Part 8 (1/2)
”I've got the cap'n's direct beam-code. If I get in a sc.r.a.pe-even a little one-I'm supposed to get on the beam and yell.” Gordy sighed, then looked up again, trying to put a good face on it. ”I guess that's not too bad, is it, Ms. Mendoza?”
”It sounds,” Priscilla said truthfully, ”very generous. And reasonable. A great many people, you know,would think you were only a little boy.”
”Well, that's true,” he agreed. ”Even Ma said something like that when Grandad told her he'd got everything fixed with the cap'n, and she's usually-reasonable too. But Morgan'd been talking her ears off about how Shan wasn't really related to us-and Liaden, besides. I guess,” Gordy concluded rather breathlessly, ”that kind of thing'd be enough to make anybody unreasonable.”
”It certainly sounds like it would be,” she agreed with amus.e.m.e.nt. ”Is the captain related to you?”
Gordy nodded as he clipped the comm back to his belt. ”Shan's ma was Grandad's sister. So we're cousins-Shan and Val Con and Nova and Anthora. Well, at least,” he said scrupulously, ”not Val Con.
He's a fosterling. But I call him cousin, too. And he's Shan's cousin, so I guess we're related, some way.”
He grinned at her. ”Want to partner?” he asked again.
Priscilla shook her head. ”I think I'd rather just roam around and get my thoughts in order, rest a little. I'm scheduled to help Ken Rik tomorrow.”
Gordy laughed. ”You better rest, then. Ken Rik's okay, but he likes to make people squirm. Good at it, too. Tell you what: I'm due at the shuttle Last Hour, s.h.i.+ptime. Let's go up together, okay, Ms.
Mendoza?”
”Okay.” She smiled at him. ”You might as well call me Priscilla. Everybody else does.”
”Cap'n doesn't,” Gordy pointed out, moving off. ”I will, though. See you later-Priscilla.”
”See you later-Mr. Arbuthnot.”
That drew another burst of laughter. Priscilla shook her head, still smiling, and turned left down the cross street, away from the voice of the bazaar.
It was a little past Nineteenth Hour, s.h.i.+ptime. Priscilla, feeling very well in a lazy sort of way, had quit the munic.i.p.al park some moments before and was sauntering down a thin avenue that curved in the general direction of the port.
Most of the shops along this way were closed, though she pa.s.sed a brightly lit window displaying an extremely ornate chess set carved of red and white woods and set with faceted stones. She paused, considering the set and comparing it to the chessmen she had seen upon the captain's board. Those pieces had been carved of ebon wood and bonebar, but very plainly-a set for a person who played the game, not for a collector of the exotic.
She continued on her way. The next window, under a sign that read TEELA'S TREASURES, was crowded with an eye-dazzling collection of objects. A carved ivory fan lay next to a tawdry firegem tiara; a gold necklace with a greenish tinge lay as if flung across a bound book of possible worth and definite age; while a cut-plastic vase hobn.o.bbed with an eggsh.e.l.l porcelain bowl down on its luck.
Fascinated, Priscilla bent closer to the window, trying to puzzle out more of its contents. A carved wooden box with a broken hinge; an antique pair of eyegla.s.ses, un-tinted; a-her breath caught in her throat as she spied it, balanced precariously atop a stack of mismatched flowered saucers: a blown-crystal triglant, caught by the artist in a mood of pensiveness, wings half-furled, tail wrapped neatly around its front paws. A charming piece-and hers!
Hers. And of the few things she had been able to bring with her from Sintia, it had been the most treasured. She had commissioned the work, paid for it with the labor of her own hands. She had built the velvet-lined box in which it had been lovingly displayed.Perhaps the thief had thought the box worthless.
Priscilla stalked stiff-legged into the shop, twobits clenched in her fist. Fifteen minutes later, she came out, carefully tucking the paper-wrapped figurine in her pocket. Broke, she reminded herself, trying to call up fear.
But all she felt was warm contentment. She had the triglant. She had a berth on the Pa.s.sage. She had a tenth-cantra waiting for her when they docked at Solcintra. It would suffice. She had a friend-perhaps even three. That was so much more than sufficient that she barely had room for the grief of leaving her other things in the hands of the proprietor of Teela's Treasures.
She took the first cross street, hurrying now toward the port. To her right, a shadow moved. She spun.
”h.e.l.lo, Prissy,” Dagmar said, grinning widely. She took two steps closer.
G.o.ddess, aid me now... ”Good-bye, Dagmar,” she gritted through her teeth. She made to pa.s.s on.
The bigger woman blocked her way, grin widening.
”Aw, now, honey, you ain't gonna let a little thing like a headache come between us, are you? I was just following orders, Prissy. And I sure am glad to see you again.”
”I'm not glad to see you. Good-bye.” She turned away.
Dagmar grabbed an arm and yanked Priscilla forward, while her other hand found a breast and squeezed.
Priscilla swung with all the force in her, slamming five knuckles backhanded across the other woman's leer as she twisted, just managing to get free.
Dagmar lunged, grabbing a handful of s.h.i.+rt. Priscilla continued her twist. The fabric tore, and Dagmar pitched backward, scrabbling for support.
It was time to run. Priscilla dived forward.
It was easy.
Dagmar was bigger-and no doubt stronger. Certainly she was more accustomed to this kind of business than was her prey.
But she was slow.
Priscilla had the measure of the game now. Moving with pilot swiftness, seeing with pilot eyes, she landed an astonis.h.i.+ng number of blows, though the ones she received were telling.
She ducked back, slammed a ringing blow toward the ears that was only partially successful, and suffered a numbing crack to her right shoulder.
Several more pa.s.ses and she saw how it might be ended-quickly and to her advantage. She began the spin to get into position- The hum warned her, and she snapped backward, rolling heavily on her right side, wis.h.i.+ng she had had the sense to run before.
Dagmar had pulled a vibroknife.Gordy was late.
He streaked across the munic.i.p.al park, causing consternation among the local duck-a.n.a.logs, and careered into Parkton Way. He pa.s.sed the window containing the chessmen without a glance, though he did slow as he came abreast Teela's Treasures, out of respect for the policeman halt a block ahead.
A side street presented itself, wending portward. Gordy took it-and froze in disbelief.
Before him was Priscilla Mendoza, s.h.i.+rt torn nearly to the shoulder, bent forward like some two-legged, beautiful, and quite deadly predator, carefully circling a larger, broader woman, who circled in her turn.
The position of the two changed sufficiently for Gordy to see the rest: The larger woman held a knife.
Gulping, he turned and ran back the way he had come.
Priscilla considered the knife dispa.s.sionately. It could be done. She was fast. Dagmar was slow. Her objective was only to dispose of the blade-she was no knife fighter.
Priscilla moved.
Dagmar twisted-so slooow-and Priscilla's fingers swept through hers, dislodging the evil, humming thing and sending it spinning into the shadows. The larger woman finished her twist and slammed heavily into her opponent, trying to grab and hold two slender wrists in a big hand, hugging her tight, and Priscilla could not breathe...
”Here now, here now! That'll be enough of that kind of carrying on!” Strong hands grabbed and pulled-and breath returned.
Priscilla sagged backward, too grateful for the boon of air to resent the hand irons so competently slapped into place. Dagmar, she saw presently, was in worse shape. She had apparently taken a stunner charge and was retching against the wall, her face already beginning to purple.
The cop finished affixing irons and turned away-and his eyebrows went up with his stunner. ”All right, my boy, fun's over. Give it to me, please.”
Gordy blinked, reversed the vibroknife, and held it out. The cop took it gingerly, then jerked the comm from the boy's belt and clipped it to his own.
”That's mine!”