"Pasco seems so
* * *
Once baton practice started, it was a good idea to think about only baton practice, not about full nets or Lady Sandrilene. Pasco's mother Zahra was feeling brisk she made them all step lively that morning. The cousins' feet slapped the courtyard tiles as if they were step dancers all doing the same measures.
When a maid told Zahra someone had come to see her, Zahra ordered them to pair up and practice the latest drill. The moment she was gone. Pasco and a couple of the others sat down to rest..
A baton thumped Pasco's crown. "You heard, your mama, tippy-feet," his cousin Vani said, jeering. "Come prance around, with me a bit."
Pasco replied with a rude suggestion.
Vani growled, and rapped Pasco's head again. Pasco saw stars.
"Stop it, Vani," Reha protested. "You'd be cleaning chamberpots for weeks if Aunt Zahra saw that."
"She won't catch me, though, and you won't tell if you're wise." Glaring at Pasco, Vani added, "Guess who got stuck hauling wood this morning while somebody took his sweet time coming back from market? Wha'd you do, Pasco? Stop and goggle at them Capchen dancers practicing in the yard at Wainwright's inn?" Vani banged Pasco's knees, then his shins, with his baton.
Pasco surged to his feet and lunged at Vani, baton out. His cousin backed away, swung his weapon and knocked Pasco's from his grip. He surveyed Pasco with narrowed eyes. "I got to teach you not to stick me with all the hot sweaty work."
Pasco trembled. Vani was going to hurt him again. Even if one of the girls fetched help, sooner or later Vani would get his revenge. For some reason Pasco brought out the worst of Vani's mean streak. Now he shrank back, raising his hands to guard his face as his bigger cousin drew close.
A bit of flute music threaded through his mind. The Capchens had danced to it…
Humming the tune, Pasco took three quick steps to the right, his arms in the air, palm-to-palm overhead.
Vani halted and rolled his eyes.
* * *
It was late when Sandry had returned the night before, and fretting over Pasco had kept her awake long after midnight. As a result, when she woke in the morning, it was nearly ten. She dressed hurriedly and went in search of the duke. She found him in the workroom with Baron Erdogun.
"Uncle, I'm sorry about last night," she said, kissing his cheek before she took a chair. "I had to talk to Lark. I didn't get home until late. And why didn't you wake me for your ride this morning?"
"I am aware you came back late, and before you scold, I heard it this morning. I was abed when you returned." He smiled at her and offered her a plate of muffins. The baron yanked the bell pull. "When you didn't come this morning, I assumed you were still asleep," the duke continued. "Since you're usually up early, I thought you must need your rest. As for my ride, instead of having to make excuses to my taskmaster" — he reached over and tugged one of her braids, which she had left hanging down her back that morning—, "I confined my explorations to the Arsenal."
A servant arrived and took breakfast instructions from Erdogun while Sandry grinned at the duke. The Arsenal dockyards—where Emelan's navy was built, housed, and repaired—was large, but it was nearby. A visit there would not have lasted as long as their ride of the previous morning had.
He
* * *
House Acalon was not what Sandry had thought it would be when Pasco told her that four families of harri rs lived there. She had expected something gloomier than this tall, airy building with its tiled roof and plastered walls, built around a large central courtyard. Bright, colorful hangings decorated the walls inside and soft carpets lay underfoot. The walls had been white washed recently; wooden furniture gleamed under coats of wax. It wasn't cold enough yet for a hearth fire in the front parlor where Pasco led her, but a brazier took the chill off the room and released a whiff of sandalwood to perfume the air.
When they entered the front parlor, a woman got up from a chair next to the brazier, closing the book she had been reading. She was tall and strong-looking, with direct brown eyes and a firm jaw. When Pasco saw her, he gulped audibly.
"Mama," he said, looking down.
"I am Sandrilene fa Toren." Sandry offered a hand to the woman, who grasped it lightly, bowed—she wore loose breeches—and released it.
"Zahra Acalon," the woman replied. "I understand my son has been keeping a few things from us."
Sandry gave Zahra her best smile. "Don't blame him," she said, resting a hand on Pasco's shoulder. The boy quivered like a nervous horse. "I only told him yesterday he had dancing magic. I can't scold him for not believing in me. My teacher, Dedicate Lark at Winding Circle, has never heard of dance magic the way he does it."
She wasn't sure, but she thought Zahra softened a little. "He should have told us," she said gruffly. Looking at "Pasco she added very firmly,
Sandry nodded. "I understand. When I lived at Discipline, almost all we talked about was magic." It wasn't quite true, but it might help mother and son to relax, if she didn't act critical. "Now, perhaps we should get to the problem. Once we've sorted that out, we can talk about Pasco's education."
"This way," said Zahra, leading them through the house. They walked into a gallery around the inner courtyard. From there Sandry could see the airborne captives, three young people in their teens, all in breeches and shirts, each holding a padded baton. They seemed to be practicing a defense against two attackers on the open ground, Watching them intently from a bench near the low fountain at the center of the courtyard was a tall, slender old man with gray hair combed straight back, a long straight nose and heavy brows.
He thumped the ground with his cane. "No, no, Reha! You're leaving yourself open for a side attack! Pay attention!"
Sandry ducked her head to keep anyone, from seeing her grin. She felt a prickle of respect for Pasco. By her reckoning from, his story, his cousins had been, in, the air for at least ninety minutes. He must have been really determined when he danced them, up there, she thought.
Zahra stepped forward. "Excuse me, Gran'ther," she announced. "Lady Sandrilene fa Toren has come to help Pasco unravel this" — she glanced at the hanging trio—, "difficulty."
The Acalons turned and bowed to Sandry. Even the three in the air tried to bow. This time she'd thought ahead; she raised her handkerchief to her nose to hide her grin at the sight of those three swaying bows.
The old man shot a look at Pasco. "Was there no one of our own standing you could bother with this?" he demanded sharply. "I am sure my lady is far too busy to undo your tangles."