Mr. dea'Gauss rose from behind his desk and returned the bow.
“It is my very great honor, your lordship.”
Daav shifted in his chair in one of Ongit's private inner parlors. He had chosen one of the smaller, unthemed rooms for this tête-à-tête. For the business he intended to negotiate, a thunderstorm or a waterfall would only be a distraction.
Alas, his guest was late; verging, indeed, on very late. Normally, he might not have minded, but in the extended solitude it was far too easy to wonder after Aelliana, her probable state of mind, and what, if any, damage might come to her through their continued separation. It was she, after all, who bore the weight of the gift. She—he had no idea how much she depended upon the receipt of his “signal”; if such contact nourished her in some manner that only their separation would reveal.
Based on his own experience last night, he doubted that she had slept—but there! He was forgetting where she guested. Most assuredly, the Healers would have provided comfort, to the limit of their House's considerable ability. He hoped she had not held shy of accepting such comfort, though—was it only he with whom she might share such comforts and pleasures? If Mizel withheld agreement, was Aelliana doomed yet again to an existence devoid of all joy?
He came to his feet, eyes stinging. Damn Mizel, he thought, dispassionately. Damn Liad and the ties of clan and kin.
And damn most of all this small, empty room where he had waited too long in vain for companionship of his own. He had been, he thought, in Anne's peculiar phrase, stood up.
He turned toward the door.
Which opened, admitting a slim, red-headed person, wearing a leather jacket over a dark sweater—and limping. Limping rather markedly, in fact, off of his left leg.
“Clarence!” He caught the other man's arm, offering support to the nearest chair.
“Gently done,” came the murmur, as between comrades. At least, Daav supposed that Comrade had been the intention; the mode was just slightly off. He shivered and looked to where the elder Ongit tarried yet by the door.
“Wine, if you will—the house's preferred red. Also, the plate that I had ordered may be brought now.”
The Ongit bowed and went away, soft-footed. It was the most discreet who served private parlors, which is why he had suggested meeting here, but—
“A message saying that you were wounded would have found me, you know,” he said in mild Terran.
Clarence laughed, just a bit breathless. “No, now, it was only a fortunate fall. My own fault, too, so I'm doubly dismayed.”
Daav moved forward and placed another chair across from him.
“Thank you.” The other man brought his leg up, stiffly, and settled his boot on the chair seat with a sigh. He smiled up at Daav. “It's good to see a friendly face.”
“That fall may have been less fortunate than you suppose,” Daav said, but could not bring himself to frown.
The door chimed softly, and opened to admit their server, bearing wine, glasses, and platter. He disposed them about the table, bowed, and retired, the door sealing behind him.
Daav poured, handing the first glass to Clarence. Cradling the second, he settled into his former chair.
“To fortune,” Clarence said, raising his glass with a shaky flourish.
“To the luck,” Daav agreed, holding his glass high.
They sipped—and Clarence sipped again. He sighed, shifted in the chair, and nodded.
“Now, then, what's on your worry plate this evening?”
Daav nodded at the elevated leg. “I think we may be on my topic. It comes to my attention that pilots are once again hunted in Low Port. There are attending lesser tales of cargoes going missing, ships disadvantaged, and crew bewildered. The culprit, according to my information, is the Juntavas, which has grown out of reason bold, and the lightest word from the boss' lips held as law.”
Clarence laughed and shook his head.
“Now, if that were the way of it . . . ” he murmured. He raised his free hand and rubbed his eyes, tiredly.
“I'll admit it sounds like we've got the same old problem. It isn't me causing concern—which I'm bound to say and you to take with as much salt as you like. That done, I'll admit there's some of mine mixed into it. If I don't find out who—and soon—then I'm going to have to choose . . . and I'll tell you, that's a course I hate to fly. Bad for business.”
Daav sipped his wine, chose a savory, and pushed the platter closer to Clarence's hand.
“Thanks,” he said absently, helping himself to a cheese square.
“Surely,” Daav murmured, “you must have something—a hunch?”
Clarence snorted. “Oh, I had a hunch, didn't I just!” He shifted the bad leg meaningfully. “Much good it did me.”
Daav put his glass down.
“But—”
“Concealed gunman, and me not close enough to my best guess to be able to be sure. Nothing wrong with my hearing, at least—” He sent Daav a bright, unreadable look. “A fortunate fall, and no mistake.”
Daav let his breath out slowly.
“My crew lit out after, but lost them—that's been the story lately.” Clarence shook his head. “I want them off my port, mind you; they're causing no end of trouble.”
“I agree,” Daav said. “Perhaps we can pool information?”
“That's all right by me. I'll send what I have tomorrow by public courier—acceptable?”
“Perfectly acceptable,” Daav said. “Clarence—”
“It's late, you know,” the other man interrupted. “Shouldn't you be going home to your wife?”
“I haven't a wife,” Daav said, his voice much cooler than he had intended.
Clarence shot him a hard glance. “No, now, that's not the way to go about it! Get yourself home, man, and make it up.”
In spite of himself, Daav laughed. “It sounds as if you've been married.”
“Happens I was,” Clarence said, soberly. “We were too young for it, o'course. I had my second class, doing in-system work, but still, a lot of lonely nights for him and me not there. We worked at it, but then—it was a hard world, and money wasn't easy, even with both of us working like we did. The fees on a pilot's labor—” He glanced down at his glass.
Daav lifted the bottle and poured, adding some more to his own glass.
“Thank you. In any case, I'd flown my hours and was burning for first class, but we'd never afford the buy-in. Come a woman to port offering to pay it all, and hire me when I had my ticket, if I agreed to do her a favor, if you understand me.” He shook his head. “He wouldn't stand with that, not at all. It was terrible, that fight, but in the end I chose the ticket, and the doin' of that favor.” He drank, deeply.
“And that's how I come to work for Herself as a courier pilot, before she come here to be Boss before she got transferred and I did . . . ” His voice faded out and he looked down at his hand where it rested on his knee.
“And your spouse?” Daav asked, though surely it was no business of his, if Clarence kept a harem.
“Eh?” The other man looked up, eyes distant with memory. “Oh, he left me, and right he was to do it. The doin' of favors, well. Look where it's got me.” He shook his head and offered Daav a half-feral grin. “The choices we make, those're what shapes us. You go on home, now, and make it up with her.”
“In time,” Daav said softly. “Do you have someone here to escort you?”
“Several someones,” Clarence assured him. “They're outside.”
“Then the first thing I will do is see you safely into their care. After, I will indeed go home.”
“If you're of a mind to coddle, then I'm not the one to stop you,” Clarence said. He put his glass on the table and rose, gingerly, most of his weight on his uninjured leg.
Daav offered his arm. “Off we go now, two comrades, deep in our cups.”