a new method of stabilizing communications through the acetanium fields.
It wasn't that he disliked his brothers’ mates.
They were strong, capable women, who added to the strength of the team.
But there was no denying that Ship had become a little noisier.
Yes, this would be a welcome break.
In three days, life on board Ship had fallen into a pleasant routine.
Every morning and evening Kennet spoke briefly with Nic about the affairs at the capitol.
“All these humans do nothing but shout at each other,” Nic had grumbled. “They’re going to need to get their act together before the Alliance representative arrives if they expect to be dealt with seriously.”
“Perhaps you should shout louder,” Kennet had advised, absently.
Three times a day he checked on the recovery of Nettie.
She no longer turned away from him, but neither did she speak.
That was fine.
He'd watched what food she picked from the trays he left in the garden, and made sure that her needs were met.
Besides that, the biggest gift he could give her was time.
“Load the results of experiment 336 on tertiary screen,” Kennet commanded. “Overlay with 278.”
Interesting.
The graph lines were almost identical in their movements. He reached for another window.
“Someone is approaching the entry hall.”
Kennet blinked for a moment, mind still wrapped in the delicate dance of figures before him.
He sighed.
“Save everything to date,” he commanded as the screens vanished from the air. “Display visitor.”
The tall figure, wrapped tightly in a hooded cloak against the winter chill, stroked the shoulder of a massive black horse, then looked around as if waiting for someone to appear.
“I suppose I should greet him. Her. It,” he muttered.
The visitor wasn't Matilde, Declan, or any of the small group of people who he’d bothered to learn their names.
It wasn't that it was difficult, it just seemed like a waste of effort.
Nor was this any of the other townspeople he’d met, automatically filing their physical profiles into memory.
His lip curled in irritation as he strode down the corridor, nearing the entry hall.
Which meant this would take more time than he’d like.
New humans would be reduced to staring incoherence by the vast, deliberately disturbing emptiness.
It did discourage most visitors, but was inexcusably inefficient.
You needed to spend minutes coaxing information out of the messenger, instead of dealing with them quickly and sending them on the way.
The doors slid open, and he stopped.
A figure stood inside the hall, and with the hood pushed back he could tell it was a woman, dark auburn hair twisted back away from her face, eyes calmly scanning across the room.
That was surprising.
But even more so...
“What is that creature doing in here?” he said, pointing at the dark horse who stood calmly at the woman's side.
“You might not have noticed in your fancy castle, but it's snowing outside,” the woman snapped. “I’m not leaving him out there.”
She narrowed her eyes, studying him and for a moment Kennet felt a twinge of something in his chest as her gaze met his.
Curious.
But any urge to explore the feeling further vanished with her next words.
“My village has a problem, and I think you're to blame.”
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Elsewhere
“Lady take it!” Matilde jerked on the crank of the well, hoping to loosen the windlass enough to lower the bucket.
Or raise it.
Or anything.
Instead, it swung at the end of the rope, halfway down the well. Far too far away to reach.
Declan had promised to take a look, but he’d already headed south again, head in the clouds, dreaming of business.
As usual.
She smacked the wooden cylinder again, and it creaked.
Maybe it was unsticking?
One more solid blow, then she jumped away.
But not quickly enough.
Unbound, the crank spun wildly, cracking into her upper arm so hard she staggered at the blow.
“Right then,” she muttered, and slowly raised the bucked back to the top with one hand.
The next day, there was something different about the well.
A scroll of gleaming silver arced off the edge of the stonework. When she peered into the well, she could trace the strange metal all the way down until it disappeared into the darkness.
And when she brushed against the end of the metal pipe...
“Water!”
She moved her hand, and it stopped.
“For the Lady’s sake, Matilde,” she scolded herself. “Of course, it’s water. You’re at the well, what did you expect, ale?”
Cautiously she tapped the pipe again, thinking hard as her jug filled.
Declan must have said something to one of the men at Ship, and they’d installed this thing.
She snorted.
Not her absent minded brother, surely. More likely Adena had overheard her telling him