Feather stripped, she pulled out the disk, careful not to press any of the depressions. Small. Ordinary. Old-fashioned, from what she’d seen in the stores that sold such things. There were signs of wear. Scratches on the dull gray metal. None deep. It was sturdily built. Made to last.
To carry a message from a dying father.
Why hadn’t hers sent a message? Why nothing from those left behind?
Enris wanted to know what she dreamed that made her cry in her sleep. Wanted to help her find out, so she’d stop.
Aryl’s finger traced the nicked edges of the disk. Oh, she knew well enough.
She dreamed the end of the world.
Every night.
She dreamed the M’hiray were the last of their kind, survivors of a catastrophe so complete, they couldn’t bear to remember it.
Or that they’d caused.
Dreams like that, Aryl thought heavily, didn’t stop. She’d try to wake up more often, before she disturbed Enris. The baby would help there.
“I came as soon as I could, Femmine.”
Aryl looked up, annoyed to have let herself be startled. Not that it was Maynard’s fault. “I kept busy,” she told him.
His lips twitched as he noticed the ruined feathers. “May I sit?”
Courtesy. She nodded, grateful for the moment to recover her calm. Too much sombay. A server delicately caught her attention and she nodded again to bring him to the table. “A drink?”
“Water, please.”
“For you, Femmine? More sombay?”
Aryl shook her head, queasy at the thought.
“More, ah, feathers?”
“I’ve had enough for now,” she assured him.
Once the server had left an iced pitcher of water and a glass for the constable, Aryl pushed the disk to the middle of the small table. “I need to you deliver this.”
Maynard paused, glass halfway to his lips. “You don’t waste time, Femmine.”
She’d wasted hours, Aryl thought, but kept that to herself. “It belongs to a Human, a young child. All I know is her name and that she lives in this city.”
He took a sip, regarded her over the top. He looked almost elegant in the fitted black jacket, symbols in red and gold at cuff and collar. No sign of a weapon, but she doubted he was unarmed. Dressed for the Sun Layer wealthy. Human protocols. “You look different,” he commented.
The baby was bigger. Then Aryl realized he meant the Human clothes. “I’ve been shopping.”
“Expensive place, the concourse.” With this oblique comment, he put down his glass and stared at her. “I didn’t think KaeCee could afford it.”
KaeCee? Aryl’s confusion must have answered some unasked question, for Maynard colored and leaned back. “My apologies. Let’s start again. May I know your name, Femmine?”
“My name.”
“You know mine.” He had a pleasant smile.
There was no harm in it, Aryl realized. She was a property owner on his world—hers too, now. The First Chosen of Sarc shouldn’t hesitate to deal with local authority.
In fact, that was probably her responsibility, too. Enris, she decided, would be laughing at her right now.
“My name is Aryl di Sarc.” She tapped the disk. “I need you to find the person this belongs to and make sure she receives it. Please.” Her hair slid over her shoulders as if to add its encouragement. She shoved it back.
His eyes dismissed the hair. “So that’s not evidence to help me convict KaeCee or any other criminal. You used a burst to call me to run an errand.” Maynard stood, his face and manner cold. “Thank you for the water, Femmine Sarc.”
This would be, Aryl decided, the second thing to go wrong. “Wait. I can pay—”
“I’m sure you can. But I’m not for sale.”
He turned and left, walking with the stiffness of someone truly offended. The servers backed out of his way.
Three. Her plan, she thought bitterly as she hurried after him, was a disaster.
“Will you wait?”
Maynard glared over his shoulder, then stopped. “I can have you arrested for following me.”
“No, you can’t,” Aryl guessed. They were standing at the edge of one of the storefront crowds.
“Wasting my time. I can certainly arrest you for that, if you don’t go away. Good evening, Femmine.”
“I’m sorry,” Aryl said quickly, getting in his way. “Here.” She handed him the burst. “I thought this meant you’d help me. I didn’t know who else to ask.”
He took it between two fingers and rubbed it pensively, then looked her in the eyes. “I’m listening.”
“This belonged to a—a friend of mine who died. Not long ago. Offworld. He left it with me. It contains a message for his daughter. But I’m—”
“Not from here,” he finished when she hesitated.
“Not from here,” Aryl agreed. “I don’t know how to begin to find her. I can’t trust—” she stopped before saying “anyone.” “There are reasons I can’t attract attention to her. But she should have this. A daughter should hear what her father wanted to say.”
Maynard shook his head. It wasn’t at her, since he said, “Let’s walk.”
Once they were away from the crowd, he began asking quiet questions. “Don’t say her name. Not here. She’s Human? Local?”
“Yes. Human children stay with their mothers, don’t they?”
That drew a considering look. “Usually. Do you have her name? Don’t say it.”
“Yes.”
They walked in silence. As he seemed deep in thought, Aryl held back her own questions. Finally he spoke again, so quietly she had to step close to hear him. “If you don’t want to attract attention, you can’t leave with me.”
“Why?”
Almost a smile. “There are two kinds of people on Stonerim III, Aryl. Grandies and Commons. Grandies pay exorbitant taxes so the law will ignore them, as long as they keep their noses clean dirtside. Commons? Well, they pay as little as they can to have help when they need it.”
“I need your help,” Aryl pointed out, sure of that, if not taxes.
A real smile. “I get that. But to those looking at us, you’re a Grandie. It’s one thing for me to meet you on your terms, but you’d never get into my vehicle or go with me anywhere. I want you to go out the doors we’ll pass soon, take the lower path until you come to a small garden, and wait there for me. Will you do that?”
Aryl nodded. Caution was never a bad strategy.
“If you see anyone who makes you nervous, come back here. We’ll find another way.”
“I have a force blade,” she assured him. “If anyone makes me nervous.”
“Please don’t tell me things like that.”
“Whatever you say, Constable.” Aryl hid her own smile.
They came to the doors. Without a backward look, she went through them into the warm evening air.
No one made her nervous. No one else was outside. Aryl supposed it was the rain.
Well-behaved rain. She lifted her face to the steady drizzle, enjoying how it collected on her cheekbones then ran down her neck. The plants lining the well-lit lower path enjoyed it, too, their leaves dancing in the drops. Aryl drew the air through her nostrils, promising herself she’d go to the base of the Tower every night, to smell this, wondering why she hadn’t before.
No puddles threatened her delicate shoes. The path was made of a material that whisked away moisture. The buildings to either side, even the light poles, refused to get wet.
Too tidy. Too polite. She stuck out her tongue.
The small garden where she was to wait was easy to find. The path widened to go around an island of yellow-and-white flowers. Their striped faces were upturned to the rain, too. Aryl stepped closer, noticing that the water dripping from the petals and leaves fell into a clear pipe. She followed it to where it plunged into the ground.