WARP world (28 page)

“Interesting,” Fi Costk said, “that your prize pupil’s first mission lands on such a vita-rich world, while contracted to an ambitious House with a high risk tolerance.”

Jarin nodded. “Fortuitous for him. His initial exercise could establish his career beyond reproach.”

“Or destroy it. Though I doubt he finds many obstacles to his path. In the political sense,” Fi Costk said.

Jarin turned a frosty gaze on him. “You should know me better than that, Adi. I smooth the path for no student. Coddling the weak does not serve the Guild or society.”

“Coddle? No Jarin, I don’t expect you’ve ever coddled anyone in your life,” he tugged at one of his sleeves, then added, “other than the Outer.”

Jarin gripped the edge of the table behind him, refusing to allow the jab of memory to show. “Then what was your implication, Director?”

“I imagine that events will flow smoothly as long as Eraranat carries out your vision,” Fi Costk said as he turned to the door, “and when he doesn’t, you will dispose of him as you have so many other tools. After all, his purpose here is to allow you to leverage more power for the Guild.”

“And what is your purpose here, Adi?”

Fi Costk leveled his eyes on Jarin without blinking, “I’m here to make sure that you don’t steal more than you can carry.”

The door cycled behind Fi Costk. Jarin pulled his hand away from the table and stared at his fingers as he flexed them to restore circulation to his fingertips.

So, the stalemate was over. To be expected, he supposed, though in his grand scheme he had not foreseen his student participating in a venture worthy of Director Fi Costk’s firsthand scrutiny so soon. As he had guided Segkel here, Jarin would have to carry out his part of the design as well.

Segkel had no idea just how complicated his mad vision was going to make things.

The
Naida
had never felt cramped to Ama until this morning. As she rushed through her preparations, she bumped into Seg at every turn. Each collision prompted either an awkward, mumbled explanation or an equally awkward silence.

Once she had chosen a set of appropriate clothes for Seg, from his wardrobe, and plucked out objects suitable for the expected offering, she set about the task she loathed most: taming her hair. Certainly, she would never pass for a real Lady but she managed to comb, twist and pin the locks into submission and something resembling a style.

Hair, as it turned out, was the least of her concerns. A good portion of her body was bruised and marked from the events of the past few days, most noticeably her face, thanks to Geras. Their plan relied on passing through the temple unnoticed; her battered body wasn’t going to help with that.

Choice was not a consideration when it came to her attire. She owned only one set of fluffery.

She tugged the layers of silky fabric over her aching flesh. Luckily, the dress was long, which covered her legs, torso and part of her arms. The wide, silver nove she wore for formal occasions hid her dathe. Before leaving, she would be careful to hang her leather nove on the hook next to her mother’s likeness. This still left her face and arms exposed.

Some sort of cover was needed; Ama frowned as she picked through a pile of charts, tools and rope.

“No time,” she muttered, then looked down at the dress. She lifted the top layer, grabbed her knife and hacked off one of the lacy under layers. This she cut and fiddled with until she had something resembling a shawl and veil.

Up close, Stevan might notice the marks beneath the gauzy layer but it wasn’t anything new to him to see his sister busted up from one of her crazy misadventures or Port House brawls. Hopefully, this homemade shift would make her somewhat less conspicuous.

She placed her knife on the stern bunk, then picked it up again.
Best to be prepared
, she thought, lifted her dress and strapped the weapon to her calf. She rolled her eyes as she picked up her dress shoes and squeezed her feet into them.

Last of all, she draped a silver chain around her neck. Dangling from the chain was a pendant. Inside the ornate cylinder was the furien she would use to knock out her brother, should she need to.

Ama picked her way through the boat, her steps made necessarily small by the restrictive garb. She started up the stairs then paused to double check that the padlocks were secured on the cargo locker. T’ueve wasn’t some seedy northern port town crawling with thieves but Seg’s mechanisms were too valuable to leave completely unprotected. Satisfied, she climbed to the upper deck.

In the distance, she spotted the cartul and porters waiting. Seg was at the bow, looking every bit the Lord. Ama gave him the formal bow of a Kenda to her future husband, almost tipping over in the process.

Seg smoothed a hand over his hair. Ama looked ridiculous in the fanciful dress of the planet. He had grown accustomed to her usual, more rough and ready appearance.

A sheer layer of fabric, covering her face, was lifted by the wind, revealing a red welt. His own wounds he had cleared up using the same device that had sealed the cuts on his arm and shoulder. He had not considered her various bumps and scrapes or the spectacle they would present, but then he had never needed to worry about the needs of another. And she had done well to look after herself and not jeopardize their cover.

“You return the bow like this,” Ama said, then bent forward, hand open, palm facing upward, right forearm across the stomach, left arm mimicking the same motion, in reverse, behind her back. “Always keep your eyes on me, never lower them.”

Seg performed the motion. The auto-med and a stim dose had cleared his head significantly. However, he would have to avoid any future brawls. Recon auto-meds were small, designed for short-term emergencies, and his was nearly depleted.

“Good,” Ama said, once he was upright. “At the temple, with the Shasir, you bow like this.” She repeated the motion but with both hands held in front, palms up, as if she were holding a platter, eyes directed to the ground.

“Level of gaze indicates relative status,” he said, mostly to himself, then performed the bow. “Very common. And in a patriarchal society, such as this, a man would never lower his eyes from a woman, particularly one who is of a lower caste.”

“If you mean I’m not as important as you because I’m a woman and a Kenda, yes. That’s the general idea. And that means you’ll have to deal with the driver and porters,” she nodded in the direction of the waiting servants. “That part will be easy. The sky spooks have a lot more rules–I’ll fill you in on the ride up.” She stood back to appraise his appearance. “You’ve got the cavich backwards, hold still.”

She leaned in to adjust the decorative band that hung over his left shoulder and his eyes moved to the silver neckpiece she wore.

“Do all of your kind have gills?”

Ama’s fingers stopped. She spoke in a low voice, “You mean dathe? No. I’ve only known of one other Kenda who had them and…” she resumed her fussing. “They’re very rare now, I may be the last to have them, for all I know.”

“Unique,” Seg said, his tone matter-of-fact.

“You can’t speak of them,” she warned, “to anyone.”

“Are they…” A figure stalking down the dock caught his eye. “Your brother has returned,” he said, his muscles tensed.

“Stupid, stubborn gresher,” Ama grumbled, hiked up the dress and charged down to the dock to intercept Geras. Seg noticed the knife strapped to her calf; the corners of his mouth pulled up for a brief second as he followed behind her.

“What in the…” Geras stopped short, his eyes jumped between Ama and Seg, then settled on his sister. “What are you trying to pull now? I told you you’re going home, putting on some fluffery isn’t going to change that.”

“And I told you not to give me orders,” Ama crossed her arms over her chest.

Geras pointed to the
Naida
, “Go change out of that ridiculous dress and pull anchor.”

“Or what?”

The two faced each other in silence, the wind plucking at the loose edges of Ama’s dress and veil. Seg stood a pace behind Ama. It wasn’t his concern but, by the Storm, this familial squabble was taking up a great deal of time.

“Move aside,” Seg said to Geras, as he walked past him, his Damiar persona firmly in play. When he was on the other side of the man, he extended his hand. “Ama, we’re leaving.”

Ama hesitated a breath, then placed her hand in Seg’s and let him draw her to his side.

Geras spun to face his sister. “You leave this dock, and I’m taking the
Naida
home myself. The minute I’m back at the Banks, I’ll sell her for scrap.”

Ama’s mouth opened, she lunged forward but Seg held her back.

“Do so and I will see you sent to Correction for theft of my property,” Seg said, his voice calm.

“Your property?” Geras looked from Seg to the boat, then laughed. “You expect me to believe you bought this junk heap?”

“Hardly. No, I expect you to believe I bought the captain of this junk heap. Your sister and I have an arrangement.” He let go of Ama’s hand and tugged down on the cuffs of his overcoat.

“You’re lying.” Geras’s shoulders rose.

“He’s not,” Ama hooked her arm through Seg’s. “I told him about the problems with my license and my family’s threats. Lord Eraranat agreed to purchase the
Naida
and transfer ownership to his name, leaving me on as captain. And I agreed to be his wife.”

“Wife?” The anger in Geras’s eyes was overlaid with shock, and then suspicion. He spoke to Seg in a growl, “What do you want with her? She’s only a Kenda.”

“Who is soon to be the sister of a Shasir’threa.” Seg paused to allow for the Outer’s next outburst. When none occurred he continued. “The connection suits my needs, as a man of business. It also suits me to have a wife who is indebted to me, whose family has no power and therefore no authority over me, and who understands that I, as her better, will know absolute freedom within our union. Your sister, for all her shortcomings, is pragmatic and not prone to the sort of romantic nonsense that infects so many of your class.”

Seg’s words showed on Geras’s face as if he had been lashed.

“You can’t do this,” Geras said to Ama, but there was no authority in his tone.

“Why not?” Ama’s words were choked. “You sent Wirch Jorrett to me with the same proposal. Lord Eraranat’s offer was simply a better one.”

“Ama, I know you’re angry but…”

“You all wanted me on a leash,” she spat out the words. “You’re only angry because I’ve chosen who will hold that leash.”

Geras was reduced to silence once more.

“We have to leave,” Ama said, eyes on the boards of the dock. She slid her arm out from Seg’s and walked to the waiting cartul.

“I won’t let you take her from her family,” Geras said to Seg, once they were alone. “I don’t care who you are.”

Seg surveyed the overly emotional man in front of him and wondered if all the Kenda were as irrationally devoted and passionate as the specimens he had encountered so far. “You are very loyal,” he commented and dissected Geras with his gaze. A seed of an idea planted itself inside him. “Under different circumstances, this would be useful.”

Consumed by new possibilities, Seg ambled away.

The temple came into view long before they arrived at the front gates. High stone walls surrounded the temple grounds on three sides. On the fourth side was nothing but cliff, where the river plummeted down to a large, frothy pool below.

Through the cartul window, Seg watched the temple grow larger. Impressive. The People didn’t go in for grand, inspiring architecture. The inhabited portions of the World were largely functional, etched in stone and built from the recycled materials of nearly a thousand years and more of careful re-use. Defense against the Storm was a must, as well as from those who had gone rogue to the wasteland, and roaming bands of escaped caj. Precious water was not allowed to flow down cliffs, uncollected.

He didn’t look forward to the next part of the journey, to his deferential act before these lowly Outers who thought themselves kings, but he was a pragmatic man, and this was his best opportunity for a very well-targeted raid.