“You be coming to dinner tonight?”
“Don’t think so, Bug, everything I own is starting to smell, so I’ve got to do a wash and my hair’s so gungy, if I leave it much longer it’s going to rot and fall off.”
“Don’t you like us?”
“It’s not that. Truly, Bug. I just need some time to catch up on all the stuff I couldn’t do because of the Harrowing.” She made a face, looked around the long narrow room, and sighed. “Button things up for me, hm? I’ve got to get some air.” She laughed at the face he made, gently tapped his cheek as she turned to leave.
There’s another problem, she thought as she climbed up the stairs to the double doors that locked the vault away from the main part of the warehouse. She tapped the code into the keyplate and waited for the door to slide open. I think he’s getting the notion of pimping for his father. Away to keep me here. Ba da, can’t even trust Bug.
She glanced up at the landing m front of Grinder’s office. He was leaning on the stair rail, watching her. With the weight of his regard heavy on her shoulders she left the warehouse and walked briskly along the street, stepping over the drunks and ignoring the beggars. At least half of them were watchmen anyway, with Panicbuttons in their pockets to warn of security raids or challengers to Grinder’s rule or even the chance stray from straighter regions of the Izar.
Grinder’s notions-ba da, they scare me. So far I’ve managed not to see what he’s getting at, and Jaink be blessed, he hasn’t pushed me on it. But with Bug starting up… I think its about time I went somewhere else. Or I’ll end up in an urn in that poor sad garden.
When she reached her home street, she stopped at Okin the Baker’s shop for a fresh loaf of bread, traded sass with his oldest daughter, a fine freckled girl with a plain face but lively eyes and a livelier mouth, got a ready cooked bird, a cup of noodle soup, and a dollop of tuber salad from Sutega’s Take Out next door, declined Halfman Ike’s offer to sing her a song if she showed him her legs, and went laughing to her doorway, feeling better about things.
A man stepped from the street as Lylunda fitted a key into a lock. She swung round to face him when his shadow fell on the door, her hand going to the belt where the stunrod couched.
“Elang-mun Lylunda?” He wore a black leather vest with brass buttons and a round badge pinned high on his shoulder, the sigil of the courier service drawn with blackened silver wire set into the white ceramic surface.
“Courier? Whose?”
“The Anaitar of the Erzain. Hizuffi-jaz Gautaxo.” He bowed, touched his fingers to his brow and mouth. “And you are Elang-mun Lylunda?”
Her father. Not only her father, but the top cop of the Behilarr secret police. She’d known his name, but not what he did. He knows about you, Meerya said, the words almost lost in her struggle for breath. He’s very important so he can’t acknowledge you, but he asks about you all the time. It was him paid for your schooling. He did love me, you know. And he held you when you were a little thing. But she didn’t tell me who he was or what he did. Anaitar of the Erzain. Expeditor of the Question.
Lylunda’s face went tight; she took the key from the door, held it in her hand as she moved away. He stepped aside as she got close to him, followed her from the recessed doorway and into the street where his guards were waiting. A short distance off Halfman Ike had parked his wheeled box against a light pole and was juggling two of his knives. And she recognized one of the layabouts from near the warehouse. She turned to face the courier and the two guards who stood a short distance off; no one from the High City ventured into the Izar alone. “Yes. So?”
He bowed again, handed her a paper folded three times and sealed.
She broke the seal and read what was written.
One finds it necessary to summon you and speak with you. The Courier will bring you to the Erzainzala where speech is possible without ears to hear. There is no question of arrest or detention. You will be returned to your residence when the interview is complete.
She tore the note in half, tore it again and again until it was reduced to small fragments. “Hold out your hand. You’d best see he gets these back. I’m to come with you?”
“If you will, Elang-mun.”
“I need to put my purchases away.”
“We will wait, Elang-mun. Though it would be best not to linger.”
“Yes. I can see that.”
5
In the office wing of the Erzainzala, Lylunda sat with her head against the cushions of the comfortable chair, her eyes closed as she listed to the horrible bland noise no one with ears could call music. In this small waiting room there was nothing else to do. She tried not to think of the look on Grinder’s face when she called him to let him know what was happening. He smoothed it out and said with a genial smile that he knew she wouldn’t buy herself loose with his business and he wanted to hear what this was about as soon as she got back. Come over to the house, he said, and tell me exactly how it went.
She was sweating. She pushed back the hair that was sticking to her face. If I go in Grinder’s house, chances are I won’t come out again. Joj’ the house! If 1 go back through the Izar’s gate, I won’t see free air…
“Elang-mun?”
Who else, taik? She got to her feet, followed the young woman down a short corridor and into the side door of a large corner office.
The man had the broad body and big head of a highbred Jaz, with dark hair still and the perfect silver streaks above his ears that marked his caste. She stared at him and knew her mother hadn’t lied. This was her father; neither of them could mistake that. Her face was a female image of his.
He glanced at her then looked at the pile of fac sheets on the desk in front of him. He took up the first, lifted his head again. “You are Lylunda Hang. Daughter of Meerya Elang.”
“Yes.”
“Read this. I acquired it. It was not sent to me.”
She took the sheet, glanced down it. Her name. Her description. Description of her ship. A short summary of her activities for the past five years. Jaink be blessed, they’d missed a few things that would make her unwelcome in just about any stratified culture, let alone here. A request from the Kliu Berej to the Dukkerri of Hutsarte that she be sought for and, if found, turned over to the Kliu for unspecified crimes against the economy.
She returned the paper to the desk and waited.
“You’re cautious,” he said. “Good.” He tapped a sensor, dropped the sheet into a sudden hole in the top of the desk, and watched it reduced to its constituent atoms. “To this point special notice has not been taken of that request. The minimum was done as a courtesy, government to government. Official records were searched without result and the Kliu so informed. If they are persistent and reach the right official, there might be difficulties. Should an order come from the Duk’s desk, I could not ignore it.” He hesitated. “I find you interesting,” he said finally. “If the world and life were different, I’d like to spend a while talking with you. As it is…” He tapped the sensor board. “Alert Eketari,” he said, then turned back to Lylunda. “Your connection with Grinder Jiraba makes it imperative that you get away immediately. I will see to that.”
“I expect you will. If you’re finished with me?” She stood. “I’d like a Courier to escort me back to my apartment. I have things there that I’ll need.”
“We’ll deal with that in a moment. Walk to the clan shield on the side wall, then back to your chair.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll have you whipped if you don’t. Walk.” – He kept her walking about the room for several minutes: About midpoint in her peregrinations, while her back was turned to the door, a woman came in.