Part 3 (1/2)
”The villagers?”
”You got it.”
Roca blinked. Got it? Her node had trouble with that one. Nor was she sure why villagers would come to the s.h.i.+p. Surely it didn't provision the native population. Even if people here had somehow acquired the credit to buy offworld goods, selling to natives was of questionable legality. Under Skolian law, it would tangle Brad in a mora.s.s of complications. She knew less about Allied laws, though.
”They come for supplies?” she asked.
”Some.” Concern showed on his ever-changing face. ”Medicine mostly.” Then he paused. Even if she hadn't been an empath, she would have known he realized he had said too much. Awkwardly, he added, ”And I, uh, can't provide them with medicines, of course.”
Her voice cooled. ”Of course.” Well, it wasn't her affair. This was an Allied port, none of her business.
”If not for medicine, why they come?”
His tension eased. ”Chocolate.”
”Chocolate?”
He chuckled. ”A drink.”
”Ah.” Roca had never heard of the substance.
”Their Bard likes it. So I treat him to it.”
”Bard?” The similarity to his name gave her pause. ”A singer?”
”That's right. The Dalvador Bard.” His smile morphed into a scowl. ”The resort marketers call him the King of Skyfall because he lives in that castle in the village. They claim it adds 'romance' to the setting.
But to name him a king, especially of an entire world, is absurd.”
Remembering the idyllic castle, she could see why the planners had jumbled their cultural cues. ”But he sings?” She wondered if he and Brad ever mixed up their names.
”He keeps the history of his people in ballads. I guess you could call him a singing archivist. His voice is incredible.” Pleasure suffused Brad's mood. ”With formal training, I'll bet he could walk into a job at any major opera company.”
That piqued Roca's interest. ”I regret I no hear him sing.”
”You might.” Brad had to raise his voice to be heard above the rumbling now. ”He sometimes comes with Garlin to pick up the supplies.” He paused. ”The, uh, chocolate.”
”Chocolate.” Her tone cooled. This had nothing to do with her, but it troubled her to think that he so flagrantly broke the law. For all Brad knew, medicines that helped his people could kill the natives here.
As the rumbling surrounded the house, Brad stood up. His smile had vanished. ”You disapprove.”
She also rose to her feet. Her voice came out like ice. ”Why I disapprove of chocolate?”
”Tell me something.” He regarded her steadily. ”Have you ever had to watch someone you care about die because you didn't have enough medical care to save them?”
”And if someone die from wrong care?” She met his gaze. ”Or because expected supplies never come?”
He frowned. ”I would never take resources meant for someone else. Nor would I dispense medicine without precautions.”
”You are doctor?”
”I have some knowledge.”
”Is not same.”
”Tell that to the mother whose baby dies in her arms.” His fist clenched at his side. ”Tell the screaming farmer who has neither antibiotics to stop the infection in his injured leg nor anesthetics to knock him out while the town blacksmith saws it off.”
Roca flinched. No mental s.h.i.+eld, no matter how strong, could block his fierce emotions. He had witnessed the scenes he described. She spoke quietly. ”I am sorry.”
Brad loosened his fists. ”I shouldn't have unloaded that on you.” He tried to smile, but it barely qualified.
”I really do give them chocolate. They will be disappointed to find I've none today.” He started toward the door. ”Come on. Meet the locals.”
His regret flowed over Roca. As she went with him, the thunder outside grew even louder. Her pulse leapt. The walls were vibrating. She hung back as Brad opened the front door and stood framed in the entrance, his hands on his hips.
Outside, a blur of color sped past. Many boisterous people appeared to be riding large animals around the house. Brad started tolaugh,for flaming sakes, as if the tumult were all a great show. He didn't seem the least concerned.
The riders congregated in front of the door, their mounts stamping and snorting. The animals looked like horses that had been bioengineered into a new species, an extraordinarily graceful one. Two clear, crystalline horns on their heads refracted the sunlight like prisms, sending sparks of color everywhere.
They had hooves made from the same substance, and their coats s.h.i.+mmered, either blue or lavender. The lovely creatures were much more refined than she had expected given all the noise they made.
She had more trouble seeing their riders, so she moved closer, standing right behind Brad. The men wore simple clothes, white s.h.i.+rts and rough trousers dyed dark colors, either blue or purple. Embroidery bordered their collars and cuffs. All had on knee-boots. Their hair, neck length or longer, stirred in the breezes.
”Ho!” A young man in the front called to Brad. ”You lost your chess match to Garlin! You owe us much chocolate.”
Brad gave him a c.o.c.ky grin. ”I will win a match with you, Bard.”
The man smirked. ”I play not, man with the name of Bard misspelled in his own language.”
Brad laughed. ”So you've finally learned to spell my name.”
The other fellow turned smug. ”I am clever, eh?”
An older man was sitting on an animal next to the Bard. He spoke dryly. ”And humble.”
”h.e.l.lo, Garlin.” Brad waved at the older man. ”You're the one who told him about the spelling, aren't you?”
The Bard glared at Garlin. ”Don't tell him.”
Garlin c.o.c.ked an eyebrow at Brad. ”It seems I have nothing to say.”
”Ah, well,” the Bard said. ”Maybe Garlin did tell me. I've no time for spelling.” He grinned again, unabashed and unrestrained, his face alive with pleasure. Rocafelthis joy. His mind poured over hers, incredible, like a waterfall. Even with her family, who were all psions, she never picked up their moods this well.
Roca moved closer, trying to see this Bard more clearly. His odd coloring startled her. He had thick hair the hue of burgundy wine, but streaked gold from sunlight. His violet eyes were large and round. She couldn't be certain, but she thought freckles sprinkled across his nose. Although she supposed he had a handsome face, he wasn't her type. She preferred tall, dark, somber men. It was hard to resist his light and laughter, though. He mesmerized, drawing her nearer.
His mind glowed.