Joel Rosenberg 04 The Heir Apparent

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was that the colors in the tapestries had faded over the years; perhaps the
food wasn't prepared with the same care that fat, jolly Tommallo had lavished.
The meals were filling, but the beef was overdone and stringy; the
beetle-paste was cloyingly sweet; the chotte tasted like it had been marinated
in stale lard instead of fried in fresh butter.
The rug in their rooms was worn through in spots, and the chipped marble
beneath was cold on his feet.
Well, it cost less than it had last time. And at least the bathwater was hot.
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Toweling himself off, Walter walked into the common room, where Ahira and
Tennetty were stretched out on the floor, talking while they worked on
Tennetty's slave outfit. The ragged tunic drew attention to her long, skinny
legs, drawing it away from the collar and manacles with their solid-appearing
lock that she actually could remove in less than a second. The hasp of the
padlock at her neck was actually the handle of a small Nehera-made knife; the
body of the lock was its sheath.
"Where're the kids?"
Ahira jerked his head toward the door. "I sent them out to have a look
around see what fast ships are docked, and where they're headed. We'll want
something speedy, and planning a bit of a run say, at least as far as
Lundesport."
"If we're going to ijack-hay it, it'll have to be something fairly small, too.
We can't ride herd on a whole lot of crew."
"True. Get some sleep we've got a long day tomorrow."
When they made love that night, it finally hit him, and not just as an
intellectual proposition:
Someday it would be over between the two of them. Not that night, but someday
soon, After
Melawei assuming that they could hire or hijack a ship and get to Melawei it
would have to end.
Aeia's and his relationship was unnatural. You just couldn't go on having sex
without consequences, not with someone you cared about.
Something would have to change.
Idiot.
Something always changes.
He was homesick, he decided. Even with Aeia lying here, warm in his arms, he
missed Kirah.
Ridiculous. She didn't have Aeia's intellect or complexity, but there was
something... comfortable, reliable about the old girl. Old girl, hah... she'd
kept her looks. But she did have some funny ideas about Walter; she saw him as
some sort of knight in shining armor, a kind of miniature Karl
Cullinane.
Ridiculous.
Even more, he missed Janie. Damn, but she was a good kid.
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She reminded him of himself; they were two of a kind, Walter and his elder
daughter: totally without restraint, without conscience, substituting
prudence, when necessary. Janie understood her father; she'd probably
understand this.
It would be a shame for Janie and D.A. to grow up without a father.
Have to be some changes made, he decided. Not that Walter Slovotsky was going
to be the faithful type, but it was time for some changes. Time to grow up a
bit.
"Aeia..." He stroked a hand down her smooth flank, then brought it up to cup
her breast.
"Shh," she said. "I know." In the dark he could see her smile glisten. "But
don't count on the timing. I might leave you before you leave me."
"Very funny."
"Isn't it, though?" There was a distant hint of hysterical laughter in her
voice.
"So why are we both crying?"
She didn't answer. She just held him, her face wet against his chest, while he
held her, his face wet against her hair.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
"Not Twice..."
Go sir, gallop, and don't forget that the world was made in six days. You can
ask me for any thing you like, except time.
Napoleon Bonaparte
The area around the Pandathaway docks was neither as crowded nor as
fast-moving as Walter
Slovotsky remembered. The first time they had entered the harbor, Avair
Ganness and the rest of them had been forced to wait while the elf running the
guideboat found them a place among the dozens and dozens of ships there.
Silkies at the waterline had nudged the
Ganness' Pride into its berth, while Ganness' pigtail twitched in irritation
and worry; he'd babied that boat of his.
The water had been clean, sparkling in the sunlight; the docks had seemed more
burnished than
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Now, the morning sun shone down a sludge pipe dumping a slow trickle of raw
sewage into the harbor, while foul green algae lapped at the pilings. Over at
the far dock, the single working guideboat leisurely dragged a schooner into
its berth, both boats propelled by polemen in the guideboat, not enslaved
silkies.
The dwarf nodded. "Put another one in the plus column."
"Right."
"Daven's raid, I think? Or was it Frandred's?" Aeia asked. "I don't remember,
for sure. I don't like either of them." She shivered visibly.
"Daven, as I recall," Ahira said. "A strike that close to Pandathaway itself
was too much for
Frandred. He's not clever enough."
"Let's go," Tennetty whispered.
Slovotsky lightly tugged at the leash leading to the chain around Tennetty's
neck.
"Harder, asshole," she hissed at him. "If you blow our cover, we're dead
meat."
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"Right. Just don't blame me later," he said. One of the seamen loading the
boat it looked like a junk, in both senses, Walter decided glanced at them,
then frowned, turned away, and turned back.
"Shit," Walter said. "Tennetty sorry. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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