Jian caught Felix at the preparation table.
“The western course has a—”
“Tomorrow.”
“A viewing interval this afternoon.”
“I hope it enjoys itself.”
Lyra arrived with one sheet.
“Only a moment.”
Felix looked at the paper, then at the fishing rod beneath his arm.
“Is it on fire?”
“No.”
“Will somebody be arrested before supper?”
“No.”
“Tomorrow.”
Barnaby opened his beak.
Felix pointed at him.
“Unless the index has teeth.”
“An unresolved cross-reference.”
“Vicious, but capable of waiting.”
The owl closed his beak.
For a moment Felix wondered whether he had been rude.
Then he remembered the afternoon he had reserved, the work they had actually finished and the fact that everyone in the room was capable of finding something pleasant without his supervision.
“Fishing,” he said. “No meeting. Anybody who wants to come is welcome.”
Jian looked at Lyra.
She folded the sheet.
Barnaby asked whether the pond had a dry perch.
“It has land,” Felix said. “Considerable acreage.”
The academy pond allowed ordinary rods, ordinary bait and the return of every small fish after brief inspection.
It also required the path kept clear.
Barnaby read that rule aloud while Felix put his bag exactly where people would walk.
He moved the bag.
The pond keeper came past with a little basket for discarded line. He looked at Felix’s borrowed rod and asked whether the handle had been checked out dry.
“Yes.”
“Bring it back that way.”
Felix looked at the pond.
“An ambitious condition.”
“A cloth is provided.”
The keeper pointed at the folded cloth tied to the bag.
Barnaby read the last rule.
“Borrowed equipment returned without bait attached.”
“What incident caused that?”
The keeper sighed.
“Several.”
Felix inspected his handle as though apologizing in advance might help.
Lyra rented a second rod. Jian borrowed the third and tested its flex with the care he gave a practice sword.
The keeper watched him.
“For fish,” he said.
Jian lowered it.
“Yes.”
The man continued along the bank.
The most inviting seat had a root beneath it. The next had a low branch overhead. The third offered an excellent view of somebody else’s back.
Felix returned to the first and used his folded coat.
The line had acquired several intimate relationships with the rod handle during transport.
He untangled it slowly.
Jian watched.
“Advice?” Felix asked at last.
“Start at the other end.”
“Had you planned to let me continue?”
“You said no meeting.”
Felix gave him the rod.
Jian freed the loop, showed him where the final turn had caught and returned it without adding a lecture about proper storage.
Lyra selected a place with an elegant open stance and one branch directly above the end of her rod.
She discovered the branch on her first cast.
“Interesting technique,” Felix said.
“Measuring clearance.”
“Precisely?”
She lowered the rod and moved one pace left.
Barnaby took the dry stump beside the bank.
Felix checked the quiet conditions around his little prepared ambient intake. Safe return. Modest range. Nothing connected to the pond, the fishing line or the hope that the universe owed him a catch.
He settled back.
For several minutes, the float did nothing.
It was a remarkably good activity.
Jian began to say something about the proper shoulder angle for tomorrow’s course.
He stopped.
Felix looked at him.
“Caught it?”
“Yes.”
“Good reflexes.”
Lyra laughed into her sleeve.
Jian picked up his cup instead. Barnaby adjusted one claw on the dry stump and turned his head toward the water.
A small ripple reached the bank.
Felix followed it until it disappeared beneath the grass. He could not imagine a useful report about it.
This pleased him immensely.
Water moved against the reeds. Someone farther along the bank opened a food packet. Jian cast without striking a tree.
Lyra set her folded paper inside the closed bag.
Felix saw it happen and said nothing.
The float dipped.
He sat forward.
Dipped again.
He lifted at entirely the wrong speed and caught a quantity of water.
Jian made a small noise.
“Commentary?”
“Not unless requested.”
“Denied.”
The next bite stayed.
Felix raised a fish which appeared to have been designed around the minimum requirements for being a fish.
It glittered, wriggled and looked deeply offended.
Jian leaned closer.
“Precise.”
“Efficient,” Felix said.
Lyra looked from the fish to his face.
“Was that the object?”
“The object has evolved.”
“Since you saw its size?”
“Research is responsive.”
Barnaby inspected the permitted handling tray.
“Return it promptly.”
Felix did. The fish flicked free, vanished beneath the surface and presumably told its friends nothing complimentary.
Jian’s float moved almost immediately.
His catch had considerable substance.
He looked disappointed before he could hide it.
Lyra laughed.
Felix pointed.
“You see. An unnecessarily large result.”
Jian released it.
“Shall we agree on the contest before inventing a winner?”
“Smallest legitimate fish,” Lyra said.
“Ordinary allowed method,” Jian added.
“Brief comparison, proper return,” Barnaby said.
“No leaves,” Felix said.
Lyra looked at him.
“Whom did you suspect?”
“Everybody.”
The prize was the final honey bun in the packet. They agreed on it before the next cast, under Barnaby’s witness, with no appeal based on realm, reputation or how hungry the losing party appeared.
Felix liked the terms.
He liked them less when Lyra hooked a fish scarcely longer than the bait.
“Tail included?” he asked.
“Yes,” Barnaby said.
“A decorative feature.”
“Part of the fish.”
Lyra held the tray while the owl checked the little marked strip beside it.
Her first candidate remained slightly longer than Felix’s.
She released it with a resigned expression.
“The tail was excessive.”
“Fine animal,” Felix said.
“Biased judge.”
“I’m not the judge.”
“Biased audience.”
He accepted the correction.
Jian returned another respectable catch and stared at the empty hook.
“I know how to fish.”
“That’s becoming a disadvantage,” Felix said.
A breeze moved through the low leaves.
He cast again.
The hook found the branch above him.
Not the nearby branch. A higher one, selected with the ambition he had failed to apply to actual fish.
Lyra looked up.
“Measuring clearance?”
“Precisely.”
The line trembled.
He could cut it. He could create a small unnecessary spectacle with qi. He could spend the rest of the afternoon pretending he had meant to suspend bait above the pond.
Or he could ask.
“Jian.”
“Yes?”
“Your expertise.”
Jian stood, reached from the clear side and used the spare rod to ease the line off the twig. Lyra held the lower line so it would not whip across the bank when it came free.
Felix received the hook with only two wet fingers and a manageable loss of dignity.
“No meeting,” Jian said.
“Technical consultation.”
“Fee?”
“Admiration.”
“I prefer the bun.”
“Conflicting interest. Disallowed.”
Barnaby watched the freed line settle.
“Competitor assisted.”
“Voluntarily,” Jian said.
“Recorded.”
They sat again.
Nothing moved for a while.
Felix ate the ordinary bun which had not become the prize and drank tea from the cup resting on the little board beside his knee.
His intake gathered slowly during the quiet.
He did not watch it.
Lyra loosened the cuff which had begun to press her wrist. Her dantian’s old injury did not disappear because the afternoon was pleasant. Neither did it need to become the afternoon’s subject.
Jian leaned back on his hands.
“I intend to do well tomorrow.”
“I had noticed.”
“Not merely finish.”
“Also noticed.”
Lyra watched her float.
“I dislike wanting something enough that a fair result can hurt.”
Jian considered that.
“Better than wanting nothing.”
Felix looked at his own motionless line.
“Currently I want a fish smaller than my thumb.”
“A grand ambition,” Lyra said.
“After lunch I may want a nap.”
The reeds moved. A dragonfly settled on a stem, shifted its wings and departed.
They let it.
A child on the next bank asked his grandmother whether the dragonfly would count.
The grandmother said no.
Felix felt vindicated by the universal need for a leaf rule.
The child caught a leaf next.
It did not count either.
Jian watched the grandmother free the line from the child’s sleeve before accepting help with a knot of his own. Lyra shifted her coat into the shade and made room for the food packet between them.
Nobody announced that the afternoon had become harmonious.
A fly kept finding Felix’s ear. His cup was nearly empty. The rod handle was less comfortable than it looked.
He remained very happy to be there.
After a while, the child abandoned fishing to investigate a snail. The grandmother continued with the rod.
Felix considered this an excellent distribution of labor and said nothing. The snail remained completely unimpressed.
At the far end of the pond, an older man landed a fine fish and looked around for approval. Jian nodded sincerely.
Felix refrained from explaining the more advanced standard in use on their bank.
He was growing.
Then Lyra’s float disappeared.
She lifted with a quick, controlled movement. The line came clear with something so small Felix initially assumed she had caught the bait again.
It wriggled.
“No,” he said.
Barnaby came off his perch.
Lyra put the fish briefly in the wet tray.
The marked strip left no room for a flattering interpretation. Smaller than Felix’s candidate. Tail included. Every unfortunate detail intact.
He leaned closer.
“Coaching.”
“From whom?” Lyra asked.
“The other fish.”
“Appeal denied,” Barnaby said.
“You haven’t heard the basis.”
“I fear I have.”
Lyra released the tiny champion before Felix could develop the case.
A quick silver movement.
Gone.
She sat back with her hands folded and a look of satisfaction he had previously associated with winning an argument about a dangerous contract.
“Title?” Jian asked.
“Lady of the Lesser Catch,” Felix said.
Lyra considered it.
“Until supper.”
“The bun too,” Jian reminded him.
Felix handed it over.
She divided it.
He looked at the offered piece.
“You won.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t require consolation.”
“Then take it as tribute.”
“No.”
She smiled.
“Sharing, Felix.”
He took the piece.
It tasted exceptionally good for evidence of defeat.
Lyra brushed a crumb from the back of her hand.
“Your original candidate was admirable.”
“Do not patronize the defeated.”
“It displayed almost no fish.”
“Now you’ve gone too far.”
Jian looked at the marked strip.
“Quite a lot, by the final standard.”
Felix took the strip away before another expert could consult it.
Barnaby waited.
He put it back.
“Evidence preserved,” the owl said.
“A temporary courtesy.”
Lyra laughed so hard she had to set her cup down. Felix watched the ring it left on the board and decided that losing could occasionally be endured if the audience had been fed.
Barnaby returned to the dry stump. Jian made one more cast without caring whether the fish would be too large. Lyra ate the rest of the bun and watched the water.
Felix lay back on his folded coat.
The root had become less offensive.
His eyes closed.
Nobody asked him a question.
When he opened them, the shade had moved and Jian was winding his line.
The agreed returning hour had arrived.
They cleaned the borrowed gear, checked the hooks and left no bait on the handle. Felix inspected the branch to make sure his line had all come free.
It had.
Lyra retrieved her folded paper without opening it.
Barnaby checked the bank for forgotten things and found only the place they had actually used.
On the path home, Jian asked how the Lady of the Lesser Catch intended to defend her title.
“By retiring undefeated.”
“Cowardly,” Felix said.
“Efficient.”
He could not object without surrendering his first argument.
The pond fell behind them.
Tomorrow’s course still existed. So did the annex reference and the questions waiting beside it.
For now, Felix had dry equipment, a small gain from honest rest and friends who would remember the fish far longer than was professionally necessary.
He intended to deny its size before supper.
After supper, the title would expire.
They had agreed the rules.