The Serrano Succession (95 page)

"So what are you going to have?"

"Mmmm . . . I don't know; my mouth was really set on rabbit. Lamb maybe. Cattlelope is just too . . . too."

"Start with soup," Kate said. "So will I. We both need it."

They were most of the way through the soup, when a stir near the entrance caught Brun's attention. Someone was talking urgently to the maitre d', trying to get past him.

"She's my
niece
, dammit!" Uncle Harlis. Brun swallowed. Uncle Harlis was supposed to be under detention or surveillance or something—she hadn't paid much attention, beyond being assured he wouldn't bother her—pending investigation of his felonious actions in the various family businesses, and his attempt on Bunny's inheritance. "I have a right to see her; I'm worried . . ." At that, Kate turned around.

"The wicked uncle returns?"

"Something like that," Brun said. A colored light had come on at their table, discreetly signalling that someone wanted to speak with her. She pressed the response. Kate raised an eyebrow. "Might as well," Brun said. "He'll just make more of a scene if we don't, and he's not likely to try a physical assault here, in public." Now the maitre d' was leading Harlis over to their table.

"Brun, I've been so worried," Harlis said. He looked more flustered than worried, Brun thought, but she didn't argue the point. "After all, your mother—and I tried to call you but no one answered, and when I went by, there were police all over the house."

"Really?" Brun said. "Why?"

"They wouldn't say. Are you all right?"

"Fine," Brun said. "Is that all you wanted? Or is there something else?" She couldn't imagine he'd come to the restaurant just to find out if she was all right.

"Look . . . Brun . . . I know this may be a bad time, but . . . I want to go to Sirialis."

"Sirialis? Why on earth—you know the court upheld Dad's bequests."

"Yes, I know. But there're things of mine there—you know, my room in the east wing—and I want them."

"I can have them sent to you," Brun offered.

"I need to go there myself," Harlis said. His voice was louder again; Brun could see others giving them sidelong glances. Was he drunk?

"I don't think that's a good idea," Brun said. "There's no one in the family in residence—"

"I'm in the family!" Harlis said. "It's as much my home as yours—it should be—it's not fair—" He faltered.

"Harlis, you would have had the same access you always had, if you hadn't tried to cheat us.
That
wasn't fair."

"Neither is making the daughter of a murderer the Barraclough heir," Harlis snarled. Brun could almost feel the tense fascination of the other diners.

"Is that what this is about?" Brun said, wondering where he'd heard it.

"What'd you do, diddle the old man?" Harlis's voice rang through the room, and the maitre d' and one of the larger waiters started toward them.

Kate laughed, and leaned back in her chair. "What's the matter, Harlis, did you give it away?"

Brun felt her face heating—Kate's taste in humor belonged in a barn—but managed to hold her neutral expression. When the maitre d' was near enough, she spoke in a low but clear voice. "I believe my uncle is not feeling well. Perhaps you could help him to some assistance?"

"Of course, sera," the maitre d' said.

"You'll regret this," Harlis said. "Spoiled, bratty, stupid little bitch—"

The other diners applied themselves to their food with commendable delicacy until Harlis had disappeared from the room.

"I will say this about your uncle," Kate said. "He doesn't let an occasion for stupidity pass him by."

Brun snorted and almost choked on her water. "I needed that. But I have to call someone, a secured call. Can I leave you a few minutes?"

"Of course. I will amuse myself by flirting with that handsome young fellow who just walked in and is standing by the wall over there. Could it be our George?"

Brun glanced that way. "Oh. I don't need to make the call.

"You don't have to be so mysterious with me," Kate said.

"Actually I do," Brun said. "Excuse me a moment." She walked across the room and stepped out into the foyer with George Mahoney.

"I'm glad you're all right," he said, bowing formally.

"Things . . . happened."

"Yes. Dad's taken care of it."

"Harlis was here," Brun said.

"Here?"

"Yes. You must've just missed him—he was . . . asked to leave."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Yes. He wants to go to Sirialis."

"Let me call Dad—then can I join you for dinner?"

"Of course. I'll tell Kate and snag a waiter."

When George exerted himself to be charming, he could be very charming indeed. Kate, who had only seen him worried about his father, or being casual at Appledale, had not experienced the glossy splendor of George in full feather. Brun sat back and watched them banter and flirt and chat, as she worked her way through her saddle of venison without saying much. The food revived her, and by the time they were ready for dessert, she was ready to ask questions.

"The house staff?"

"All safe. Variously disposed of, but safe. Your security was less fortunate, but they're all alive. Stepan has assigned Barraclough senior security to you; the house will be safe tonight, but he recommends that you spend the night elsewhere. You can always stay with us, you know."

"Do you know who, or what?"

"Not for sure, but Harlis's name was mentioned."

"He started out saying he was worried about Brun," Kate put in. "Said he'd been by the house, seen the police . . . as if he thought something might have happened. Seemed put out that she was safe and unworried."

"Hm. Nobody told me he'd been to the house. I'd have thought they'd hold him if he'd shown up . . . where'd he go?"

"I have no idea," Brun said. "All I know is, he wants to go to Sirialis, and when I didn't agree that he could, he said I'd be sorry."

"I think we need to call that in right now," George said. "With any luck we can find him, but—" He looked at the time. "He could have caught the up-shuttle already."

"If we'd been there . . . if he'd had backup," Kate said, "Brun could be dead and he could be on that shuttle."

"Well, I'm not," Brun said, eyeing the pastry cart coming toward them. "I'm alive, and I want something with chocolate all over it."

Goonar was just getting ready to head up to the main restaurant block in this section of the Station for dinner when his comunit buzzed. "It's Commander Tavard," a voice said. "Those fingerprints and video were very interesting."

"Oh? Are—uh—this isn't a secure link at this end, Commander."

"Not a problem. Just wanted to tell you how glad I am you aren't heading out with that particular passenger. And to keep a close eye on your area, in case he decides to retaliate for your inhospitality." Tavard sounded almost smug.

"Believe me, I shall. We were going out to dinner, Basil and I, but we could stay aboard, if you think that's wise."

"No, dinner out sounds fine, as long as you have someone reliable aboard. If we should happen to meet, I presume you're still annoyed with Fleet for its ungenerous attitude towards informers?"

"Of course. Shall I snub you, or you snub me?"

"Both a little cool, I'd say. Oh, and thanks for your information about Suiza. She's turned up—she was visiting a private residence and that's why we couldn't find her."

"You mean you really—?" Goonar had not considered that this interest might be real.

"Two strings to my bow, and two arrows nocked . . . though if I understand bows at all, that's not how it could work. But you grasp my meaning."

"Indeed." He thought of asking about Betharnya and her troupe, but decided better not complicate an already complicated situation. "I'm taking my comunit along, if you need to contact me."

With a last warning to the ship's crew, he and Basil headed up to the main levels. Rockhouse always made him feel he was in the thick of things; Zenebra might be as crowded just before the Trials, but that was all horse people, all one sort. Here it was the variety, the sense that everyone, at one time or another, might turn up on business. Shops, news kiosks with screens flickering and hardcopies racked below, more shops, the bustle of the evening traffic, mostly well-dressed at this hour: the soberly dressed businessmen and women who were still working, the gaudily dressed young out for an evening.

He watched an old woman in a brilliant red and purple caftan, her thick gray hair in a braid piled on her head, swing along as if she owned the entire station. She wasn't particularly tall, but people moved out of her way as if by some arcane force. Basil nudged him. "Reminds me of Aunt Herdion."

"She's somebody's aunt, I'd say," Goonar said. She cheered him up, for reasons he couldn't grasp. In a universe with brisk old ladies like this, old ladies who could mend quarrels between families for the sake of a lost child, he could almost believe that Betharnya would consider giving up the stage for a nice house at the family compound, next door to Basil's.

As a Terakian captain, Goonar now had a membership in the Captains' Guild; he had booked a table for himself and Basil. He'd been here before, as a junior guest of his uncle's, but this was his first time in the door as a member in his own right.

"Captain Terakian, of course." The maitre d' smiled at him. "We're always delighted to see captains of Terakian and Sons here. Please—follow me."

Then, he had been awed by the decor, unused to the style of the inner worlds of the Familias. Now . . . he could almost feel he belonged here.

Once the first course was on the table, Basil leaned across. "You aren't going to leave here without talking to Bethya, are you?"

Goonar almost choked on his soup and glared at Basil. "How can I talk to her when she disappeared into the Fleet side of the Station, and I've heard nothing?"

"You could ask. You could have asked that commander."

"He came to ask about the Suiza woman," Goonar said, mindful of listeners. "Why would he know anything about Bethya?"

"Goonar . . . she likes you, and you like her. I can tell."

"You cannot. Last year you thought I was falling for that blonde—"

"I was hoping. I knew better, truly I did. But don't try to tell me Bethya doesn't stir you—"

"Don't be vulgar, Bas." Goonar leaned over his soup, the rising steam an excuse for the heat in his cheeks. "Besides, if she wants to talk to me, she knows where I am. Anyway, she's an actress. Why would she be interested in a plain old ship captain?" Other than the reasons he didn't want to hear.

"She's ready to settle down, maybe."

"I doubt it," Goonar said. The soup lay heavy in his stomach, and he wished dinner over already. Basil went on spooning his in—his appetite hadn't suffered.

His comunit buzzed. Goonar flicked it on. "Captain? This is Bethya—" His pulse raced. "We're . . . um . . . finished here." He could hear the careful phrasing. "We're contacting agents to see about a booking . . . I know we need to get our equipment off your ship and into storage or something. Could I come talk to you about that and about settling up?"

"Don't worry," he said automatically. Then, with a feeling like plunging over a cliff, he said, "Actually—Basil and I are having dinner at the Captains' Guild. Would you like to join us?"

"I don't know if I . . . yes, Captain, I'd like that. Where is it?"

Goonar gave her directions and looked up to find Basil grinning like a boy who had just pulled the prize ring out of the barrel. "What!"

"It was Bethya, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was Bethya, and yes, she's coming over here to have dinner." He signalled a waiter and explained that he had another guest coming.

"You're grinning all over your face," Basil observed. "Some of our competitors are going to think you just made a deal."

"Let them," Goonar said. His appetite had returned with a rush; he could have eaten an entire cattlelope.

Bethya arrived a few minutes later, and Goonar would have sworn every male in the place perked up. She knew it, too, he saw, and enjoyed it. But her smile was for him alone when he seated her.

"I didn't want to call you until they were completely through," she said. "And then Dougie started up—insisting that he knew just what we should do, and how, and when. I had to get them all back to the hotel, and call two agents, before he'd leave off."

"That's all right," Goonar said. "What will you have?"

"That looks good," she said, glancing at his plate. "Cattlelope?"