She found Cecelia almost dressed, and fiddling with the amber necklace she favored. A flounce of ivory lace refused to lie properly beneath it.
“I need to talk to you about the ship,” Heris said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. . . .”
“So what is it now?”
“Some changes will have to be made.” Heris watched Cecelia as she said it. The older woman had looked tired for the last week, and claimed it had nothing to do with the ship. The Minister? Mr. Smith? The Service?
“Such as?” Cecelia’s voice was tart. “Oh—I suppose we’ll have to have another environmental system, to take care of the extra people?”
“Not really.” Heris ignored the tartness, and went on. “You have four crew who have asked for separation. Three want to stay here, and have applied for employment with Lord Thornbuckle’s personnel. The other wants to leave at the next major Roads. Then there’s a member of your house staff who got pregnant in Hospitality Bay—Bates says he is sure of intent, in this case, because she had pursued even him. And one of your undergardeners—so you see, we won’t be overloaded.”
“What changes then?”
Heris met the problem head-on. “Weapons,” she said. And as Cecelia stared, her mouth opening, she talked on. “You are a very wealthy woman in a very luxurious and capable ship. Remember that you’ve already been used by smugglers. What if they want their cargo? What if they want the whole ship? What if they want you? The places you like to travel are not exactly the safest corners of the universe. We need proper armament—”
“Now that you have gunners, you have to have guns.” So, Cecelia had understood—or found someone to translate—the military specialty codes her new crew members carried. Heris cocked her head; Cecelia could hardly claim to be a philosophical pacifist, not after having shot someone herself.
“What’s the matter, milady? Do you think I’ll deliberately lead you into danger?” Of course, she had done just that, but it was for a good reason.
“No. I don’t know.” Cecelia moved restlessly, her long fingers tangled together. “Things have changed. Before, I knew what I was doing—yes, I was just cruising around having fun, but I knew that was it. Now . . . when I think of leaving here and going off to Roledre for the qualifying trials, or on to Kabrice for the finals, it’s—it’s not that interesting.”
Heris smothered a grin. Better than she’d hoped for. “If it’s bothering you, milady, I’m sure we can find something to do with this ship.”
Cecelia’s eyes narrowed. “Something? You mean you still consider me an idle old lady?”
“You said it; I didn’t. But think; you are healthy and tough, and yet you had smugglers using your ship. Don’t you have friends, equally old and wealthy—”
“Not really,” muttered Cecelia. Heris ignored that.
“—who might have worse parasites aboard than even your Captain Olin? There are,” Heris said, thinking of it in that moment, “other things to hunt besides foxes, and other mounts besides horses.”
“Which prey is beneath the notice of the Regular Fleet?”
“Or too elusive for the less agile. Consider—”
“How many guns, Heris? What size? And do I get to mention cost?”
“No more than we need, no bigger than we need, and I will respect your resources only less than your life.” She didn’t remind Cecelia about the weapons already purchased.
“As you did at Takomin Roads—no, don’t defend yourself; I knew what you were doing and agreed. But from now on, I want to be a member of the hunt staff, not just the owner who pays the fees. You’ll have to keep teaching me about my ship, and let me be part of your plans.”
“You have earned that, and more,” Heris said, and meant it. Cecelia grinned back at her.
“Then let us go down and dazzle the Hunt Dinner, and dance the night away,” she said. “And as for the future . . . a hunting we shall go. . . .” And she grabbed Heris’s arm and led her down the corridor to the main staircase, where Petris, correct in formal dinner attire, waited below. Heris saw his expression shift from surprise through amusement to admiration as she and Cecelia came down arm in arm, singing. “Tan-tivvy, tan-tivvy, tan-tivvy—a hunting we shall go . . .”
“Ladies, ladies! Such unseemly levity!” But his lips twitched. He offered an arm to each, and cocked an eyebrow at Heris. “You settled it, I gather?”
“She was never a military officer, Petris,” Cecelia said with a sweet smile. “She was born to be a pirate. Look at her.”
“I’ll do more than look,” Petris said into Heris’s ear. “Later . . .”
But the tumult of the others interrupted whatever Heris might have said. Already the tall rooms rang with many voices, and more and more men and women in their formal best came down the stairs. Bunny, looking as foolish tonight as he had at first, chatted with one group after another. Then he caught sight of Cecelia, and came over without obvious haste.
“So glad you could stay for the Ball,” he said, including Petris in the greeting with a nod. “We may have a slight inconvenience. . . .”
“Oh?” Cecelia’s brows raised.
“Mr. Smith. He’s eluded the Minister’s manservant again.”
Again? Heris stared; she hadn’t realized Mr. Smith had been loose before.
“Declared he wasn’t going to be sent home like a naughty schoolboy, in an old lady’s yacht with a battleaxe for a captain.” Bunny’s mouth smiled, as if they discussed the day’s run, but his eyes were cold and angry. “As you know the Minister had refused to let me place him under a proper guard . . . but as the Minister does not know, I put a tracer-tag on him. He dashed off to the woods, silly twit. Captain Sigind will bring him in, but I’d like to sedate him and send him up in a shuttle right away, if you don’t mind. I can isolate him in the Station sickbay—”
Cecelia’s expression hardened. “You’ve got every right to lock him in your local jail. On bread and water. Stupid boy!”
“Since there’s a standing watch aboard, milady,” Heris said, “we can have him aboard your yacht straight from the shuttle. Fewer eyes to see, fewer mouths to talk.”
“Fine. Do it.” Cecelia looked angrier than before; Heris couldn’t understand why. Then she changed expression, to astonishment and relief. Heris looked over and saw Ronnie, George, Bubbles, and Raffa. With them was a heavier man whose resemblance to George lay more in manner than in feature. Bunny turned, and waved them over.
“Good to see you up and about,” he said. And to the older man, “And you, of course, Ser Mahoney.”
“I have no quarrel with you, Bunny,” the older man said. “Don’t go formal on me, or I’ll have to start wondering if I should.”
“All right, Kevil. Just so you know I took this very seriously indeed.”
“I can see George, and I know what happened; that tells me you took it seriously. Your lovely daughter was in it too, I understand.” He patted Bubbles on the shoulder; Heris was surprised at the expression on the girl’s face. She had changed, Heris thought, in some way that none of them yet knew—perhaps not even the girl herself. “And of course Cece’s nephew. Those two have never been in trouble alone, or out of it together.” Kevil Mahoney had a trained voice that could carry conflicting messages with ease; Heris watched both George and Ronnie flush, then subside without saying a word. He leaned closer to Bunny, and let that voice carry another weight of meaning with little volume. “And Mr. Smith? How is that estimable young man?”
“He will go home shortly,” Bunny said. His eyelids lowered. “Transportation has already been arranged.”
“Ah. Well, to be honest, Mr. Smith’s travel arrangements do not concern me, at least not this evening. I’m simply delighted to be here for the festive occasion, with both lads out of the hospital and able to enjoy it.” Kevil Mahoney smiled, bowed slightly, and walked off, leaving the young people behind. They heard him call out to someone he knew, and then he had disappeared in the crowd.