Michael Flynn: On the Razor’s Edge

So it was Inner Child who saw Méarana and Bridget ban enter the refectory and who heard the daughter say to the mother, “He wants only a bowl of uiscebeatha to be as I found him on Jehovah.”

“Perhaps,” said the Red Hound, “you should have left him there.”

“Ah, no, Mother, for then I would have lost you, out in the Wild. Remember that, I pray. He came for you when no one else could.”

“And now I have come for him, so the score is paid. He has lived too long in the Shadows and has learned their lawless ways.”

Inner Child had aroused the rest of the scarred man, and the Silky Voice took the tongue to answer. No, not lawless, my dear. They have their codes and laws, just as you do. Different laws and different codes, it’s true. They are more flamboyant; you are more considered. You both dance with death, but you dance at decorous arm’s length while they dance in passionate embrace.

Bridget ban came to the table and sat across from the scarred man. The harper stood a little behind her. The Fudir could see how closely they resembled each other, but he could see the differences, too. In the chin, and in the ears. Those Méarana had gotten from him.

“Do you admire the Shadows, then?” asked the Hound.

Donovan grinned through the scarred man’s lips. “I admire them—and pity them. I have seen them laugh, and seen them weep. And while they laugh and weep for different reasons than you, the tears themselves are genuine.”

Bridget ban leaned forward. “You killed Padaborn in cold blood. He was helpless; he was our prisoner.”

“Ah. My old Leader. He was far from helpless, and he was not our prisoner. I dared not turn my back on him to fight Gidula. But … It was not I who shot him.”

“No?”

“It was Gidula.”

“But, they were allies. They had entered the Gayshot Bo together.”

“Oh, yes,” said Donovan. “But you underestimate the levels of deception and treachery at work. Gidula would never have shot the Secret Name—until the masque came off and he saw Geshler Padaborn.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t, and we cannot ask Gidula; but that’s how the smart money bets. The Secret Name always wears a masque and is the only Name who is nameless. Poor Gesh. His mind was what mine should have been, working in perfect harmony.”

“Is it so good then,” Méarana asked, “to brook no dissent?”

Ha! said the Sleuth. She got you there!

The Fudir grinned crookedly. “Maybe not, but it is quieter.”

Bridget ban spoke up and her voice was not as harsh as it might have been. “What is it you want, Donovan? Or should I call you Tom?”

The scarred man shook their head. “No. Tomas Krishna Murphy died in the siege of the old Education Ministry. What was left of him died in a bed on Gatmander. He had been betrayed by the man he loved and trusted most. He wanted to die and nearly took the rest of us with him. What do I want? Most of all?” He thought about the question. “I want to sit under my own vine and fig tree and not be afraid. I would like to visit Clanthompson Hall, if you would permit.”

Inner Child noticed how Méarana’s hand, laid casually on her mother’s shoulder, tightened its grip.

“Oh, you would? Donovan, ye keep breaking things. The Dancer, the old Commonwealth Ark, now ye’ve broken the entire Confederation!”

“Well,” said the Fudir, “the Confederation stood between you and me. It seemed the fastest way to reach you.”

“Love, is it? Why, we hae barely spoken in twenty years!”

“Aye, there is something cruel about love. Otherwise, it wouldn’t hurt so.”

Bridget ban did not smile, but her countenance grew more serious. “Maybe it is time for you to come home.”

The scarred man looked up. The young girl in the chiton sang, but her song did not reach his lips. “Why? Does your estate need a vine-dresser?”

“No. Because you stepped between my daughter and the gun of Gidula.”

“‘Our’ daughter. Mine was a desperate gesture. If Gidula had not wasted a charge on Padaborn … If not for Ravn, once I’d dropped, he would have had a clear shot.”

“Not right away.”

The Fudir looked at Bridget ban and nodded. “Yes. Who said we have nothing in common.”

“And Méarana had two more knives. Given such a pause, she might have…” Bridget ban visibly tore herself from the world that might have been. “Ye won’t gang scootin’ off agin, wi’ nary a word?”

Donovan nodded. “Fig tree. Vine. And I’ll leave word.”

Bridget ban could hardly complain, as she herself was often absent on Hound’s Business and the word she left was ofttimes cryptic. “We’ll see. Don’t think it will be like twenty years ago.”

Twenty years ago, Bridget ban had used her charms to seduce Greystroke and Little Hugh, as well as the Fudir, as a way of binding their loyalties to herself. Even two years ago, the Fudir might have thrown that in her face before the Silky Voice could stop him. But Bridget ban was not now who she had been, and neither was he. “I know,” was all he said; and Méarana, of all of them, showed relief on her face.

Donovan rose and pulled open his coverall pants. “That reminds me. I have a present for you.” Before Bridget ban could raise a brow or Méarana blush, he plucked a thread from his undergarment and pulled it free.

“I hope that’s not what’s holding it all together,” said Bridget ban. But she recognized it for a data thread.

“I wove it into my undergarment,” the Fudir explained. “It seemed the safest place, and I haven’t changed the garment since.”

Bridget ban hesitated before taking the proferred thread, and then held it between her fingertips. “What is it ye have for me, Donovan buigh?”

“Old files I copied in the Miwellion in Prizga. They are titled Vyutha 1 through Vyutha 7. ‘Vyutha’ is a term related to the old Murkanglais viuda, which meant variously ‘widow,’ ‘relict,’ or ‘vestige.’”

Bridget ban’s head jerked up. “Vestiges? Oh, well played, Donovan buigh! Well played. Imagine caching the artifacts, then leaving the documentation out where anyone could find it. Where is Prizga?”

“On Old Earth, on the western shore of the Northern Mark, just south of the glaciers.”

“You knew about the Vestiges even then?”

“No, I copied the files because they were the only sealed files in the Miwellion. Briddy, they’re old. They were sealed by the Audorithadesh Ympriales—and they were still sealed when I found them. It will take tender work to break them open.”

“The Ympriales?” Bridget ban and her daughter alike showed bewilderment. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It was an empire on Old Earth shortly after star sliding had begun, after the fall of the Gran Publicamericana but before the formation of the Commonwealth of Suns. It included most of the Northern Mark and parts of Yurp and a place called Strine.”

The Red Hound shook her head. “But then…”

“Aye. The files were time-locked all during the Commonwealth.”

“Then the Vestiges cannae be Commonwealth work?”

“No. And that means they are not prehuman, either. Otherwise, there would not have been so much fuss when Mahadevan found the ruins on New Mumbai. It would have been old news.”

Bridget ban shook her heads. “Then … If not the Commonwealth and not the prehumans … Who made the Vestiges? Where were they found?”

Donovan flicked the dangling thread with his finger. “That depends on how good your decrypters and seal-breakers are. But it does make you wonder why those early expeditions were so keen on finding alien intelligences.”