Tatja Grimm's World

as she remembered Rey Guille’s had. And if he lived long enough, he might eventually grow up. She knew he was Betrog Hedrigs’s grandson; that should count for something. Old Betrog was the first to trek across the Continent, and the story of that expedition was a hair-raising thing.

So Cor watched and waited and wondered how directly she dared interfere. Finally there was no time left. The dope would be dead if she waited another day:

She found him at the railing just outside his cabin. He didn’t look up till she was at the railing beside him.

“Hi, Cor.”

“Hi.” She smiled. They stood for a moment silently, watching the sparkling sea. Then she said, “It’s tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” casually.

“Svir … don’t go through with this thing.” So much for the subtle approach.

“Huh?” He looked at her in some confusion. “Why not?” “Magazines are things; they are not people. They are not worth dying for. And I think you would die. Crownesse is the most powerful country in the world. When we move into port, we’ll pass Hangman’s Row. They play rough here.”

“I agreed to do it, Cor. And I owe it to Tatja.” But there was fear on his face.

She took a deep breath and started over. “You don’t owe her one thing. Tatja Grimm is…” what? Cor stumbled on the question that had haunted her the last five years, the question that had eventually driven Rey Guille from the barge. “You’ve been used. Can’t you understand that? Tatja Grimm is not a very nice person.” The first statement was true; the second was beyond Cor’s knowing.

Svir scowled. “You can’t expect me to believe that. I’ve watched the crew working with her. She gets more wholehearted cooperation and respect from them than any officer.”

Cor sighed. “Yes, she is truly popular.” Five years ago Grimm could barely understand Sprak. After the Termiter incident things changed and changed again. Her vision, her invention, her scheming had increased Tarulle wealth more than it had grown in the previous century. “She is so popular, you should guess that she runs everything of importance here. The people you think are boss—Jespen Tarulle, Ked Maccioso, Svektr Ramsey—love and fear her. They’ve benefited by everything she’s done.

“And she’s at least as talented when it comes to mechanical things. She designed the power trains they use in printing. She invented the special sailing rigs we have on our hydrofoils.”

Svir looked up sharply at this last claim, and his face reddened. After a moment, he said, “And you? How are you free of this ‘spell’?”

Another mystery Cor had spent five years trying to understand. When she didn’t answer, Hedrigs’s tone became angrier. “And if she has done all you say, why do you think the plan to save the Fantasie collection will fail?”

“Before, increasing the wealth of the Barge increased Tatja’s power. Now … now I think she’s run us as far as she can. She’s never before messed with groundside politics. And even if the scheme succeeds, you may not.

“I … I don’t want you hurt, Svir. Tatja is not precisely evil. But she is beyond my understanding. And I know that if it would further herself, she’d put your life in jeopardy. Besides, I … want you myself.” Her voice dropped almost to a whisper.

Svir seemed to soften. The things Cor had said became more understandable and more excusable. “I’m sorry, Cor. I didn’t know you felt that way. But you’re wrong. Tatja is wonderful. And I love her.”

Wimp. “No! Just let me show you. Can you make Ancho broadcast that I’m-not- here signal?”

“Yeah.” Svir petted the animal sitting on his shoulder. “He’s almost seemed to enjoy things these last couple of days. If he knows that something is expected of him and yet I don’t pull that confidence act, he’ll generally broadcast the I’m-not-here.”

“Fine. Let’s use him to do eavesdropping. I’ll give you odds five-to-one that Tatja Grimm will be doing something you will find out of character.”

Svir seemed shocked by her vehemence. He suddenly seemed in search of excuses. “It’s kind of late, you know. She’s probably asleep.”

“Sleep? She does very little of that.” She caught his arm. “C’mon.” Cor led him fifty yards aft and down a couple of flights. They were well into the day sleep period, and hardly anyone was about. The mast watch could detect any hostiles approaching the vessel, but they were not well placed for observing the deck itself.

Finally Svir and Cor stood below the balcony of Tatja’s office. This was Cor’s last chance to back down. A terrified chill enveloped her. She had never crossed Tatja before, never really wanted to. Those who had—or who couldn’t accept what Tatja was—were all gone now. None had been killed; most had been left better off than before. Rey Guille had been set up with a cute little vice editor, and left with a groundside publishing career. But those earlier antagonists were never immediate threats to Tatja’s interests.

Svir cuddled Ancho. “Stay close, Cor.” He climbed one of the pillars, then gave Cor a hand up. Anyone outside Ancho’s range could see them, but it was too late to worry about that; they were committed.

They crawled to the office window and peeked over the sill.

The office was almost as large as the barge library. These last five years, the Tarulle Barge had used a considerable fraction of its new fortune to support Tatja Grimm’s strange hobbies. Walls and racks were piled high with Grimm unintelligibilia: floor plans of the ruins at Alt-Llerenito were draped over copies of the earliest writing found in the Tsanarts. Dozens of boxes held sea floor core samples Grimm had collected from all over the world. Black cloth hooded her daytime/nighttime experiments.

Tatja sat at her desk, her face in profile. Cor sucked in a breath, and grabbed Hedrigs’s arm. His mouth hung open, but he had the sense to know this was not the time to ask questions.

This was not the Tatja Grimm known to the world outside. There was the same face, that same red hair. But gone was the shapely body that no doubt had been such an attraction for Svir Hedrigs. Her jacket draped flat across slenderness. For the real Tatja Grimm was pre-menarche; nearly eighteen years old, yet still with the body of a twelve-year-old. Cor guessed there were only three—now four—people on the Barge that knew this secret. The past five years had proved it to be dangerous knowledge.

Tatja slumped forward, studied a large sheet of paper on her desk. Her face had none of the familiar animation and good nature. Her eyes were wide and staring, and a tear glistened on her cheek.

Hedrigs petted Ancho, and the two interlopers leaned close to the window. What was she reading that could be so depressing? The paper on her desk was a detailed engineering diagram of—what? Then Cor recognized it as one of the Osterlai plans for a steam-driven turbine. The engine was ingenious and quite workable, but many thousands of ounces of iron were necessary for its construction. Attempts to make boilers of nonmetallic materials had been comical, and occasionally disastrous, failures. Why would an engineering diagram cause someone to cry? Cor could imagine the question rattling around Hedrigs’s brain.

Tatja looked up suddenly, not at the window, but at the door to her office. Someone was asking admittance. She moved with amazing speed to cover the diagram and compose her features. She did nothing to disguise her figure. Cor realized there were secrets within secrets here.

The visitor was Brailly Tounse. Their conversation was mostly inaudible. “Your people took fifteen ounces … iron. My iron. Why?” “… needed steel.” Grimm’s expression was haughty.

Tounse was not put off; in all the years, he was the only one left with active hatred for the mistress of the barge. It didn’t affect his performance—and perhaps that was why he was allowed to stay. “So? I … too. We can’t run the presses without some metals, you …”

“Tough. We’re … lee of the Somnai now, so it doesn’t matter… return it after we leave Bayfast… need it to rescue … Fantasie collection.”

This last promise seemed to mollify Tounse somewhat, but he still asked, “… really think … will go through with it?”

Tatja laughed, and Tounse’s face went red. Her words were lost to the watchers. Footsteps sounded on the gangway across the next deck up. Another few seconds and they would be in clear view of people beyond Ancho’s range.

They backed to the edge of the balcony, slid awkwardly down the pillar. Seconds later a trio of crew appeared on the deck above, but by then Svir and Cor had recovered themselves and were casually walking away.