Colemenoport
Wayfarer
Padi finished reading the introduction to the auditors manual, and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. Her inclination was to engage with the first chapter, which was not so very long, and perhaps take the self-test, but a glance at the clock suggested that she ought to do something more lightsome.
She might, she thought, fetch herself another glass of wine and answer Vanz’s letter. That needn’t consume more than an hour, and surely Father—
Someone knocked on her door. She rose to open it, finding Priscilla, every inch the captain of Dutiful Passage, buttons gleaming and face firm.
“The shuttle’s down,” she said. “Karna and I are going to fetch Dil Nem and Jes. Will you be going out?”
“I’m just about to find a glass and write a letter,” Padi told her, and glanced at the room beyond.
“Father hasn’t come back, yet?” she asked, feeling a sharp twist of worry.
“Not yet,” Priscilla said. “It’s only been a little over an hour. Untying red tape takes time.”
Recalling her own run-in with red tape, Padi smiled ruefully, and turned her hands palm up.
“Time runs differently, when you’re waiting,” she said.
“I’ve noticed that myself,” Priscilla said dryly. “Hopefully, he’ll be here with Dyoli and Mar Tyn by the time I’m back with Dil Nem and Jes.”
She nodded, and turned away. Padi stepped out of her room and watched her leave, Karna at her back. The door locked audibly behind them.
Padi went into the kitchen.
Perhaps a cup of tea rather than a glass of wine, she thought, approaching the counter. There would be a debriefing when Father returned with Dyoli and Mar Tyn. Best to be awake for that.
* * *
She left the door slightly ajar when she returned, settling behind her desk with a sigh. Putting the teacup on the coaster, she reached for the screen—and checked.
A folded piece of paper—yellow, lined in blue—was lying across her keyboard.
She picked it up, fingertips tingling, and unfolded it.
Good evening, Padi. Are you free to come to me? —Tekelia
She smiled, and reached for her teacup. This was . . . interesting, and mannerly. No need to disrupt anyone by materializing while they were at study, or asleep, or in some other private moment. Merely send a note, like any other civilized person.
Sipping her tea, she read the note again, and put her mind on how the thing might be done. For surely, this was another lesson, building on those techniques she had learned this afternoon.
First, she needed to write her answer.
She put the page on the desk, smoothed it, and picked up a pen.
I am bound to home this evening. Might you come to me, for tea? And cake? —Padi
That done, she folded the paper along its crease, and sat with it on her palm, thinking of Tekelia’s desk in the great room, bathed in Ribbon light, and—pushed the paper toward that image.
There was a moment of resistance, which might equally have been her inexperience or the effect of the Grid, and the paper faded away, leaving her palm empty and slightly damp.
She had expected something like, but still it startled her into a gasp. Shaking her head, she picked up her cup and sipped.
“I wonder,” she said to the room at large, “how one knows if the letter has been delivered.”
“When one receives an answer, of course,” said a voice grown lately very familiar.
Padi spun in her chair, laughing at Tekelia standing in the center of her room, dressed much as she was, in soft sweater and pants, and holding a rectangular red tin in one hand.
“I provide the cookies.”
“And I provide the tea,” she said, rising and beckoning. “Come into the kitchen and choose your blend. I warn you that we will be interrupted. Captain Mendoza has only gone to the dock, to collect incoming crew. Dyoli and Mar Tyn have been accused at the port, and the master trader has gone to—untie the red tape.”
“I’ll have the spice blend,” Tekelia said, surveying the tea case. “Of what are they accused?”
“Of being Reavers,” Padi said, refilling the kettle and putting it to warm. She turned.
“I am about to presume upon our friendship,” she said.
Tekelia put the cookie tin on the counter and smiled at her.
“I don’t mind.”
“Well, you might, actually. What I wonder is if you might speak with the security chief or the Warden, and tell them that you have seen the black threads in my father’s . . . pattern, and that he is no Reaver.”
Tekelia’s brows rose over one blue eye and one brown eye.
“I’d be delighted to perform this service for you, only—the witness of a Haosa is not accepted in law under the Grid.”
Padi blinked.
“Whyever not?”
Tekelia’s grin showed a certain edge.
“Because Haosa are not Civilized, of course.”
“And nor are the Deaf Civilized, so I apprehend! Who does Civilization accept?”
“Well,” Tekelia said apologetically, “the Civilized, naturally—”
The kettle whistled and Padi turned to pour.
“I suppose I should have spoken to Bentamin after the affair on the Hill,” Tekelia said slowly. “But he didn’t ask, and I’m not in the habit of volunteering. I would have spoken, if I’d Seen Reavers in our midst—Bentamin knows that. I didn’t speak, because it seemed to me that the Healing your father performed on the Hill, and its aftermath, were his personal business.”
Padi sighed.
“Which is, of course, true,” she murmured, handing over the teacup. “I suggest that we make ourselves comfortable on the couch in the great room.”