The Burning Crown (Stone Blade Book 4) (11 page)

"Again, sir," said Karr, "why the suspicion?"

"Because they were new as of eight months ago. Matrix crystals of this particular type do not take long to grow, nor do they require anything rare or volatile in price. The need for them is fairly strong and quite consistent as well. The company that made these, Claridyne on Astraboria, told us they rarely warehouse any of their stock for more than three weeks and that only when business is slow."

Karr called up a trade map and ran some calculations. Allowing for L-shots, microjumps and jitter and factoring in a couple of days for shipping transfer gave him... He stared at the result. Then he repeated the calculations.

"Exactly, my boy," said Worthington, "Any way you run the numbers it's a much shorter and more economical route directly from Astraboria to Faircoast. The only reason to involve Fallstar would be as a hub with more goods originating or moving outside Crown and League, which none of this was."

"That doesn't make sense," said Blue, "There is absolutely no reason for them to divert any of this through Fallstar. Economically it's a loss. Logistically it's a monumental waste and the risk of linking this stuff, the jitter... It's brain-spiked! Especially for something so mundane!"

"Exactly so, dear lady. I have several of my staff investigating the matter. Quite under the garble, of course."

"Of course," said Karr, "What about the other items?"

Karr looked down the list.

"Power couplings, photon transfer arrays, hull compound, catalyst ring nano - that explains the matrix crystals - bioreactor seed media... None of this is particularly common, Sir Allan, except for the hull compound," he said.

"It is for asteroid mining," said Worthington, "My examination of the individual manifests suggested that might be the ultimate destination."

"But these are military grade."

"Many asteroid grinders and megafacs purchase milspec equipment. It is more expensive, truth, but it also lasts longer and can withstand higher tolerances."

"Wait a milli," interjected Blue, "Piotr. Catalyst ring nano and matrix crystal. That can be used to produce fusion plant catalyst rings but they're cheaper to buy. Claridyne can turn them out by the cargo ton and the unit price would be a tenth the cost of making them."

"Unless they need customization," said Karr.

"In which case they would also need induction points calibrated to the nano. They could have shipped them separately, but again it makes a lot more sense to ship them together."

"Perhaps they did ship separately," suggested Worthington, "I know those BinSu blokes were not happy about losing their cargo. They six-sigmas won't be earning a credit for it!"

Karr looked on down the list. "Soyabase. Nanocrystal filament and generation lattices. Soyabase. Plasticaster rods, zrock gel and universal biodyne seal rings. None of those certified for vacuum so that excludes ships, grinders or 'facs. The filaments might be used to make datacubes. That's pure platinum outside the League."

"But there's price again," said Blue, "and the fact that it was coming
into
the League."

The door beeped, cutting off further speculation. At Worthington's signal his butler walked into the room with a chip.

"Your pardon, Master Worthington." Then, to Blue, "Your cousin messaged you most urgently. When I asked he informed me that you might find news of interest."

"Thank you, Ezra," said Worthington.

Ezra bowed to them and left. Blue wasted no time examining the message.

"This is confirmation, Piotr. The
Warmwind
did ground on Fallstar. She stayed long enough to load some cargo then left in what a careless person might call a hurry." She turned to Worthington, "Are you certain this is the
Warmwind's
manifest, Sir Allan?"

"Without question, m'lady. Filed and signed by J. Wilkison, owner and captain with verified lading and departure credentials."

"Could they have deliberately mislabeled or swapped labels," wondered Karr.

"Possibly," said Worthington, "I am not responsible for Fallstar, but to use Lady Blue's words, it would make no sense to do and entail great risk when done. For truth, I hoped you might shed some light."

To that neither of them had a response.

***

Reginald Laird Fyrelm perused his latest reports with irritation and some anger. More Lesser Houses and Halls moved away from Brightcrown, and even a few from Edders. Each distancing gave greater weight to the nascent rumors of Brightcrown censure but the rumors themselves remained absent almost to the point of nonexistence. Almost. Even more frustrating: Fyrelm still could find no reliable or even questionably reliable information on their source or nature. Both Luther Laird Edders and Savn Laird McReely sent frequent assurances that they would not abandon their alliance. Fyrelm never doubted them but their actions fostered both reassurance and anxiety. That they felt the need told him they also felt the pressure.

The door opened and Osbury walked in.

"I've brought your tea, m'Laird, and cakes as well. You've not been eating properly lately."

Fyrelm smiled and accepted the tea. Osbury put the plate of cakes down beside him as well.

"What am I to do, Osbury," asked Fyrelm, half to himself.

"Trust in yourself, Laird Fyrelm." Osbury answered with complete confidence. "Trust in yourself and in the blood of the Great and Noble House of Brightcrown! It has weathered many storms before, and many worse than this!"

That elicited a wry chuckle.

"Truth indeed, my friend," said Fyrelm, "Have I grown too old for such new challenges?"

"Nay, m'Laird! Old men are merely those who have wandered past their purpose and outlived their wits. If you've done either then call me to your side and we shall drink wine until the world makes sense."

Fyrelm's chuckled turned into a true laugh.

"Thank you, Osbury. You always speak wisdom when I need it most."

Though Fyrelm meant that as a dismissal, Osbury didn't leave.

"If I may be so bold, m'Laird, I can recall the last time you were troubled so. You bowed to what your heart and your blood told you was wrong."

That hurt! Fyrelm wanted to lash out harsh words at that but respect both for Osbury and for the truth in what he spoke stayed his tongue.

"Listen to your heart, m'Laird. It will guide you true."

Fyrelm closed his eyes and fought down the memory once more. After what happened then, Osbury spoke similar words. They hurt then, too.

"Perhaps, Osbury, I should name you Laird Brightcrown."

"Then I'd have you bring me wine and we'd both suffer the mirth of fools, m'Laird."

This time Osbury did walk away, and Fyrelm kept a small smile well after the door closed. In all his years he'd never bested Osbury's wit and he suspected they would both die before that happened. Fyrelm looked along the wall containing the portraits of his ancestors. Some were holos and others flat pictures or paintings, but they all showed ordinary men or women doing ordinary things. Yet... Each face had a pair of eyes full of wisdom and sense and with a gaze that penetrated the years. Fyrelm wondered if his grandchildren's grandchildren would think the same of him.

"Enough, old man!" Fyrelm chided himself. "If you've no sense of your own then listen when it is spoken to you!"

With that Fyrelm took out his stylus and seals. He knew exactly what he wanted to say but had no ideas on how to say it.

'My Dearest Son:

'I know the years have grown long between us, as have the regrets within my heart. I hope someday you will come to understand and, perhaps, even to forgive what I did.'

With those words penned the rest loosened and began to flow.

***

Outremin scowled mightily and cursed the Faircoast traffic that impeded his journey. His driver wisely kept silent and let him stew in his mood.

Fools! Fools and worse, he thought. Bad enough the incident happened and worse luck that Brightcrown involved itself. They would receive their meed soon enough, he knew that, but Laird Fadding's stew still needed some cooking and spice before reaching its full, poisonous potential. House Varl's alleged allies chafed him the most. Though Binkor-Sud and its lapcat Snughblak both realized profit far in excess of what either deserved, and though they shared absolutely none of the risk, still they sniveled like spoiled children at every pebble in the path.

Left to his own devices Outremin would have things settled quickly and easily. He would have everything smoothed with very little mess, but no! The idiot Binkor-Sud Simmons and his witless toady McConney raced about, stirring up a stench and making asteroids out of every minuscule grain of sand! He gave them their due, for now, and spoke the words needed to pacify them. For now. Soon enough, though... He took a pleasant moment contemplating their personal disposition.

"We've arrived, Sir Beau," said the driver.

Outremin exited the hover and entered Lord Garver's estate. He admired this minor Varl Lord. Hubert Lord Garver had a keen eye toward his best interest at all times, and he knew unequivocally that it lay with the desires of House Varl and those closest to Laird Fadding. The man wanted to ingratiate himself to Outremin and so far he'd done a respectable, if transparent, job of it.

A few paces down the main hall Outremin saw two of Garver's house guards hurrying through the corridors. For no reason other than petty spite he stopped them and forced them to attention.

"What is your hurry, Guardsmen," he asked.

The oldest of the pair saluted and answered.

"Serjeant Dunhall summoned us, sir. He said something about testing a potential recruit for the house guard, sir. Says he needs a pair of swords to test him."

"Stellar, then," said Outremin, seizing the chance for some amusement, "Carry on. Escort me there, if you will."

If Outremin's appearance startled Dunhall or Pelso, Garver's master-at-arms, neither showed it. He found his eyes instantly drawn to the other man in the room, obviously the recruit of whom they spoke. The man stood solid and sure, both rested and relaxed despite the others around him.

The stranger met Outremin's gaze without a flinch, or even a flick of interest. When Outremin tried to probe those eyes he met a wall of stone! This man cared nothing for propriety, manners or even the threat of four well-armed men. Fascinating. Then, to put the top on matters, he dismissed Outremin completely from his thoughts and turned them to the two guards.

More puzzled than insulted now, Outremin examined the man. He saw hard muscles and an abundance of scars, badges of combat, but also something else beneath them. Something in the man's eyes, his posture and the very attitude that oozed out of him. This man was a killer, pure and simple. He had killed many times, would kill many more and thought no more of it than swatting a biteme. Everything about him shouted that and Outremin recognized it easily now.

"Welcome, Sir Beau," said Dunhall, daring to break Outremin's examination, "We were going to evaluate a potential member of our house guard. I'm honored you chose to join us."

Another toady, thought Outremin, but one who knew well his place. He smiled at the fool. Then, while everyone but Dunhall donned dampers, he examined the man's credentials. He knew by the tone of Dunhall's voice that the man had irritated him. Interesting.

"So, boy," said Outremin, "Serjeant Dunhall seems to think you can fight. Can you?"

The man shrugged. "I guess we'll find out."

Dunhall reddened at this and Outremin felt a small spark of anger at the man's tone.

"Arrogant," said Outremin, "and insolent too. Boy, you do know these men are experts at unarmed combat."

"Do now," said the man with no apparent interest in the fact, "Do you want me to kill them or just hurt 'em?"

Dunhall trembled at this and Outremin felt a stronger flash of anger. Something nagged at the back of his mind, though. No doubt this fool felt the confidence he showed but Outremin sensed some deeper game.

"You fool," said Outremin contemptuously, "Do you actually think you
can
kill a man while wearing a damper?"

"Can and have."

Outremin spared Dunhall an amused glance. This would be good!

"Very well, boy. Impress us."

Now Dunhall smiled too. Both of them knew what would come next and this arrogant stranger deserved every bruise of it!

***

Pelso sent the two guards in first. They advanced warily but the arrogant fool simply stood and waited. When the older guard launched his attack the three of them erupted into a whirlwind of action too fast for Outremin to follow. It ended with a loud crack as the older guard fell back with his leg cleanly broken. The younger guard tried to attack in distraction as the master-at-arms waded into the fray but the stranger stood and easily defended against the two men. After a snap to the throat - deadly had the man's damper not slowed him - Pelso fell back, stunned but not out. Not liking the odds now, the younger guard grabbed a shortstaff from the weapon rack and spun in to attack.

This time Outremin saw the arrogant man smile. The fool actually smiled! Then he evaded the staff as though it stood still, grabbed it, spun and broke it. In a continuation of the same move and slowly enough not to activate his damper, the man stabbed the splintered end of the staff into the guard's shoulder. Blood dripped out when he twisted it but the guard held his stance. Unfazed, the man stamped and broke his knee. The guard tried to twist and defend but the man grabbed his arm and, again moving slowly, broke it.

On his way back to Pelso the man kicked the older guard's other leg out from under him, sending him to the floor again. The master-at-arms, recovered now, tried his best to fight the stranger. This time he ended up in a damper-proof neckbreaker, gasping for breath as the stranger slowly increased the pressure.

"Hold. Hold! I said HOLD, burn you!" Dunhall's voice actually quavered.

The man looked at Dunhall, then Outremin, then released his hold. The master-at-arms collapsed to the floor, still gasping for air.