Read Online Ghost Ship by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee - Free Book Online
Authors: Steve Miller, Sharon Lee
Ads: Link
assay the car?”
Penn glanced to Natesa, and got a nod.
“Take what you need,” he said.
“We will not be long. Natesa, of your kindness.”
“This way, please,” she said.
Miri slipped her hand into Val Con’s, gave Penn a grin and a nod, and the two of them followed Natesa out of the waiting room.
- - - - -
Villy sat in the chair Leeza had put him in, back in the office, staring at nothing in particular. Nobody had come to tell him what’d happened—why that man had the Boss’s ring. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Until he heard it, until somebody told him for sure —he could pretend that Boss Conrad wasn’t—that everything was all right, nobody’d gotten retired, or—
There was a step in the hall outside; the door opened.
“Villy.”
Ms. Natesa. Villy ground his teeth together. Ms. Natesa’d tell him the truth, and suddenly he was very sure that the truth was the last thing he wanted to hear.
“Villy, here are some people you must meet. But first, I will tell you—the Boss has taken no injury.”
The world went kind of ragged at the edges, and Villy heard a roaring in his ears.
“I—” he began, then stopped, the words replaying in his head. He blinked, raised his head and looked into Ms. Natesa’s face. “He’s alive?”
She smiled and nodded. “I have only moments ago spoken to him myself.”
“But, the ring—”
“The ring,” said the soft voice of the man who had been with the red-haired woman—and there he was, just behind Ms. Natesa’s shoulder, and his partner, too. “The ring that Boss Conrad wears is a copy of this one, which is much older. You must, please, forgive me for having put you in such distress. I am Boss Conrad’s kinsman. My name is Val Con yos’Phelium.”
He put his hand out and pulled the red-haired woman forward. “This is my . . . you would say my wife, Miri Robertson, who grew up on what is now Boss Kalhoon’s territory. We—ourselves and our family—have signed a contract with the Bosses of Surebleak, to assist in holding open the Port Road.”
Villy blinked up at him, trying to understand it all, but only one thing seemed really important.
“There are two rings?”
“Precisely,” the man said gravely.
“And the Boss really ain’t been—Boss Conrad’s all right? Not hurt?”
Okay, two things.
“Boss Conrad is perfectly well, if a trifle annoyed at the moment,” Natesa said, touching his arm lightly.
A hundred years subtracted themselves from Villy’s age, and he took the first free breath he’d had in a hour.
“Thank you,” he said. He remembered then what the man had said, first off, and gave him a vigorous nod. “I forgive you,” he said.
Val Con yos’Phelium smiled gravely and inclined his head.
“Thank you, Villy. You do your boss great honor.”
EIGHT
The Grand Progress
Surebleak
The fifth tollbooth was Hamilton Street, surrounded by what was now the familiar gaggle of well-wishers and thrill-seekers. There was also a car parked next to the ’booth, muddy and dinged up. At the front of the crowd, in the Boss’s place of honor, stood a slender figure in a blue jacket, brown hair rumpled by the wind, his back got by a man considerably larger, a stocky woman in a good warm coat at his right hand.
In the seat across from Miri, Penn Kalhoon visibly relaxed.
“My experience with the Boss is that he’s timely,” she commented. “Said he’d meet us, and here he is.”
Penn shot her a look, lenses flashing, and maybe a little extra color in his cheeks.
“Good to be back on my own turf,” he said, matching her tone for dryness. “Old habits.”
“It is always a relief,” Val Con murmured from beside her, “to raise a friendly port.”
Which was overstating the case, at least in the opinion of Miri’s own set of old habits. Every single one of her nerves was on end, and had been, since they got in the car, and drove two blocks to where the tollbooth for Boss Vine’s territory used to
Penn glanced to Natesa, and got a nod.
“Take what you need,” he said.
“We will not be long. Natesa, of your kindness.”
“This way, please,” she said.
Miri slipped her hand into Val Con’s, gave Penn a grin and a nod, and the two of them followed Natesa out of the waiting room.
- - - - -
Villy sat in the chair Leeza had put him in, back in the office, staring at nothing in particular. Nobody had come to tell him what’d happened—why that man had the Boss’s ring. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Until he heard it, until somebody told him for sure —he could pretend that Boss Conrad wasn’t—that everything was all right, nobody’d gotten retired, or—
There was a step in the hall outside; the door opened.
“Villy.”
Ms. Natesa. Villy ground his teeth together. Ms. Natesa’d tell him the truth, and suddenly he was very sure that the truth was the last thing he wanted to hear.
“Villy, here are some people you must meet. But first, I will tell you—the Boss has taken no injury.”
The world went kind of ragged at the edges, and Villy heard a roaring in his ears.
“I—” he began, then stopped, the words replaying in his head. He blinked, raised his head and looked into Ms. Natesa’s face. “He’s alive?”
She smiled and nodded. “I have only moments ago spoken to him myself.”
“But, the ring—”
“The ring,” said the soft voice of the man who had been with the red-haired woman—and there he was, just behind Ms. Natesa’s shoulder, and his partner, too. “The ring that Boss Conrad wears is a copy of this one, which is much older. You must, please, forgive me for having put you in such distress. I am Boss Conrad’s kinsman. My name is Val Con yos’Phelium.”
He put his hand out and pulled the red-haired woman forward. “This is my . . . you would say my wife, Miri Robertson, who grew up on what is now Boss Kalhoon’s territory. We—ourselves and our family—have signed a contract with the Bosses of Surebleak, to assist in holding open the Port Road.”
Villy blinked up at him, trying to understand it all, but only one thing seemed really important.
“There are two rings?”
“Precisely,” the man said gravely.
“And the Boss really ain’t been—Boss Conrad’s all right? Not hurt?”
Okay, two things.
“Boss Conrad is perfectly well, if a trifle annoyed at the moment,” Natesa said, touching his arm lightly.
A hundred years subtracted themselves from Villy’s age, and he took the first free breath he’d had in a hour.
“Thank you,” he said. He remembered then what the man had said, first off, and gave him a vigorous nod. “I forgive you,” he said.
Val Con yos’Phelium smiled gravely and inclined his head.
“Thank you, Villy. You do your boss great honor.”
EIGHT
The Grand Progress
Surebleak
The fifth tollbooth was Hamilton Street, surrounded by what was now the familiar gaggle of well-wishers and thrill-seekers. There was also a car parked next to the ’booth, muddy and dinged up. At the front of the crowd, in the Boss’s place of honor, stood a slender figure in a blue jacket, brown hair rumpled by the wind, his back got by a man considerably larger, a stocky woman in a good warm coat at his right hand.
In the seat across from Miri, Penn Kalhoon visibly relaxed.
“My experience with the Boss is that he’s timely,” she commented. “Said he’d meet us, and here he is.”
Penn shot her a look, lenses flashing, and maybe a little extra color in his cheeks.
“Good to be back on my own turf,” he said, matching her tone for dryness. “Old habits.”
“It is always a relief,” Val Con murmured from beside her, “to raise a friendly port.”
Which was overstating the case, at least in the opinion of Miri’s own set of old habits. Every single one of her nerves was on end, and had been, since they got in the car, and drove two blocks to where the tollbooth for Boss Vine’s territory used to
Similar Books
