House of Shards (33 page)

“I’ll do that. I have enough vaults in enough residences, gracious knows.”

*

“Thank you, Kovinn.” Kuusinen took his glass from Kovinn's tray.

“Kovinn,” said Roberta. “You may take the objects away and pack them.”

“Yes, your grace.”

Kuusinen looked at Roberta from over the rim of his glass. “What now, your grace?”

“The Special Event, of course.”

“Yes. Of course. The Event.” He sighed. “The other candidates have been dropped, then? It’s to be Maijstral?”

“Almost certainly. But just in case, I desire you continue your inquiries elsewhere.”

“As you wish, your grace.”

“Send the reports to me—you have my schedule—and then, if you don’t hear from me otherwise, take ship for Nana.”

“And speak to Maijstral’s father?”

“Yes.”

Kuusinen sighed. “I hate talking to the dead. They're so . . . faded.”

“I gather old Dornier was pretty faded when he was alive.”

“And Maijstral’s mother?”

Roberta’s expression was cold. “I’ve met her, and once was enough. We can leave that woman out of it.”

“I’ll be happy not to see her. I tried to stay out of her sight that one time, but still she may remember me.”

“Yes. Her memories on that occasion would not be happy ones.”

Resigned to another half-year of travel, Kuusinen raised his glass and drank.

*

“Its lordship will be returning to Zynzlyp,” Lady Dosvidern said. “It has swallowed the Shard in order to keep it safe, and will regurgitate it on Zynzlyp. I think even Fu George would have trouble stealing the Shard from the Drawmiikh's insides.”

“It sounds quite secure,” Zoot said.

“I’m given to understand that the Imperial Sporting Commission, at the request of the Colonial Service, is considering the placing of a ban on future theft of the Eltdown Shard—they don’t want a High Custom sporting event causing the suicide of an entire planetary population.”

“Very wise,” said Zoot. Despite the fact that he and Lady Dosvidern were having what to all appearances was an innocent conversation at a public table in the White Room, Zoot found himself jittery; he kept cocking his ears back as if to listen for people sneaking up behind him. He had difficulty keeping his eyes focused on Lady Dosvidern. Every time he looked at her, he kept imagining (with convincing realism) the pressure of a pistol barrel to his head.

“And of course—” Lady Dosvidern smiled. “—Lord Qlp’s return to its planet of origin will mean that I’ll be free.”

“You won’t be taking up residence on its lordship’s estate?”

Lady Dosvidern's ears turned down in disdain. “Its lordship's estate consists of three stone huts, two of which are filled with livestock. No, I had an arrangement with the Colonial Service. Now that my task is over, I’ll be collecting my pension and leaving Zynzlyp forever. I won’t be returning unless Lord Qlp leaves again, and I doubt it will be doing that.” She smiled at him. “Perhaps we can meet somewhere.”

The very idea conjured in Zoot an instinct to run from the room as fast as his legs could carry him. Zoot suppressed this and drew his face into a semblance of regret. “Lady, I am sorry to report that I’m really not cut out for adultery.”

Lady Dosvidern seemed amused. “How odd. And this from a member of the Diadem. It’s not as if my marriage to Lord Qlp were anything but a diplomatic fiction.”

“Yet. Still.”

“Zoot! May I speak with you?” Pearl Woman, hands on cutlass hilts, came swaggering to Zoot's chair. Relieved beyond all measure by the interruption, he stood and sniffed her.

“Pearl Woman.”

“I wonder, Zoot, if Lady Dosvidern will let me borrow you for a few moments. I'd like to talk about my new project.”

“Ah—with your permission, my lady?”

“Very well.” Showing nettled regret.

Pearl Woman tugged on his arm, drawing him away. “I wanted to ask you about Old Earth pirates. Now that my stock's high, I'd like to make a good deal for my next feature, and I think a romance about pirates might be just the ticket.”

Relief spread gratefully through Zoot. “Yes,” he said. “I am entirely at your service.”

*

“Deus vult.”

Roman had made the security arrangements for Dolfuss's room, and Roman, as Maijstral had discovered over the years, was fond of passwords that reflected the life and career of Maijstral’s alleged Crusader ancestor. “Deus vult” was his favorite, but “incarnatus” was high on his list, as was “crux mihi ancora.” It was fully characteristic of Roman, Maijstral thought, to assign passwords based on a religion that he venerated for its part in the life of Maijstral’s supposed forefather, but which, had Roman been left to himself, he would have found violent, simplistic, and distasteful—the ritual cannibalism aspect alone would have turned his ears back, had he given it any thought.

But Roman probably hadn’t given it any thought. Because Maijstral’s ancestors had taken sides in the Crusades, Roman, being loyal, would also take sides, even though Roman, knowing Maijstral, therefore knew to his sorrow that Maijstral never gave the Crusades or religion a single thought except when Roman reminded him about them.

That, Maijstral concluded, was one of the comforting things about Roman. He was predictable in his loyalty to Maijstral and the family, no matter that Maijstral strained the loyalty from time to time.

The door opened. “Hi, boss,” said Gregor.

Maijstral stepped inside Dolfuss's room. Dolfuss was nervously covering the door with a pistol. “The collection is packed?” Maijstral asked.

“Everything’s ready, boss.”

Maijstral cast a glance over the room. All had been packed save for some of Gregor’s equipment for monitoring the Cygnus robots. No lights were glowing on Gregor’s apparatus: the robots had all been instructed to stop their opening the utility passageways and setting off alarms. All the security people would know was that alarms would cease —the stratagem itself was secure till next time.

“A good thing It’s nearly over,” said Dolfuss. He bolstered his gun and sat on the bed. “Firearms make me apprehensive. I’m happy not to have to stand guard much longer.”

Maijstral smiled at Dolfuss. “I didn’t really think anyone would make a try for our hoard, but I thought an attempt would be a lot less likely if we kept two armed men here around the clock. No sense in handing anyone an irresistible temptation.” His smile broadened as he opened one of his cases and dropped Kotani's studs into it. “We're just keeping Fu George and Kyoko Asperson honest.”

“Happy to provide such a reinforcement to public morality.” Dolfuss took the gun from his holster again and put it on the bed; he found the thing uncomfortable. “I’ll be even more happy,” he added, “to tread the boards again.”

“That may be sooner than you think. Our thefts have turned out to be far more sensational than I ever envisioned, and in addition to your advance you'll be getting sizeable royalties from the sale of the recordings to the media. Your name will be placed before the public again. If you announce the opening of a new theater, here in the Constellation where the Imperial bureaucracy won’t ban your works, I should think you'd have no lack of backers.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Dolfuss. “Barring the element of gunplay, it’s been a most enlightening stay.”

Maijstral smiled privately. He could only agree.

He turned to Gregor. “I think I’ll accompany you to Kotani’s suite,” he said. “For the sake of public morality, if nothing else.”

“Great,” said Gregor. He put a hi-stick in his mouth. “I sort of wanted to talk to you anyway.”

Maijstral donned his shields while Gregor asked the service plate to send a porterbot. When it arrived Gregor carefully stacked Baroness Silverside’s collection on its luggage rack, then the two checked their pistols and left for Kotani’s suite.

“The thing is, boss,” Gregor said, “I don’t think much of this polish is wearing off.”

Maijstral looked at him. “Beg pardon?”

“You’ve taught me a lot, boss,” Gregor said. “Don’t think I’m not grateful. I’ve got a lot more finesse than I used to have, but I don’t seem to be absorbing much in the way of
ton
, if you see my point.”

“Such things take time, Gregor.”

“More time than I’ve got, maybe. I mean perhaps.” He threw up his hands. “See what I mean? I keep saying
maybe
after three years. It’s a dead giveaway.”

Maijstral looked at him sidelong. “I suppose Kyoko Asperson has something to do with this.”

“Yes. What I mean is, she's started with a background like mine, poor smashed-up family on a hick planet, and she's made it in the larger world. Not by trying to turn herself into a noble, but just by being herself.”

Maijstral frowned. “She is herself in a very studied way, Gregor. She works at it very hard, perhaps harder than I do at being a lord.”

“You don’t have to work at being a lord. You
are
a lord. Or at least you have the option of being a lord or not.” Gregor sucked nervously on his hi-stick. “I’m not a lord, and I won’t ever be mistaken for one. So what I’ve decided is that I shouldn’t be working with a lord, but with someone who has the kind of style I can use.” He gave a heavy sigh. “So I’ll be leaving on the
Boston
with Miss Asperson, is what I’m saying. I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch, but you and Roman can do pretty well with all the stuff I’ve built for you until you can find a replacement. And that shouldn’t be too hard—not with the way your rating's going to rocket after all this.”

Maijstral considered this for a long moment. “You have style aplenty, Gregor. Not my kind, but it’s there. I’ve known that all along.”

“Oh.” Gregor appeared surprised. “Thank you, boss.”

' 'I don’t think you need to work with Miss Asperson just to discover something you already know.”

“Thanks anyway. But I’ve made up my mind. I’m still leaving with her.”

“A delicate matter, Gregor.” Maijstral pursed his lips. “Should you leave my employment, you leave with a knowledge of my techniques and apparatus. Miss Asperson has already demonstrated a regrettable tendency to take advantage of any inner knowledge. . . .”

“Boss!” Gregor was scandalized. “I wouldn’t let her do anything like that!”

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

“You should see the junk she's got. Ancient. I’m surprised she hasn’t got pinched a dozen times over. And the maintenance!”

Maijstral sighed. He had enjoyed Gregor’s company, the younger man’s appalling lack of manners having struck him as thoroughly refreshing. Gregor, Maijstral knew, would be missed. He decided to surrender with grace.

“Very well. I wish you and Miss Asperson all possible happiness.”

Gregor brightened. “Thanks. A lot. Really.”

“You're welcome. Really.”

*

“The return trip will be second class, unfortunately,” said Zoot. “The Diadem paid for the trip out; I’ll have to dip into my own funds for the journey back. Even then, we'll probab ly need help financing any expeditions. Fortunately,” his ears flickering, “my ratings are up, and the media should pay well.”

“I don’t mind second class,” said Khamiss. “That’s how I got here.” She turned from her closet and held up her uniform jacket. “Do you think I should take my uniform? As a souvenir?”

“If you like, dearest. Why not? You were wearing it when we met.”

“Which reminds me that you still haven’t finished the lesson in physiognomy.”

His tongue hung amused from the corner of his mouth. “On the passage, then.”

She folded the jacket, placed it in her suitcase. Her service pistol was already packed. She stood back. “There.”

“Put your wedding clothes on top,” Zoot said. “The first day out of port will be a busy one, and
Cheng’s
captain may only have a few minutes to marry us.”

“And after all we went through for her and her ship. What an ingrate.”

Zoot put his arms around her and tenderly took one of her ears between his canines. Khamiss stroked his furry neck.

“I still don’t know her name,” she said. “I hope I don’t call her Cap’n Bob by accident.”

Zoot didn’t understand that remark, but wasn’t about to let go of her ear in order to ask. He was finding it quite pleasant here.

Goodbye, he thought, cruel world.

*

Advert stood on the customs dock. Her feet were unshod, and there were rings on her toes as well as her fingers. The idea had come to her only a few days ago: she'd used some of the Pearl’s money to purchase the rings from Singh's.

Pearl Woman, having finished her interview with Kyoko Asperson, waved at her from across the room. Advert turned to the Marchioness Kotani, made her congé, and advanced toward the Pearl.

Pearl Woman grinned at her. “Have you said your farewells?”

Advert nodded.

“Good. Shall we take our leave? I don’t feel like waiting for the
Cheng
and the
Boston
to leave first.”

“As you like. It’s not your style to wait, after all.”

Pearl Woman took Advert's arm and began walking with her to the private dock nearby. She gave Advert a careful look.

“You know,” she said, “there's something different about you, these last few days.”

Advert smiled. “Is there?”

“Yes. You seem to carry yourself differently. I can’t put my finger on it.”

Advert put her hand in her pocket and felt the credit chip there, the one with Pearl Woman's money. “I can’t think what it could be,” she said.

“Still. It suits you, Advert. There's something much more . . . intriguing about you.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“ An air of mystery, almost.” Pearl Woman gave a laugh. “You know, I’m considering skipping our next planned stop and heading straight for Kapodistrias. The plans for the pirate project are advancing, and I know I could line up some backing there.”

“I’ve never been to Kapodistrias. Is there anything to see?”

“Not much besides a big ocean. I was amazed to discover that Earth pirates didn’t have flight—they actually sailed from place to place on boats, powered by
wind
, of all things But I expect you’l be too busy for sightseeing. I have plans for you, Advert. There’s a part in the pirate project that’s perfect for you, if you’ll take it. An ingenue role.” Pearl Woman grinned. “Perhaps I’ll rescue you from a fate worse than death.”