“Here!” Killashandra pointed without hesitation to the spot, equidistant from the northern tip of the triangle and the sides defined.
He gave her shoulders a brief squeeze and moved off walking slowly across the thick carpeting, hands behind his back. He tilted his head up, as if the blank ceiling might give him back a clue to the tortured reasoning of a dying Crystal Singer.
«Part of the Milekey transition is a weather affinity. A spore always knows storm, though its human host may choose to trust instrumentation rather than instinct. Keborgen was old, he'd begun to distrust everything, including his sled. He would have been inclined to rely on his affinity rather than the warning devices.» Lanzecki's bland expression cautioned her against such ignorance. «As I told you, the symbiosis loses its capabilities as the host ages. What you haven't accounted for in your program is Keborgen's desperate need to get off-planet during Passover – and he hadn't quite enough credit to do so. A cut of black crystal, any size, would have insured it. Those shards would have been sufficient. My opinion is that, having cleared them, he found he had a flawless cut. He ignored both the sled's warnings and his symbiont and finished the cut. He lost time.»
He paused behind Killashandra again, put both hands on her shoulders, leaning slightly against her as he peered at the overlay.
“I think you're nearer right on the position than the others, Killashandra Ree.” His chuckle was vibrant, and the sound seemed to travel through his fingers and down her shoulders. “A fresh viewpoint, unsullied as yet by the devious exigencies of decades spent outwitting everyone, including self.” Then, releasing her when she did not wish him to, he continued in a completely different tone of voice. “Did Carrik interest you in the Guild?”
“No.” She swung the console chair about and caught a very curious and unreadable movement of Lanzecki's mouth. His face and eyes were expressionless, but he was waiting for her to elaborate. “No, he told me the last thing I wanted to be was a Crystal Singer. He wasn't the only one to warn me off.”
Lanzecki raised his eyebrows.
“Everyone I knew on Fuerte was against my leaving with a Crystal Singer in spite of the fact that he had saved many lives there.” She was bitter about that, more bitter than she had supposed. While she knew it had not been Maestro Valdi's fault, if he hadn't initiated the hold on her, Carrik and she would have been well away from Fuerte and that shuttle crash; Carrik might still be well.
But would she have become a Singer?
“Despite all that is rumored about Crystal Singers, Killashandra, we have our human moments.”
She stared at Lanzecki, wondering if he meant Carrik's saving lives or warning her against singing.
“Now,” and Lanzecki walked to the console and touched a key. Suddenly, the triangle of P42NW down to F43NW in which Killashandra hoped to search was magnified on the big display across the room. “Yes, there's plenty of range totally unmarked.”
At that magnification, Killashandra could also discern five paint splashes. Within the five-klick circle centering on the paint splash, the tumbled gorges and hills were under claim. A Singer could renounce his claim by listing the geographical coordinates, but Concera had told Killashandra that such an occurrence was rare.
“You could search an entire ravine and still miss the hoard inside the face,” Lanzecki said, staring at the target area. “Or come a cropper with the claim's rightful owner.” He reversed the magnification, and slowly the area was reduced until it faded into the rocky wrinkles surrounding the bay.
"Monday you will go out. Moksoon is not willing. He never is. But he's trying to get off-planet; with a decent cut and the bonus for shepherding, he could make it this time.
“Killashandra?”
"Yes, I go out on Monday. Moksoon is not willing but for the bonus – "
“Killashandra, you will find the black crystal!” Lanzecki's eyes took on an uncanny intensity, reinforcing his message and the strength of his conviction that Killashandra Ree was an agent he could command.
“Only if I'm bloody lucky.” She laughed, recovering her equilibrium as she gestured to the vast area she'd have to comb.
Lanzecki's eyes did not leave hers. She was reminded of an ancient piece of drama history: a man had hypnotized a girl, a musical idiot, into vocal performances without peer. She couldn't recall the name, but to think of Lanzecki, Resident Master of one of the most prestigious Guilds in the Federated Sentient Planets, attempting to . . . ah . . . Svengali her into locating the nardy precious black crystal was ludicrous. Only she couldn't suggest that to Lanzecki, not when he was regarding her in so disconcerting a fashion.
Suddenly, he threw up his head and started to laugh. He abandoned his whole body to the exercise, his chest caving in, his ribs arching, his hands spread on his thighs as he bent forward. If anyone had told her five minutes before that Guild Master Lanzecki was capable of humor at all, she'd have thought them mad. He collapsed into a seating unit, his head lolling against its back as he roared.
His laughter had an oddly infectious quality, and she grinned in response. Then laughed, too, to see the Guild Master so reduced in dignity by mirth.
“Killashandra . . .” He gasped her name as the laughter subsided. “I do apologize, but the look on your face . . . I've thrown the reputation of the entire Guild into jeopardy, have I not?” He wiped moisture from the corners of his eyes and straightened up. “I haven't laughed in a very long time.”
A wistful quality in that last remark made Killashandra change her reply.
“They used to say at Fuerte that I'd have been a good comic singer if I hadn't been so hipped on leads.”
“I find nothing comic about you, Killashandra,” he said, his eyes sparkling as he held out his hand.
“Dramatic?”
“Unexpected.”
He took the hand she had unconsciously extended, caressing the palm with the ball of his thumb before turning her hand over and dropping a kiss in it.
She caught her breath at the spread of sensation from her palm through her body to the nipples on her breasts. She wanted to snatch her hand from his but saw the tender smile on his lips as he raised his head. Lanzecki had his eyes and face under control; his mouth betrayed him.
The pressure he exerted on her hand to draw her to him was as inexorable as it was gently and deftly done. With her across his thighs, her body against his, and her head in the crook of his arm, he brought her hand again to his mouth, and she closed her eyes at the sensuality of that delicate kiss. Her hand was placed palm down against warm skin, and she felt him stroke her hair, letting one curl wrap round his finger before he dropped his hand to her breast, lightly and with skill.
“Killashandra Ree?” His low whisper asked a question that had nothing to do with her name but everything that pertained to who she was.
“Lanzecki !”
His mouth covered hers in so light a caress that she was at first unaware of being kissed. It was so with the rest of her first experience with the Guild Master, a loving and sharing that paled into insignificance any other encounter.
CHAPTER 8
When she gradually awakened the next morning, she found his fingers lightly clasping her upturned hand. Her slight movement of surprise caused his fingers to tighten, then caress. Opening her eyes, she turned her head toward him, to meet his eyes, sleepily narrow. They were lying, she on her back, he on his stomach, stretched out, the only point of contact the two hands, yet Killashandra felt that her every muscle and nerve was in tune to him and his to her. She blinked and sighed. Lanzecki smiled, his lips relaxed and full. His smile deepened, as if he knew of her fascination with his mouth. He rolled to his back, still holding her right hand, now pulling it up to kiss the palm. She closed her eyes against the incredible sensation the lightest touch of his lips created within her.