Heart Journey (33 page)

Del didn’t want anything in Raz’s life to be hopeless but could only say, “Let me help.”

He looked down at her and smiled, but that didn’t reach his eyes. “You
are
helping. Just by being here.”

ME, too!
Rosemary said.
I am sad because FamMan hurts.
She licked his face.

“Thank you,” Raz said. “I think the best way you could help would be if you sat, ah, here,”—he placed her on a high shelf—“and supervised. I’ve found cats are good at supervising.”

Sighing, he gestured to one of the bookcases along the wall. “We had several bound editions of
The History of Celta
and
The Encyclopedia of Celta.
They’re all gone.”

The guard said, “No real books or holospheres or vizes left.”

Raz’s jaw flexed. “We had a library, not just objects on the shelves.”

“Figured that,” the guard said.

“At least we didn’t keep any memoryspheres out. Losing those would be devastating.” Letting out a sigh, Raz started picking up the remaining whole objects, stone figures of the Lady and Lord, a battered brass scrybowl with etching around the rim, all its power drained, too.

“GrandSir Cherry, I think you should tour the house,” the guard said.

“Yes, of course.” Raz had taken a chest that had had its top ripped off and put the fragments of the starship models in it, along with other models of what might have been transports, airships, and gliders. He found the curved top to the chest and carefully placed it on the box.

Del had been occupied with a brisk cleanup and hadn’t realized that sadness and depression had flooded his thoughts. She put her basket away, dusted her hands, and linked arms with him.

His smile was crooked as he lifted Rosemary to his shoulder.

They walked across the entryway into a mainspace and he flinched, his eyes scanning the room. His mouth flattened. “We had three very good holo paintings—works of art—in this room.”

The guard made a note. “Gone?”

“Yes. The safe was in the dining room.” With quick strides he passed through the door at the end of the mainspace and moved into the dining room, stopped just over the threshold. Del kept pace.

“The safe was open and empty,” the guard said.

“I can see that.” Raz raked his fingers through his hair, set his shoulders. “I’m not sure of the contents.” Now he gave a casual shrug that belied his distress, an actor again. “You’ll have to speak to my father or sister.”

“Some gilt and jewelry,” the guard said. “Original property documents.”

“Ah,” Raz said, but it was more like a noise stuck in his throat. He turned back to the mainspace and Del pivoted with him. Good thing she could keep up with the man. Her arm was clamped against his side and he was gaining comfort from her but not thinking of her. Thinking of his past and his Family, as he should.

His observant gaze scanned the mainspace. “Lighting full,” he said, and the room brightened to summer daylight. The silkeen wallpaper hung down in strips near the corners where apparently the thieves had been looking for secret compartments. Occasional gouges in the wall showed.

The guard cleared his throat. “They were diligent about looking for hidey-holes.”

Raz flinched, said in an emotionless voice, “I guess that means that every wall of the house has been marred.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Right.” Raz slid his hand down to Del’s fingers, moved quickly around the room, cataloguing the missing items for the guard.

“We think the break-in occurred a couple of days ago,” the guard said. “None of your neighbors noticed anything.”

Rosemary mewed.
I need food.

Raz ran a hand down her. “Of course you do.” He gave the room a last glance. “I’ve detailed the loss in here, let’s head to the kitchen.” His mouth twitched in a false smile, his eyes were dark and aching. “Not that I know much of what might be gone there.” He took Del’s hand, frowned as if he tried to visualize the place. “Were the no-times opened and food—”

But the smell of spoiled meat answered that. The kitchen was a wreck, with doors of the no-time food storage units opened. Again their power had been drained.

“Cave of the Dark Goddess,” Raz muttered.

Del recognized regular no-times that would have held all meals and snacks at the exact temperature they’d been when placed inside. She saw one that must have contained special food for rituals, some elegant platters were bare of treats. There was a whiff of cider and cinnamon.

The huge meat no-time was empty, and most of the contents thrown on the floor, looking like a rotting massacre. The whole had a containment shield around it that prevented more spoilage and kept insects away, but the odor remained.

“We did what we could,” the guard said gruffly.

“Of course you did.”

Rosemary
eeped
and buried her head in Raz’s neck.

Del plucked her up, cuddled her, and strode back into the dining room. She put the kitten down and removed a package of bite-sized soft furrabeast bits she carried for Shunuk and herself from her duffle, snagged a nearby saucer with only a slight chip on the bottom, and dumped the food into it for Rosemary.

“A good woman to have in a crisis,” Raz said. His smile was strained.

Her mouth lifted on one side. “Not much of a crisis, feeding a kitten. But she needs milk.”

His face hardened. “I’m sure we don’t have any.” With deliberate steps he moved close to her, took her hands, looked into her eyes. “I want a tracker on this case. Now.”

The best tracker in the world was Straif T’Blackthorn.

Del hesitated—it was a big favor to ask Straif—but she nodded. “Fine.” She moved into the kitchen. Raz frowned.

Taking her perscry out, she tapped it and said, “Straif.”

R
az waited tensely. After a minute there was a buzz and a grumble.
“Here!” Straif T’Blackthorn said. No image showed in Del’s perscry; the man had blocked it.

Then Straif swore, said, “Looks bad.”

Raz recalled that Del’s perscry was full-sized, not showing just a head or torso. He looked at the meat and the destruction; again his stomach turned and he had to glance away.

Del said, “We need your help tracking the vandals.”

Straif cleared his throat and an image formed, showing him sitting up in bed, hair tousled, his wife opening sleepy eyes beside him.

“Straif, this is a life-sized perscry,” Del said.

Straif stared. He grabbed a robe and moved from the bed. Raz noticed the man’s limbs were ropier than his own. He had scars and looked tough as old leather. When he faced them again, his gaze was that of a FirstFamily lord. “Cherrys’, Gael City?”

“Yes,” Del said. “T’Cherry can have transportation for you on the way in a coupla minutes.” She glanced at Raz and he understood he should be contacting his father. He nodded and moved away but kept an ear on the conversation as he scried his father and let him know what was going on.

“Can’t teleport to Gael City,” Straif was saying in the background. “No place midway. Damn mountains, too. Tricky.”

Raz’s father’s brows rose high when he heard that Raz had called on the FirstFamily lord to help. T’Cherry, too, had a rumpled and satisfied look. The creases in his face were heavier than a few days ago. “I’ll have a glider sent to T’Blackthorn’s or he can ’port to the Nobleclass lounge at Southern Airpark. An express private ship will bring him to you.” His father’s eyes gleamed. “We’ll try the new pass. A good test.”

“Yes,” Raz said. “I doubt any of your pilots would think of zooming crazy at night with a FirstFamily lord as a passenger.”

T’Cherry rubbed his graying whiskers. “Got that right.” He nodded again. “A good test.” His face set. “We’ll find the gilt to pay the man his going rate.”

Astronomical. Raz said, “I have savings.”

“We’ll work it out. Maybe the lord would work for a silver favor.”

“I heard that,” said Straif. “I will.”

Del walked closer and the images of Straif and T’Cherry stared in astonishment at each other.

“How can this be?” asked T’Cherry.

Del coughed. “My perscry is an experimental one.” She lifted her chin. “Given to me by my late cuz, Elfwort, who developed them.”

“Got to get the technology and spells,” Straif muttered.

Del rolled a shoulder, pointed her scry at Raz’s perscry.

T’Cherry’s head bobbed out of sight as he bowed. “T’Blackthorn. I’m grateful beyond words that you’ll be helping us.” He straightened his shoulders. “Ah, payment—”

“One silver favor for my Family, to be cashed in at any time in the future, with the standard conditions,” Straif said.

Raz was foggy on the conditions, but his father would know.

“Done, and many thanks,” Raz’s father said. “I can have a glider—”

“I heard that part, too,” Straif said. “I’ll ’port to Southern Airpark.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m more familiar with public teleportation pad twelve than anything else.”

“I’ll have a pilot meet you there.” Raz’s father rubbed his unshaven cheek again and the rasp came through. “You should be in Gael City about four and a quarter septhours from now.”

Straif blinked. “That soon? More new technology?”

“Express run, new pass.” T’Cherry puffed his chest out.

“I’m impressed.”

“Good, then you can tell the FirstFamilies about it.” He winked and ended his scry.

Straif met their eyes in turn. “Keep the containment shield on the kitchen and the trail fresh for me. Later.” His full-length image vanished.

“Lady and Lord,” the guard said. He was rubbing his temples with forefinger and thumb. “Straif T’Blackthorn.” He eyed Del. “You have him on your perscry by given name.”

Del shrugged, stuck her scry in her pocket. Her nose wrinkled in distaste as she scanned the kitchen. “He’ll be here in a little over four septhours.”

“I’m heading upstairs,” Raz said.

“GrandSir Cherry, it’s bad there,” the guard said, shaking his head as he tromped from the kitchen. “All this waste. So much Flair and energy needed to restore.” Anger laced his tones, enough to set off the lava flow inside Raz again. Once more he kept it from erupting, spewing. Kept his temper. He didn’t think even Del understood how furious he was.

At his side, her arm entwined in his, she nudged him from the kitchen and he realized his skin had heated; his skin would be ruddier than ever. He started breathing and sending his anger away, through his feet. It would be best if he could find a grounding pad. There was one in the exercise and fighting salon.

Out of the kitchen, he scooped up little Rosemary, who’d curled into a ball next to the dish. His mother wouldn’t be pleased that this set of dinnerware was broken.

He put the kitten on his shoulder and immediately felt nearly as good as when he’d taken Del’s hand. The little cat stretched out, burped as her tummy came in contact with his muscle, purred before she fell back to sleep.

Again he went through breathing exercises to control his emotions. The thieves had been setting the pace, and the plot, and the action, his Family reacting or letting the guards take care of the business. Now
he’d
taken action, moved onto the stage, ready to do what had to be done, no matter the gilt or the personal cost.

He hadn’t liked bringing Straif T’Blackthorn in, admitted to himself that he might not have done so if Del’s ex-lover hadn’t been HeartBound to another woman.

“Lights,” Del murmured, and Raz comprehended that he’d been stalking through the dim house and Del didn’t know the place. Now the spell lights in pretty round, efficient globes lit and he stopped at the stairs and swore again. The Family portraits marching up the wall above the stairs had been slashed.

Del put her arms around him and he leaned his head against hers.

One big breath, and another, and he could speak. “Mostly reproductions from those in the Residence.” But “mostly” wasn’t good enough. He forced himself to look at the originals, narrowed his eyes as he realized the oldest were the most defaced, though squares where a holo painting had projected were drained and gone forever.

“The oldest of the Family . . .” Del murmured.

“Yes.”

“You don’t have a pic or holo of your ancestress, the colonist? Tabacin?”

“No.” He smiled grimly. “She didn’t like images of herself. We’re not sure who she looks like, if there’s any Family resemblance at all.”

Del nodded and they ascended the stairs. These walls, too, were marred.

“How much do you know about Tabacin?” Del asked, and Raz knew she was trying to divert him from the destruction.

Meanwhile his anger had grown enough that his ears felt hot, he thought the top of his head would sizzle. He kept his breathing steady, his steps even, but his voice was tight when he answered. “Not a lot.” He managed a hitch of his mouth in a semblance of a smile. “She liked cherries and baking, I think. Made the trek from
Lugh’s Spear
to Druida with the rest of those colonists. Was supposed to have kept a diary about all the journeying. Married late in life and had several children. Four? The colonists were more fertile than we.” He hesitated, turned left down the corridor to the sparring salon. He
needed
that damned grounding mat, his feet burned as hot as his head and he wondered that he didn’t leave smoking footprints in the carpet behind him.