"To keep a long tale as short as I might—I found a pilot-taker and Clarence, he having been on the same scent. We took her together, but alas we could not keep her. As I was shortly thereafter called back to the Scouts, Clarence mounted a thorough inspection, aided by my mother, and the predations—stopped.
“I had until this day always believed that Clarence was as earnest in keeping his port safe for pilots as was Korval, and that the thief we had taken together—was as little of his as she was Korval's. Now, these reports, they raise suspicions, and while I am not happy to entertain them, yet they must be invited in and scrutinized, despite—or even because—I would rather not.”
Aelliana twisted, drawing her feet up and he shifted to allow her room to lie down, her back tight against his chest, her head under his chin. He put his arm around her, his hand resting on the mound of her belly.
“You intend to do something,” she murmured. “What is it?”
“Can't you read it?” he teased.
“I can't,” she confessed. “Which makes me believe that you don't know.”
“Well reasoned. In fact, the only thing I can think to do is as my mother did before me: Send me down to Low Port to spy out what I might.”
That was accompanied by a thrill of positive dread, whether it was hers or his scarcely mattered.
“Low Port is very dangerous,” Aelliana murmured. “You had said it yourself.”
“So it is, but I am stealthy.”
“Will you go with Clarence?”
“That would rather defeat the purpose,” he pointed out. “In fact, I would hope to pass through and come out again without him knowing I had ever arrived.”
“You will take Er Thom, then.”
“What? With Anne about to be delivered?”
“It is nearly six weeks before the child is due. Surely, you don't plan that long a visit?”
“I don't,” he said shortly; she read clearly that there was no moving him on that point.
She took a breath, considering the problem. Surely, he was correct; if some agency operating out of Low Port was taking pilots and endangering ships, then that agency must be discovered and destroyed. However—
“You will take me, then,” she said, firmly.
He was silent and perfectly still for the space of two heartbeats. Then, he rubbed her belly gently and spoke. “That I will not.”
“Daav—”
“Aelliana, it is not as if this were my first foray; I have been to the Low Port many times. I intend to go in, look, listen, and speak with a few people who are known to me. At best, I will find a clue that Clarence's folk have overlooked, or a route that they have not explored. At worst, I will verify that we stand against ghosts who lure the unsuspecting into the mists and steal their self-will. I do not say that I will be as safe as I am this moment, nor that it will be possible to avoid a fight. However, I do think that I may contrive to come away again with nothing more distressful than a dirty face, and in good time for the birth of our own child.”
“To go without a partner is not wise, van'chela. Consider Avontai, where one of us would not, I think, have prevailed. The situation required both.”
“Ah.” He relaxed slightly. “At Avontai, we had to step forward. In Low Port, I will keep to the considerable shadows, and become the most invisible Scout you never did see.” He rubbed his chin against her hair.
“While it is often wise to to be partnered, in some instances, it is best to go quickly, quietly and alone. Two draw the eye in Low Port. One, who does not wish to be seen, is . . . less likely to fall into peril. And, you know, it is not as if I were entirely without backup. You know where I am going and that I intend to deprive myself of no more than two nights with you. If I fall astray, you will do as you see best, Delmae.”
He would not be argued and there didn't seem to be, she thought, any way to stop him, short of holding him at gunpoint. Nor, in truth, was she at all certain that she should prevent this foray. The situation was serious, and growing more so. Korval was ships, and ships required pilots, never minding the clauses in the ancient contract between the Captain and the passengers which she had only lately been set to study, along with the various diary entries that must be known to the delm.
“When do you go?” she asked quietly.
He sighed. “Tonight.”
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Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Thirty-Four
Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.
—Terran Proverb
“Boss?” Rof Tin waited until the door was completely closed behind him. “There's a lady here to see you.”
Clarence looked up from his screen. Rof Tin had been in the front office for about a local year; quite a distance from the Low Port honeycomb he'd come up in. His Terran was vernacular, his Liaden low class, and his understanding—usually—quick. There wasn't much that rattled him, but right now, Clarence decided, he looked decidedly uneasy.
“A lady?” he asked, probing for more information.
Rof Tin ducked his head, halfway between a bow and a formal inclination of the head. “She says she's a friend.”
Clarence sat back. On the one hand, the Friendly Lady was an old, old ploy. He thought his various enemies on-world and off had moved beyond the basics, but maybe there was somebody new testing the Boss' defenses.
There was always somebody new.
On the second hand . . .
“It'd be a shame and a discourtesy to keep a friend waiting,” he said, setting his screen to one side, and giving a thought to the hideaway nestled snug up his sleeve.
He nodded. “Show the lady in.”
Rof Tin bowed, triggered the door and stepped into the foyer.
“Please,” he said, in a mode recognizably that of Child-of-the-House-to-Guest; “Boss O'Berin will see you.”
The lady stepped inside, both hands out in plain sight, good pilot leather on her back, and pretty far gone in a family way.
The door closed.
Horror threw Clarence to his feet and into the dialect of his youth.
“For the love o'space, woman! What's he thinking to let you come down here to me?”
She tipped her head, green eyes considering. Before he could wrap his tongue around the proper Liaden, she had smiled and inclined her head.
“From New Dublin you are?”
New Dublin was a lawful world, as far away from where he'd come up as Rof Tin's honeycomb was from High Port.
“No, lassie,” he said, gently. “I lived in deeper than that.”
“Ah. It is you speak as Anne speaks, in Terran.”
“Not surprising. The Gaelic Union seeded a lot of colonies.” He shook himself and stepped 'round the desk to set the chair more comfortably for her.
“Sit down, do,” he said, finding his Liaden again in the mode of Comrade. “Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you, no.”
That was prudent, at least, he thought, trying to approve her sense. But—
He sat down again behind the desk. “Aelliana, why are you here?”
“I have urgent business with you,” she answered, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the galaxy.
“Very well. But, I advise: If it happens again that you have urgent business with me, send a message and I will meet you at Ongit's. It's not seemly for you to come to me.”
Also, he added silently, it was damned dangerous. What the blue blazes was Daav thinking?
“Surely it is seemly, when I must ask you to grant me a boon.”
He stared at her, suddenly chilly. “What boon?”
Aelliana inclined her head. “You are the delm of Low Port. I ask safe passage.”
“I'm not the delm of Low Port, I'm the Juntavas Boss on Liad,” Clarence said, grateful that Comrade allowed one to instruct without insult. “There's no guarantee of safe passage through Low Port, Aelliana. Not even for me.”