Heart 16 - Script of the Heart Page 15

  Another sorrow. But, whatever the cost to herself, she had to save Thrisca, no matter what.

  Giniana walked through T'Spindle's outer wall, and heard tiny mewing. She stopped in her weary tracks. She'd totally forgotten about the kitten.

  She huddled, a minuscule rounded shape, under a thorn bush in a hollow that could only house a very small animal, one of the few remaining swatches of her long hair caught.

  And her eyes appeared crusted, perhaps a delayed reaction to being healed. Or maybe not.

  Giniana's heart squeezed in shame as she sank to her haunches, delicately untangled the kitten, and drew her from her hiding place.

  Me waiting for My human, she projected in a cheerful tone that added guilt to Giniana's shame. This being had known so little goodness in her life! And Giniana hadn't done a follow up examination before she'd left for her appointment with D'Willow. Giniana hadn't fed the small cat, and she knew from her patients that kittens ate more frequently than other cats. Certainly more frequently than Thrisca.

  Frowning, Giniana tried to recall what kind of food she might have for the kitten.

  She cradled the kitten in both hands, vanished the eye-grit and cleansed her. The kitten sneezed as dust puffed around her small body. Welcome back, FamWoman. Me waited long, long, LONG time for you.

  Thrisca added in a chilling tone. I am watching door to sickroom. Man is moving around lots, opens door and looks out, sees Me and closes door. Does this time and again. No doubt his secrets press on him.

  "Oh," Giniana said aloud.

  I could not watch Kitten, too. I could only hope She did not make young mistakes. She decided to explore as soon as You left.

  Me DID explore. Me walked along big wall. Me sniffed interesting smells. Then fell asleep a little. Big Day!

  "Yes," Giniana said. She hurried to the back of her cottage, feeling the vibration of the kitten's purr in her hands. When she got there, Thrisca rose creakily to her paws.

  The kitten squirmed from Giniana's grasp and landed on her paws. Here is the other Cat again! The kitten ran ahead, stopped in a small squiff of dirt when Thrisca padded out onto the path.

  The kitten stared up at Thrisca. You very old.

  You are very young, Giniana's FamCat riposted, then added, You should hope to live to the great age that I have.

  Very big, too! The kitten's whiskers twitched.

  You are small. You will never make a big Cat. And you are a standard domesticated Cat while *I* am a serval.

  Then it happened. They actually sniffed in unison and a stream of cat images or language zipped between them. Giniana understood that Thrisca had demonstrated her dominance and authority over the kitten.

  The kitten turned and stood side-by-side with Thrisca.

  I'm sorry, Giniana projected to both of them.

  You did not care for the Kitten, Thrisca accused.

  I know, I'm very sorry.

  Kitten is hungry. Thrisca thrashed her tail.

  ME IS! the kitten caroled mentally.

  Giniana crouched down, let the little cat bounce up to her, give her a couple of quick licks on her fingers. She ran her hands over the youngster again. No round tummy like a kitten should have. A too lean silhouette, like Thrisca. Giniana winced.

  Greetyou, FamWoman!

  She is called Giniana, Thrisca instructed. I care for Her. She is My responsibility.

  Greetyou, Giniana, the kitten said, hopping around her. You have a box that keeps food in the building! Me ready for more food!

  "Of course you are," Giniana murmured.

  Take care of the man. I will talk more with the Kitten. Thrisca herded the little cat away from Giniana. But her FamCat's continuing disapproval lanced Giniana.

  She walked up to the door, sensed the man pacing inside the small sickroom, yet be-dewed with fever. Giniana banged on the door and ordered, "Take a waterfall, make yourself presentable, sit in the armchair. I'll be back shortly, to check on you, your linens and no-time food storage." She also set a shield on the door that he couldn't leave without alerting her.

  Pivoting back to her cats, she saw Thrisca and the kitten touching noses, obviously communicating on a deeper level.

  Thrisca joined Giniana, glanced up at her, whiskers twitching. She is NOT Your Kitten. Not Your FamKitten. Will not be Your FamCat.

  "No?" Giniana asked faintly, mind scrabbling to find someone who'd take the little female. Maybe Danith D'Ash ….

  She is MY kitten. Thrisca sniffed, turned and walked through the Fam door into the cottage, then sent back, Come along, Melis. I will ensure FamWoman feeds you, and sets no-time controls for you.

  As the kitten gamboled by her, Giniana said mentally, Greetyou, Melis kitten.

  Jumping and nearly bending double, the kitten projected, That is My new Name! She sounded thrilled. She hopped over Giniana's foot, sending affection, then headed through the FamDoor.

  Giniana entered the cottage through the front door and meekly followed Thrisca's imperious instructions, getting food for both cats and programming the no-time to open for little Melis every two hours, upon paw-tap on the bottom of the appliance.

  Melis slurped her food eagerly and Thrisca ate steadily and well.

  This could be very good for Thrisca. Or very, very bad for the kitten.

  CHAPTER 16

  AT THAT MOMENT banging came on the back wall of the cottage, along with a short shout. "I'm here and I'm ready to talk!"

  Her male patient sounded bull-headed and arrogant, but Giniana sensed a spike in his fever. She touched the scrystone linked to the sickroom. "I'm coming."

  "I'm ready!" he reiterated.

  Thrisca grunted. We will come when We are done with Our food.

  Giniana preferred they didn't, but said nothing.

  Muzzle still in bowl, Thrisca advised, Ask him about his secrets.

  "I don't think—"

  Best for ALL of Us, Me and Melis and You and Spindles.

  "All right." Giniana left the house and walked around to the sickroom, knocked politely on the door.

  "Come in!"

  He sat slumped in the cushiony armchair, his weedy body covered only in the standard loose trous Giniana had provided. She checked the temp and the freshness of the atmosphere, left the door open and thinned the window glass to swirl a breeze through the small room.

  Yes, she sensed he remained solidly in the third stage of the sickness.

  She removed new linens from a corner cupboard and remade the bed with bespelled and herb infused coverings, sent the old sheets to the deep sanitary cleanser.

  Translocating a Healing and soothing mixture, she handed it to him. He grimaced, then stood up, swayed. She put her hand out, but he scowled at her, angled away from her to cross to the bed and fall sitting onto it, wiggled against the newly plumped pillows.

  We are here, announced Melis, sitting on the step outside the open door with Thrisca.

  Giniana's FamCat sniffed. Melis sniffed a few seconds later.

  Note the smell, Kitten, Thrisca said, doing the open-mouthed, curled-tongue sense. The man smells of secrets he hides.

  Thrisca stared at Giniana. Ask the man his secret.

  "So, what secrets do you have?" Giniana asked casually, as soon as he lowered the potion tube.

  Narrowing his eyes, his mouth flattened before he answered. "I had, had," he emphasized bitterly, then rushed his words, "a very important … document. Originally, then it was stolen from a person I lent it to, then the thieves contacted me to see if I wanted the thing back and of course I did and we were supposed to meet during the party here … that night, whenever that was, and I was supposed to get it, but they were stupid enough to fliggering try to rob gliders and teleported away." He paused for breath. "I'd have believed they lied and set me up for a fool, but I found that ..." He pointed to the papyrus page she'd set on his bedside table, frowned. "It's still all crumpled up and dirty." Raising his brows, he looked back at her.

  "It seemed important to you, and
none of my business."

  A couple of heavy breaths of silence. "Oh. Thanks"

  But a chill shot down Giniana's spine and spread outward. What had he done? What had she done in harboring him? "Did you let the thieves into the estate to meet you and give them money? Those evil men who wrecked the Spindles' pleasure in their party?"

  "What? No! They just said they'd meet me here!" he yelped. Since sweat now beaded his face and he'd gone pale, Giniana believed him.

  His chest compressed in a big sigh. His fingers relaxed and the potion tube fell from them onto the bed, then dropped onto the floor and rolled.

  Giniana bent down to pick up the tube, cleaned the floor of the last spattering of liquid, and translocated the tube back to the deconstructor.

  And by the time she'd straightened, he'd grabbed the papyrus and began smoothing it out, muttering. "Must find any and all of the pages that they lost here before or during that damned party. Must, Lord and Lady help me, or I'm doomed!" Then he vanished.

  Giniana gasped. The man had teleported away. She sensed he hadn't gone far, but he'd used energy that should have been saved for his body's Healing. She hadn't realized he'd been so close to tipping into delirium. Because she'd tended the cottage and his external needs and responded to her own curiosity and her FamCat's prompting instead of personally examining him. Stup!

  Hide and seek, Thrisca said sardonically, as aware as Giniana that she'd made a beginner's mistake.

  Me find him! Me, Me, Me will FIND him. SEEK! trilled Melis in a loud telepathic tone. She hopped from the threshold down the drop, for her, of the step and zoomed off.

  I think She is a good Mouser and I can make her better, Thrisca stated, trotting after her kitten.

  They found the man quickly. He held three more sheets of papyrus. Obviously he'd had a connection with this important document.

  A few minutes later, Giniana had examined him and settled him back in bed, double-checked the infirmary and shielded it.

  Back in her own beloved private space, she put kibble out for the cats. Thrisca had actually munched a few bites along with the kitten.

  Giniana's calendar sphere pinged and she jumped in surprise.

  Time for you to go to Residence and work, Thrisca stated, sitting and licking her paw. We will watch closed door of sickroom outside, and slink and hunt, and listen to man inside with our Cat senses and I will teach My kitten much, much, much.

  "Uh-huh." Giniana noted the kitten on the arm of a chair Thrisca would have to walk by to the door, ready to pounce. Of course Thrisca knew the kitten's position, too.

  Settling into her balance, Giniana did a brief cycle of breathing and meditation. The afternoon break-visit with D'Willow had discombobulated Giniana, set her mind scrambling for some sort of decision as to the options she'd been given. Her subconscious hummed and her emotions rolled from gratitude to irritation at herself, to weariness at the thought of keeping going so long and hard for a couple of months.

  She could do it.

  She could do anything to save her FamCat, and the kitten who now bonded so closely with Thrisca. But there would be personal costs. Perhaps scrapings of her pride, but also her budding relationship with Johns.

  Johns woke from a deep nap featuring himself onstage and standing in front of the curtain after Amberose's play, bowing to wild applause. In real life, his agent rang on his perscry. Disappointing.

  He caught the scry before it went to his message cache.

  "Yeah," he answered, scrubbing hands over his face before staring into the pebble on his bedside table.

  "Checking in," his agent, Chatt, said. "I know you like to be kept apprised on a regular basis."

  "Any nibbles?" Johns asked, not sure whether he really wanted a new play or not, since he did want to star in Amberose's missing one.

  "Not yet. I heard you dropped by the Theatrical Guild."

  "Yeah, want people to see me, keep me in mind. Best to do that in person."

  "Right. And, ah …" Chatt's face was strained. "Heard you breakfasted with Lily Fescue at the Thespian Club this morning."

  Oh, Chatt trying not to laugh. Johns let his own expression go impassive, then forced one side of his mouth up in an amused quirk he didn't mean. "Yeah. Funny fox."

  Chatt snorted. "Yes, from what I heard."

  "He, not I, got my breakfast," Johns said lightly, though that still stung. Narrowing his eyes at Chatt, he wondered what his agent had heard about Amberose, her new play, what the guy thought. But Chatt didn't only represent Johns. And Johns wasn't the agent's most important male client, who'd also love the plum role.

  Still, Johns wanted to star in that play, and to do that, he'd have to find the script…or talk to Amberose, and he sure wasn't at that point yet. Quit floundering!

  Not a totally honest face to Chatt because he didn't want Chatt to see how much he desired the part. Casual. He translocated an empty caff mug from the kitchen below for a prop, pretended to drink from it. "I was approached by an agent saying he repped Amberose. Had a script with a part written for me."

  Chatt snorted, hurting Johns's feelings, but the guy didn't realize that and said, "I'd heard some second-rate agent was making the rounds. He didn't approach me to talk about talent." Chatt flicked his hand. "Speaking with actors himself as a representative of a playwright? That is not professional." An exaggerated shrug, spread of hands, "And I heard the reason this Blakely Wattle did so was that Amberose insisted on having full artistic control of the production." Chatt snorted again. "As if she was a producer, not just the playwright."

  "Might be why she chose a second-rate agent. A first-rate one might not want to try and peddle a script with such strings attached."

  Chatt's brows rose. "Perhaps. If this Blakely Wattle really does represent her. If she really has written a new script. In my professional opinion, that is unlikely. Ppphhhttt." He ended with a rude noise and a wave of his hand.

  Johns rolled a shoulder. "Might be true, a new script."

  But Chatt shook his head. "You just want that because Firewalker's run is coming to an end. And it would have to be a brilliant script for Amberose to get her way with any sort of input on the cast from one of the standard producers here in Druida City." He pursed his lips. "Or even those smaller producers in Gael City."

  Johns’s gut churned as if he'd really drunk some black stomach-lining-eating caff. His hopes had been high. But he'd also seen the script. The truly brilliant script—in the places he was sure Lily Fescue recalled correctly.

  "Later!" Chatt said and signed off.

  Yeah, Chatt made a couple of salient points, but that hardened Johns's determination to find the script, figure out if he could put it in good hands. He'd read pieces of the play and wanted to act the role.

  Strolling over to the no-time in his sitting room to get a real cup of caff, he wondered how much Amberose wanted to see her work produced—come to life outside the words on papyrus. After ten years, how hungry for that would she be? How interested in compromising her artistic vision? Johns sure didn't want her to compromise on who she liked to play the lead.

  He sipped his caff, considered, then scried Amberose's agent and got nothing. After a bit of hesitation, Johns left a message for the man to call him.

  Glancing at the timer, he began preparing for his evening work, but put in a quick scry to Lily Fescue. She appeared pleased she'd hooked him on trying to find the script. But she had no information on Blakely Wattle and said she'd leave the whole matter in Johns's capable hands. Since, of course, she was still working in her own long-running play.

  The Wattle guy had been at T'Spindle's party, so he'd have button-holed that wealthy lord to produce, and Johns reckoned the lord would have brushed the agent off and moved on to whatever next project interested that FirstFamily Lord. Easy-going or not, he'd want control of the production he put gilt into. No use trying to contact T'Spindle, or asking Raz Cherry do that, since he knew the lord better.

  Mouth turning down sourly, Johns
knew there was no chance in talking to the producer of his current play, Firewalker. Not only had the man forfeited Johns's good will by closing a profitable play, but Johns wondered about the guy's intelligence. Sad but true.

  Who else might have heard of the script? Bought it? Found it? Johns couldn't fathom the answer, but he could keep his ears pricked for any rumors on the topic, and he would.

  During a half-shift at AllClass HealingHall that evening, Giniana's perscry rang at a rare non-busy moment when she could spare time to answer it.

  Johns looked out at her, garbed in his Firewalker costume, with stage makeup and spell enhancements magnifying his features.

  Her heart squeezed, thumped hard in her chest. First at the sight of his rugged attractiveness, then in near revulsion at the recollection of seeing her parents with theater enhancements.

  He was an actor, a pretender, and she should remember that. What was she was doing, mooning over him? Considering a relationship with an actor?

  But his eyes lit as she accepted his call, and when he smiled, it went to her heart, pumping up her pulse, and through their link she sensed his sincere pleasure at speaking with her.

  And she remembered their kisses.

  He'd given her joyful moments in a life currently congested with dreadful decisions and lingering sorrow.

  She needed to work to gain gilt to pay for Thrisca's treatment. But should she deny herself all joy to do that? If she'd been consulted as a Healer by a person with her symptoms of exhaustion, what would she advise? What scrip of Healing would she write?

  To choose joy.

  Naturally, she'd been considering whether to meet him for breakfast the next morning. A bond already linked them since she could feel his emotions. Though she thought she revealed less to him, he might be able to figure hers out, especially now they began to know each other better. Despite his rough and tough appearance, he was sensitive to emotions, and not only hers.

  He continued to observe others for his craft. She even thought he might have an internal file on her where he kept her reactions to Healing, her professional expressions and gestures and language.