A Matter of Oaths (25 page)

“Isn’t that the Old Emperor’s high-class go-fetch? In ten
lengths of gold lace?” Chadir asked as they stepped onto the walkway.

“Where?”

As the sergeant turned her head to look, Rafe and Joshim
dived into the crowd. In opposite directions, but the important thing was to
get away, Joshim told himself as he dipped in and out of the bystanders; they
would meet up at the shuttle.

The provosts took a second to react, long enough for Joshim
to put several convenient bodies between him and them.

“I’ll get the dead one,” the sergeant yelled to Chadir as
Joshim swerved around a pack of goggling dirtsiders. “You call in for help!”

That left Joshim free of immediate pursuit. He rounded an
angle in the walkway and ploughed through a bunch of laughing juniors.

“Maintenance hatch back here,” one of them hissed, pushing
him in the right direction. By the time Chadir passed the group, Joshim was
tucked safely in the access space, hoping that Rafe had had the same kind of
luck. From here, he could take the ladder down to the level of their shuttle
and circle back round to meet Rafe.

“They got your friend,” his rescuer whispered, halting him
as he started down the ladder. “Damned Security jumped him… Wait a moment. There’s
some kind of argument going on. Between Security and the provosts and some
aristo, the one who came in on the Old Emperor’s fast yacht. Now the provosts
are moving on. The aristo’s got her arm round your friend. He doesn’t look too
healthy — Security must have hit him hard. Now Security are leaving too, but
they don’t look pleased about it. Your friend’s being carried away by those two
thugs that the aristo calls her entourage. Looks like he’s out cold. The aristo’s
going with them, towards the VIP dock. Now they’re all out of sight.”

“Thanks,” Joshim said through the acid taste in his mouth. “Which
is the fastest way to the VIP dock?”

“Are you crazy? With the provosts and Security looking all
over for you?” his rescuer objected. “Let the search die down first.”

“No time,” Joshim protested. “I…”

“Hold it, provosts,” another junior interrupted.

Joshim dropped down below floor level as the juniors moved
to shield the hatch. Gods, why had Braniya intervened, and what did she want
with Rafe? He remembered the touch of memory that Rafe had felt in the library,
the way he had thought it necessary to find out about the aristo. Did it mean
that she was involved in his past, that her presence at Central was no
coincidence?

“All clear,” the signal came at last.

“The VIP dock,” Joshim repeated urgently.

“Down one, right forty-five.” As Joshim moved out of
hearing, the voice added, “He’s crazy.”

"He" probably was, Joshim reflected grimly as he
descended. The Security presence around Braniya’s ship would be heavy; not even
the Old Emperor’s aide could snatch a webber from the Guild’s custody with
impunity. Worse, Joshim had very little time in which to act; soon his
connection with the unregistered shuttle would be recognized and he would be
cut off from it and from
Bhattya
. But
he could not abandon Rafe without trying.

The access ways took Joshim out along a radial as far as the
VIP dock and then stopped dead at the dock’s safety bulkhead. By crouching down
beside a maintenance hatch half a length from the end, and peering through the
air-grille, he had an angled view of the dock entrance and the two sets of
guards standing there, a full team from Guild Security and an equal number
wearing the livery of an aristo. From the tension in their stances, they were
as wary of each other as they were of anybody approaching, but Joshim had no
illusions that they would not act in concert for as long as it took to capture
him, if they were given the chance.

He retreated down the radial. It was worse than he had
expected. There was no way through that entrance to the VIP dock, and no
visible access to the dock’s maintenance space. It would take time to
backtrack, to search for a way in, time that Security would spend tracing him
back to their shuttle. Even if he did reach the dock, there would be further
guards there and inside
Havedir
, and
if the guards outside the ship were only armed with sleepguns as the Guild
demanded, the guards within would be lethally armed. Joshim clenched his fists
in angry impotence, seeing no way that he could rescue Rafe.

“Let us through. We wish to speak to Lady Rujur.”

“I’ll ask if she wishes to speak to you.”

The curt exchange carried from the entrance to the dock. Joshim
crept back towards its source and crouched motionless by the air-grille to
watch and listen. Two webbers were waiting by the dock entrance, denied access
by Braniya’s guards. The sleeve of one of them bore a Councillor’s insignia,
and he guessed that the other was equally highly placed. They must have come to
demand Rafe’s return, he decided uneasily. Without knowing why Braniya had
snatched Rafe, or who his enemies on the Council were, it was impossible to
know where he would be safest.

“The Lady Rujur will be here shortly.”

“We wish to talk to her aboard her ship.”

“The Lady Rujur will be here shortly,” the guard repeated
stolidly.

“Very well.” That was the second of the two Councillors, the
woman. Her companion looked annoyed at the capitulation but did not argue
publicly.

Would the benefits of waiting to hear this conversation
outweigh the risks of being trapped aboard the station? Joshim fretted. Yes. They
had to. He must learn what he could about Braniya’s intentions and the Council’s;
if nothing else, he must return to
Bhattya
knowing in whose custody Rafe was.

The sealed hatch behind the guards opened and a woman came
though. Dressed in ten lengths of gold lace, one of the provosts had said, and
the description fitted Braniya exactly, but the lace was the only softness
about her. Commandingly tall, with glossy black hair cut unusually short for an
aristo, she had a presence that fitted Rafe’s description well: the ones
without explicit titles are the dangerous ones…

“Councillor Lady Carher, Councillor Ferin. You wish to talk
to me about the unfortunate incident earlier?” Her voice was pitched low and
level.

“We do,” Ferin agreed grimly. “More precisely, we wish you
to return the webber whom you removed from the custody of our Security police.”

Braniya laughed. “I should be glad to do so, had I custody
of any such webber. But I only have custody of a young lad who thought it would
be amusing to impersonate a webber. When your provosts discovered the
deception, he panicked, with the unfortunate results of which you are aware.”

“There were two webbers involved,” Ferin retorted. “One of
whom was positively identified.”

“And was my ward also positively identified? I believe that
the identity he claimed was that of a webber who died in a recent, tragic
accident. A careless decision, I thought.” She smiled coldly.

“Lady Rujur, there are many things about this affair which
are not easily explained,” Ferin said stubbornly. “We request that you make
your ward available to answer questions.”

“I regret that will not be possible at this time,” Braniya
parried smoothly. “He is still recovering from the injuries caused by your
security police. Injuries which will undoubtedly distress the Emperor Julur,
who has a certain fondness for the youngster. You will recall, Councillor Lady
Carher, that we have discussed the lad in that context recently.”

“We have,” Carher admitted stiffly. She was scared, Joshim
recognized. Why?

“And you would recognize the lad if you saw him, would you
not?” Braniya continued. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognize the description
given by your Security police. He is, after all, very distinctive. Not the sort
of person about whom one easily makes a mistake.” The aristo seemed amused by
the idea. “Would it satisfy you both if Councillor Lady Carher verified that my
ward is who I say he is and not some abducted member of your Guild?”

“Councillor Ferin should also verify that your ward meets
the description of the webber we seek,” Carher said quickly.

“Of course, Councillor Lady Carher.” Braniya smiled widely. “Since
I’m accused of the abduction of a webber, I can understand your desire for
safety in numbers.” She was taking pleasure in baiting Carher, her words
seeming to have a hidden, uncomfortable meaning for the Councillor.

“On reflection, I see no need for either of us to verify
your ward’s identity,” Carher said hastily. “The description I heard could be
nobody else.” Ferin glared at her but she ignored him.

Carher was scared that, if she went aboard Braniya’s ship,
she would not be allowed to leave, Joshim realized. And she knew who it was
that Braniya had rescued from Security. Which could only mean that she was one
of those responsible for what had happened to Rafe.

“My ward does have a reputation for causing trouble, does he
not?” Braniya was murmuring. “Now that this matter is resolved to universal
satisfaction, you’ll allow me to return to his bedside? We shall wish to leave
soon. The Emperor will wish his protégé to recuperate in the Imperial Palace.” She
gave Carher another of her freezing smiles. “We will have to continue our
discussions at a later time, Councillor Lady Carher. But be certain, I shall
find time to fit them in.”

And that was a threat, not a promise.
A careless decision, I thought. The Emperor Julur,..has a certain
fondness for the youngster…
. Notice was being served that Carher would not
escape retaliation for the attempts on Rafe’s life. As Braniya disappeared
through the hatch to the dock, Joshim did not find it reassuring that Rafe was
in her hands.

* * *

Rallya plucked at the pins that held her shub-coated
plaits close to her head as she sat at the edge of her web-position to hear
Joshim out. The intervention of the provosts had been pure bad luck, but it
seemed that in every direction that they turned in this tangle, there was a new
hand meddling. Braniya, aide to the Old Emperor… Rallya slowly licked the shub
from her lips. That was raising the stakes in this game higher than she had
anticipated.

“I want ears open for any whisper of this on the full comms
band,” she told Jualla, who was waiting anxiously for orders. “And I want to
know the movements of every ship within sensor range.”

So. The obvious precautions had all been taken.
Bhattya
was on full alert, her sensors
wide open, her web full, her comp programmed with a sequence of escape jumps in
case they had to flee. All that remained to be done was to extricate Rafe from
Braniya’s clutches. All, Rallya snorted silently. The little scut caused havoc
in no proportion to his size.

“Are we going to get him back, ma’am?” Jualla lingered to
ask.

Rallya pressed her lips together. “One way or another,” she
promised. “Although I hadn’t planned to take on the Old Emperor as well as the
Guild Council. At least, not at the same time.” And when Jualla repeats that,
the web-room will think that everything is under control, she thought wryly.

“You think the Old Emperor
himself
is involved?” Joshim asked in disbelief when Jualla had
gone. “If he’s broken his Oath…” He trailed off, unwilling to follow that
thought to its unsettling conclusion.

“Braniya is his Palace Security Chief,” Rallya said bluntly,
“or so the rumour goes. When she moves, it’s because he’s pulling the strings. Gods,
Joshim,” she exploded, “why can’t your pretty boy be satisfied with the kind of
enemies that the rest of us make?” She gestured angrily that she did not expect
an answer. “At least now we’ve put names to both sets of his enemies. If there
are only two,” she added drily. “He seems to have a talent for collecting them.”

Joshim smiled tightly. “And they for collecting him.” He
moved restlessly to the centre of the web, watched the activity displayed on
the monitor there. “We’ve got no choice now,” he said abruptly. “We’ve got to
petition the Council for a hearing, before they allow Braniya to take Rafe
away.”

Rallya sighed. “We can’t do that,” she said gently. “Rafe is
only safe with Braniya as long as she believes that his significance is still a
secret. No matter how important his life is to the Old Emperor, Braniya would
kill him rather than let him give evidence about Julur’s Oath-breaking. And
Havedir
is an immune ship,” she added,
forestalling Joshim’s next protest. “If we tried to take him back by force, we’d
be fighting every other ship in the zone. And if by some miracle we won against
odds like that, we’d have forfeited any chance of getting a hearing afterwards.”

“What
are
we going
to do then?” Joshim demanded. “Slink back to Aramas and pretend nothing has
happened? Let Braniya take Rafe to the Old Emperor, who doesn’t give a
two-credit kiss for Rafe as a person, only as a pawn? Who may decide to give
him another identity-wipe and another identity outside the Guild? Who may
decide to kill him after all because he isn’t worth the trouble or the risk and
more?” He stopped shouting as abruptly as he had started and turned his back on
Rallya. “I should have tried to get him out when I had the chance,” he said
bitterly.

Rallya stood up, ignoring the twinge in her hip, seized his
shoulders and shook him fiercely. “You never had a chance,” she said
vehemently. “If you had, you’d have taken it, and Rafe will know that too. So
stop wallowing in guilt and answer this. What use is a pawn to Julur? Any pawn?”

Joshim turned back to face her, his attention caught. “Ultimately
everything Julur does is aimed at Ayvar,” he said slowly.

“The New Emperor,” Rallya confirmed. “If Julur has a use for
Rafe, Ayvar will want to know what’s going on.”

Joshim’s face clouded. “What good can he do?” he asked. “He
can’t dictate to the Guild. If he could dictate to Julur, we’d have one Empire,
not two. And Rafe will still die as soon as Julur realizes that he’s a threat.”