Rift in the Sky

To know what an artifact was? Enris didn’t bother to ask. Something to impress our contact.

Done. With reassuring promptness. Send me the locate.

Somewhere without a witness. When you’re ready, ’port here. He showed Naryn the Carasian’s quarters. It will be empty. Come up the stairs.

“Surprise you? Glad to.” Louli pressed her palm against the tabletop. “Number Four, Suicidal,” she said. “Pitcher of water. Bucket in case. Two beers, the good stuff.”

Sitting back, the Human put her fingertips together, or tried to. The tips didn’t appear to want to meet, and Enris watched in fascination. When they finally did, Louli regarded him over the cage they formed. “Don’t you surprise me, Friend Enris,” she warned. “You get hospitality because Gurdo’s got a feel for opportunity and sees something in the two of you I don’t. I expect to see merchandise worth the effort. Legal. Portable. Not alive merchandise. Anything else gets complicated. Complicated drops you a layer. Get that?”

“A layer?”

“Local expression. Cause me trouble. Lowers the value. Complications? You don’t get so much in trade. Waste my time altogether, I won’t be happy. You don’t want me not happy. Fair enough?”

He copied her position, his fingers cooperating. “We won’t be happy,” Enris replied smoothly, “if you’ve wasted ours.” Naryn?

Here.

“No time for food. Our sample’s arrived,” he added, as the door to the Carasian’s quarters opened and Naryn stepped through.

Followed immediately by Haxel and Worin, his young brother.

Being outnumbered didn’t appear to bother Lawren Louli. “Don’t tell me. More wives. Bet that one doesn’t share.” A nod at Haxel, who might have been carved in stone after her quick assessing scan of their surroundings.

Enris ignored the obscure comment. What do you think you’re doing here? he sent to Worin, with a lash of worried anger.

Though he paled, the younger Mendolar stood his ground. He lifted the small crate he carried against his chest. They needed me to ’port this.

So Haxel could have free hands and Naryn look impressive.

Despite the fear that things could spiral out of control, Enris took a deep breath and gestured approval. It wasn’t Worin’s fault. “Lawren Louli. This is Naryn di S’udlaat, Haxel di Vendan, and Worin di Mendolar.”

Naryn did, he had to admit, impress. She’d taken the time to don her white Councillor’s robe, and her dark red hair fell in a magnificent cloak over her shoulders and back, loose but under control. Haxel, as always, had hers tightly netted. As well Gurdo hadn’t seen her longknife.

Though doubtless she’d want one of the force blades, too, once Aryl showed her.

Louli’s eyes were fixed on the crate. “This the sample? What’s inside? Let’s see.”

Your turn, Enris sent to Naryn, rising from his seat and giving her a small bow. This Human claims to know of a suitable home for us. If we have something of value to trade.

He hoped so, for all their sakes.

At a gesture from Naryn, Worin put the crate gently on the table and stepped back.

Louli rose to her feet as Naryn first pressed a finger to one corner, then tapped the remaining top corners in a specific pattern. The lid began to rise.

Enris held his breath.

Which was when Worin pointed to the floor below. “What’s Aryl doing?”

Chapter 3

“THEY SHOULD MAKE THE DOORS your size,” Aryl commented as Gurdo tilted its massive back, waved its claws vigorously in the air, and somehow maneuvered its bulk through the opening. The spectacle did clear a more than adequate amount of floor space, since anyone who’d been in the way moved quickly elsewhere. Spilling a few drinks.

A clawtip pointed up. “Lower layers support the upper; lower buildings support those above. Wide doors make the old-timers nervous.” That rain on metal sound. “Louli prefers I make them nervous,” it boasted.

Aryl carefully didn’t smile, though Gurdo, despite its formidable natural weapons and loud voice, seemed more a threat to unwary toes and elbows than individuals. She glanced at the upper level. The window walls worked in Louli’s favor. Where Enris sat with the Human was clouded from this side, allowing only blurred outlines to show. Her Chosen felt confident. He wasn’t, she thought dourly, always right to do so. “I should have stayed there.”

“Come. Have a drink. Enjoy the show.” The Carasian dipped its head closer to hers. “That way you won’t make me nervous.”

Astute being. Aryl made a “lead on” gesture. The stage, as they’d called it, was still empty. No one crowded them—crowded Gurdo, to be exact—but the rest of Doc’s Dive offered no room to squeeze between anyone.