Shadows and Shades (Adventures in the Liaden Universe®) by Sharon Lee, Steve Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

he slit the plastic, revealing a plain gauze backing. A push unrolled it onto the scale, and Pat Rin looked up at Nova, standing hesitant where he had left her.
      "Please," he said, "honor me with your opinion of this."
      Slowly, she came forward, and knelt across from him, frowning down at the riot of woolen flowers that comprised the rug's design. She rubbed her palm across the surface, gingerly.
      "Wool," she said, which was no grand deduction, and flipped up the edge near her knee. The gauze backing disconcerted her for a moment, then she returned to the face, using her fingers to press into and about the design.
      "Hand-hooked," she said then, and was very likely correct, Pat Rin thought, but as it stood it was no more than a guess. He held up a hand.
      "Hooked, certainly," he murmured. "Where do you find the proof for 'handmade?'"
      Eagerly, she flipped back the edge, and pointed to the row of tiny, uneven stitches set into the gauze.
      "Ah." He inclined his head. "I see that your conclusion is not unreasonable. However, it is wise to bear in mind that carpets are sometimes adjusted—fringe is added, or removed, backings are sewn on—or removed—holes are rewoven. Therefore, despite the fact that someone has clearly sewn the backing on by hand, the rug itself might yet have been made by machine. The preferred proofs are..."
      He extended a hand and smoothed the wool petal of a particularly extravagant yellow flower, displaying a stitching of darker thread beneath.
      "Maker's mark."
      Nova bit her lip.
      "Or," Pat Rin continued, flipping the little rug entirely over with a practiced twist of his wrists. He put his palm flat on the backing and moved it slowly, as if he were stroking Niki. He motioned Nova to do the same—which she did, gingerly, and then somewhat firmer.
      "What do you feel?" he asked.
      "Knots," she replied. "So it is handmade—I was correct."
      "It is handmade," he conceded, "and you were correct." He lifted a finger. "For the wrong reason."
      She sighed, but— "I understand," was what she said.
      "Good. If you will, of your goodness, hand me the clipboard, I will make that notation and then we may proceed with the rest of the inspection."
      She picked up the clipboard in one hand and held it out to him over the rug. He took it, his thumb accidentally nudging the stylus out of its slot, sending it floorward in a glitter of silver—
      Nova swept forward, her hand fairly blurring as she scooped the stylus out of the air, reversed it and held it out to him.
      He blinked. A child , he thought, all of his bitterness rising....
      Some part of it must have shown on his face. Nova hesitated, hand drooping.
      "I was too fast, wasn't I?" she said, sounding curiously humble. "I do beg your pardon, cousin. Father is trying to teach me better, but I fear I am sometimes forgetful."
      "Teach you better?" Pat Rin repeated, and his voice was harsh in his own ears. "I thought speed was all, to those who would be pilots."
      "Yes, but one mustn't be too fast," Nova said solemnly. "It won't do to frighten those who are not pilots—or to rush the instruments, when one is at the board."
      He closed his eyes. Five times, since his eleventh name-day. Five times, he had tested for pilot and failed. Always, the tests found him too slow. Too slow—and this child, his cousin, must learn not to be too fast . He tried to decide if he most wished to laugh or to weep and in the end only opened his eyes again and took the stylus from her hand.
      "My thanks," he murmured, and bent his head over the clipboard while he took his time making the initial entry.
      "Now," he said when he could trust his voice for more than a few words. He looked over to Nova. "We must assess