ourselves from the homeworld in the service of our courier business—which I have no intention to give up, you know! If Scholar Kiladi must remain a stranger to your kin, then it is simplicity itself to take ourselves out and away, and offload the Scholar at whatever port he likes. In the meanwhile, I will hire me a Guild copilot and work the ports, returning for the Scholar at a prearranged time and place.”
Daav smiled and her heart constricted in her chest.
“You've given this some thought, I see? Who knew you would take so well to subterfuge?”
She bent a serious gaze upon him. “I had a good teacher.”
Daav laughed, and folded the letter. “Well, it is a plan—but a plan, I think, for the future. Let us first have our child in arms. I do not wish to be apart from you when the event occurs, nor do I wish you to be in the hands of a hired copilot, docked on a third-tier world, when the child decides.”
He was worried still, Aelliana thought. They had had a Healer and a physician, neither of whom felt that the birth was beyond her. She suspected that his concern had root in her past, to which he now had access, as she had access to his. The heightened sensitivity, the Healer had said, was an effect of her pregnancy and would become less potent once the child was delivered. How much less potent, he had not ventured to say, nor whether Daav would retain his late-found ability to experience her as she did him.
“Perhaps Scholar Kiladi might plead a prior commitment,” she said, “and ask them to place him on the lists for next year,”
Daav nodded. “I will suggest that course to him,” he said, and smiled again, tenderly. “I love you, Aelliana.”
It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She blinked them clear.
“I love you, Daav.”
Having mutually renewed their bond, Daav returned to his mail and she to her paper. They worked comfortably for some time; Aelliana so immersed that it was not until she reached the end of the section and had closed her screen that she realized that Daav was very still, indeed, and that he had been so for some time.
Carefully, her eyes on him, she put the screen on the table next to the chaise, and shifted her ankle from beneath Lady Dignity's chin. There was a taste in the air, sharp but not unpleasant, like ozone, which she equated with profound thought.
“Is there something that requires solving?” she asked, rising. She smoothed her robe, watching him. So very still . . .
He sighed sharply and looked up.
“Alas, it appears that the little difficulty in the Low Port is beginning to drift upward to Mid Port. Clarence's efforts are all for naught, which leaves me not knowing precisely what to think, as my most constant source of information in the matter is Clarence.”
Someone was targeting pilots in the Low Port; she had read Clarence's dispatches, as well as some less detailed reports from other persons of Daav's acquaintance.
“Do you think that Clarence is lying to you, van'chela? What could be his reason?”
Daav shook his head, brows drawn, which made him look fierce, indeed. She received, as if wafted on the breeze from window, one scent among many, a sense of frustrated dismay, and a hard edge of—
“Daav!” She stepped forward, more quickly than she had intended, one hand extended, as if to ward the very thought. “You cannot consider assassinating Clarence!”
He grimaced and held his hand out. She took it, and allowed herself to be brought down to sit on the sofa, her back against his belly.
“I would very much rather consider assassinating any number of other people, rather than Clarence. Alas, he puts himself in harm's way.”
“You do not know that!” she protested.
'No, I don't. However, Clarence is not usually so ineffective. Time and again, he closes—only to find himself grasping a fistful of smoke. If this culprit is so clever as to elude him consistently on what he likes to call his port, that is very worrisome, and it may be that Clarence requires some aid which he is too proud—or too dismayed—to ask for.
“If, on the other hand, it is Clarence's office that is the source of these instances of pilot disappearances, cargo thefts, and shipnappings, it benefits him to provide false information.”
He fell silent; Aelliana, leaning comfortably against him, felt the force of his intelligence at work, and something else. Something—a memory?
“What is it? Has this happened before?”
Daav breathed a laugh, which she read as carrying an undercurrent of resignation.
“I have no secrets from you, my lady.”
“Indeed,” she said, “there must be a way for you to have them, if they are vital to your joy. We ought to explore the subject with a Healer. For the moment, however—”
“Yes.” Daav sighed.
“Many years ago,” he said slowly, “my mother was still alive. She had heard of a situation in the Low Port of which she could not approve. Someone, you see, was stealing pilots. Clarence was newcome to Liad and to his station as Boss. My mother did not know him, as she had known his predecessor—and to be fair, she probably did not expect that he would last more than a relumma, following the pattern of the two replacements previous to him.”
Aelliana held up a hand. “This predecessor. Would your mother have asked her for information, had she still been in office?”
'Very likely; they had a very good working relationship. However, Boss Toonapple not being available, and
