Mouse and Dragon (24 page)

"I am Aelliana Caylon, pilot-owner of
Ride the Luck
. I have been engaged to deliver a package directly into the hands of Bre Din sig'Ranton Clan Persage."

The young woman hesitated, as if the accent of Chonselta was something exotic, and not readily decipherable. Then the moment passed, and she inclined her head.

"I am desolate to inform Pilot-Owner Caylon that Bre Din sig'Ranton is away from House." She tipped her head to one side, apparently debating with herself—and coming to a decision all at once.

"Bre Din plays music at the port, you know, Pilot. The place is called Bas Ibenez."

"I thank you," Aelliana said. "I will seek him there."

By the time they had exchanged the required parting formalities and Aelliana had closed the connection, Daav had located the listing for Bas Ibenez in the Avontai Port database and had sent the information to her screen.

"You are far too efficient," she told him, with a smile.

"Copilot's duty," he returned, as she scrolled down the listing.

"The club opens in the evening only," she murmured, with a glance at the board to check local time. Several hours, yet, until opening time.

"Still well within the client's necessity for delivery," he pointed out.

"True," she acknowledged, and sighed. "I suppose we might call and find if he's arrived early."

"Or," Daav murmured, "we might refresh ourselves, and rest, so that we do not come to the young gentleman in all of the disorder of travel." He met her eyes, his only slightly mischievous. "After all, he may have something to send in return."

Aelliana leaned back in her chair and ran her fingers through her hair. It was true that they had flown hard, pushing her limits, if not his, and more with her training in mind than the bonus . . . But, it had been the pure joyous rush of flying, even the considerable bits where "flying" was Jump and the screens showed nothing but grey—the joy of knowing that she was at last working her own ship, just as she said she would do—
exactly
as she had hoped to do, with Daav sitting his board at her right hand. Oh, it had been exhilarating, the lift to Avontai.

But it had not necessarily been conducive to either rest or sleep.

"There is something in what you say," she admitted. "Who would entrust anything precious to such a pair of scarecrows?"

She rose, stretching, and looked down into his face, noting the subtle signs of weariness there. Daav had kept good watch, as a copilot ought, and if he had not been as flight-drunk as his pilot, yet he had not gotten much more rest.

"I am going to take a shower."

He raised an eyebrow.

"A shower and a nap?" he suggested.

"Only if you will do the same."

He smiled, and a trickle of mischievous lust warmed the air between them, lighting a slow fire in her own belly.

"There's a rare bargain," Daav murmured, and rose to his full height, formally extending his hand to her. Korval's Ring glinted, almost as if the Dragon had moved a wing. She rested her fingers on the back of his hand—and gasped aloud.

"I thought you said a
nap
," she managed.

He smiled and raised their hands, bending his head above hers.

"There's time," he whispered, and kissed her knuckles lingeringly.

His lips were cool, exciting in their remoteness, giving the lie to the passion licking across their nerves. She wanted to move closer, to achieve a fuller embrace, but their relative positions did not allow it. Daav completed his salute, unhurried, raised his head and turned, his hand still beneath her fingers.

Bland-faced, as outwardly indifferent as if they were two strangers about to go into a formal dinner together, he guided her across the piloting tower and down the short hall to their quarters.

The snow drifted prettily, glinting like mirrors among the lights of the port. The flakes were
cold
, which she had known they would be, but which still surprised, and she turned her face up into them, laughing as they showered burning kisses on her cheeks.

Snow play was limited to the air. Underfoot, the walk was heated and dry. Daav had approved of that, and settled the pack holding Hedrede's fragile treasure more firmly on his shoulder. She had protested that she could carry it just as well, but he claimed copilot's right.

"But that leaves me to protect you, and you know what my marksmanship is!" she'd protested, which had gained her one of his tightly edged smiles.

"I repose every faith in my pilot," he'd replied, which was no answer at all, but nonetheless put her on her mettle.

Avontai Port was not so large as Solcintra, nor even Chonselta, though it enjoyed good custom. The walks were crowded; gem-colored light from the shops splashed across the walkways, scandalously painting the faces of passersby.

Aelliana looked from right to left and back again, trying to see everything at once. Her first new world—with snow! Perhaps, she thought, they might take a day, after the package was delivered, and explore Avontai more fully.

It came to her then that Daav, too, was being watchful, but in an entirely different manner. She considered the side of his face and the set of his shoulders. Not worried, she decided, but on guard.

Cautiously, she looked about, trying to see what might have made him wary, but saw nothing untoward. She swayed a step nearer to his side, though she did not take his hand. There was a chance that such contact would break his concentration, which she in no way wished to do until she more fully understood their position.

"Does the port feel strange to you?" she asked.

He looked down at her, his hair starry with snowflakes.

"I have no comparison; this is my first time on Avontai Port."

Aelliana bit her lip, and glanced about, but all she saw were shops and shoppers and people moving quickly, as if they had an errand in hand.

"Your friend Clarence had said that he was hearing from pilots that the ports felt . . . odd. To me, Avontai feels unlike Chonselta or Solcintra, but surely that is as it should be and nothing
odd
?"

"There are certain things to notice, when one is on-port. Do the natives seem unconcerned or anxious? Are proctors or security very obvious—or absent entirely? Does it seem that pilotkind cling close to each other, or that there are too few about on the common ways?" He moved his shoulders. "I will try to be a better teacher, Aelliana, though I suspect an experience of several ports may be necessary to build a sense of what is
not
odd."

"That seems reasonable," she granted, and gave him a grin, inviting him to share the joke. "So, we see a necessity to raise
many
ports!"

Daav, however, did not laugh; rather, and unexpectedly, he frowned.

"There is a matter of
melant'i
," he said, slowly, his voice taking on a formal cadence, though he kept yet to the mode between comrades. "Clarence O'Berin is not my friend."

"But of course he is!" The words were out of her mouth before she had time to consider propriety. Who was she, to tell Daav's affections out for him? And yet—

"I beg your pardon,
van'chela
," she said more moderately, but with a degree of determination. "Recall that we were linked during the exchange with—with Pilot O'Berin. I grant that . . . I understand that there is a confusion of regard, but certainly there
is
 . . . affection. Indeed, he must hold you likewise, else why step off of his path to speak of this . . . oddity among the ports?"

Daav sighed, and said nothing. Aelliana bit her lip. She had transgressed; she had feared it. She curled her hand into a fist so that she not reach out to him, and cleared her throat.

"It is ill-done of me to—to correct you on such a matter. As clearly as I might hear you, it is not I but you who must know best . . ."

"No, that will not do," Daav interrupted, very gently indeed.

His hand touched hers, and she gripped his fingers greedily. Wistfulness flowed from him, and a sort of wry amusement, thinly edged with resentment.

"We have what we have, and a pilot who wishes to survive uses the information in her hand, no matter how it comes to be there. So, there will be no forgive-mes, my lady, nor any regrets, though I may sometimes be abashed, or even embarrassed. I will engage to do my best not to become angry, but my temper is not always biddable."

"Nor, I fear, is mine," she whispered.

"Well, it's a pair of hotheads we'll be, then, and no help for it. As for Clarence . . ." He paused; she received the sense of him marshaling his thoughts.

"You are correct that I hold Clarence in some esteem—we are of an age, of like temperament, and bear the burden of similar
melant'is
. If circumstances were otherwise, we might indeed be friends. As it is, I have the honor to be Korval, and Clarence—is the final authority for the Juntavas based on Liad."

So, Aelliana thought, she had judged Clarence's
melant'i
rightly. As for the Juntavas; the Guild handbook would have them be thieves, grey-traders, and warned pilots away from their employ.

"Korval and the Juntavas," Daav continued, "have long ago agreed to a policy of . . . avoidance. Which means that, value him as I might, yet I cannot by policy assume Clarence to be trustworthy, nor may I consider that he holds Korval's best interest first in his heart."

"Nor should he," Aelliana murmured. "He must care for his own folk first."

"So he must and so I must. Thus we meet seldom, with pleasure tinged by regret." He glanced up into the dancing snowflakes. "Here is our street, I think."

Hand in hand they walked down a narrower and only slightly less-well-lit street. It seemed to Aelliana that Daav was easier now—less chagrined—yet still on point. She caught a glimmer of concern, and a thrill of pleasurable curiosity, growing more intense as they found the door.

It was recessed, hidden deep inside a series of arches, the first so black it seemed to swallow the light from the street lamps. The second arch was dark grey, the third foggy blue, the fifth ivory, and the sixth pure white, lit so brightly that no shadows were possible. The door itself was crimson, as bright as blood in the glaring light.

She felt Daav hesitate—the tiniest catch between one step and the next—then they were walking side by side down the short tunnel; at the end of it, Aelliana put her hand against the plate.

The door opened into a room dimly illuminated by red light. Aromatic smoke drifted between the tables; the servers moving languidly among them wore red shirts with billowing sleeves and tight white trousers.

Beyond the half-moon of tables was an open area floored in black tile so glossy that the ceiling was reflected in its depths. On the far side of the floor was a stage. Thick white smoke rose 'round it, mixing with the ruby light. Inside the resulting pink mist, Aelliana could see instruments set up on racks, awaiting musicians who had yet to arrive.

"Perhaps we should ask a waiter to take a message—" she began, but Daav was already moving, passing between the clustered tables like a wisp of smoke himself.

Sighing, she followed, neither so neat nor so invisible, and caught him on the far side of the floor.

"A warning before you move away," she said sharply, "would ease your pilot's mind. I am no Scout, recall."

"Forgive me, Pilot," he murmured, not noticeably contrite. "As our hour approaches, it seemed best for us to seek the young gentleman backstage and dispatch our errand before he is called upon to perform."

It did, she admitted, seem the only route to fly, outlined thus. Still—

"What if I were to lose you?"

He looked down at her, his face utterly serious.

"You will not lose me, Aelliana."

It was said so surely that the words had weight, as if he had placed six smooth stones into her hand.

She sighed, soothed despite herself, and went with him 'round the back of the stage.

Four figures dressed in grey and black turned toward them. Two held glasses half-full with dark liquid, one had a thin brown stick between two fingers. She watched them coolly as she brought the stick to her lips and drew on it, waking a sickly green spark at the tip.

The fourth member of the group came forward, hands moving decisively against the air, as if he were pushing them away.

"If you please, the band is preparing for the first set! You interfere with our art! Leave at once!"

Aelliana took a deep breath, tasting smoke and spice in the close air.

"It is not my intention to interfere with art," she said, speaking as she would to an excitable student. "We will leave, and willingly, as soon as we have delivered a package to Bre Din sig'Ranton Clan Persage."

The young man paused, and glanced over his shoulder. Aelliana followed his gaze, and saw one of the three at the table—towheaded and plump, wearing a tight, sleeveless grey shirt and flowing black trousers—put his glass down and move slowly toward them.

"I am Bre Din sig'Ranton," he said. His voice was light and slightly blurry, as if they had woken him. "Who are you?"

"I am Aelliana Caylon, pilot-owner of
Ride the Luck
. I have been engaged by Dath jo'Bern Clan Hedrede to deliver a package directly into your hands."

The young gentleman paused at his comrade's side. His eyes were wide and very dark, and there was a—Aelliana blinked—there was a tiny red flower drawn high on his right cheek, near the edge of his eye. He was not, she thought, very much older than Sinit.

"Dath jo'Bern?" He breathed the words, though Aelliana did not know if it was awe or dismay that she heard.

"Indeed," Daav said. "Precisely Dath jo'Bern, young sir. I suggest, if we are not to further disrupt art, that you take delivery of this package, sign the receipt, and allow us to depart."

The girl holding the smoking stick laughed, sharply.

"He has you there, Rose. Sign for the package and finish your juice."

Bre Din moved his shoulders, as if shaking off her voice.

"Where?" he demanded, taking a deliberate step forward.

Aelliana drew herself up, determined not to show concern in the face of his intensity, despite the sudden tightness of her chest.