Win Ton spun to the left, hands describing the dimensions of an invisible ball – and stopped, flat-footed and abruptly graceless, as he realized that he danced alone.
"Shall we not continue?" His voice was wistful.
"I... don't know any more," she said, feeling more than a little wistful herself. "Professor Noni was going to teach us the next module, but my mother took me out of school to travel with her." Funny, she thought, how she wasn't so sure that was a bad thing, anymore. "I – could you teach me the next part? Bek says I catch new steps quicker than anyone he's seen, and he's been dancing since he was a littlie."
Win Ton was seen to take a breath.
"I can and I will teach you the next part, Theo Waitley," he said, sounding stern, and much older. "Your instructor should be – to leave a student with only the first four moves of the most basic self-defense? How can this – "
"Wait!" She threw her hands up; they settled into the pushing-air gesture, left hand slightly ahead of the right. Win Ton shifted, his weight going to his right leg – then stood down, somehow, as if he retracted a motion he'd made in his head and stored it away for some future moment.
"Caught between dreams and called to waken from both!" he exclaimed, bringing his hands to belt-level, palms facing Theo, fingers spread wide. "For what am I to wait, Sweet Mystery?"
"You said, self-defense," she stammered, lowering her hands to her side. "But – that's just a dance routine we were learning. It's called the Suwello."
"Ah," he said, sounding very much like Father in that monosyllable. "Yes, in some places where self-defense is frowned upon... menfri'at may be taught as the Suwello."
He looked about. Theo followed his gaze, finding Cordrey and Phobai dancing the Suwello some distance down the room. Their tempo was quicker than Professor Noni had taught – so quick that it almost looked like the soft, air-pushing hand-motions were... strikes, and some of the footwork – surely Phobai hadn't meant to kick at her partner, like that!
"Pilots?" Win Ton called. "Menfri'at some other day!"
Cordrey spun in a move that looked related to the one Win Ton had left unfinished, his hands twisting toward Phobai's shoulder.
"Pilots, tell the tale, pray!"
Cordrey ducked, and stopped moving, his arms straight down at his side. Phobai did the same, neatly. They turned together as if continuing the dance and jogged forward, moving with that economy of motion that Win Ton and Captain Cho displayed, as if the whole ship and everyone in it were part of the same dance. The same way that Father moved, she realized, though it was hard to see because of the cane...
"The walls are strong enough for light bounces," Cordrey said upon his and Phobai's arrival, "but not for us, I fear. We don't want to risk tearing the fabric, or damaging the wiring behind some of the panels."
"We are well warned then," said Win Ton. He jammed his foot hard at the floor, his boot squealing against the slick stuff. "The floor requires footwear, but is well enough for dives if need be, if you tuck skin."
"Warned!" said both the pilots in unison, now nearly as close to her as Win Ton.
"Warned for what?" Theo asked.
Phobai chuckled. "Just warned, and kind we are to do so."
Theo blinked at her, before Win Ton claimed her attention with a wave of his hand – just a wave, not the deliberate motion he used at Captain Cho, or the pilots.
"Admit it, Theo," he said, "you have been warned about the walls, the ceiling has been mentioned, and you have now heard of the floors."
She laughed, not informed at all.
"Yes," she agreed. "I heard it so I guess I'm been warned!"
"Good." He reached inside his jacket. "We are going to teach you something that will change your life, Theo Waitley," he said, and his voice was serious, indeed.
She sputtered a laugh, but the two pilots nodded gravely.
Win Ton pulled his hand out of his jacket.
"Let's move!" Phobai yelled, and backed rapidly away, while Cordrey turned and ran up-room.
Win Ton spun, throwing... something underhanded to Phobai, who caught it, and flashed it toward Cordrey... who threw it quite hard toward Win Ton. It was a ball, Theo thought, but it didn't arc right, it danced and shimmied as it flew, then made a sudden dive, illogical dive, which Win Ton managed to intercept just above his foot.
He straightened, holding his captive high, and cried, "Pause!"
Turning, he displayed the object to Theo. It was... sort of a ball, she saw, globular rather than round, sporting every color of the rainbow and a few Theo thought it had made up on the spot.
"Sixty-four sides, none the same color," Win Ton said softly, leaning forward to let her get a good look at it, but keeping a firm hold. "This, Sweet Mystery, is a bowli ball. It is bad form to permit it to touch the ground. It should only cease motion by mutual agreement. Play most generally begins slowly and builds, and I believe you will discover it a most exquisite dance."
He leaned closer and placed the bowli ball in her hand, closing her fingers over it. She felt a purring, almost like a norbear, and felt the device move against her fingers, as if it was trying to get free.
Win Ton leaned closer still, as if, Theo thought, her face heating – as if he were going to kiss her!
Instead, he whispered into her ear.
"Call pause, if you need to stop or to be left out of the circle. The ball is the thing, and all of us wish you to do well. Once the game starts, there is no quarter, without a call of pause or halt. Because this is a game between friends, and you new-come to the play, you may drop a ball thrice before you are required to bow out." He stepped back and grinned, eyes sparkling "This is the challenge level, Theo."
He backed away quickly, then, waving his hand in a broad motion that included including the pilots and himself.
"No quarter, Theo! Throw as you will – pilot's choice!"
Chapter Twenty-Three
History of Education Department
Oriel College of Humanities
University of Delgado
Ella ben Suzan leaned back in her chair and rubbed her hands over her face as if the friction would order her tumbling thoughts. It did not, she told herself forcefully, bear considering by what unsubtle means Kamele had secured concessions from Admin. Far better to dwell on the happy outcome – Ella named TempChair of EdHist, Hafley forced to lend her countenance to the Research Team, and Emeritus Professor Beltaire attached to EdHist as an archival advisor.
True, these things had not come without price. There was, for instance, the annoying but easily led Jon Fu elevated to TempSubChair, not to mention the disordered nerves of the department as a whole. Bad enough to have discovered and dismissed Flandin. Ten times worse, to find that Flandin might only be the crumbling edge of a very steep cliff.
Ella leaned back in her chair and sipped staff-room coffee. For a wonder, she had no meetings scheduled until tomorrow morning, and nothing on her extensive to-do list that couldn't wait for ten hours. It might not be the worst thing she could do, to go home and get some sleep.
She put the coffee cup on top of one of the small piles of hard copy and reached for her book. Sleep would be –
The buzzer rang.
Ella closed her eyes. "Enter," she snapped.
The door mechanism rasped. She opened her eyes and immediately wished she hadn't.
"Ella." Jen Sar Kiladi bowed gently over his cane. "I hope I find you well."
"You find me exhausted, overworked, and impatient," she told him bluntly. She was always blunt with Jen Sar, but he never returned the favor.
"Then you will enjoy a quiet moment of conversation with an old friend," he answered, and sat in the empty visitor's chair, folding his hands over the crook of the Gallowglass cane.