understanding—usually—quick. There wasn't much that rattled him, but right now, Clarence decided, he looked decidedly uneasy.
“A lady?” he asked, probing for more information.
Rof Tin ducked his head, halfway between a bow and a formal inclination of the head. “She says she's a friend.”
Clarence sat back. On the one hand, the Friendly Lady was an old, old ploy. He thought his various enemies on-world and off had moved beyond the basics, but maybe there was somebody new testing the Boss' defenses.
There was always somebody new.
On the second hand . . .
“It'd be a shame and a discourtesy to keep a friend waiting,” he said, setting his screen to one side, and giving a thought to the hideaway nestled snug up his sleeve.
He nodded. “Show the lady in.”
Rof Tin bowed, triggered the door and stepped into the foyer.
“Please,” he said, in a mode recognizably that of Child-of-the-House-to-Guest; “Boss O'Berin will see you.”
The lady stepped inside, both hands out in plain sight, good pilot leather on her back, and pretty far gone in a family way.
The door closed.
Horror threw Clarence to his feet and into the dialect of his youth.
“For the love o'space, woman! What's he thinking to let you come down here to me?”
She tipped her head, green eyes considering. Before he could wrap his tongue around the proper Liaden, she had smiled and inclined her head.
“From New Dublin you are?”
New Dublin was a lawful world, as far away from where he'd come up as Rof Tin's honeycomb was from High Port.
“No, lassie,” he said, gently. “I lived in deeper than that.”
“Ah. It is you speak as Anne speaks, in Terran.”
“Not surprising. The Gaelic Union seeded a lot of colonies.” He shook himself and stepped 'round the desk to set the chair more comfortably for her.
“Sit down, do,” he said, finding his Liaden again in the mode of Comrade. “Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you, no.”
That was prudent, at least, he thought, trying to approve her sense. But—
He sat down again behind the desk. “Aelliana, why are you here?”
“I have urgent business with you,” she answered, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the galaxy.
“Very well. But, I advise: If it happens again that you have urgent business with me, send a message and I will meet you at Ongit's. It's not seemly for you to come to me.”
Also, he added silently, it was damned dangerous. What the blue blazes was Daav thinking?
“Surely it is seemly, when I must ask you to grant me a boon.”
He stared at her, suddenly chilly. “What boon?”
Aelliana inclined her head. “You are the delm of Low Port. I ask safe passage.”
“I'm not the delm of Low Port, I'm the Juntavas Boss on Liad,” Clarence said, grateful that Comrade allowed one to instruct without insult. “There's no guarantee of safe passage through Low Port, Aelliana. Not even for me.”
She touched her tongue to her lips, and took a breath.
“Daav is on the Low Port,” she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice, even under the kindly mode. “He left two nights ago and he has not come back.”
Which explained a lot of things and confused a few more.
“His brother wishes to go after him. I—The delm—has disallowed this.” Her lips quirked.
“So the delm wants to go in, instead?” Clarence shook his head. “I'm not such a fool as to risk both of you— your pardon—the three of you.”
Aelliana raised her chin. “If you are not the delm of Low Port, can you prevent me?”
Clarence grinned at her. “Yes. Remember where you are.”
Her lips tightened, and it gave him a pang, but dammit, she couldn't just come waltzing onto dangerous ground, like—
“He is alive,” Aelliana said. “I can go directly to the place. I think.”
“Might be he'll just walk out himself, after whatever business he's doing is done. If you surprise him in the midst, it might . . . disturb the balance, and place all in peril.”
Aelliana shook her head. “I—he is not . . . well, Clarence. I think that he would walk out, if he could.”
