. . .by this note convey said land and building to the Liaden Scouts for the purpose of establishing an academy and training center for future Scouts and those whom the Scouts deem it wise to train . . .—Excerpted from a Contract of Gift
signed by Jeni yos'Phelium,
Ninth Delm of Korval
"WE MISSED YOU AT breakfast, sister." Ran Eld's voice was sweet and mild—a bad sign.
Aelliana set her teacup down and kept her eyes on her plate. They were four at table, the delm having sent word that she would join them later.
"Such an unusual happenstance," Ran Eld pursued. "Our sister was concerned for your health. Imagine her surprise when she entered your room and found you absent, the coverlet smooth atop the bed."
"I am grateful to my sister for her care," Aelliana told her plate, though the words felt like to choke her.
"Very proper, I am sure," Voni snapped from her place up-table. "But that does not address where you were all the night, Aelliana."
"Where would I be?" Aelliana wondered softly.
"Exactly what I wish to know!" her sister said sharply. "Really, Aelliana, I suppose you will deny that your bed had not been slept in!"
"Not at all. I—" she focused on a grayish square of vegetable pudding. "I was up much of the night, considering the wisest investment of my quarter-share. This morning I placed the funds as seemed best." She cleared her throat and reached for the teacup. "I did not wish to be behindhand in obeying the Delm's Word."
There was a charged pause, before Ran Eld's voice, very dry: "Commendable."
"Well, I think it is commendable," Sinit announced from her seat at the foot of the board. "Truly, Ran Eld, you make it seem a crime to heed the delm's wishes! The Code tells us plainly—"
"Thank you, little sister. I believe my comprehension of Code may be—somewhat—superior to your own."
"Oh, then you know you're making a stupid twitter over none of your concern," Sinit cried in a tone of broad enlightenment. "I, for one, am greatly relieved. You mustn't mind them, Aelliana—Ran Eld's in a temper and Voni's snipe-ish because Lady pel'Rula found fault with her dress."
"You were listening at the door!" Voni's voice shook in outrage. "I shall tell mother. Of all—"
Through the shield of her hair, Aelliana saw Sinit smile.
"Lady pel'Rula said Voni's dress was immodest, and not at all what one looked for in a lady of impeccable manner." The smile broadened to a grin. "It was, too."
"What do you know of the matter?" Voni snarled. "That design was copied from a gown created for yos'Galan! If Lady pel'Rula is so provincial that she turns her face from a look sanctioned by Korval—"
"Then she's well-rid of," Sinit suggested, eyes wide.
Voni frowned and extended a graceful hand for her wine glass. "Naturally not. Mother and I are to call upon Her Ladyship tomorrow after luncheon."
"And you'll wear a less dashing dress, won't you, Voni?"
Aelliana saw Voni's fingers tighten on the stem of her glass, knuckles paling. She answered in a voice rigid with fury.
"You need not concern yourself with my wardrobe, Sinit. I shall consider it an impertinence if you continue."
"Sinit, let be," Aelliana whispered urgently.
"Excellent advice." Ran Eld said, voice cloying as sugared tea. "How good of you to overwatch your sister, Aelliana, and drop these little hints in her ear. Allow me to perform the same service on behalf of yourself."
Aelliana reached for her teacup. It was empty. She swallowed hard in a dry throat and folded her hands onto her lap, eyes on her untasted dinner.
"Certainly," she said, hearing her voice tremble. "I welcome instruction from one so much my elder, and who is accustomed to going about in the world."
"Yes, you're not much used to the world, are you?" Ran Eld murmured, swirling his wine. "One tends to forget just how ill-suited you are to caring for even so small a portion of the clan's melant'i. But, there. If those who are wiser do not pause to instruct their inferiors, the wiser must share in the fault, when the inevitable disgrace occurs." He sipped, waiting.
Aelliana clenched her hands about each other. "As you say," she whispered.
Voni giggled and helped herself to another spoonful of baked melon.
"Precisely," Ran Eld said, lazily. "No, Sinit, don't speak, I pray you. Aelliana and I have quite agreed that she welcomes my tuition." He finished off his wine and set the glass aside, pushed plates, bowls and sauce-thimbles back and folded his arms atop the cloth.
"Look at me," he murmured, leaning forward.
Teeth-grit, she raised her head, met his eyes with a flinch.
"So." He smiled, not pleasantly. "Scouts, Aelliana."
She stared at him, speechless, saw his mouth tighten with impatience and blurted, "I teach Scouts."
"Precisely," he purred, mouth easing with satisfaction. "You teach Scouts, for which you receive a wage. A regrettable necessity. However, necessity ends with the ending of the school-day. There is no need for—and, indeed, very good reason to refrain from—association—with Scouts."
"Scouts are not our kind," Voni elucidated, perhaps for Sinit's benefit. "Scouts, pilots, mechanics—it all comes down to bad manners, oily fingers and dirty faces. I hope no one of Mizel is so foolish as to credit such disreputable persons with heroism and vast knowledge. Heroism is a great piece of nonsense. I infinitely prefer good manners."
A flicker of mind pictures: Jon dea'Cort tidily wiping his broad hands on a red rag; Rema's spotless leathers and courteous concern; Var Mon's scrubbed-til-it-shone, mischievous boy-face. . .
"I—"
Ran Eld raised a hand and leaned closer across the table, eyes leveled like lasers.
"Scouts are not fit companions for one of Mizel. For anyone of Mizel," he said, spacing his words as if her ears were defective—or her wits. "Do you understand me, Aelliana?"
Bow the head, she told herself, desperately. Be meek. Remember. Remember your ship.
"I understand you," she whispered, heartbeat pounding in her temples.
"Well, what have we here, a tableau?" Birin Caylon stood in the doorway. She raised a hand on which Mizel's Clan Ring gleamed and stabbed a finger toward her son.
"Ran Eld is the insatiable cat about to eat the unfortunate mouse, portrayed by Aelliana—so!" She dropped her hand and came into the room. "Did I guess correctly?"
Ran Eld laughed and eased back into his chair. "Correct as always, Mother!"
"Indeed, ma'am," Voni ventured, rising to hold the delm's chair, "we were merely striving to show Aelliana and Sinit the unsuitability of associating with Scouts and other such persons."
"A cup of wine, Ran Eld, if you please—and a saucer of soup, if any remains."
Provided with these, she tasted her wine before turning her attention to her middle daughter, who sat yet in her pose of mouse-about-to-be-devoured. Birin Caylon felt a stir of compassion. The child looked unwell, her thin face was pinched and there were great bruised circles under her misty eyes.
Abruptly, Birin wondered if a particular Scout might be the subject of this lesson in appropriate behavior. She had a spoonful of soup. Really, she thought, Ran Eld is too hard on the girl.
"No doubt but that Scouts are odd-tempered," she said, after another spoon of soup. "I recall your father, Aelliana. What that man was for questions! He would babble on concerning a certain mix of tea, or the practice of drinking morning-wine only in the morning, or whether cats told jokes. He found the most mundane affairs cause for high amusement. Very nearly he drove me to distraction—and he merely trained at Academy and not a true Scout at all!" She sighed.
"Your grandmother, who was of course delm at that time, found him unexceptional. For his part, he showed her great deference and spoke highly in her praise, so he was not lost to proper feeling at all, as some claim of Scouts."
"And yet you do not deny that he, as all Scouts, was odd in his manner," Ran Eld said.
"No," said Birin, frowning after her thoughts. "No, my son, I cannot deny that he was considerably out of the common way. At the time, I suspected him of laughing at me. However, I have come to see that much of his oddness must be laid to his training." She paused.
"It is necessary for those who would take up the chancy duties Scouts claim for themselves to undergo rigorous and specialized education, the better to survive in the wide universe. It is to be regretted that an effect of attaining excellence in this curriculum must also make one—different.
"I have heard it said that Scouts are other than Liaden—that of course is nonsense. What I believe is that Scouts are burdened with an understanding that takes into account not only Liad, but the universe entire." She reached for her wine. "I believe such understanding sets them apart forever from those who look no further than Liad."
"Then you credit Scouts with heroism, do you, ma'am?" Sinit's voice carried clear amusement and Birin turned to frown at her.
"I credit Scouts with other-ness," she said sternly, "and perhaps with loneliness. It is possible that there is something to be learned from them, should one have the ability to grasp it. Not all do—which is no shame. Nor is there shame in finding that one has that certain ability." She moved her gaze to Ran Eld, sitting attentive beside her.
"I find no disgrace in the companionship of Scouts."
He inclined his head politely. Satisfied, Birin returned to her soup.
The silence was broken by the scrape of a chair. Aelliana rose and made her bow.
"If you please, ma'am. I have student work to review."
Birin waved a hand. "Certainly. Good evening, daughter."
"Good evening," the girl whispered and pushed her chair to, leaving a full plate of food and an empty teacup behind.
At the door of the dining hall, she paused and spun, one hand outflung. The silver ring that had belonged to her grandmother caught the light; lost it.
"Please, ma'am," she said breathlessly. "What came of him?"
Birin glanced up with a frown. "Of whom?"
"My—my father."
"Child, however should I know what came of him? I last saw him twenty-seven years ago, when we signed the completion of contract."
"Oh." Her shoulders drooped inside the cocoon of her shirt. "Of course. Good evening, ma'am."
"Good evening, Aelliana," Ran Eld called dulcetly, but the doorway was empty.
"HE DID WHAT?" Var Mon stared at his cha'leket in patent disbelief. "Have you gone mad?"
"No, but my Lord chel'Mara doubtless has!" Lyn Den crowed. He flung himself into his cha'leket's arms and kissed his cheek. "Come and rejoice, darling, I needn't join the Terran mercenaries, after all!"
"As if they'd have you," Var Mon retorted grumpily, "or as if you'd live a day in battle, if they did. And the office of informing your father doubtless falling to myself. Lyn Den, are you certain it was Vin Sin chel'Mara?"
"Am I likely to forget his face?" the other asked, spinning about in sheer exuberance. "Hello, Rema."
"Lyn Den." She inclined her head and came to stand at Var Mon's side, her face serious. "How do you go on?"
"Delightfully. Deliriously. I have had the best fortune imaginable, could I but convince this brute of a cha'leket that my mind is firm."
"Or as firm as ever it has been," Var Mon muttered. Rema smiled, briefly.
"What's come about? Has your father redeemed your debt?"
"Better—a dozen times better! Vin Sin chel'Mara himself met me after my early class—only imagine His Lordship cooling his heels in a university hallway! He met me, I say, and returned my entire loss, with a paper stating I owed him nothing in the future; that anything I might have come to owe him in the past is forgiven. Here—" He pulled a much-folded piece of vellum from his sleeve—"read it for yourself."
Var Mon snatched the paper free and unfolded it. Rema put her head against his and together they scanned the brief document.
"His signature, certain enough," she murmured, fingering the drop of orange wax and pendant silver ribbon. "Sealed up proper as you please."
"Well." Var Mon re-folded the page and thrust it back to his foster-brother, setting his face into a most un-Var Mon-like frown.
"I judge you've encountered an unreasonable bit of good luck. One only hopes that the fright you've had will be sufficient to keep you out of gaming-houses for the rest of your days."
"Oh, indeed. I intend to live retired and entertain but rarely, and that at home."
"Laugh, do," Var Mon said, severely. "Rema and I are a twelve-day away from our solo examinations. Have the grace to grant me ease of mind where you are concerned. Or must I leave Academy and appoint myself your keeper?"
"There, old thing, don't take on!" Once more, Lyn Den flung into Var Mon's arms. He lay his cheek against the leather-clad shoulder. "I'll be good, darling, never fear it. Truly, I've learnt my lesson—if I never see a deck of cards again it will be some days too soon for my taste!"
"Well." Var Mon allowed himself a tender smile as he set his cha'leket back. "Mind you stay wary. You'd best get on, now. We're bound for piloting practice—and you have your afternoon classes to consider."
"Monster." Lyn Den grinned, sobered. "Shall I see you again, before you leave for your solo?"
"Of course," Var Mon said. "You know I daren't leave planet without making my bow to my mother your aunt."
"True enough," Lyn Den laughed and swept a bow. "Pilots. Good lifting."
"Take care, Lyn Den," Rema called, as he ran lightly down the Academy's front ramp. She glanced aside and met Var Mon's puzzled eyes.
"A peculiar course for His Lordship to plot," she commented.
Var Mon sighed. "Do you know, I was only just now thinking that exact thought."