled. A lifetime of working in Surebleak’s weather had etched lines around his eyes and the sides of his mouth. Val Con had supposed Yulie his elder by at least a half-dozen Standards. But the grin that illuminated his face, very briefly, revealed a much younger man, made older by care, and the weight of his rules and policies.

“That’ll do it. Thank’ee.”

He shifted his gun slightly.

“You come for somethin’ other’n being shot at, though. Something about—
mutual interest
?”

“I did,” Val Con said. “I have a letter which indicates that you may be the owner of an island which my brother Shan is interested in purchasing.”

Yulie shook his head.

“I don’t own nothing ’cept this place, and that’s ’cause of being Grampa’s heir—me an’ Rollie, that was, then me, since Rollie died.”

“The letter I have is much the same case. You own the island because the original owner had died, and her designated heir has died. You are, I believe, the heir of the heir.”

Yulie shook his head again.

“You mind leavin’ that paper? I’m gonna be out o’true ’til that door’s right again. I’ll look at it, tomorrow—maybe next day—and come by to let you know if it’s anything to do with me. Right?”

“Right,” Val Con said. “The paper is in my inner jacket pocket. I will take it out now.”

He did so, and Yulie took it in one hard brown hand, glanced at it incuriously, and stuffed it into the outside pocket of his jacket.

Val Con sighed.

“If there is nothing I can do for you immediately, I will take my leave, and send Tan Ort to you as quickly as may be.”

“That’s fine. I’m fine. Biggest thing wrong is that door.” He nodded what was clearly a cordial dismissal.

“You send that fella down here and we’ll get things patched up right and reg’lar. Tell ’im, don’t bring no lunch; I’ll feed ’im. Got some good cheese and fresh-bake bread and garden greens, enough for both of us and to spare.”

“I will tell him.”

Val Con bowed slightly.

“Good morning, Mr. Shaper. I enjoyed our talk.”

Interlude Five

The firmament

A star flared; the threads that bound it into the web of life and all creation became sturdy, twisted cords of light.

Ren Zel dea’Judan watched, breath-caught in this place where there was no air. Watched, while the flare subsided into a fine, vital glow. Energy traveled the bindings, informed, and informing as they rewove themselves into the web.

The watcher bent his head and wept tears of joy as those others near to him also did.

Sye Mon van’Kie had chosen to live, a free man, and master of his own soul.

Chapter Twenty-One

Riley’s Back Room

Fortunato’s Turf

Naturally, the Citizen’s Heavy Loads Committee belonged to the Syndicate; and paid membership money into the treasury. Not insurance money;
membership
money. The only folks who paid insurance was streeters, specifically streeters who had a money-making bidness on the streets. Smealy’s old Aunt Min, she’d said that, back in the day, before the company lifted and left them, shopkeepers and small businesses—that’s what she called streeters. She had a funny way of talking, his Aunt Min, but wasn’t she sharp as a box o’tacks until the day she died from walking into the middle of a retirement party?

Well, what the old-time streeters paid that insurance money for, ’cording to her, was—in case, say, a store caught fire, or there was a bad storm and the roof fell in, or the shopkeeper tripped over his wares and broke his leg, then the insurance money paid for crew from the Fire-and-Doom Department, or the medic’s office, to come in and put out the fire, raise the roof back up to where it belonged, set the leg, or whatever else needed to happen.

How it worked out that Fire-and-Doom didn’t go broke doing all that, said Aunt Min, was that everybody paid into the insurance, but not everybody needed a rescue. Not even
most
everybody needed a rescue, so there was always plenty o’cash in the kitty.

Smealy’d asked her, once, how the Bosses had gotten paid, if all the insurance went to fixing stuff that got broke.

She’d given him one of those long Aunt Min looks, that had you going back over your last couple hours to figure out if you’d maybe done something particularly stupid, before she sighed and give him his answer.

“The bosses drew a salary, Lionel. Don’t you mind about that; that’s all in the back-times. You just keep your head down and don’t set yourself in harm’s way. That’s the best help any of us has, in the now-times.”

So, anyhow, it was Heavy Loads meeting night, there in Riley’s back room, and Sioux was late. Nothing unusual there, Sioux was a worker; belonged to Heavy Loads, Insurance, and the Retirement Committees, and pretty often she was late to meetings, either because of another meeting, or a piece of bidness that needed looking after.

Zimmer was late, too—and that wasn’t usual at all. Most meetings, Zimmer was there before everybody, and already had a beer in his hand. Though, Smealy thought, taking his seat at the table next to Kreller, Zimmer’d joined up with the Search Committee. Might be there was a Search going on.

Gretl looked around the table, frowning.

“Just three of us?”

“Zimmer left a message with Riley he’d be late,” said Kreller.

“And Sioux ain’t never on time,” Smealy said, and added, just as a friendly reminder about who was chairman, here. “I’m gonna give ’em a couple minutes. No rush; ain’t snowing.”

Gretl sniffed.

Kreller lowered his mug.

“So, how’d it go with the Road Boss?”

Smealy shook his head.

“Let’s wait for Sioux and Zimmer, right? That way I ain’t gotta say it twice.”

“Sure,” said Kreller, and went back to his beer.

He’d finished the mug when the door opened and Zimmer came in, one arm in a sling, his face white as a snowbank.

“What the sleet happened to you?” Smealy’s place at the table faced the door, so he saw the damage before the other two.

Zimmer shook his head, careful-like, made it to the table, put his beer down, and almost fell into a chair.

He sat for a minute, like he needed to get his breath before telling the table:

“Ran into some trouble, last night.”

“You all know the Syndicate Boss is looking for a place to set up operations. Can’t be anyplace on the street, on account of all the cops, and scouts, and general order busybodies walking around these days.

“So, we been looking for places to go to ground. One subcommittee thought it had a line on the old warehouses—the ones everybody says’re haunted? Couple them guys are still healing up from the beating
they
got.

“Our subcommittee located a place ’way out the Road, almost to the Boss’ big house…”

“Wait,” said Gretl. “You wanted to put the Syndicate’s headquarters right next to the Road Boss?”

“Why not? Nice deep under-place, according to the readouts, and it ain’t like the Road Boss lives there. Just one old crazy farmer; easy enough to take care of. Anyhow, the crew of us went up there last night. Found a way in, and was working with a door, when some damn’ fool starts shooting at us, right outta the dark! Yells at us to get the
slush
offa his land. We get quiet, ’cept Makie, she kinda scuffs against a rock with her boot. Guy starts firing again—I’m tellin’ you, he’s takin’ sound shots in the dark and he’s got ears like a rabbit!

“Makie got hit worst; medic says she’ll be fine inna couple months.” He shifted a little, showing off the sling.

“Me, I got winged. Gref got his hair parted. No sense staying around, so we took off.”

“So, still no home for the new Bosses?” asked Kreller, making it sound like it was Zimmer’s fault.

The door opened then, and Sioux came in, carrying her beer. She slid into the empty chair between Gretl and Kreller, and nodded to Smealy.

Zimmer picked up his mug and downed half the beer in one swig.

“Here’s how it is. We got two good places ID’d. The Bosses are mapping out strategy, now. How best to take ’em both. Spread our people out, there’s less chance the cops or the busybodies’ll find us all.”

He drank down the rest of his beer.

“The farmer’s an easy mark. Couple guys go up in the daylight and take care o’that. Set one of us in his place—the old fella’s nephew or niece, and the whole thing’s sealed.”

“
Right next
to the Road Boss,” Gretl said again.

“What’s the problem? Smealy’s got the Road Boss in our pocket. Aincha, Lionel?”

Well, it wasn’t the lead-in he’d planned on, but he couldn’t ignore it, either.

He picked up his beer and had a swig; just enough to wet his whistle, then looked ’round the table at each of them in turn.

“All right,” he said; “here’s how it went.”

* * * * *

Well, they weren’t best pleased with the outcome of Smealy’s talk with Conrad’s little brother. He didn’t grudge them their disappointment—
sleet
, wasn’t none of ’em more disappointed than he was! It did go a bit far, though, Zimmer wondering if Smealy oughta be chairman, after all, if he wasn’t up to handling a straightforward piece of negotiation like setting up exceptions.

“Boy prolly just wanted to see how far you’d go,” Sioux said, who hadn’t been there, and had bad-mouthed the whole idea from the start.

“
Told
you,” Smealy’d snapped, “I didn’t even get near the numbers ’fore he was pulling in Security to boot me out. It was this bidness over contracts that got him outta true; he was innerested enough ’til then.”

“Which you managed so good, he threw you out and told you not to come back,” Kreller said. “Now we got no leverage, at all.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Smealy’d said, grinning. “There’s
two
Road Bosses, right? The little brother and his wife. Told me so himself that either one of ’em could help us out with concerns about the Road.”

“So?” asked Zimmer.

“
So
, the wife’s a local girl; come up on Latimer’s turf.
She’ll
know how things is done here at home. Shoulda maybe gone right to her with this, but the little brother was a surer touch on Conrad.” He paused, considering that. “Might have to sweeten the pot a little, just to get ’er deep enough. Maybe a requisition?”

Sioux frowned, and Smealy braced himself for a disagreement, while bringing all the reasons why that wasn’t a completely stupid idea up to the front of his brain.

“Sure, give the wife a requisition,” Sioux said, thoughtful-like. “Then we got a surer touch on
her
, when she uses it. If the little brother’s anything at all like his big brother, he ain’t gonna like her going around him to make her own deal. Least’ll happen is we’ll break the Road Boss, and hafta to find another way in to Conrad.
Best
that’ll happen, if the wife’s a smart woman, like I hear she is—she’ll keep her cards right there in her pocket and won’t find a reason to mention it.”

Sioux was on-board. That was good. Smealy grinned and nodded to her.

“That’s right,” he said. “You see how this could be the right way to go. I admit, I was focused on the little brother, and didn’t think on this other angle, but we got the right road, now. We’ll close this deal
tight
. I can feel it.”

“Yeah,” Zimmer said. “An’, Smealy, when she does use that requisition, we lower her percentage on the exceptions, right? Win-win.”

He hadn’t thought of that, Smealy’d admitted to himself, nor he wasn’t sure, hearing it, if that move would be good for bidness or bad. The wife’d been a soldier, and if the talk on the street was that she was smart, like Sioux said, street talk likewise said
you
was smarter not to try her temper.

Still, they had time to work out the details. First thing was bringing the wife into the exception bidness. Smealy knocked back the last of his beer and banged the mug on the table.

“All right, people, here’s what’s gonna happen. Tomorrow, I’ll go talk with the wife, offer her the deal and get her signed up. We’re on the spot; the buy-ins are starting to get testy; they wanna see a return on their membership buy-in. Soon’s we get a Road Boss tied in, we can start selling exceptions the day after—day after that, latest—and bidness’ll start looking up, right?”

“Right,” Kreller said, and stood. “Who wants another beer?”

They all did. Kreller grunted and went out to the bar to tell Riley.

“Don’t screw it up this time,” Zimmer said to Smealy. “You want I should go with you? ’Case she needs help focusing?”

Smealy considered it. Zimmer was real good at focusing people. On the other hand,
then
it would be said that Smealy’d needed help to bring the wife on-board. After what’d happened with the little brother, he couldn’t afford help. If he couldn’t deliver now, right here at the beginning, he wasn’t gonna stay chairman long—and retirement was no part of
his
plans.

“Nah,” he said to Zimmer. “You’re lookin’ a little rugged, if you don’t mind my noticin’. This’ll be a piece o’ice. She’s local and unnerstands how it works. That’s where I got tripped up with the little brother; he’s playin’ with a whole different deck.”

He nodded to the table in general, feeling expansive and successful.

“Next round’s on me,” he said.

* * *

“
Any
story?” Miri asked.

She was sitting in what Kareen called the Interview Studio, which’d prolly been the front parlor, back when Ms. Lanni’d lived in the house, when Miri’d been a kid on Latimer’s turf. There were just a couple comfortable chairs that looked like they’d come out of Jelaza Kazone’s storerooms, and a rug that likely had the same source.

There was a firebrick in the hearth, pumping out heat like it was a blizzard outside, and Kareen was wearing a shawl over her sweater.

“Indeed,” Kareen said, in answer to her question. “We are particularly interested in stories that may illuminate an ethical system, but I will be pleased to hear and record any story that you would care to tell me.”

Miri sighed, settled deeper into the nice, comfortable chair, and closed her eyes.

A story, was it? The truth was that stories from her past were likely to curl Kareen’s hair, if not make it fall out entirely. It’d been a rough and rugged thing, her childhood; not the kind of up-bringing the shadows and soft edges of which she got from Val Con’s memories.

“Any story at all,” Kareen said. “Whatever rises to the top of your thoughts.”

“Well…” she sighed. “There was the time me, and Penn, and…Chaunsy Seleedro, must’ve been, swiped a pie off Gran Eli’s window.

“We stole it, ran ’round the corner, and we ate that pie as fast as we could. Then we kinda sat there, sleepy and stupid with being fed, and suddenly not so sleepy, though feeling considerably more stupid. ’Cause, wouldn’t you know, after it was gone, we all three of us started thinking that maybe we
shouldn’t’ve
stole that pie, after all. So, Penn and me—Chaunsy didn’t want no trouble, and we agreed to leave her out of it—Penn and me went and knocked on the front door of Gran’s house, figuring we’d offer to work it off.

“Gran Eli opens the door, looks down at us, and says, ‘So, where’s the other one?’ And Penn says she didn’t want no trouble, but him and me wanted to make it right, and she said, ‘Fine, then; c’mon inside.’”

She smiled, warmed by the memory. That had been a good day. Gran Eli. Gods, she hadn’t thought about Gran Eli in years…

“What Balance did she demand?” Kareen asked, soft as thought itself.

“Balance.” Miri smiled and shook her head. “She gave us each a basket of good stuff—fresh bread, soup, ’nother pie, little piece of cheese—to take home. Turns out, she set a pie on her window deliberate, every week or so, to find who was hungry, and then fixed ’em up with a couple meals.” She sighed. “Penn didn’t want to have to explain to his dad what he’d done to deserve that basket, so I got his, too. Me and my mother, we had good eating for days.”

“So there were those who kept…common cause? Was Gran Eli one of many, or someone unique in her application?”

“Hmmm?” She had closed her eyes, drowsing in the warmth of the fire and of a good memory.

“Oh, there was what you’d call good folk on the street. The grans—Mike Golden’s gran, she was a force, to hear him tell it. On Latimer’s turf, you didn’t wanna have it come to Gran Eli you’d done something she wouldn’t like. That’s what’d made taking the pie so…tempting, if you follow me. It was like a dare.”

“Of course.”

“Turned out she’d got to us, before we ever got to that pie, and we never knew it. Never knew she was teaching us something about how to go on with each other.”

She opened her eyes and looked to Kareen.

“Story enough for you?”

“Indeed, it was quite illuminating. Thank you.”

“No problem. Listen, I talked to a fella yesterday—Rebbus Mark, his name is, from one of the executive families. He’s got documents and hand-down stories not only about how things were before the Agency left, but why they were like they were. I asked would he talk to you, and he said that nothing would make him happier. Here’s how to contact him.”