He went back outside and glanced at the sky. A few clouds were moving in, but nothing threatening. Still time to work on those radian draws he had been mending for the transport. He had a run to make the following week, and he wanted the airship to be fully operational well before then. He was thinking Chrys should go with him. It was time she began taking an active interest in the business. Still only fifteen, she was wild and impetuous, just beginning to recognize her lack of interest in authority and fully engaged in finding out how much trouble she could get into. At least, that was what he perceived. His mother was more tolerant, seeing Chrys as a young girl growing up and still finding herself, while Paxon saw her as trouble on the prowl.
Like the time she found a way to haul the Radanians’ tractor onto their barn roof. Or the time she put twenty live pigs in the butcher’s bedroom. Or the time she and three others went down to a council meeting to protest involvement with an irrigation plan that potentially would have dammed up the Borgine River and killed thousands of fish, dumping vats full of dead fish on the chamber floor to emphasize their point.
Or all the times she stayed out all night with boys. Or the times she came home from the Two Roosters walking sideways and singing bawdy Highland drinking songs.
His sister needed something to focus on besides finding new and creative ways to entertain herself, and it was time she began contributing more than housecleaning and dishwashing to the family effort. She already knew a sufficient amount about flying airships to help him on his runs, and eventually she would be old enough and might become sufficiently dependable to make runs on her own. In the meantime, she could learn to fly the transport and lend a hand with crewing.
Maybe that would help keep her out of the Two Roosters and similar drinking holes, where she already spent far too much time.
He walked back into the kitchen and began looking through the cold box and pantry. His mother had gone to her sister’s house for a few days, helping with the new baby. So it would be up to him to make dinner for himself and Chrys–assuming his sister put in an appearance. These days, it was no sure thing. He worried for her, and it frustrated him that she paid him so little attention.
You aren’t my parent, she would say. You can’t tell me what to do. Aggravating.
Sometimes, he wished their father were still there. Chrys had grown up too fast and too independent without him there to help rein her in. Maybe he could have exercised better control over her than Paxon.
He shook his head doubtfully. As if anyone could control Chrysallin.
He left the kitchen with a glass of ale and went out to sit on the porch rocker. Maybe he would have to go looking for her, bring her back to share dinner. He didn’t like eating alone. He didn’t like eating while worrying about her. It was bad enough that he had to do everything when their mother was away. Chrys didn’t seem to think she had any responsibilities at all. She acted like she could do what she wanted and that ought to be the way of things.
She acted like a child, he thought, fuming. She acted like no one mattered but her.
But she was a child, of course. She was fifteen–and when you were a fifteen–year–old girl, no one else mattered but yourself.
She had a good heart; he would concede that. She was kind to others, especially to those in need of kindness and less fortunate than she was. She was quick to lend out or even give away what she had to those who didn’t. She could be your friend in a heartbeat, if she saw you wished it. She stood up for what she believed in. She would not back down or be intimidated. His memories of her growing up softened his momentary frustration. She would get back to who she had been; he was sure of it. She would be all right in the end.
He finished off the ale and took the empty tankard back into the kitchen. He should go down to the airfield and work on mending those radian draws, he thought for the second time in the last few minutes. He should forget about Chrys and dinner until the day was a little farther along. Worrying about the future seldom did anything to help improve it. If you wanted to do something about the future, you had to put some effort into it. That usually involved working on something that would make the future you sought more attainable.
As he was going out the door, he glanced once more at the ancient sword above the fireplace. It’d be nice if you could make things better just by using magic. If you could skip the work part. Even if you could only do it once.
Staring at the sword, he wondered suddenly if his life was going in the right direction. He was flying freight on airships because his father had. He was running the family business because he was the oldest, and if he didn’t do it no one would and his mother would have to sell. But was this what he really wanted to do? Or was he just marking time, doing what was easiest, taking on the familiar and not risking anything?
The front door flew open.
“Paxon!”
He turned around to find Jayet, one of the serving girls at the Two Roosters, standing in the entryway, looking distraught. “What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.
“Your sister!” she snapped. “That’s what’s wrong. You’d better come right away!”
Chrys. Of course it would be Chrys.
He didn’t argue with Jayet. He just did what she asked and went out the door behind her, working hard at keeping up because she was striding ahead so quickly.
“What’s she done now?”
“Gotten herself in trouble. What do you think?”
Jayet was small and tough, physically compact, emotionally cool, and a bulldog at everything she did, which made her perfect for working at the tavern. She was Chrys’s friend–or as much of a friend as anyone could be to his sister–always there when it mattered, ready to keep Chrys from getting in too deep with whatever mad scheme or stunt she had taken it into her head to try out.
Her mop of spiky white–blond hair bounced as she glanced over her shoulder at Paxon. “She got into a dice game. There were five of them, all locals except for this one man, who claims to have flown in on business from the Southland cities. Doesn’t look like a businessman, but who knows? Anyway, I’m not paying much attention to them. No one’s causing any trouble–Chrys included–when all of a sudden she leaps up and starts screaming at him. Just screaming like she can’t stand to be in the same room with him.”
“He did something to her?”
“He cleaned her out. He threw five sevens, a sweep, took the pot and everything that was bet. Including what she wagered and didn’t have on her. Apparently, she was so confident about winning, she told him that if she couldn’t pay him one way she would pay him another. He took her at her word, but I don’t think she saw it the way he did. Chrys would never agree to anything like that.”
He assumed not, but his sister was growing up fast and the boundaries of what she would allow might be expanding.
“Anyway, she claimed he cheated. The other players backed right off, refusing to get involved. If Chrys hadn’t been so furious, she might have thought twice, too. This man didn’t look like the type you wanted to go up against. He told her she lost, so if she couldn’t pay, she belonged to him. That was the bargain. She told him what he could do with his bargain, and when I left they were standing toe–to–toe with everyone else standing back.”
They were past the yard and down on the road now, heading into the city. He could see the sprawl of buildings below, the businesses surrounded by residences, the airfield situated south, and the barracks and training field for the home guard and airmen set west.
“No one got between them? Not even Raffe?”