Ghost Ship Read Free Page B

him.”
    “Thank you,” Theo said, rolling off the window seat. She danced a quick stretch, and nodded to the ’bot.
    “I’m ready,” she said.
    * * *
    The ’bot’s wheels were astonishingly quiet; in fact, Theo noticed, the whole thing was considerably better constructed than its unsophisticated chassis would suggest. There was no rattling or clanking, like you might get out of a cargo ’bot, nor did it appear too large for its surroundings.
    “Were you built to work here?” she asked. “Inside the house, I mean.”
    You didn’t talk to a cargo ’bot, except to give simple orders, but a deeply programmed entity like the Concierge, back on Delgado, could hold up its end of a complicated conversation so well you’d think you were talking with a real person.
    “I was built by Master Val Con and Master Shan to serve as the butler at Trealla Fantrol,” Jeeves said. “As Trealla Fantrol will not be making the transfer, I have been reassigned to Jelaza Kazone.”
    The music was louder now. Jeeves paused and gestured with one of its arms, showing Theo an open doorway.
    “Please enter,” it said.
    She stepped into a library, but a library improbably wrapped and ready for transport. The shelves were sealed with cargo film; the furniture anchored to temp-clamps adhered to the wooden floor, the rug rolled and secured to the wall beneath the open windows at the bottom of the room.
    Nearer at hand was a pleasant grouping of three chairs around a low table supporting three glasses and a stoppered blue bottle, beaded with condensation. To the right of that grouping her . . . brother Val Con stood at a tied-down desk, playing a portable omnichora.
    The tantalizingly familiar music peaked, paused, and ended with a glissade of notes like a warm spring rain. Val Con stood for a moment, fingers just a whisker above the keys, head bent as if he was listening to the echo of the music. He turned, smooth and easy, coming toward her with one hand extended, fingers flashing the pilot’s sign for welcome .
    “Thank you for your patience,” he murmured. “I trust you put your time to good use.”
    Theo considered him, teased again by the sense of his looking like someone—she would have said that of course he looked like Father—except he didn’t, precisely. Father’s hair was dark brown sharpened by grey, his eyes were black, and his face—Theo had once heard Kamele say that Father’s face was interesting .
    Val Con, on the other hand, was . . . pretty , with his vivid green eyes, and his smooth, high-cheeked face. Where Father kept his hair cut neat to the point of severity, Val Con’s was positively shaggy, and had a tendency to tumble into his eyes.
    On Delgado, Miri would’ve had to have been tenured and hold a named chair to have any hope of keeping so comely and biddable a man. Theo appreciated manners herself, but he didn’t seem to have much in the way of spark .
    He raised a slim hand on which a heavy ring glittered, and stroked his hair off his forehead. Theo started, remembering that she had been asked a question—sort of.
    “I had a nap,” she said, “with the grey cat. I’ve been flying hard, and the chance to rest was welcome.”
    She hesitated before adding, “Thank you,” then quickly nodded at the ’chora. “That was nice, what you played. My mother—Kamele—is a singer.”
    Val Con smiled faintly. “My foster-mother was a musician by avocation,” he said in his soft voice; “it was she who taught me to play. My mother’s passion is mathematics.” He moved a hand, showing her the grouped chairs.
    “Please, sit and be comfortable. Miri is delayed for a few moments. When she arrives, Korval will hear you. In anticipation of that, I wonder if I may ask you a question.”
    “All right,” Theo said, eying the arrangement: one chair with its back to the door; one facing the bookshelves; the third with the shelves behind it. She looked to Val Con.
    “I don’t want to offend,” she said