Traitor's Son: The Raven Duet Book #2 (15 page)

“That’s good,” said Jase, with a sincerity he wouldn’t have felt little more than a week ago, when he and Mr. Hillyard had met. “I’m sorry you had to pay more.”

“I’m not,” said Mr. Hillyard. “Oh, I’d like to have paid a bit less. But the price you’re willing to pay is a measure of the value you’re buying. And I value what I bought.”

Jase frowned. “I thought . . . Doesn’t a business always want to pay as little as possible?”

“On one level, yes,” the client said. “But unless you’re being pretty stupid when you research your investments, you get what you pay for—and one way or another, you pay for what you get! When I was just starting out I picked up an old mall, in what I thought was a fantastic deal. I figured I’d just clean it up a bit and turn it around. Make a huge profit. Turns out it had antiquated energy systems, and some of them were leaking. A quarter-million dollars in rebuilding and environmental impact fees. I was lucky to break even on the project.”

“Anyone can be scammed,” said Jase sympathetically.

“Probably, but I wasn’t scammed. Or if I was, it was me doing the scamming. What I got was worth just about what I’d paid for it. Everything’s a tradeoff, one way or the other.” Mr. Hillyard leaned back and closed his eyes. “It usually balances out in the end.”

So maybe those ancient Ananuts had been on to something. Jase wondered if telling his grandfather that his father was making balanced trades would soften the old man, but he doubted it. And was his grandfather’s attitude toward his son so unbalanced because the deal his father had made on behalf of the resort was unbalanced too?

Jase didn’t know, but it might be a good question to ask—if he could get his grandfather to open the door in the first place!

***

Flirting with a speeding ticket all day, Jase reached Valdez in time to catch the last water shuttle with five minutes to spare.

This late shuttle wasn’t so crowded, which meant it wouldn’t need to make many stops. On the other hand, there was no way to keep the crew from noticing his presence. At least there were no football players onboard.

The girl who was posted at the back of the lounge to answer tourists’ questions looked up as Jase came in. Her eyes widened in recognition, and then narrowed in dislike.

He vaguely remembered meeting her at one of the ceremonial feasts his grandfather had insisted he attend. She was pretty, not much older than he was, and she’d been nice, explaining that he didn’t have to eat the traditional cakes of pressed fat, that a lot of people surreptitiously dumped them, but that he’d better compliment Mrs. Hennison’s fruit of the forest pie. And the pie had been delicious.

Now, making his way to the stable center of the boat, Jase could feel the girl’s hostile gaze on his back. Hanging his coat over the seat gave him a chance to look again; she was scowling at him and talking softly into the boat’s com mike.

His grandfather was about to learn that Jase was coming. No surprising him.

Jase settled himself with his com pod and waited out the trip. Since it was the last run of the day, when they entered the inlet a steward put the coffee urn on a cart and brought it around, offering passengers a free cup. To reward them for their determination in reaching the resort so late, he said.

It was free, because after this trip they’d have to dump whatever was left in the urn to clean it for tomorrow. Jase, who’d grabbed a fast-food meal to eat in the car almost four hours ago, would have liked a cup. But after a shuttered glance in his direction, the steward pronounced the urn empty just as it reached Jase’s row.

He told himself not to be paranoid. It was the end of the day and the urn could simply be empty. But Jase had gotten subtly bad service before, from Natives who recognized his name. It was yet another reason he’d rather spend the night at his grandmother’s house than in the resort.

Surely his grandfather, as a shaman, had to help someone who had a problem with spirit-walking dreams?

When Jase got off the shuttle, he saw that the gossip grid had gone into overdrive—his grandmother was waiting on the dock.

“Hello, love.” Her hug was warm enough to soothe the sting left by the ferry crew. “I have to say, I wish you hadn’t come right now.”

“Why? I know it’s late, but frankly, I was hoping that might encourage Gramps to put up with me for a night.”

“Ordinarily it might, but . . . there’s something going on in the village lately. Something I can’t put my finger on, but people are angrier at your father, angrier about the resort, than they’ve been in years. There’s even been some vandalism. Traditional symbols of banishment and bad luck painted on the outbuildings, that kind of thing.”

Now Jase understood her worried scowl. The resort was the financial mainstay of the village, whether they liked it or not.

“What happened? Did the resort lay down some new policy? Threaten to bus tourists into the village, or cut off the scholarships or something?”

“No. And that’s what I can’t figure out. There’s something stirring people up, but when I talk to them, the ones who’re still speaking to me, they can’t even say why they’re so angry
now.
”

“Have you seen any strangers hanging around?” Jase asked.

“No. Just the hotel guests. Why?”

It had been only a few days since he’d healed the taiga. The enemies hadn’t found Jase yet, so they couldn’t have found his grandparents. “No reason, I just . . . Why are people mad at you? Gramps fought the resort tooth and nail. And you’re his wife.”

“I’m also your father’s mother,” she said. “And I refused to take sides between them. I’m on desk duty in the main lodge tonight.” For the first time, Jase noticed the crisp uniform blouse under her sweater. “Kathy got sick, and I promised to fill in for her. Or I swear I’d walk you home myself and drag you through that door, no matter what your grandfather says.”

“If you’re supposed to be at work now, won’t you get in trouble?” Adding to his grandmother’s problems was the last thing Jase wanted.

“I’m on break,” she told him. “If I’m not back on time Lisel will cover for me, but I can’t stretch it to forty minutes to walk you home and come back. Probably an hour, if I allow time to argue with your grandfather. I don’t get off till midnight, but I’ll call and tell him to let you in—and that you’d better be there when I get home! It’s my house.”

Jase grinned at her. “Then with Gramps being such a traditionalist, I should be there when you get off, shouldn’t I? I’ll see you later.”

She smiled, but the worry lingered in her eyes. “What did you come here for?”

“Those shaman questions I had for Gramps last time have gotten more”—he didn’t want to worry her—“interesting. Gima, do you know if anyone in our family, any of my ancestors, had dreams where they walked in the Spirit World?”

He’d become so accustomed to thinking in those terms that he didn’t even feel stupid saying it. But her expression closed, as if he’d turned into a stranger.

“Why do you want to know?”

Was this one of those Native cultural things he kept tripping over? But even if this was something you weren’t supposed to discuss in public, or with people of a certain age or gender, surely his grandfather the shaman would talk about it.

“It’s part of what I have to ask Gramps,” Jase said. “It’s for a . . . a project. Don’t worry about it.”

The look she cast him then was more worried than it had been before. “I suppose you have to deal with him. Maybe this is a good place to start. And Jason? The answer to your question is yes.”

She turned and went back to the hotel, presumably to call her husband and give him admittance orders.

Jase walked down the path past the golf course, feeling more encouraged than he had for a while. An Ananut matriarch, which his grandmother surely was, laid down the rules for her house.

If he could just talk to the old man, maybe he’d be able to sleep in a bed tonight! If not, he was heading back to the Tesla, even if he had to hire a plane to come get him!

At ten in the evening, the sun was running down a slanted path that would intersect with the northern horizon around midnight. The trees cast long shadows across the trail, interspersed with patches of golden light, and he heard the soft rush of waves on the distant beach.

The village seemed to be empty when Jase went through, which was odd. It was late, on a work night too, but when the sun was up so long people liked to take advantage of it. Some people, Ferd was one of them, hardly seemed to need sleep in the summer.

Jase wasn’t one of those people, but he was surprised not to see more of them out on the streets.

A mop of black fur on long spindly legs lunged at the fence, barking, when Jase went by. A deeper voice bayed in answer somewhere nearby.

The Ananut had never used dogs much. They started their trade circle paddling up the Copper River or down the coast in long dugouts, which they’d obtained trading with their Tlingit neighbors. And although dog sledding was still a popular sport, the days in which every dog in Alaska was a husky were long gone. Jase thought the black mop might be a poodle, without the silly haircut. Another dog, tethered to its shed with a long chain, stared at Jase and then lifted its lip in a silent snarl. It looked to be half Lab, and half something scruffy. All the dogs were properly confined, because dog packs were too dangerous this close to the resort. Aside from the dogs, the village might have been deserted.

Jase actually found himself missing the usual hostile stares.

He marched up the steps to his grandfather’s porch, knocked, and was deeply relieved when the door opened.

“Gramps, I’m glad you’re here. I need to—”

“Was your father right, to break the corporations and bring in the resort to destroy our way of life?”

“Gima said she was going to call you,” Jase protested. “But we can talk about that, and other things too. Inside.”

“She did call.” His grandfather’s mouth tightened. “But it’s my house too—tradition be damned! Was your father right?”

“He may have been wrong,” said Jase. “About some things. But we’re still your fam—”

His grandfather went in and shut the door. Jase threw himself at it, and was twisting the knob when the lock clicked.

“Hey!”

The d-vid came on inside. Jase thought about kicking the door, but the way his luck was running he’d break his toe, and he refused to spend hours sitting on the steps like an unwanted package. He’d have to go back to the resort and wait for his grandmother to get off her shift.

Jase started back down the street and then stopped. The big black poodle had gotten out, and now stood in the middle of the street, staring at him.

Jase had never had a dog, and he didn’t know much about them.

“Good boy,” he said. “I’ll go around on this side, right?”

With a vague notion of territory, Jase chose the side of the street opposite the dog’s yard, but the dog crossed the street to stand in front of him. The low sound it emitted, wavering between a whine and a growl, didn’t sound friendly.

Jase looked for its owner, but the street was still empty.

“Hey!” he called. “Your dog’s loose.”

The d-vid in his grandparents’ house was so loud, he could hear it faintly from where he stood, but that was the only human noise.

The poodle trotted toward him, and Jase backed away. The poodle came faster.

Jase ran for the next gate, lifted the simple latch and bolted through, banging it closed behind him just as the poodle arrived.

The dog was growling now, but it was outside the fenced yard—and this fence, designed to discourage deer, was higher than Jase’s head.

“Ha,” he told the dog. “They’ll call your owner to come get you. No treats for you tonight.”

Though if fury against his father was running as high as his grandmother said, they might reward the beast as soon as Jase’s back was turned. As long as they came and got their dog, he didn’t care.

Jase walked up the graveled path to the house. It had mixed flower and vegetable beds beside it, and this early in the year the cabbages were only slightly bigger than normal. Jase would have sworn he saw a curtain at one of the windows twitch as he approached, but no one answered his knock.

A scraping sound made him turn—the poodle was digging at the gravel under the gate.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Jase knocked again, louder. These houses had been built almost two centuries ago and most residents, like his grandparents, hadn’t even bothered to install doorbells, much less intercoms. But that was because the houses were small enough you could hear it when someone knocked!

Jase banged on the door, no longer caring if it sounded rude, but no one came. The poodle tried to squeeze under the gate, though only its head emerged on the other side.

Jase tried the knob and found the door locked. People in this small safe village hardly ever locked their doors. Maybe the back door would be open. He climbed off the porch and headed around the house.

The poodle was digging more quickly, its curly head matted with dirt from its attempt to crawl under the gate. Without the fancy haircut, it looked more ferocious than any poodle should. Jase increased his pace to a jog and hurried up the steps to the back door—also locked. But the gate at the back of the yard wasn’t.

He leaped down the stairs and onto the grass, so his footsteps wouldn’t be as audible as they were on gravel. He could sneak away while the poodle was still digging, get a good head start. Surely if its prey was out of sight, the dog wouldn’t follow him.

Why had it chased him in the first place? His father hadn’t done anything to its way of life. And even if its owners were angry enough to set their dog on three-sixteenths, poodles weren’t that kind of dog. Were they?

Taking care not to let the latch clank, Jase eased the gate open. It was in good repair, and didn’t creak when he closed it behind him.

The houses were close enough that Jase could hurry down the alley behind the cottages without the dog at the front gate catching sight of him. Jase hoped the stupid thing dug for hours, and that the house’s owner tripped in the hole—serve them both right!