“I’ll take you back in a minute, Major, if that’s okay,” Bunny called back as Yana climbed out of the vehicle. “Besides, you’ll want to meet Clodagh. She was asking after you last night at supper.”
Charlie Demintieff grabbed the bundle of cloth from the snocle, and Bunny drove away.
The screams erupted again and Yana hung back, tensed, listening. Charlie, who had already taken a step toward the house, turned ponderously in his furs, saw her staring, and touched the elbow of her coat with his mitten.
“That’s just the dogs,” he said, his mouth spilling clouds of condensation into the air, as if his words were freezing there. “When our dogs were first made, our grandfathers called them banshee-dogs because of that sound, but they’re just saying hello.”
Yana nodded, hearing her own breath rasping in her ears above the screams of the dogs, and willed herself to relax and follow Charlie to the house. A feline with rust and cream markings stood on the roof above the doorway and looked down at them as if considering a pounce. On another corner of the house sat the cat’s twin, resembling pictures Yana had seen of the gargoyles decorating ancient Terran architecture. Another of the creatures sat in each of the windows flanking the door.
Just as Charlie reached the door, it opened before him and was filled by the largest woman Yana had ever seen. Of course, people on shipboard were required to keep their body weight to a certain level, a requirement necessitated by the narrow passages, small hatches, and the close confinement of the rooms. Also, anyone in space had to be able to fit into the suits and, should it become necessary, the cold-sleep shells. The rigors of shipboard life plus the uninspiring quality of the nutritious but mostly tasteless rations guaranteed that regulations were easily met by all personnel.
But this woman! She was like a planet herself, or at least an ovoid meteorite, a large round entity unto herself-imposing, to say the least.
“Charlie,” the huge woman said as she opened the door. “I hear you’re leaving us.” She threw a hard look over his shoulder to Yana, as if divining her role in the matter.
The woman fell back, and Charlie Demintieff stepped into the house, holding aside the standard-issue gray military blanket that covered the inside of the door so that Yana could enter.
Demintieff stripped off his hat, muffler, and gloves and loosened the front of his coat; Yana followed suit. The house was small and close, but not as warm as Yana would have expected. Nevertheless, as Giancarlo had indicated, the woman’s upper lip and brow were dewed with perspiration. Yana wasn’t sure, however, if the moisture on Demintieff’s face was sweat, tears, or melting ice from his hair and eyelashes.
The woman embraced Demintieff, her caress oddly delicate and tender for such a massive being. Demintieff returned her embrace with every evidence of affection.
“Don’t worry, Charlie,” the woman said. “Natark is hitching his team now. He should be in Tanana Bay by tonight.”
Demintieff showed no surprise that the woman had anticipated his news, but simply said, “Thanks, Clodagh. I just wanted to say goodbye. Bunny’s taking my dogs.”
“Good. Good. Bunny treats them well,” Clodagh said, making no further attempt to comfort him but seeming to share his sadness. She offered neither a look nor a word of false encouragement that he was likely to return: they all knew he probably wouldn’t.
“This is Major Maddock, Clodagh.”
“Ah, the dying woman,” Clodagh said. It should have sounded tactless except that her tone was vaguely ironic, indicating that she was only referring to Yana’s own opinion of herself, as if they had already had a long discussion about it. A soft smile and the penetrating gaze of Clodagh’s tilted blue eyes also showed that she meant no offense but simply cut straight to the heart of Yana’s concerns as she had to Demintieff’s.
“Come, sit, have tea. Charlie’s sister and the rest of the family are on their way. Bunka will bring you to supper tonight, if you’ll come, but right now we have to talk about Charlie.”