Mouse and Dragon (7 page)

She laughed, and waved her free hand, capturing the yard, the car, and the office in one fey movement.

"If it will please my copilot to produce our ship?"

Our ship
. The words thrilled him. It was what she had offered, before—and she had almost died of his refusal. Had he been with her the next morning, when her brother had come to Binjali's in search of her . . . 

"Has my copilot," Aelliana asked teasingly, "
forgotten
where he left our ship?"

"Indeed no!" he assured her, rallying. "See? I have a map drawn right here on my palm."

He made a show of turning his free hand up, subjected it to a moment of frowning study and strode off, deliberately long-legged, but not so much that she had any trouble keeping up.

* * *

"A hotpad!" Aelliana threw a hand out and caught Daav's arm, calculating the expense between one breath and the next.
Ride the Luck
had money in her account, of course, but she was no wealthy merchanter.

"Forgive me, Pilot," Daav said seriously, looking down into her face. "I should have said—this is where I bring my own ship down, when I fly to Chonselta. A courtesy of the yard, and no expense attached."

Korval Himself
, she reminded herself, yet again. Of course there would be a hotpad available for the delm's use at a Korval yard.

She sighed and looked up at him. "I am . . . somewhat unused . . . to such courtesies."

"Perhaps you should try to accommodate yourself," Daav said, still in that tone of utter seriousness. "Aelliana Caylon will doubtless be extended like courtesies."

"For a few days, perhaps," she said, frowning. "But it will soon be forgot, you know—our lift."

"If you insist. However, I would point out that the ven'Tura Revisions are not so easy for pilots to overlook." He nodded at the ship, sitting proud and beautiful on her hotpad.

"Shall we?"

"Yes!" she said decisively. "We shall!"

She went up the ramp first—her right as pilot and owner. Her hands were steady as she slotted the key. The hatch opened and she stepped inside, aware of Daav's presence at her back, but more than that—aware of the presence, the
actuality
of her ship.

Before the tragedies of yesterday, she had loved
Ride the Luck
as well and as truly as she had been able. Though it had given her the courage to defy Ran Eld, she now knew that emotion for a weak and impotent thing. What filled her now was heat and light; awe and pride—there was no power of which she could conceive that would wrest this ship from her care.

Half-dazed, she entered the piloting chamber, putting a hand on the back of the pilot's chair to steady herself. Her hand showed stark against the white leather, the Jump pilot's ring flashing in the test lights from the waking instruments.

"We could lift now, this minute," she whispered. "Set a course for up and away . . ."

"Aye," Daav answered softly, "so you could. Nothing holds you here but gravity."

Stricken, she turned, one hand rising toward him.

"No," she breathed, "More than that,
van'chela
."

He came forward one short step, and took her hand between both of his. His skin was warm, the band of Korval's Ring cool. She felt longing, and a hesitant sadness.

"Aelliana, if you must lift—"

She raised her free hand and set her fingers across his lips, stopping the words. He grew very still, as if he had turned off his very thoughts.

"In fact," she said, voice shaking, "I must lift. To Binjali's Yard at Solcintra Port. Pray, do me the honor of sitting my second."

Her heartbeat was overloud in her ears: one, two, three, fo—

Daav pressed her hand and released it, moving slightly to one side, so that her fingers fell away from his lips.

"The honor will be mine, Pilot," he said, with careful gentleness. "However, we should settle a thing, before proceeding further."

He leaned over and placed her box on the copilot's chair. Straightening, he considered her out of serious black eyes, then bowed, with deliberation.

She was not much accustomed to moving in the polite world, and for an instant the mode confused. All at once, she had it: delm-to-one-not-of-the-clan. She bit her lip, and took a breath as Delm Korval looked down at her.

"It is possible that Korval has presumed," he said, the High Tongue striking her ears like so many crystalline pebbles. "Pilot Caylon, speak your truth without fear of offense. Is it your wish—and yours alone—to be taken into Korval's protection?"

Aelliana took another breath and met his eyes. The shift in
melant'i
had been unexpected, and momentarily shocking, but she found herself much more at ease than she had supposed she ever would be, come face to face with the most powerful delm on all of Liad.

"If it must be said before Korval to be true," she said slowly, "then I say that I wish—very much—to come under Korval's care. That I share this desire with Daav only warms me; it does not compel me."

Korval inclined his sleek head and reached into his jacket. A moment later, he held out to her a pin in the shape of Korval's sigil, the Tree-and-Dragon.

"Wear this whenever you venture beyond Korval's grounds. It will mark you out as one who rests beneath the Dragon's wing."

"I thank you," Aelliana said, formally, and took the token from his hand. By the time she had affixed it to the collar of her jacket and looked up, Daav had her box stowed in the net between the pilot and copilot stations, and was webbing into his chair.

"Lift for Solcintra, Pilot?" he asked, looking up at her with a half-smile that made her chest tighten.

"Lift for Solcintra it is," she said, with as much composure as she was able, and took her place in the pilot's chair.

Home is where the heart is.
—
Terran proverb

 

The Luck
settled sweetly onto its coldpad. Aelliana gave the board one last, comprehensive sweep—all lights green—looked over to her lanky copilot and smiled.

"Please tell Tower that we are berthed and will be taking systems down."

He nodded and touched the comm key. "
Ride the Luck
down, Binjali's Yard. Pilot Caylon's putting her to sleep."

"Affirmative,
Ride the Luck
. Welcome home, Pilot Caylon."

She took a breath and, when Daav did not immediately close the line, another.

"Thank you," she said, pitching her voice as if to be heard at the back of a crowded classroom. "I am pleased to be home."

Daav nodded, flicked the key off, and began to shut down the copilot's station.

"Accustom myself?" she asked him, her fingers moving effortlessly along the controls, as if they knew what to do of themselves.

"Tower did seem sincere," he answered, his tone so bland that it could only mean mischief. "You will notice that they did not welcome
me
home."

"That was very wrong of them," she said, matching his intonation as nearly as possible. "Open the line and I shall have them make amends."

He laughed, and gave his board one last flick before leaning back in the chair, grinning.

"In truth, it is . . . a relief to be ignored. And I would not have Tower abused."

"Abused!" Her hands had finished shutting down the pilot's board. She spun her chair to look at him. "As if I could abuse anyone!"

"Could you not?" he asked, and there was a thread of seriousness beneath the mischief that gave her pause.

"It is true that I . . . struck Ran Eld," she said slowly, "but my object—as Trilla has taught me—was to run away."

He appeared to consider that, his gaze straying over the dark board.

"The difficulty with running away," he said slowly, "as with most solutions, is that one must judge when it will answer—and when it will not."

He focused on her. "I do not say, in the case, that running away would not have served you, and well. But, sometimes, we must stand and fight, Aelliana, and be deliberate in the mayhem we choose to inflict."

She bit her lip, feeling again the blaze of her anger, the smooth swing of her arm, the jolt, when the back of her hand, weighted with the Jump pilot's ring, connected with her brother's cheek.

"I fear that I was not . . . thoughtful in the inflicting of mayhem."

His lips twitched. "Happily, the knack may be acquired."

"Through practice?"

"Alas."

"And yet, I don't know that I could . . . coldly . . . harm someone. Without anger as an impetus . . ."

"Anger is a chancy copilot," he said, suddenly rising, arms over his head. When his stretch was done, he looked down at her, his expression almost sleepy. "As I have cause to know. Does it please you to exit, Pilot? The hull is cool."

Jon dea'Cort was leaning over the workbench, eyeshields on, using what seemed to Aelliana to be one of Patch's whiskers to tweak the internals of a device no larger than her palm. A few steps out, she hesitated, not wishing to disturb his concentration, but he spoke without raising his head.

"Back already, are you?" he asked, his tone distinctly grumpy.

"Indeed, we are, Master," Daav answered, and Aelliana saw Jon's shoulders stiffen.

Carefully, he withdrew the probe and placed it on the bench, straightened and pulled the eyeshields up and off.

For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Indeed, he seemed to Aelliana to be cataloging her face, her person. She stirred, stilled—and Jon smiled.

"Pilot Caylon. You're a bold sight, child."

Her eyes filled. "Jon—" She swallowed, unable to find words adequate to the riot of emotion that enveloped her.

"Jon—I thank you, for . . . for all of your care."

"There's no need to thank me for that, math teacher," he said, turning away with a sudden briskness and peeling off his gloves.

"And yet," Daav murmured, "one might be grateful for the sunlight at the end of a bitter night, and thank it, most sincerely, for its warmth."

"Lecturing your elders again, Young Captain?"

"It's this standing at the head of my clan, you see," Daav explained earnestly. "It puts the most absurd notions into one's head."

Jon considered them both. "Finally got 'round to telling her, did you?"

"Too late, as you'll make your point, but yes."

"It is not Daav's fault that my brother is—was—an aberration," Aelliana stated firmly.

"That's said fair enough," Jon said. "But you would never have had to endure last evening's adventure, if you'd known your copilot for a Dragon."

Aelliana tipped her head. "Possibly that is true, but it hardly matters now. And, if I had not been the target of Ran Eld's anger one more time, then I would not have had the Healers, and I—I think that having the Healers was a very good thing, indeed."

"There are less risky roads to a Healer, math teacher," Jon said, and threw up his hands. "I bide by your judgment, and not another word from me."

"For now," Daav added, sotto voce.

The elder pilot snorted. "So, the past being past, have you taken thought for the present, or the future?"

"For the present," Aelliana said, "I have accepted Da—Korval's protection."

Jon's eyebrows rose. He looked to Daav. "Protection, is it?"

"Is there a problem, Master Jon?"

"Why ask me?" He looked back to Aelliana. "All right, that's a reasonable course. And the future?"

"The future . . . must still be determined." Her chest was once again tight with conflicting emotions. "I need time to think, Jon. So
much
has happened since yesterday . . ."

"No need to make excuses for taking thought," he told her. "Just remember your comrades, eh?"

"Of course I shall! You will doubtless grow tired of seeing me, and answering my questions, for you know, Jon, I am still quite desperately ignorant about—so many things!"

"Well, we can't have that," he said comfortably. "Recall that you and I have a meeting with the Scout Commander and a tour of the World Room before us."

"On Trilsday," she said. "I remember. Jon?"

"What's on your mind, math teacher?"

"When is Clonak's next shift? I—I must speak to him."

Jon's gaze slid to one side—to Daav, Aelliana thought, and wondered what information passed from old Scout to younger in that rapid glance.

"Clonak's off these next few days," Jon said, carefully, to Aelliana's ear. "He said he had some business to lay before his father."

"Oh." Aelliana bit her lip. "I had hoped to speak with him—soon."

"As it happens," Daav murmured, "I have Clonak's comm number. I might, if you wish, and after you are settled, call him and ask if he will speak with you—or when you might meet him."

"Thank you," she said, much relieved. "That will answer. I don't wish to leave him in distress . . ."

" 'Course not," Jon said, gruffly. " 'Course not."

* * *

Aelliana had been silent for some time, her head turned slightly away from Daav, paying attention, so he thought, to the spectacle of Solcintra Port. The vehicle they traveled in was smaller than the car loaned for his use in Chonselta, and far more nimble. Had he been driving only himself, he would have made use of several of the smaller ways known to him and so put the port behind him sooner. With his passenger so rapt, he drove along the main thoroughfares, at a mostly decorous speed, and kept his tongue between his teeth.

They had cleared the gate and were into Solcintra proper, when she stirred and looked over to him.

"Is Clonak High House?"

She knew Clonak's surname, which ought to have given her the answer, but Aelliana appeared to have never learned the teaching songs matching Lines to Clan. Or, he thought, she had forgotten them, as less important than mathematics, or, perhaps, survival.

"ter'Meulen belongs to Guayar, certainly," he said gently. "And Guayar holds place among the Fifty."

She nodded as if she had suspected as much, and her face grew more serious.

"In that case, I feel that I must speak with Clonak—very soon, indeed. I do not wish to count myself too high, but the tenor of his message leaves me to fear that these matters he intends to put before his father might have to do with a, a strike against Mizel."