Michael Flynn - Up Jim River

“Fool! She knew it not.”

Billy shrugged. “Now my shadow hunts me, also, for I did nothing to punish her. For this reason did I attach myself to you, and in your protection flee my station on Harpaloon. Listen, and I will tell thee something. There is a struggle in the Lion’s Mouth.’ the lamp that was lit has flared again.’ Agent hunts agent.’ the names that were not forgotten have been remembered.’”

“What is that to us, but an occasion to cheer each side in turn?”

“The woman at the park had sympathy for that remembrance. So hath I. My shadow does not. Should he find thee, he will kill thee.”

“He will try.” Donovan held the knife in throwing position. “As you damn near did.”

Billy closed his eyes and let out his breath. He sensed that he would live the day. “I feared a trap, and threw without thought. Who else knows of me?”

Donovan laughed. “Am I a fool? They all know. Captain Barnes. The whole crew. I told them before I arranged this meeting.”

“What then is to be our resolution?”

“Doest thou truly reject Those of Name?”

“I do.”

“And all Those works?”

“I do. I have trawled the League for others of like sympathy, dispatching them back to the Confederation, there to aide in Their overthrow. But my usefulness is now at an end, and I flee myself for my life.”

Donovan nodded. “Give thanks to whichever gods please thee that thou livest this day for the morrow.”

“Let me not question my fortune, good or ill, nor tempt the gods, but why extend my life for even one hour longer? Is there not a scripture that sayeth, ‘Better safe than sorry’?”

Donovan grinned. “We are in the Wild, boy. And another scripture saith,’ the enemy of mine enemy is my friend.’ Another good eye, another skilled pair of hands, would not be unwelcome—provided the eyes may be trusted and the hands not turn against us. And this trust will be proofed not by thy word, but by thy self-interest. For in the Wild ‘We must all hang together lest we hang separately.’”

When Teodorq Nagarajan returned to his quarters in the “village,” he sensed another presence waiting in the darkened room, and fell to a crouch without turning on the light. His eyes searched for that shadow within the shadows that did not belong.

“Just tell us one thing, Teddy,” said a voice that had grown familiar to him.

Teodorq grinned and rose and turned on the lights. He tucked his nine back in its holster. “Yuh sure gave me a start, boss.” The dazer in Donovan’s hand worried him, but the scarred man held the weapon pointed to the ceiling, so he didn’t worry too much.

“Just tell us one thing, Teddy,” Donovan said again. “Did you provide the drug she used?”

“Sure. It’s the potion we drink when we go on visionquests to learn our true self.”

Donovan grunted. “It works.” He clicked the safety on and returned his weapon to its resting place. “You can put the thong back on the knife, too. Your answers were too guileless. You really thought you were doing us a favor.”

Teodorq shrugged. “I couldn’t let her go into the Free Worlds with only him to protect her.”

“You’re a loyal man, Teddy.”

He shrugged. “She’s paying me.”

“Teddy, we have one more call to make. Contact Sofwari and tell him the team will meet in half an hora, on the Green.”

“You want me to tell Billy, too?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

An important quality of a harper’s art is the ability not to miss a beat. But when Méarana of Dangchao finished freshening up and returned from the vanity to the sitting room of her quarters to find Donovan buigh sitting in the big blue padded chair that she had taken as her favorite, it required all of her mastery to maintain her rhythm.

“You keep turning up,” she said, “like a bad ducat.”

“And you keep leaving us behind; so it evens up.”

“After a while, one tires of dragging and pushing and prodding. Had ye not dragged your heels…”

“Are you going to offer us a drink? I thought you might have a bottle of uiscebeatha in your room.”

“Harp, clothing, weapons, and uisce. The four essentials.”

“I get by without the harp. In a pinch, I can get by without the clothing.”

There was a cold-well in the suite’s galley and Méarana produced from it a bottle of Gatmander vawga , called Shining Moon. “Will this do? It’s been aging since at least last week.”

Donovan said, “You better watch that stuff. Someone could dope it with gods-know-what and you’d never taste it.”

Méarana had been pouring two drinks and at that she spilled on the counter. “That wasn’t a fair shot.”

“Because it hit the target?”

“No.” She attacked the spill with a cloth. “Because it wasn’t necessary.” She carried the two glasses in either hand and gave one to Donovan.

The scarred man lifted his glass as if for a toast, but Méarana simply twisted hers in her hands, staring down into it. “To the quest,” he said.

“There’s no need to mock.”

“Who’s mocking? It may be hopeless, but aren’t those the sort of things that needs cheering on? Isn’t that what you always say? Anyone can cheer a winner.” He tossed back half his drink in a single swallow.

Méarana took a sip and drank no more. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Leaving me on Gatmander? We’re sure it did. And as it turned out, it was.”

The harper cocked her head. “There’s something different about you.” She found the second chair and sank into it. “I don’t know why that should surprise me. You have more differences than any man I know. You came up in the luggage boat, of course.”

“Of course. The pilot was greatly surprised. Most of his luggage has little to say.”

Méarana would not look at him. “Almost, I wish you hadn’t made it on board.” When Donovan made no response, she turned to face him. “Because if you hadn’t, I might have been able to forget. Now every time I see you, I’ll remember what I did.”

“We all have our sins,” said the scarred man. “Sometimes, it’s good to remember them.” He paused, and added, “I remember some rather good ones.”

She could not prevent the laugh from breaking forth. But it was a trick and it made her angry. “Why did you come? This journey is hard enough without your constant pessimism.”

“You can’t sip this stuff,” Donovan said to his vawda . “There’s no point in lingering over the taste. It hasn’t any. Just toss it back and let it hit like a hammer.”

“You have odd ideas of fun.” She studied her glass and then took the hard swallow he had recommended.

“You stocked this stuff. If we had to guess, you did it for its analgesic effect.”

“You didn’t have to guess,” she reminded him. She set her glass aside and crossed her legs. “You haven’t told me why you scrambled aboard the Blankets and Beads.”

“There are…all sorts of reasons.”

“Try a few.”

“Well, to find out what happened to your mother, for one.”

“We had that reason from the beginning, and you were eager to quit back then. And don’t bring up the weapon she was trying to find. Same objection.”

“We promised Zorba we would take care of you.”

“So you are here under duress?”

Donovan closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Silence gathered, and Méarana could hear the faint whisper of the air recirculator and, outside her cabin, the murmur of distant voices on the green. Then he took a deep breath and said, “Because…I am your father.”

The harper’s expression did not change. “Is this the part where I go all warm and gooey?”