Korval's man of business was closeted with the First Speaker, but before being whisked away he had managed one minor bit of magic and produced a credit history on Miri Robertson, Terran citizen. Shan slid the disk from the old gentleman's fingers with a smile. "Exactly what I was needing, sir. My thanks," he said, and carried it off.
Alone in his rooms, he fed the information to the computer and took a sip from his glass.
Apparently financial institutions did not consider mercenary soldiers good credit risks. There was a string of six "Applied. Credit Denied" before a surprising "Loan granted, Bank of Fendor, one-half cantra to Miri Robertson payable over a period of not more than four Standard Years at interest of 10.5%. Co-signator, Angela Lizardi. Collateral in form of Pension Fund 98-1077-45581 carried by Ilquith Securities. Transaction completed Day 353 Standard 1385."
Angela Lizardi again—apparently a commander who took active interest in her soldiers. And Miri Robertson pledges her pension for half a cantra cash, he thought. I wonder why.
The screen supplied no answer, but it did reflect an exemplary payment record, and then the notation "Balance paid in full, Day 4, Standard 1388."
She earned a bonus and killed the thing, Shan surmised, sipping wine. It was the best she could have done at ten point five. He touched a key and the credit file faded, to be replaced a heartbeat later by an employment history.
1379: APPRENTICE SOLDIER, LIZARDI'S LUNATICS.
The Lunatics had taken and fulfilled a series of contracts on a number of worlds: Eskelli, Porum, Contrast, Skittle, Klamath.
Shan froze. Klamath?
He had just extended a hand to request more information when the annunciator chimed.
"Come!"
The door whispered open behind him as he impatiently tapped keys.
"Klamath?" Anthora asked, leaning on his shoulder. "What's Klamath?"
"That is what we're trying to find out. We are, in fact, hoping my memory has finally deteriorated to the point that someone must be assigned to lead me about. Exercise your influence, sister, and see that it's Priscilla?"
She laughed. "As if I had any! And what use would you be to Priscilla without a memory?"
"The same use I'll be to her with impaired hearing. Do stop bellowing in my ear."
She stuck her tongue in it.
"That will do," he said. "Bring a chair over and sit nicely or leave."
"Yes, Shan-brother."
He glanced up as she moved away. "Tell me, denubia, did the contract-husband leave with all faculties intact? If yos'Galan owes for mental disability it would be best for me to settle it before the Passage leaves."
"I was very nice to him, Shannie. Truly I was." She dragged the chair into place and sat primly, hands folded in her lap. "Like this?"
"Precisely like that. Pretend you've had upbringing. Now if only the damned computer—Aha! Progress!"
The screen filled with amber letters, scrolling. Shan let it run, then slapped PAUSE and was silent for longer than it should have taken him to read the information there.
Anthora leaned back from her own perusal, frowning at his face and at his pattern, which had suddenly gone flat with pity.
"The world shook apart?" she asked tentatively. "It is horrible, Shannie, but why are we looking at it? I thought you were trying to find out about Val Con's lady."
"I am," he said expressionlessly, allowing the screen to continue a slow scroll. "She was there. Lizardi's Lunatics was one of the mercenary units hired to fight in the local civil war. A handful of people got off-planet before things went so unstable that rescue were hopeless. Countless people died, civilians and soldiers . . ." He touched PAUSE once more. "Survivors, Lizardi's Lunatics: Angela Lizardi, Senior Commander, Roth MacNealy, Brevet Lieutenant; Miri Robertson, Sergeant; Scandal Arbuckle, Private; Lassiter K. Winfield, Private. Five. Gods, a full-staffed unit is nearly three hundred!"
"She has the luck," Anthora said gravely, and Shan felt the hairs rise on his neck.
"Does she?"
But his sister was frowning. "Isn't it odd? I always thought Val Con would chose a lady who was a musician, like he is."
"We don't know that she's not," Shan pointed out. "Though gods alone know what she might have to sing about."
Anthora turned wondering silver eyes on him. "She's alive."
"So she is." He tapped another series, recalling the employment history. "Let's see what else she's done with her life, then, shall we?"
Lizardi's Lunatics had been deactivated in 1384, and there was a two-year blank in Miri Robertson's record until she showed up again as sergeant with the Gyrfalks, under Senior Commander Suzuki Rialto and Junior Commander Jason Randolph Carmody. There followed another list of contracts accepted and fulfilled, interspersed with notations of the excellence of Sergeant Robertson's performance. In 1388 her rank was increased to sergeant master. In 1391 she resigned. Commanders Rialto and Carmody let the record show their sorrow at that decision and their willingness to take the sergeant back into the Gyrfalks at any time.
Some months later Miri Robertson was certified as bodyguard to a Sire Baldwin of Naome, and there the record ended, except for a muted chime indicating that auxiliary information was available.
Shan glanced at Anthora. "Well, sister? Do we press on?"
"By all means!" she cried, and wriggled a little to show the intensity of her interest.
Grinning, Shan touched the proper key. The auxiliary file clicked in and his grin faded.
In 1392, five Standard months after Miri Robertson had become Sire Baldwin's bodyguard, a party of Juntavas attacked the estate, killing many of the household staff. Of those listed missing and presumed escaped: Baldwin himself . . .and Miri Robertson.
The aux file faded, and Shan leaned back in his chair. "Well, sister? Does she still have the luck?"
"It seems so," Anthora said softly. "After all, she got from Naome to Lufkit, and then from Lufkit to Lufkit Prime Station and as far as wherever she and Val Con are now, and they're both alive." She tipped her head. "Doesn't that sound like the luck to you, Shannie?"
"Unfortunately," he said after a small pause. "it does." He sighed and rubbed the tip of his nose. "Does it occur to you that Clutch-turtles might well mistake relationships between humans? By Space, we don't even know that that damned message is from Edger!"
"Mr. dea'Gauss had a tracer put on the pin-beam," Anthora said. "Verification hasn't been made yet, but he feels there's small doubt that the message is genuine. And I told you, brother—I can see Val Con's lady through him, just like I see Priscilla through you!"
He turned to stare at her. "So you did." He touched keys, shut down the screen, reclaimed the disks, and slipped them safely away. "Which reminds me that I'm to dine with Priscilla this evening. Talk about a coil! If Val Con had his heart set on the woman, why couldn't he bring her home? And when did he have time to court and lifemate anyone? Unless . . ." He pushed away from the desk, stretching to his full six feet, reducing Anthora to a plump, precocious child.
"Unless?" she asked.
He bent to kiss her forehead. "A question for Jeeves on my way out, that's all. Please assure Nova that I'm at her command. We'll be dining at Ongit's before going back to Pelthraza Street. And tell Gordy I'll expect to see him here early tomorrow morning. He's loafed long enough."
"Oh, no," Anthora said earnestly. "He's been working very hard! Karea seems particularly pleased."
"I'm delighted for them both." He gave her a gentle shove toward the door. "I'm off to visit Syl Vor and Padi—then a quick word with Jeeves and away! Be a good child, now, and help your sister."
"All right, Shannie," said the most powerful wizard on Liad, and went docilely down the hall.
With some difficulty Jeeves was discovered crouched in a corner of the hearthroom, swaddled in cats, head-ball dim in what Val Con had used to call "sleep." Shan cleared his throat.
"Sir?" The ball glowed to gentle orange life.
"Please don't get up! I only need to ask you a question—you are available for questions, aren't you, Jeeves? It wouldn't concern me quite so much except that you're the brains to Trealla Fantrol, and if we were to have an intruder while you're napping with the cats I don't know what would happen."
"The intruders would be repelled, sir. I was not asleep, but merely offering comfort."
Shan rubbed the tip of his nose. "Comfort? I am to understand that the cats are distressed?"
"They miss Master Val Con, sir."
"They do." Shan considered the various and varicolored felines draped around Jeeves's metallic person. "I hesitate to mention this—but Pil Tor and Yodel have never met Master Val Con."
"Quite right, sir. But Merlin has told them all about him, so they feel his absence as keenly as the rest."
A grizzled gray tabby curled near the head-ball opened one yellow eye, as if daring a challenge to that explanation.
Shan swept a bow. "Never would I doubt you, sir."
The cat closed his eye, and the man swallowed a laugh. "Jeeves, if I might ask you to cast your mind back seven or eight Standards—possibly more: Has my brother ever mentioned the person Miri Robertson in your presence?"
There was silence. Shan bore it for nearly a minute.
"Jeeves?"
"Working, sir. I anticipate completion of the match in approximately—done. Master Val Con has never spoken of or to Miri Robertson in my presence." After a slight and unrobotic hesitation, Jeeves said, "Forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive, old friend. I had a notion Val Con had been lifemated for a few years and had simply forgotten to let us know. Exactly the sort of thing that might slip one's mind, after all. It was dimly possible that he'd said something to you, however, the dangers of Scouts and soldiers being what they are."
"You speak in the context of a will."
"Exactly in the context of a will."
The orange ball flickered, and Merlin flicked a reproachful ear. "The will I have on file for Master Val Con has not been altered since Standard 1382. It does not mention Miri Robertson."
"And that," Shan said, "would seem to be that. Thank you, Jeeves, you've been very helpful. Do continue comforting the cats."
"The comfort is two-way, sir."
Shan sighed. "Are you distressed, Jeeves?"
"It is merely that I, too, miss Master Val Con."
"I see. Forgive me if this offends, but Val Con and I built you, which means—"
"I was Master Val Con's idea."
Shan blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I was Master Val Con's idea," Jeeves repeated, moving an arm to rub a restive tigerstripe. "You said so yourself, sir, several times during my construction."
"So I did." And a more cork-brained scheme, he added silently, may I never again be party to! "My thanks for calling that to my attention. Carry on."
"Thank you, sir. Good evening, sir."
Shan's footsteps faded down the hallway, and in a moment Jeeves noted the opening and closing of the door to the south patio. One of the younger cats, Yodel, mewed faintly and twitched in her sleep. Jeeves moved a hand to stroke her.
"There, there," he said. "There, there."