“Yes?” she asked in an Islish drawl that made two syllables of the word.
“Zenubi Troms? I’ve come on behalf of Yilland Dorwalk,” Fringe said. “To settle the matter of your death claim against her father.”
“Our claim’s against her” said the woman. “He left nothing.”
Fringe smiled her bloodletting smile. “Does enslaving one member of the family make up to you for the loss of another?”
The woman snorted. “Not my family, she. His first wife, she was family.”
“Let’s see, that would be Souile?”
“My baby sister,” the woman sighed. “Sweet Souile.”
Fringe pretended to refer to her pocket caster. “Whom you abandoned, leaving her to provide total support for your aged parents.”
The woman looked startled. “She married well,” she snapped. “We knew she would.”
“And now that she is dead, and he is dead, you want money to soothe your grief at having abandoned your parents,” said Fringe, snapping the caster closed.
A man came from another room and stood in the doorway, glowering at her. “Who’s she?” he demanded of his kinswoman.
“I am here on behalf of Yilland,” Fringe repeated.
The man scowled and took a threatening step forward, only to find himself staring at the business end of a rather large aitchem weapon, so-called from the initials HM, for hurt and maim.
Fringe smiled at the woman once more, and intoned, as though it were formula: “I am here to inform you that Fringe and Bubba Dorwalk, Souile’s natural children, are filing blood claim against you for two thirds the total cost of providing housing and sustenance to Ari, Nada, and Aunty Troms for varying periods of years, plus accrued interest, which expenditures increased their father’s indebtedness and led him to unwarranted and arbitrary actions deleterious to their interests, depriving them of status and comfort. Since this falls within the category of a long-standing and outrageous indebtedness, as defined by the Executive Council of Enarae City, it is being filed in life court for immediate dispensation.”
She was surprised to find that she actually felt angry, not against these pretenders but against Souile’s real siblings, wherever they were. Even if they’d been only Trashers themselves, they could have helped!
“We are not residents of Enarae City!” the woman cried, both outraged and frightened.
Fringe yawned ostentatiously. “Notices of the suit have been sent to all wards, including Fineen, which you have given as your place of residence. I am an Enforcer retained to pursue the indebtedness should you attempt to leave Enarae before it is adjudicated. As an Enforcer, I must inform you that Fringe Dorwalk is outraged by your claim and has agreed to accept vengeance in lieu of settlement.” She held up her caster. “I have recorded the fact that you were both warned. Is it necessary to inform any other member of your family?”
It was all bluff and fluff, but her two victims obviously didn’t know that. The man had gone pale and seemed to be having trouble breathing.
“Yes. No! No. I’ll tell them,” the woman screamed at her.
Fringe left quietly, pausing just long enough to stick an ear on the door before finding her way to a quiet table in a corner tavern where she sipped at a mug of ale while eavesdropping through the receiver behind her ear. Even over the chatter of the tavern, she heard the flurry of hysteria and imminent departure. So much for the imposter kin, who were making a hasty return to the Seldom Isles. Fringe detached the receiver from its bone socket, dropped it into her belt kit, and turned her full attention to the remaining ale. It was good. Better than she had tasted lately. She noted the name of the tavern: somewhat out of the way, but worth the visit.
“Nicely done,” said a voice at her shoulder.
She sat very still, without moving anything except one finger that moved slowly toward her weapons belt.
“No threat,” said the voice casually.
She stopped moving the finger and turned. He was a sand-colored, black-haired man with curly lips, a fine beak of a nose, and a wide, firm jaw. When she looked at him, something inside her lurched, and she swallowed her errant innards down, holding them still by not breathing for a time. A man to move one’s blood around, her own blood told her, while her mind did a careful assessment, weighing and measuring. His clothes were ordinary enough in style, though fine in quality, and he wore them superbly, a trait Fringe always noticed. Now who was he? Or what? She breathed gently, testing to see if her stomach would stay where it belonged.
He gestured at the seat across from her, and she nodded, a mere jerk of the head. She couldn’t stop him joining her. Or maybe didn’t want to.
“Nicely done,” he said again, seating himself and raising dramatically curved eyebrows at her. “That business with the kinfolk who weren’t kinfolk.”
“You were spying on me?” she asked, more surprised than offended.
“Been observing you,” he said comfortably. “Enough to overhear your little show. They aren’t even related to you, are they?” He gave her a steamy look, saying, They couldn’t be related to you, woman, not that kind.
She couldn’t quite ignore the look, but she breathed deeply and let her quickened pulse slow of itself. One thing she had learned. Usually the body followed where the mind went. One had only to take firm control of where that was!
“I think not, though I did quit listening,” she said, concentrating on the tile pattern of the tabletop.
“My bet is they’re part of a gully tribe.” He fingered the medallion at his throat, his long fingers tugging at it, turning
