it’s one of your beaux,” he added, “mad with jealousy.” He tried to smile, but pain stabbed his jaw, and he winced instead.
“Poor Drake.” She patted his uninjured cheek again. “What, by the way, do we tell the family?”
“Tell them the whole thing’s a misunderstanding.”
“No,” She smiled patiently. “I mean about us.”
“Oh.” Maijstral blinked. Preoccupied with his own problem, he’d quite forgotten the whole matter of his betrothal.
“Well,” he said, “it seems to me that it would be unfair of me to make you a widow before we’re even engaged. Why don’t we tell the family that we’re postponing any announcement until my business with Joseph Bob is resolved?”
A shadow of disappointment crossed Roberta’s face. “Very well,” she said, and rose. “I’ll go tell them now.”
She walked toward the door. “Roberta?” he said.
She turned. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “You’re very welcome.”
“And will you do me another favor?”
“If I can.”
“Will you ship my father down to Quintana Roo for me? I’ll look after him from there.”
“Of course,” she said, and made her exit.
*
“ I didn’t do it! ” Conchita Sparrow yelped.
Drexler advanced menacingly, a hi-stick dangling from his muzzle. “Pull the other one,” he said, demonstrating a surprising grasp of Human Standard vernacular. (In Khosali it would have come out “Drag the remaining unity,” which would have lacked the colloquial verve of the original.)
In any language it was purely a figure of-speech, since Conchita Sparrow was in no position to pull anything.
Roman, by contrast, was in a position to pull all the legs required, as he was holding her by one ankle over the edge of Kanab, one of the Grand Canyon’s more impressive side canyons.
“Honest!” Conchita said. “I didn’t do it!”
“I bet Roman is getting tired,” Drexler said. “Aren’t you, Roman?”
“I could lose my grip at any moment,” Roman warned. He loosened his grasp slightly, just enough for Conchita to fall a few inches, and then caught her again. Conchita gave a strangled shriek.
Drexler took a languid draw on his hi-stick. “Careful, Roman,” he said, relishing the opportunity once again to demonstrate his grasp of slang, “you might do the lady a mischief.”
Maijstral contemplated this picture with pleasure. Roman, a menacing piebald giant big even for a Khosalikh, held Conchita, small even for a human, at arm’s length, with rather more ease than Maijstral could hold a child. Media globes, controlled by the proximity wire in Maijstral’s collar, circled the pair like orbiting satellites, ready to record any revelations that might drop from Conchita’s lips.
“Give a moment to your surroundings, Miss Sparrow,” Maijstral said. Walking bowlegged to minimize his pain, he approached the edge and regarded the deep canyon below. He took a deep, appreciative breath. “Consider the eons that must have gone into the creation of this magnificent sight into which, at any instant, you may take flight. Consider the work of millennia, as erosion, as vast landslides, as the uplift of the local geology all did their work. Consider its glory in comparison with the alteration in the local formation you will make when you strike the ground below. Which is to say—” He looked at her meaningfully. “ None at all. ”
Maijstral threw out his arms to glory in the Canyon’s vastness. “Consider the gorgeousness that will be your last living vision—will you appreciate it as you fall, I wonder?”
“I’ll be too busy screaming my head off,” Conchita said.
“Tell us what we want to hear,” Maijstral said, “and there will be no need for screaming at all.”
“ I didn’t do it! ” she screamed. Which was followed by a somewhat less coherent scream, abruptly cut off, as Roman’s grip relaxed, then firmed again.
“Let me prove it!” she said. “I was out stealing last night! I
“Poor Drake.” She patted his uninjured cheek again. “What, by the way, do we tell the family?”
“Tell them the whole thing’s a misunderstanding.”
“No,” She smiled patiently. “I mean about us.”
“Oh.” Maijstral blinked. Preoccupied with his own problem, he’d quite forgotten the whole matter of his betrothal.
“Well,” he said, “it seems to me that it would be unfair of me to make you a widow before we’re even engaged. Why don’t we tell the family that we’re postponing any announcement until my business with Joseph Bob is resolved?”
A shadow of disappointment crossed Roberta’s face. “Very well,” she said, and rose. “I’ll go tell them now.”
She walked toward the door. “Roberta?” he said.
She turned. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
She smiled. “You’re very welcome.”
“And will you do me another favor?”
“If I can.”
“Will you ship my father down to Quintana Roo for me? I’ll look after him from there.”
“Of course,” she said, and made her exit.
*
“ I didn’t do it! ” Conchita Sparrow yelped.
Drexler advanced menacingly, a hi-stick dangling from his muzzle. “Pull the other one,” he said, demonstrating a surprising grasp of Human Standard vernacular. (In Khosali it would have come out “Drag the remaining unity,” which would have lacked the colloquial verve of the original.)
In any language it was purely a figure of-speech, since Conchita Sparrow was in no position to pull anything.
Roman, by contrast, was in a position to pull all the legs required, as he was holding her by one ankle over the edge of Kanab, one of the Grand Canyon’s more impressive side canyons.
“Honest!” Conchita said. “I didn’t do it!”
“I bet Roman is getting tired,” Drexler said. “Aren’t you, Roman?”
“I could lose my grip at any moment,” Roman warned. He loosened his grasp slightly, just enough for Conchita to fall a few inches, and then caught her again. Conchita gave a strangled shriek.
Drexler took a languid draw on his hi-stick. “Careful, Roman,” he said, relishing the opportunity once again to demonstrate his grasp of slang, “you might do the lady a mischief.”
Maijstral contemplated this picture with pleasure. Roman, a menacing piebald giant big even for a Khosalikh, held Conchita, small even for a human, at arm’s length, with rather more ease than Maijstral could hold a child. Media globes, controlled by the proximity wire in Maijstral’s collar, circled the pair like orbiting satellites, ready to record any revelations that might drop from Conchita’s lips.
“Give a moment to your surroundings, Miss Sparrow,” Maijstral said. Walking bowlegged to minimize his pain, he approached the edge and regarded the deep canyon below. He took a deep, appreciative breath. “Consider the eons that must have gone into the creation of this magnificent sight into which, at any instant, you may take flight. Consider the work of millennia, as erosion, as vast landslides, as the uplift of the local geology all did their work. Consider its glory in comparison with the alteration in the local formation you will make when you strike the ground below. Which is to say—” He looked at her meaningfully. “ None at all. ”
Maijstral threw out his arms to glory in the Canyon’s vastness. “Consider the gorgeousness that will be your last living vision—will you appreciate it as you fall, I wonder?”
“I’ll be too busy screaming my head off,” Conchita said.
“Tell us what we want to hear,” Maijstral said, “and there will be no need for screaming at all.”
“ I didn’t do it! ” she screamed. Which was followed by a somewhat less coherent scream, abruptly cut off, as Roman’s grip relaxed, then firmed again.
“Let me prove it!” she said. “I was out stealing last night! I
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