Hellspark by Janet Kagan Page A

craned toward the door and said in his own tongue, “If Buntec was willing to call Edge-of-Dark, her feelings run high on the subject.”
    Tocohl followed his look to the latest arrival and raised an eyebrow in surprise. No worlds’
    motley for this woman! Her 2nd skin was an unavoidable exception and that was transparent to minimize its intrusion. Everything else about her was pure Vyrnwyn high-born, from the feathered crown interwoven in her black hair to the tips of her fingers and toes, polished dark green to match her victoria ribbon.
    That made sense of Buntec’s threat to tip darts and hunt Vyrnwy. Buntec might have been able to deal with bare feet—but the outright perversion of polished toenails would have tried the most cosmopolitan Jannisetti.
    Tocohl said, “Now that’s what I call getting off on the wrong foot.”
    The joke stood in Bluesippan and Om im laughed appreciatively. Then he said, “We were chamfered by a moron. He gave us each a stack of hard-copy and told us to read it. With some people, that’s not sufficient.”
    He glanced again toward the door, “We’ve tried to talk to Edge-of-Dark, but…” He threw up his hands and, still in his own tongue, added, “I tell you, Ish shan, with the exception of the old-timers, this team gets on together about as well as flot and eggri.”
    Tocohl grinned: in Bluesippan mythology, the battle between flot and eggri was responsible for the second destruction of the world. “How long has it been since she’s visited home?”
    “A good ten years,” he answered. “Why?”
    (Maggy?) Tocohl said privately, raising a finger to hold off Om im’s question. (Look through your records and pull out some stills of Madly of Ringsilver—pick only those where the background is blurred—and hold them until I ask for them.) By the time she had finished speaking to Maggy, Edge-of-Dark had joined their company, but Om im’s look told Tocohl quite clearly that his question was not forgotten, simply postponed.
    With much solemnity and ceremony, Om im presented her. Tocohl took the hand Page 41

    Edge-of-Dark extended. She kissed it formally, said, “I am indebted to Om im Chadeayne for his kindness in making you known to me.”
    “I too am indebted to Om im Chadeayne,” Edge-of-Dark responded. In GalLing’, she went on,
    “It is a pleasure to be in discriminating company once again. Like most of your people, your dress is decidedly eccentric”—she eyed Tocohl’s moss cloak with jaundice—“but your manners are unfailingly impeccable.”
    Tocohl laid a hand on her breast and inclined her head. GalLing’ suited her just fine for this minor bit of business. “I imagine this must be a great trial for you,” she said, “I see you have not been back to
    Vyrnwy for, oh, five years at least.”
    “Almost ten years, now.—How did you know?”
    “Come now! Styles do change.” Tocohl laughed, “If you think my dress eccentric, you should see
    what high-born Vyrnwy wear these days!” Tocohl gestured at Edge-of-Dark’s clothing and said,
    “Not that I suppose it matters much—this is perfectly suitable for surveying.”
    Edge-of-Dark flushed as deep a red as swift-Kalat. “Tell me,” she said, “describe it to me.”
    “I’m not much at description. I could show you some pictures, if you’d like.”
    “I would,” said Edge-of-Dark eagerly and Tocohl finished, “Tomorrow, then… if Captain Kejesli grants us the time. (Maggy, we’re going. Bring the arachne.) Today I am here on business and I must deliver my messages.”
    Still flushing, Edge-of-Dark offered her hand again, this time to take hasty but formal leave of Tocohl.
    Sparing only the briefest of embarrassed glances for the others, she hurried to the door and out into the thinning veil of rain.
    “Little bugger’s really rude today, even by her standards,” Buntec said. “Wonder what bit her ass?”
    Om im stared thoughtfully, first after Edge-of-Dark, then at Tocohl. Touching a finger