Loose Cannon by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee and Steve Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

massaging
Bell's neck under the beard, imagining all too well....
    "So it was," she went on very quietly, with
the blood pounding in her ears, "that I was briefly in charge of
the nursery, the nurse having been given a discharge for cost or
cause, I know not. I had put the child Brendar to bed; a likely boy
come to the clan through my sister's second marriage. I changed him
once, but he was otherwise biddable. I was trying for my Master
Jeweler's license, so I was at study with several books. I read,
and read more, hearing no fuss. Then my sister came home, and the
child was not asleep, but had died sometime in the night."
    There was quiet then.
    Finally, he kissed her again, each scar,
very carefully.
    "I'd thought there must be more, but I see
the story now, and I am near speechless. The child died of an
accident--
    "My incompetence and negligence..."
    He pressed a finger to her lips so hard it
nearly hurt.
    "I am a fool, Cyra, my beautiful friend. I
thought it was your own anger, or your own desire, that placed
those marks on your face; that you had rebelled against the rules
of this world and even now wore them as badges. That they were
inflicted by your family to humiliate and destroy you never came to
mind..."
    He brushed the hair out of her face
again.
    "I will paint your picture one day, I
promise. Your face will be known as among the most beautiful of
this world. And they will see that they have lost you, for I'll not
let them have you back!"
    She had no quick answer for this, and then
he said, "Here!" and placed her hand again on the long leg
scar.
    She felt the welt there--he
laughed, nibbled on her earlobe, and moved her hand a bit,
murmuring, "Now, lady, here if you wish to be pleased!"
    She did, and she was.
    * * *
     
    THREE DAYS LATER Cyra was not so very
pleased.
    To begin, Bell had become inspired sometime
in the night of their pillow talk and when she awoke alone in the
dawn she found him sketching like a madman on her couch, barely
willing to drag himself away from his work long enough to share a
breakfast with her.
    He packed his sketches and walked with her
to the shop, his eyes as elsewhere as his mind. Twice she had to
repeat herself while she spoke with him, and then he disappeared
into the back room to work as soon as they reached the store.
    In the afternoon he had rushed out of the
back room, complaining that she'd not told him the time, and
stormed out, on his way to a lecture he particularly wanted to see.
Worse, he stormed back, having left his sketchbook and wallet, and
dashed off with nary a backward glance. When he didn't return by
closing--he sometimes went to discussion groups after the
lectures--she'd not expected him to come by her apartment, and he
didn't, which grated mightily.
    In the morning he wandered in very late,
hung over and exhausted, explaining that he'd met a pack of Scouts
at the lecture and talked with them until the barkeep announced
shift-change at dawn. He was animated, nearly wildly so, explaining
that he might "have a line on" the Scout who had helped him at
Djymbolay; that his conversations of the evening had revealed that
he owed Balance to that Scout; that he might have an idea for yet
another painting; and that when he had more money there was a world
he'd have to travel to and--
    "I have an appointment, Bell," Cyra said
abruptly. "Tell me later!"
    She rushed out the door, barely
confident--and barely caring--that he'd heed the advent of a
customer.
    Her appointment was with her tongue--had she
stayed and heard more she surely would have said hurtful words.
    So she walked, nearly oblivious to the
sounds of transports--more this day than others since a portion of
the port would be closed late in the afternoon for some final
tricksy bit of work for the expansion--and found herself several
blocks from her usual streets, in a very old section, where the
buildings and the people were barely above tumbledown.
    Surprisingly, she saw Debbie-the-pastry-girl
hurrying from one