Jinx on a Terran Inheritance (9 page)

One of the techs eyed him calculatingly. "We do noses, sir." It sounded flirtatious.

Several hours later the two rode a tram to an interview with Redlock and Dorraine.

Floyt had accepted repair work on his nose and, once the surgeon had promised that they'd cause no aftereffects, immunizations.

Colonel Chase had also called in a colleague, a specialist named Captain Twain, a very handsome middle-age woman who eclipsed the female techs in her own subtle way. Twain brought a dental unit with her and, in an astoundingly short time, initiated the growth of teeth to replace the ones Alacrity had knuckled loose. She also fit Floyt with a temporary retainer to keep the space open and the surrounding teeth in place until the new ones came in.

Alacrity settled for the immunization updating and another check of his rib. It was doing fine. He cleaned up while the team was seeing to Floyt. Then the two companions tried to doze, but in spite of all they'd been through—"Because of it," Floyt grumped—they hadn't managed to sleep.

Eventually the steward reappeared. Wearing the last clean clothing they had, they trailed the man to a large hatch. He handed each of them a voluminous blue-red fur greatcoat, saying, "His Excellency and Her Majesty are waiting for you in the winter garden."

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

They already knew
King's Ransom
was filled with surprises. "But, 'winter garden'?" Alacrity pondered.

The steward worked the hatch and stepped aside.

They entered an antechamber paneled in some highly polished wood that looked like pink maple. The hatch closed behind them, leaving them alone. After a few moments—they'd both begun sweating again

—the other side of the foyer swung away.

Neither, of them could do anything but bug-eye and laugh with delight. They were in one of the environmental domes that blistered the
Ransom's
hull, jewels of the Faberge egg. This one looked to be about sixty meters across, but it was difficult to tell, because the center was occupied by a little hill crowned by an octagonal gazebo. Foliage and landscape features hid the dome's base.

Besides, the snow was falling rather heavily.

"Please join us," a voice called. Dorraine and Redlock were sitting together in the gazebo, watching white flakes lazily drifting down.

"It's so
quiet
here," Floyt said softly. He could just about hear the infinitesimal hiss of snow.

"Everybody knows I have been here and there," Alacrity breathed, "but this is just the cat's posterior!"

Pulling the greatcoats tighter, they picked their way up the hill, their breath fogging in the cold air. The snow was ankle deep but they both had boots on. Their footsteps and breathing sounded unnaturally loud.

Floyt couldn't make out what mechanism produced the snow; though stars were visible out the sides of the unclouded dome, overhead was only blackness. The lighting that softly illuminated the gazebo, the hill, and the rest of the place was so subtly arranged that Floyt and Alacrity couldn't see any of its sources.

And what was falling was genuine snow, big fuzzy crystals of it, not simply sleet or frozen chemicals.

Alacrity caught a few flakes on his tongue; they tasted wonderful.

The landscape was winter-stark. There were a few green perennials that neither of them recognized; the rest of the foliage was bare bushes and trees layered with white. There were rocks and even a stump, and what looked to Alacrity like a low stone prayer wall carved in the style found on Llahsa.

The gazebo was draped with withered vines and ivy. It was open to the air, its sides low dividers of white latticework. The roof was low-peaked, covered with several centimeters' accumulation of snowfall. Wooden benches lined the walls, the only furnishings in the place.

The governor and the queen sat close together under a thick fur coverlet the color of their winter garden.

Dorraine was all in white as well: stole, cossack hat, and a muff big enough, it occurred to Alacrity in file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...aley%20-%20Jinx%20on%20a%20Terran%20Inheritance.htm (44 of 320)19-2-2006 17:12:28

[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

passing, to hold those cute derringers plus a few landmines for luck.

Her husband's greatcoat was a deep, silver-gray; he was bareheaded. He was more at peace than they'd ever seen him.

"Don't ever sell this place, folks," Alacrity pleaded. Dorraine and Redlock didn't seem to mind the familiarity.

"Yes, you can hear yourself think in here; that's why we like it," she said. "In some matters the previous tenant had good taste."

The previous tenant, as Alacrity and Floyt had had it explained to them, was a planetary monarch with the bad judgment to provoke the late Director Weir and his good right arm, Governor Redlock. The vessel had been called the
Versailles
in those days; Redlock claimed her as part of the terms of surrender.

"You both look much, much better," Redlock greeted them. "Won't you sit down?" He pegged a snowball out one side of the gazebo. It flattened against a denuded tree with a
pok
!

"About what happened at the harp—" Alacrity began.

"If you start asking us questions or telling us things you shouldn't, you'll only force us to take official notice," Dorraine warned. "That would ruin everything. Please, seat yourselves."

There was no lap fur for the two companions, but stray snowflakes dusted off the benches easily, and the greatcoats made sitting comfortable.

"We're running out of fingers and toes, counting up what we owe you both," Floyt said.

"Do keep your shoes on, Hobart; you've done us a few good turns too." Dorraine smiled. Alacrity and Floyt couldn't help smiling back; that was just how they felt about her.

"I don't know how those intruders outflanked us," Redlock resumed, "but—am I wrong in saying things would've gone for the worse if you two hadn't been there?"

They both shook their heads vigorously:
oh, no-no-no.

"But we really didn't have much choice, once the spitting started," Alacrity pointed out, honesty triumphing for once.

Floyt tried to suppress his excitement, asking himself,
Could they possibly be planning to take us to
Blackguard? Please, please!
He felt a little faint; it seemed too much to hope for.

"I wish we could do more for you," Redlock said evenly. "I have obligations that demand my immediate attention."

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[Fitzhugh 2]-JINX ON A TERRAN INHERITANCE

"We know how important your alliance with the Severeemish is," Floyt assured him, trying to sound sincere, quashing the impulse to plead for the loan of one piddling little starship, or money for the fare.

His conditioning had him queasy, his head was throbbing, impelling him to do just that.

"My options are also limited by certain promises I've made to Grandam Tiajo," Redlock continued. "I cannot give you money. I cannot permit you passage in a Weir ship beyond this point. I cannot offer you assistance of any kind once you debark
King's Ransom."

Alacrity scuffed his boots on the gazebo floor and looked at Floyt, who shifted uneasily and began, "We understand, really we do—"

Dorraine wore a faint grin.
"Teh
! Don't look so glum! We arranged for you to earn a little traveling money, didn't we? Bear with us, fellows, and maybe you won't have to walk all the way to Blackguard, however far that is."

Alacrity, eyes closed, had risen a bit and leaned his head back over the bench and divider, catching fleecy white hex-lattices on his face.

"I haven't been able to discover any explicit information on the place," Redlock said. "Director Weir apparently kept everything he knew about it in his head, or banked somewhere inaccessible to the rest of us. How did you plan to tackle the problem, Alacrity?"

Alacrity opened his eyes again. "Everything's happening so fast. Our only choice was to go to the spaceport and start asking. I thought maybe we'd try to locate a Forager lashup."

"Not very promising."

"No. Governor, you're looking at two guys who're open to any and all input. Fire away."

"You're trying to track down a rumor, essentially. I'd say to begin with the kind of people to whom that rumor's important. You have money to pay for information now. Why don't you begin at a Grapple?"

Floyt held his tongue, not wanting to sidetrack the conversation with "What's a Grapple?"

Alacrity's brows knit. "It's not so easy to find one of
those
either."

"Have you ever been to one?"

"A
real
Grapple? Well, no. I mean, I've been to some Turnouts, some fairly rough ones. And lived in boxtowns, Forager lashups. But still—"

There was a chime from the direction of the entrance. A tall man in a parka appeared, gawking around him in amazement. Redlock hailed him and the man started up the hill.

"You'll kindly allow me to do the talking," Redlock ordered pleasantly. He got no argument from them.

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"Who's he?" Alacrity inquired softly, out of the corner of his mouth.

"Amarok, an Innuit-Esker from Quaanaaq-Thule," Dorraine said in a hushed voice.

Amarok stopped at the gazebo's entrance, studying those within. He was youngish, perhaps two years older than Alacrity. The Innuit-Eskimo descendant was also taller, a good bit over 200 centimeters. He had to bend forward to enter.

Amarok bowed low before Redlock and Dorraine. "Your Excellency; Your Majesty. This One is very grateful for your kindness to a poor traveler. One hears tales of the winter garden, but those are far short of the mark. Someone deems Himself most fortunate to see it with His own eyes."

"Does it resemble your homeworld?" Dorraine asked.

A tiny smile touched the broad face. "That's somewhat like comparing a perfect little
bansai
to the jungles of Last Ditch, Your Majesty. Still, Quaanaaq-Thule is beautiful to those who live there."

"Ah; I see."

There was a bit of silence, Redlock not yet choosing to speak, Amarok not daring to move his eyes from the august personages to scrutinize Floyt and Alacrity. It gave them a chance to look him over.

He had the flat Mongol features of his Terran forebears, dark oriental eyes, and fine, straight hair, black as the night outside the winter garden, worn in bangs low across his forehead. He had a thin down of mustache and a complexion that reminded Floyt of Yumi's.

The governor broke the silence at last. "Your trading venture goes well?"

Amarok tried to make his hesitation as short as possible, but he gave that one a little thought. "As Your Excellency may already know, yes, Someone did quite a bit of trading. But He is afraid His profit margin will only barely cover the cost of the voyage this time out. If that."

Redlock gave him a frank look. "I'm aware of your business skills, Amarok, and that you've already made your family wealthy several times over. But your humility is praiseworthy."

Amarok showed the distress any trader feels when a government official talks knowledgably about his balance sheets.

"After all," Redlock went on, "we'd hate to have you suffer losses through your dealings with the Weir Domain."

"Hee! This One never meant to give that impression, Your Excellency! Things have been most propitious, indeed, to be sure."

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"Fine, fine." The governor nodded slowly. "I would certainly wish to know if there was anything we could do to help our friend Amarok."

"Someone is most honored and beholden for your generosity, Your Excellency."

Redlock waited expectantly. Amarok was too good a trader to miss the point.

"And of course, presumptuous as it may be for This One to say this to the lord of nine stellar systems, if there is anything, any favor that lies within Someone's modest powers—any way in which He might show gratitude and His boundless admiration for Governor Redlock and the Weir Domain—"

"Now, that's a very decent thing for you to say, Amarok; how kind!" The governor seemed to consider the concept for the first time.

"And since you raise the point, there's something—oh, but it would be too great an imposition … "

Amarok grew distressed. "Please don't give that any thought! It is Someone's honor and His delight!

How many times One has wished to make known His esteem for Your Excellency!"

"If you insist. These two here beside me are Citizen Hobart Floyt and Master Alacrity Fitzhugh. For their own reasons, they wish to attend the upcoming Grapple."

"Grapple, Governor Redlock?"

"Grapple. I thought you might advise them as to how to get there."

"
This One,
Lord? But Grapples are iniquitous gatherings. What would Someone know of them?"

"Ah, my error. I'd heard that you've been known to attend them. So I was told by Deputy Minister Nightweather—who's in charge of commerce regulations and, oh, preferential trade agreements."

"A splendid and noble man to be sure, Your Excellency. Does This One take it then that these gentlemen here wish to book passage or charter His
Pihoquiaq
?" Amarok asked without much optimism.

Redlock's response was flat. "They don't. They want to attend the Grapple and perhaps receive some guidance there. Naturally, if it is in the least inconvenient for you to suggest anything, dismiss it from your mind altogether. Deputy Minister Nightweather informs me that the trader
Munificent
of Tillman Quendal is due soon. Maybe Quendal will have a helpful thought."