I had time to wonder where the Dromoni were before we crossed a small plaza, our hard-soled shoes slapping against the blue and golden lapis lazuli it was floored with. Another crudmunching idiot thing to do. And they were supposed to dance that way? It would sound as bad as the gold door. The Dromoni might be great engineers, but their habits were crud.

  Happy thoughts. I'd better change them before they made their way to my face. Rich people get affronted by the stupidest things.

  Riina led me past a clump of trees, their leaves a blackish red wave of motion, each leaf as big as my pinkie nail, shivering in the slight wind, and we were assaulted by a cacophony of speech.

  I'd expected the Dromoni aristocracy to be as colorful as their gardens, but their clothes were downright somber. Hose and shirts of blacks, deep browns, dark blues. Everything very form-fitting. The Dromoni rich either spent an inordinate amount of time working out, or they had great cosmetic surgeons. I was willing to bet on the latter.

  Muted jewelry, thin chains of silver or platinum studded with tiny diamonds that shone with fluorescent reflections, the only splashes of color coming from small rubies, sapphires, emeralds, other stones in yellows, blacks, and oranges that I had no words for. Shoulder length, straight hair, slightly longer on the men.

  The men had guns and the guns were ridiculously long.

  Riina had bought us what I'd thought of as an overpriced, crude experimental pistol. Twenty milliliter, single action, breech loaded, one shot only, no rifling, no sights, just a tiny jut of steel at the end of the muzzle. The five cartridges we'd gotten with it had a laughingly low powder mass for that size bullet. I'd thought that the barrel was ridiculous, cast iron and long as my thigh.

  It was on the short side.

  All the men wore guns, almost all on the right hip. I had mine in an ornately tooled but obviously worn leather holster, which wasn't a bad thing, if you're the one who'd caused the wear. I hadn't and the holster made me wish for my warded, leather stockman hat, which rested comfortably in the Bucket while I pranced around in brown tights and someone else's holster. Not a noble's, though. The Dromoni's holsters ranged from jewel-studded leather to something that looked like a warded ship armor plate in miniature, made out of platinum.

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  Of course, everyone here was aristocracy. The regular, working slob Dromoni looked a lot different. They didn’t carry guns, for one. And they had style.

  An elderly gentleman, about Riina’s age, approached us. He could have been a mortician, or a belly dancer. The Dromoni dress codes were all strange to me, the black lightning on his brown suit as alien as the void wyrm hatchling I’d left in Hao’s care.

  "Mistress Riina," he said, bowing slightly. I didn't like the emphasis on mistress. It sounded strange to my ears, possessive.

  "Master Ardon," Riina said, replicating the shallow bow.

  A young woman with striking violet eyes sauntered over, stopping just shy of Master Ardon. He extended his elbow slightly, and she slipped her hand over his arm, holding it just like I held Riina's. Then she stood stock still, smiling politely and not saying a word, while Riina and Ardon exchanged meaningless pleasantries. Only when Ardon inclined his head to her did she lean forward and whisper in his ear.

  It gave a whole new meaning to the word 'master.'

  I leaned in to ask Riina about it, but she gave my hand a sharp tug. Don't talk. Right.

  What was I supposed to do? Stand there and look beautiful?

  Crud. I should have stayed on board the Belithain, warding the voidmunching hulk against micro-meteorite impacts. Then I'd be doing something at least.

  "I will see what I can do," Ardon said, giving us another shallow bow. Again, Riina replicated it perfectly.

  "What just happened?" I hissed after Ardon had retreated, leaving us alone on the black-cobbled path.

  "Master Ardon is a broker," Riina said. "Mainly of information, but also of power. He will judge how valuable we are, then introduce us to the right people, people who might be willing to help us."

  "And the woman?" I said.

  "His protégé," Riina said.

  "Didn't look like a protégé," I said. "The way she kept fawning on him."

  "That's what a protégé does," Riina said. "Waits on their master's every need."

  "Or mistress?" I said.

  Riina gave a soft laugh, her normal, melodious tone back.

  "I thought that would give you pause," she said. "Don't worry, I won't require you to do anything demeaning."

  "Except dance."

  Riina tsk-tsked, as if I'd been a misbehaving toddler.

  "You volunteered, Jakob," she said. "Remember?"

  "It's Jake," I said, which got me another soft laugh. The sound almost made me smile in return. With Riina, it was easy to fall for the grandmother act. I had to remind myself that Riina was a ruthless commander who'd led her people through hell and vat-sludge to get them to safety.

  "That name is as fake as the identity codes on your ship," Riina said.

  Which was the truth, and had gotten us to Dromond in the first place, so I figured it wasn't a reprimand.

  "Don't tell your Kylians," I said. "They believe me to be an honorable soldier. And I don't like Jakob."

  "Jake is the place Dromoni go to urinate," Riina said.

  I blinked, thought it over, grinned.

  "Jakob it is," I said, "Mistress Riina."

  "You learn fast," Riina said. "One day, you'll make a fine commander."

  I didn't ask of what. I wasn't sure I wanted to know.