“I regret the inconvenience; I appreciate that my decision seems sudden,” she told Director Barq. Surely it would seem so to him; it having been her custom for so many years to simply reinitial her contract at the beginning of the Long Interval. This year she had put off that simple custom while she considered requesting a reduced teaching schedule, so that she might spend more time with her ship, learning that galaxy of practical detail necessary to a working pilot.
“I believe, however,” she continued, in the face of the director's unremitting frown, “that there are many qualified to teach the mid-level courses. The seminar, of course—”
“Of course,” he interrupted, and threw up a hand, as would one bested in negotiation. “I had meant to bring this to your attention previously, Scholar, but our paths scarcely crossed this last term. I am dismayed that I must tell you that the college failed to accurately record your ascent to the next level of compensation at the end of last school year—seven Standards with us, and all of them to our honor! Of course, we will be transferring the balance owing to your account immediately. Also, I think you will be very pleased with your bonus this semester.”
Aelliana stared, a sudden and not-entirely-welcome thought forming at the back of her mind.
She had been accustomed to receiving a small bonus, most semesters, which reflected the continued success of the advanced seminar. However, she could not immediately recall that she had ever received an increase in her general compensation. Seven Standards, and she had been so grateful for a huddling place; a door to which Ran Eld did not hold a key; a place to think, and study, and write . . .
“Certainly,” she said slowly, hating the thought that she had been cheated; hated the woman she had been, who had been so poor a thing that she was so easily cheated.
“Certainly,” she said again, to Director Barq's suddenly careful face, “if there has been an error, it should be rectified. I regret, however, that I remain unable to continue my contract with Chonselta Technical College. Necessity . . . necessity exists.”
That was true, she thought defiantly. And if it was her own necessity and none of clan or kin, yet it did exist.
“I will come later today to remove my belongings from my office,” she said. “If there are—separation papers that the college requires me to sign, I will be pleased to endorse them then.”
Director Barq's face closed; he inclined his head.
“Of course, Scholar.”
“Good-day, Director,” she said sadly, and touched the disconnect.
She sat back in her chair, looking out over the morning garden.
You are as a mouse among raptors, Lady Kareen reminded her from memory.
Aelliana sniffed, and shook her head.
“I will learn better,” she told the room at large.
A chime sounded, as if to underline her determination. Aelliana frowned, then rose to go hastily across the room.
The door slid open to reveal Mr. pel'Kana, a sizable envelope in his hand.
“This has just come for you, Pilot.”
“Thank you,” she said, receiving it. She glanced down; but all she saw was her own name, written out in elegant green ink.
“It was delivered from the office of Mr. dea'Gauss,” Mr. pel'Kana murmured.
“I thank you,” Aelliana said, not much enlightened. Surely, she had planned to call upon Mr. dea'Gauss today. Could he have anticipated her request? Or was this Daav's hand once more? She looked up to the waiting butler.
“Mr. pel'Kana, I will be driving into the city soon. Could you tell me where I might find . . . the car lent to my use?”
He inclined his head. “I will have your car brought 'round, Pilot. When do you anticipate leaving?”
“I—” She glanced at the envelope, then over to the clock. “In half a glass?” she asked.
“Certainly. Is there anything else?”
“Not at the moment. I thank you.”
“Very good.” He bowed and departed, walking stately down the hall.
The letter covering the packet gracefully directed her to review the enclosed account transfer forms, sign each at the place indicated, and return two sets of the three to the office of dea'Gauss, in Solcintra, address appended. She could, she learned, assign a password to each account and manage them herself, or she could assign management, in whole or in part, to Mr. dea'Gauss and his staff. Had she any questions, she was invited, most warmly, to contact him.
Aelliana flipped the letter over and riffled the first clipped set of papers, located an accounts list, with balances, among the appendices, and ran an expert's eye down the page.
Carefully, she pulled out the desk chair, and, carefully, sat.
She flipped back to the first page, and was very soon in possession of the fact that certain monies (itemized list in Appendix A) were transferred from Daav yos'Phelium Clan Korval to Aelliana Caylon Clan Mizel to be hers fully, without restraint, and without condition, to use wholly as she judged fit.
There was more, language specifying that the grant was to herself personally, and a great deal of what she judged to be mere formality, in order to sanctify the contract in the eyes of another qe'andra and the Accountants Guild.
What there was not, was any explanation of why Daav should be giving her—her personally—so very much money, not to mention what appeared to be a small house or holding in the Hayzin Mountains.
Aelliana reassembled the papers and slid them back into their envelope with the letter from Mr. dea'Gauss covering all, exactly as it had been. She could not possibly accept so much—not from Daav. If this was some High House notion of seeing to her comfort—
She bit her lip, recalling Anne's reassurance that she could afford that exclusive, expensive shop. Daav hadn't paid for her clothes, no. He had merely given her the means to do so.
Well, she thought, pressing the seal on the envelope and rising from her chair, Mr. dea'Gauss had invited her to consult him with any question. How convenient, that she had already determined to call upon him with other business.
* * *
Daav closed the door behind him, and sealed it before going deeper into the clan's closest-held library. Here were shelf after shelf of leather-bound volumes—Korval's Diaries, including the stained and rumpled book that had belonged to the very Founder, Grandmother Cantra, who had first lain down the rules of the clan.
Today, he thought, he need not go . . . quite so far back. He stepped up to a shelf holding more modern, less abused, volumes and ran his fingers down the leathered spines . . .
* * *
“May I,” Aelliana said to the young man at the desk, “speak with Mr. dea'Gauss?”
The young man inclined his head, respectful, but not encouraging.
“Have you an appointment, Pilot?”
Aelliana's stomach sank. A gentleman so highly placed—of course she ought to have made an appointment, rather than rushing in as if—as if this fine office in Solcintra's business district was the Binjali Repair Shop, and someone of the regular crew certain to be about to aid her.
“I beg your pardon,” she said to the young man. “It did not occur to me to do so. Perhaps I might make one with you?”
“Certainly,” he said, his fingers touching the keys set into the desktop. “Your name, please?”
“Aelliana Caylon.”
The young man's busy fingers paused.
“Ah . . . ”
“I understand that there is a great deal of demand upon his time,” Aelliana began—and paused when he raised his hand.
“Pray forgive me, Pilot Caylon. I will inform Mr. dea'Gauss of your presence. Please, allow Ms. pen'Dela to guide you to one of the private parlors.”
He must have touched a key, for here came a young woman who scarcely looked past halfling, dressed in sober business clothes, her face formal, and her bow precise.
“Pilot Caylon, please. Follow me.”