Lee, Sharon - Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon

Aelliana flipped the letter over and riffled the first clipped set of papers, located an accounts list, with balances, among the appendices, and ran an expert's eye down the page.

Carefully, she pulled out the desk chair, and, carefully, sat.

She flipped back to the first page, and was very soon in possession of the fact that certain monies (itemized list in Appendix A) were transferred from Daav yos'Phelium Clan Korval to Aelliana Caylon Clan Mizel to be hers fully, without restraint, and without condition, to use wholly as she judged fit.

There was more, language specifying that the grant was to herself personally, and a great deal of what she judged to be mere formality, in order to sanctify the contract in the eyes of another qe'andra and the Accountants Guild.

What there was not, was any explanation of why Daav should be giving her—her personally—so very much money, not to mention what appeared to be a small house or holding in the Hayzin Mountains.

Aelliana reassembled the papers and slid them back into their envelope with the letter from Mr. dea'Gauss covering all, exactly as it had been. She could not possibly accept so much—not from Daav. If this was some High House notion of seeing to her comfort—

She bit her lip, recalling Anne's reassurance that she could afford that exclusive, expensive shop. Daav hadn't paid for her clothes, no. He had merely given her the means to do so.

Well, she thought, pressing the seal on the envelope and rising from her chair, Mr. dea'Gauss had invited her to consult him with any question. How convenient, that she had already determined to call upon him with other business.

* * *

Daav closed the door behind him, and sealed it before going deeper into the clan's closest-held library. Here were shelf after shelf of leather-bound volumes—Korval's Diaries, including the stained and rumpled book that had belonged to the very Founder, Grandmother Cantra, who had first lain down the rules of the clan.

Today, he thought, he need not go . . . quite so far back. He stepped up to a shelf holding more modern, less abused, volumes and ran his fingers down the leathered spines . . .

* * *

“May I,” Aelliana said to the young man at the desk, “speak with Mr. dea'Gauss?”

The young man inclined his head, respectful, but not encouraging.

“Have you an appointment, Pilot?”

Aelliana's stomach sank. A gentleman so highly placed—of course she ought to have made an appointment, rather than rushing in as if—as if this fine office in Solcintra's business district was the Binjali Repair Shop, and someone of the regular crew certain to be about to aid her.

“I beg your pardon,” she said to the young man. “It did not occur to me to do so. Perhaps I might make one with you?”

“Certainly,” he said, his fingers touching the keys set into the desktop. “Your name, please?”

“Aelliana Caylon.”

The young man's busy fingers paused.

“Ah . . . ”

“I understand that there is a great deal of demand upon his time,” Aelliana began—and paused when he raised his hand.

“Pray forgive me, Pilot Caylon. I will inform Mr. dea'Gauss of your presence. Please, allow Ms. pen'Dela to guide you to one of the private parlors.”

He must have touched a key, for here came a young woman who scarcely looked past halfling, dressed in sober business clothes, her face formal, and her bow precise.

“Pilot Caylon, please. Follow me.”

“I—” Aelliana looked back to the young man at the desk. “Pray do not call Mr. dea'Gauss from his duties for me. Indeed, you are quite correct; I ought to come at his convenience.”

The young man inclined his head.

“My instructions are that Mr. dea'Gauss will see Aelliana Caylon,” he said.

“If the pilot will come?” Ms. pen'Dela added in a sweet, high voice.

Aelliana bit her lip, then inclined her head and followed the young lady down the hallway and into a small, graciously appointed parlor.

“There is tea,” her guide said, showing her the buffet laid with cups and a small plate of pastries. “If you would prefer wine . . . ”

“Thank you, tea is all that I require,” Aelliana said hastily.

Ms. pen'Dela bowed.

“Certainly, Pilot. Mr. dea'Gauss should be with you very soon. In the meanwhile, if there is anything at all that you require, only press this button—” She placed her hand briefly next to the button in question, discreetly set into the top of the buffet. “—and someone will come.”

“Thank you,” Aelliana said again. “I am quite content.”

Her guide bowed and departed. A curtain woven with the sign of the Accountants Guild fell across the doorway, granting privacy as Aelliana sank into one of the soft chairs grouped agreeably about a small table.

She took a breath, straightened her spine, placed the envelope on her lap, and folded her hands atop it. Mr dea'Gauss had been very kind to her during their previous meeting, she told herself. She would explain her error, and beg his pardon—surely he would accept that? Then, she would make a proper appointment, and—

The curtain across the doorway parted to admit a man of very upright posture, wearing a bronze vest over dark shirt and trousers.

Aelliana came to her feet and bowed low.

“Mr. dea'Gauss, please forgive this unseemly intrusion into your day.”

There was a pause, growing rather longer than courtesy permitted. She straightened, and met a pair of speculative brown eyes.

“You do not intrude, my lady,” he said, his voice soothing in the mode of servant to lord. “I see that you have the transfer packet. Please, allow me to take you to my office. We may speak confidentially there.”

Aelliana swallowed. Well, and if he would see her, she thought, then he would. She would try to keep her requests and her questions to the point and disrupt him as little as possible.

“Thank you,” she said, and took the arm that he offered.

“Only a step down the hall,” he murmured, keeping yet to that mistaken mode, “and a short ride on the lift. It is a fine day, and the views from the windows are quite pleasant.”

It was, Aelliana admitted some time later, a worthy view: Most of Solcintra City could be seen from the windows of Mr. dea'Gauss' office, an orderly gridwork of architecture and parkland. Indeed, if one took the right angle, one could see the Tower in Solcintra Port, nearly colorless against the bright sky.

“From the rear windows one may see Korval's tree.” Mr. dea'Gauss gestured toward an panel of opaqued windows. “Alas, this is not the best hour for such a viewing.” He inclined his head, and continued, somewhat more briskly, “Now, my Lady, what task may I be honored to perform for you?”

She hesitated. It was an impertinence to call another adult's understanding of melant'i into question. However, it was . . . dishonorable to claim a place higher than where one stood.

“I fear that, in my ignorance, I may have misled you, sir,” she said carefully in adult-to-adult. “I am the second daughter of the House, and Mizel—Mizel does not stand High. Scholar will do for me, or Pilot; each is a melant'i that I hold in my own right. I have, for a variety of reasons, accepted the protection of Clan Korval.” She raised her hand to touch the pin in the collar of her jacket. “But I am not of Clan Korval.”

“I see.” Mr. dea'Gauss tipped his head, and moved a hand, indicating that she walk with him to the table where she had left the envelope. “Perhaps, then, Pilot,” he said in adult-to-adult, “we ought to discuss your melant'i more fully. But first—” He used his chin to point at the worktable—“you have some questions regarding the transfer paperwork?”

“Yes,” she said, pausing by a chair to allow him to seat himself first, as was appropriate, given their relative ranks. “And also, I have a—task for you, if you are willing to undertake it. Understand, I have no good idea of how much work is involved, so you must not hold shy of telling me if it will not do.”