Local Custom (16 page)

"Sir," she murmured, bowing low.

Er Thom barely inclined his head. "There is luggage in the smaller hold to be sent on immediately to Trealla Fantrol," he said in the mode, so Anne thought, of Employer to Employee. "The ship shall at once be inspected and made ready according to its standard bill of orders."

The mechanic bowed, indicating understanding of her orders. "Sir," she said again and stepped aside.

Without further ado, Er Thom moved on, Anne a step still behind him, slowed by the shortness of her son's stride, and her own desire to crane around like a tourist and stare at everything.

"Hi!" Shan announced as they passed the mechanic, which earned him a flash of startled gray eyes and a bow nearly as low as the one given his father.

"Young sir," the woman said swiftly. Her eyes lifted and barely touched Anne's face before she bowed yet again.

"Lady."

Anne blinked, cudgeling her brain for the proper response. Clearly, her melant'i in no way approached Er Thom's, whose Clan employed the woman. Nor did she have any notion of the relative status of learned scholars to starship mechanics, though she was inclined to think that, on the basis of practical abilities, the mechanic stood several orders above a mere professor of linguistics.

She was saved the necessity of making any decision at all by the arrival of the rest of the woman's crew, to whom she turned with rapid-fire orders. Reprieved, Anne walked over to Er Thom, Shan in tow.

"I need a scorecard," she muttered in Terran, and saw the gleam of a smile in his eyes.

"A guest of the House outranks a hireling of the House," he said softly. "She expected no response. Indeed, it was forward of her to offer greeting, except she was forced to it by this young rogue." He reached down to ruffle Shan's hair.

Anne sighed. "Shannie," she said, without much hope, "don't talk to strangers." She met Er Thom's eyes, adding wryly: "Not that he's ever met a stranger."

He frowned briefly, brows pulling slightly together, then his face cleared. "'Happy the one who finds kin in every port'."

"Close enough," she allowed. "Except if the other person counts differently there's Hobbs to pay."

"Who is Hobbs?" Er Thom wondered and Anne laughed, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry," she managed after a moment. "Hobbs isn't—anybody—really. A figure of speech, like his brother Hobson, who's generally seen offering a choice." She paused, suddenly taken. "Actually, you may know Mr. Hobson. His choice goes like this: Take my terms or take nothing."

"Hah!" The smile this time was nearer a grin. "We have met." He slid his hand under her elbow, guiding her away from the cold-pad and toward a low building some distance away painted with the Tree-and-Dragon.

"A car awaits us," he said, "and then we may to Daav. In any case, we should clear the field."

As was only prudent, Anne thought. The field was a-buzz with activity. Jitney traffic was heavy, racing between cold-pads and the distant bulk of the main garage. Added to the speedy jitneys were fuel trucks, repair rigs, forklifts and ground-tugs, some with ships in tow.

The Tree-and-Dragon sigil was displayed on every piece of equipment, on every jitney and on several of the ships they passed.

"All this belongs to—to your clan?" Anne asked around a mounting sense of dismay.

He glanced up at her. "This is Korval's primary yard in Solcintra," he murmured. "We maintain three others here, and in Chonselta, two."

It may have been the staggering information that Clan Korval owned no fewer than
six
spaceship maintenance and repair yards that caused the lapse in her usual vigilance. Or it may have been the realization that
rich
, the descriptor she had vaguely attached to Er Thom's financial status, so far understated the matter as to be actually misleading.

Six repair yards,
she thought dazedly, allowing herself to be guided through the hurrying traffic. These were not the holdings of a mid-level mercantile clan with a couple near-mythological heroes and a tradeship or two to its credit. This was stupefyingly wealthy, not merely Old House, but High—

"Er Thom," she began, meaning to demand an exact accounting of Clan Korval's melant'i here and now, before she or her son set foot beyond the repair yard's gate. "Er Thom, just precisely where—"

"Sparkles!" Shan shouted, snatching his hand free.

She spun at once, grabbing for him, but he was gone, running as fast as his short legs could carry him, counter-cutting traffic, ignoring the lumbering repair rig entirely.

"Shannie!" She was moving—was caught, snatched aside with sudden, brusque strength—and a slim figure in a leather jacket was past her, running so quickly he seemed to skim the ground.

In the path of the rig, Shan stooped, fingers scrabbling at the blast-sealed tarmac. At the machine's crown, Anne saw the driver frantically slapping at his control board, saw the rig slow—not enough, not nearly enough—

Her terror made the rescue more dramatic than reality, or so Er Thom assured her afterward.

Truth or overheated imagination, she saw the enormous treads bearing the metal mountain inexorably toward her son, tiny and oblivious to his danger.

And she saw Er Thom, swift and unhesitating, flash between Shan and the mountain, catch the boy in his arms and roll away in a shoulder-bruising somersault.

The machine obscured her sight of them for a heart-searing minute, cleared her line of sight and ground, at last, to a halt.

Er Thom was standing, Shan held tightly in his arms, a new white scar showing on the shoulder of his battered brown jacket.

"Is he—?" The driver was shaking, braced against the side of his machine. He lifted eyes half-wild with horror in a face the color of yellow mud. "The child, Lady! By the gods, where is the child?"

"Here." Er Thom walked forward, Shan unnaturally still in his arms, silver eyes stretched wide.

"Compose yourself," Er Thom told the driver, coolly. "No hurt has been taken."

The man closed his eyes and leaned weakly back into the side of the machine. Anne saw his throat work, swallowing anguish.

"Thank gods," he rasped, and abruptly stiffened. Standing away from his support, he made a deep bow that was somewhat marred by his continued trembling.

"Your Lordship."

"Yes," Er Thom said, in Employer to Employee, which did not, Anne thought, finally getting her legs to move, lend itself to warmth. "You are Dus Tin sig'Eva, are you not?"

"Yes, sir," the man said, standing stiffly upright.

Anne made it to Er Thom's side and held out her arms. Shan smiled at her, somewhat unsteadily.

"Hi, Ma," he whispered. Er Thom never turned his head.

"You will call for assistance," he was telling Dus Tin sig'Eva, still in the cool tones of Employer to Employee. "When assistance arrives, you will accept the role of passenger back to your station, where you will report this incident to your supervisor. If you feel need of a Healer, that service will be provided you. In any case, you will be given the rest of this shift and all of your next shift off, with pay. It may be advisable for you to retrain on this piece of equipment."

The man bowed. "Your Lordship," he said, with, Anne thought, staggered relief. Straightening, he turned and swarmed up the ladder into the driver's compartment, to radio for assistance.

At last, Er Thom turned his head.

"And now you, my swift one—" he began in Low Liaden.

Shan shifted sharply in his arms. "Sparkles, Mirada!"

Er Thom looked grim. "Sparkles, is it?" he said in ominous Terran.

He swung the child to his feet, keeping a firm grip on one small hand. Anne grabbed the other and held tight. "Show me these sparkles."

Obediently, Shan marched forward, mother and father in tow. Just two steps from the rear of the repair rig, he stopped and bent his head to point with his nose, since neither parent would relinquish a hand.

"There!"

Embedded in the tarmac was a faceted blue gem, sparkling in the brilliant Liaden sunlight.

"Hah. And are these your usual sparkles or something a bit different, I wonder?"

Shan blinked, expression doleful. "Sparkles," he repeated, and tried to yank his hand away from Er Thom. "Shan
go
," he demanded, stamping a foot.

"Shannie!" Anne said warningly, but Er Thom let the small hand free.

"Sparkles!" Shan cried, pointing down at the glittering gem. "More sparkles!" His finger stabbed at a point just over Er Thom's bright head. "Ma sparkles! Jerzy sparkles! Rilly! Everywhere sparkles, but not to touch! This sparkle to touch! Touch this, touch more?"

"Ah." Er Thom went to one knee on the tarmac and looked very earnestly into Shan's face. "Here," he said softly, and to Anne's amazement, pulled off his master trader's ring, the amethyst blazing gloriously purple. "Touch this sparkle, denubia."

Shan's fist closed greedily around the big gem. Enthralled, Anne knelt on his other side, letting his hand free, but keeping a firm grip on his shoulder.

"Can you now touch these other sparkles?" Er Thom asked.

There was a long, charged moment as Shan scanned the blank air above Er Thom's head, and extended a cautious, hungry hand.

"Nothing," he said, body losing all its unnatural tenseness at once. His eyes filled with tears, but he only shook his head. "Can't touch Mirada."

"Perhaps when you are older," Er Thom said gently, slipping the ring back onto his finger. "In the meanwhile, you see that there are—different sorts—of sparkles, eh? Those you can touch and those you can only see. Can you remember that?"

"Yes," Shan told him, utterly certain.

"Good. Then you must also remember never to run away from your mother again. It was ill-done and caused her pain. This is not how we use our kin, who deserve all of our love and all of our kindness. I am not pleased."

Shan swallowed hard, eyes filling again. "I'm sorry, Mirada."

"As is proper, for the fault is yours," Er Thom told him. "But you owe your mother some ease, do you not?"

Woefully, he turned to Anne. "I'm sorry, Ma."

"I'm sorry, too, Shannie," she said. "It was bad to run away like that, wasn't it?"

He nodded, then the tears escaped in a rush and he flung himself into her arms, burying his face against her neck. "I'm sorry,
sorry
!" he hiccuped, sobbing with such extravagance that Er Thom began to look alarmed.

Anne smiled at him and held up a finger.

"All right," she said, gently rubbing Shan's back, working loose the tight muscles. "I guess that's sorry enough. But you need to do something else for me."

"What?" Shan asked, raising his sodden face.

"Promise you won't run away again."

"I promise," he said and then sighed, tears gone as suddenly as they had appeared. "I won't run away."

"Good," Anne said and set him back so she could stand, remembering to keep a tight grip on his hand. She glanced over at Er Thom, who had also risen.

"Why does he cry like that?" he asked, trouble still showing in his eyes.

Anne grinned. "You can write a note and thank Jerzy. Shan had gotten cranky one day and started to whimper over something and Jerzy told him that if he wanted to be really convincing, he had to
project
—and proceeded to demonstrate. By the time I came in, the two of them were sitting on the floor in the middle of Jerzy's apartment, holding each other and sobbing their hearts out." She shook her head, suddenly serious.

"Are you OK?" she asked, extending a tentative hand and touching his shoulder. "That was quite a tumble."

"I am fine," he assured her solemnly.

"Your jacket's gotten scarred," she said, fingering the leather briefly before prudence took her hand away.

He glanced negligently at the scrape, shoulders moving. "If that is the worst of the matter then we may make our bow to the luck." He reached down and took Shan's hand.

"In the meanwhile, our car awaits," he said, and led them around the stalled repair rig and away.

 
The number of High Houses is precisely fifty. And then there is Korval.

—From the Annual Census of Clans

THE LANDCAR WAS low and sleek and surprisingly roomy. Anne leaned back in a passenger's seat adjusted to accommodate her height, Shan dozing on her lap, and watched Solcintra Port flash by.

She gave an inward sigh of regret for the quickness of the tour as Er Thom guided the car through Port Gate One and into the city proper.

He glanced over at her, violet eyes serious. "Forgive me my necessity," he murmured, "and allow me to show you the Port another day—soon."

She blinked, then inclined her head. "Thank you, Er Thom. I'd like that."

"I, also," he answered and fell silent once more, driving the car with the same effortless efficiency he had demonstrated at the yacht's control board.

Anne settled against the back of her seat and watched him, content to let Solcintra City slip by with only a few cursory glances. Another day, and she would see it all, immerse herself—safely anchored by Er Thom's melant'i and knowledge—in all the wonder the City of Jewels could muster.

The car slid effortlessly around a flowered corner, under an ancient archway of shaped stone, negotiated a sweeping curve in a smooth uptake of speed and they were suddenly out of the city and moving through a landscape of plush lawns and wide gardens.

"Soon now," Er Thom said so softly she might have thought he was speaking to himself, except the words were in Terran.

The car accelerated once more, lawns and gardens flickering by—and changing. The houses became larger, set further back from the road, some hidden entirely, marked only by gates and driveways.

Er Thom sent the car right at an abrupt branching of ways. They climbed a sudden hill and a valley stretched before them. At the near end, Anne saw a cluster of trees, glimpsed roof top and chimneys through the leaves.

On the far side of the valley were more trees and, soaring high into the green-tinged, cloudless sky, a—Tree.

"What on—?" She sat forward in the seat, earning a sleepy grumble from Shan. "It
can't
be a tree!"