Outrageous Fortune-Errant Freight Book One

Chapter 15

An hour after setting down in Nike, Rory went looking for Eitan.

He found him in the training room.

Like all the common rooms, the Errant's weapons and training area was located on the third deck, which meant one could get in one's exercise in the training room, then brew a cuppa in the galley amidship and take it to the forward lounge to enjoy the view, the victrola, or a book from the well-stocked shelves. And should one suffer an injury in training, food poisoning in the galley, or a paper cut in the lounge, one could recover in the sickbay, located aft the training room.

It also meant that all four rooms still shared the eau de burned aurochs remaining from the recent meal, making Rory not the least sorry to have missed out on dinner as he stopped in the training room's starboard door, where he stood watching Eitan shift through a form older than Fortune, his movements smooth and his balance steady.

To Rory, the apparent serenity of the kata contrasted sharply with the expression on Eitan's face, never mind the flower of death the Fujian's swirling blade described around him.

Then Eitan flung himself into a spinning-kicking-slashing affair, and so effective was Eitan's targeting, that Rory found himself ducking the fictitious head that would have come flying his way after a particularly nasty neck-level sweep.

Even as Rory straightened, Eitan came to a standstill, swinging the blade in salute to whichever absent master had taught him. He'd doffed his shirt for the exercise, and so was bare to the waist and gleaming with sweat.

Rory could almost hear the rush of sighs loosed throughout the city from the near occasion of Fehr.

"Did you require something?" Eitan asked, crossing to the weapons rack.

Which led Rory to wonder if ristos were born with that polite-but-distant tone, or did they take classes in it?

"As a matter of fact, no," said Rory. As he waited, Eitan slid the blade into its place before catching up a towel draped over the rack's bar. "But I did come up with something you might require." He held up what looked to be a few bits of leather, metal, and buckles. "I got to tinkering between goes at the lockbox," he explained.

Eitan's distant expression took another few steps back. "Rory..."

Rory held up his free hand to stave off judgment. "It's not what you'd be expecting," he said, and, since the sword was safely in its rack, stepped into the room and held the device up for Eitan to see.

Eitan stared, silent a moment. "Is that—"

"A dagger you see before you?"

Eitan looked up.

"Sorry, hard to resist that one."

"Perhaps you should have."

"Ha," Rory said. "But I was thinking you might be wanting it on our little venture. Just in case, mind."

"Hmm." Eitan's eyes dropped again to the weapon. "It is a serviceable blade, but I expect I will be carrying a shock stick, less likely to offend the local police."

"Aye, and so you should, but look here." Rory held the contraption flat to the inside of his own left arm, bare beneath the rolled-up shirt sleeves. "It stays snug under your sleeve," he explained, fastening the buckles, "and if all goes well, no one will ever know you're carrying."

"The sheath is backwards," Eitan pointed out. "I would be unable to draw the blade."

"A little patience, if you don't mind." Rory pulled the last tongue though the last buckle. "Now, supposing you're in a tussle, aye? And you've need of a secondary weapon..."