Palace (33 page)

‘Yeah.’ Rico smiled in a grateful kind of way. ‘But look, I know she’s going to marry someone else. Okay?’

‘Okay.’ Hi felt his mind ticking over like a subroutine counting files. Vida brought with her a hell of a lot of influence, and he’d promised Aleen, after all, that he’d put himself in a position to look after her. ‘Well, I shouldn’t be saying this, but her marriage contract’s a political one. In that situation, both partners have a lot of freedom, and well, arrangements get made. But a word to the wise; showing Wan up publicly would be a good way to die young. Government House is full of snoops who’ve got nothing better to do with their time than gossip.’

Rico stared, then nodded down at the carpet. ‘Yeah,’ he said at last. ‘Yeah. I get you.’

They exchanged a smile. Arno’s right, Hi thought. This kid is brilliant, figuring things out in his own quiet way, like about the AIs, and here I never noticed. Arno.

‘Uncle Hi?’ Rico grabbed his arm. ‘You all right?’

‘No.’ Hi sank down and perched on the edge of a chair. ‘No.’

And at last he could weep, in short convulsive sobs, while Rico stood by and wept with him.

* * *

The afternoon came and went, but no word from Leni. While Samante started hunting for a suitable suite in Government House, Vida stayed in her guest rooms and studied files. She kept checking the time, and at the fourteens put in a second call to her husband-to-be’s factor. Still no answer. By the eighteens, Vida had had enough. She knew the address of Wan’s suite; Calios found her a map file. Once she had the location memorized, she went into her bedroom and considered what to wear, finally settling on a business-like pair of black pants and a flowing black shirt. She was in no mood to look girlish.

Vida took a moment to record a message for Samante, then left, following the map in her mind. As she strode down the hall, her eyes moved constantly, taking in every detail: the strip-cameras whose lenses extended the length of every corridor; the strange intaglio designs on the blueglass walls, stamped by some ancient tool, long lost and forgotten; the elaborate floor tiles, blue, grey, and green, that formed spirals and mazes underfoot. After a hundred yards or so she noticed that while the floor pattern followed a regular repeat of six units, the abstract decorative units on the blueglass did not. Every now and then an entire brick did repeat, but always in a different context. The Colonizers had generated the patterns randomly, she supposed. From her school work she remembered that they’d been fond of the visual arts, but the course of study that Aleen had set up for her had spent little time on such amenities as art history.

Wan’s suite stood on the same floor as her guest rooms, but on the other side of the tower. Walking there gave Vida a visceral understanding of the scale of the towers that not even her airhopper ride could supply. She could begin to imagine the size of the original colony ship, scavenged for these buildings. On each of its journeys from the Rim to this new world, over a hundred thousand people had travelled inside, though most had been stored in cryonic boxes to save air and water. She wondered about her guest rooms. Had they been a fancy cabin for important Colonists, or had the walls been installed a hundred years later, when everyone had given up all hope of ever returning to the Rim? Perhaps Calios would know, or at the least, perhaps he could find her some history archives.

The dark blue door to Wan’s suite, like all doors in Government House, had an icon tablet inlay. Vida pressed ‘Announce’ and turned toward the sensor. For a long moment she waited, wondering if Leni would offer her the ultimate insult and refuse her entry. She was just about to leave when the door slid open to reveal a human man, barely a Not-child from the look of him, all long dark hair and muscles and wearing nothing but a pair of tight grey trousers. He stared at her through the scent of hard alcohol.

‘Who are you?’ Vida snapped.

‘Uh, Dan. Lord Dan of Motta. Uh, sorry.’

When he stepped back, she marched in, brushing past him before he could think to object. She found herself in a huge white room. Weapons racks were the only furniture she saw, each holding a different category: ancient rifles, antique laser guns, swords, clubs, and so on. Each piece sported a catalogue tag. On the far wall hung row after row of animal heads, creatures from every planet on the Pinch, each mounted on plastocrete plaques. In the centre hung a six-foot-long horn from a crested swamp worm, the most dangerous predator on planet.

‘Well,’ Vida said. ‘At least my fiance’s well-organized.’

The countess’ son merely stared at her, bewildered.

Through the open door to the next room came shouts and laughter. With young Motta trailing after, Vida walked through a side door and found a room even bigger than the last. Scattered round stood soft furniture in gaudy reds and oranges. Scattered on the furniture were young men and women, drinking, laughing, while saccules hurried through, serving drinks and food. Some of the guests Vida recognized from the reception of the night before -very young, all of them, and some of them not even of patron track rank. No-one noticed Vida and Dan; they were all watching an impromptu sports-ring that had been set up in the middle of the room - a white carpet isolated by a long red ribbon strung from armless chairs. In the middle stood dark Wan and blonde, pale Leni, each dressed in casual dark trousers and white tunics, each wearing a heavy white vest that seemed to provide protection of a sort. They were fencing with the jarak-ar, a long grey stick with a metal ball at one end, the Garang Japat’s idea of a parlour game. Game or not, Vida saw immediately that Wan Peronida was a gifted athlete and a ferocious fighter. Leni fought well, for a game; he moved fast and gracefully, ducked in, feinted, danced back. Wan matched his feints, then snarled and moved in hard, thrusting from the side, slashing toward the back, always thrusting, driving, forcing Leni to move round and round the ring while he parried and dodged, more and more desperately, his grace and style forgotten. The crowd began to jeer him, laughing out insults, waving empty glasses. Leni hesitated just long enough. Wan leapt forward and slammed his left fist down on Leni’s weapon arm, then thrust with the jarak, slicing across his opponent’s unprotected neck. Leni screamed as the electrified ball flashed and crackled, then staggered once and fell to his knees. The smell of burnt flesh drifted in the air. Laughing out loud, Wan stepped back, raising his weapon above his head while his guests shrieked and howled and clapped so hard you would have thought that he’d vanquished a whole regiment of Garang. Wan lowered the jarak, flicked its power switch to off, then tossed it on the floor next to Leni. A saccule hurried forward with an icy glass on a tray. Wan took the drink, saluted the crowd, and drank half of it off. He glanced round, saw Vida, and went still, glaring at her over the rim of his drink.

‘Well,’ Wan said at last. ‘If it isn’t the little whore from Pleasure. Want to show us some tricks?’

Vida couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

‘Hey, Peronida,’ Dan said. ‘That’s loath, man.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Wan turned his beautiful green eyes, as hard as emeralds, his way. ‘Shut up, Motta. Go eat mushroom manure.’

The guests all laughed, snickering in Vida’s direction, as Dan shrugged and took a few steps back. Out in the ring Leni had managed to get to his feet. Wincing and swearing, he staggered a few steps, caught the ribbon and tripped, sending chairs smashing to the floor. Everyone laughed again and began yelling for more drinks.

‘You know something, Peronida?’ Vida snapped. ‘You remind me of a bargecrawler, the kind who buys unbonded streetwalkers. You’re not good enough for a real whore from Pleasure.’

The crowd roared, laughing and clapping, yelling out, ‘She’s right, Wan, she’s right.’ Wan flushed scarlet, then swung round, whipping out one hand and grabbing Leni hard by the collar of his tunic. Leni staggered, still dazed. Vida could see the black and red flash-burn on his neck.

‘All right,’ Wan snarled. ‘You lost the jarak, so you’ve got to screw her. Lemme know if she’s any good, okay? I’ve got to marry this cull, but I don’t have to fuck her.’

Oddly enough, no-one laughed. Suddenly sober, Leni gulped and tried to pull away, but Wan held on.

‘You fucking little coward,’ Wan hissed. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

Leni made a strangled sort of noise. His eyes had gone wide with fear, Vida realized, and he was staring at something behind her.

‘Good evening, Se Wan,’ said a cool voice.

Wan’s face drained an ashy grey under the brown. The room went deadly silent. Vida spun round to see Dukayn, standing in the doorway. Dukayn’s eyes moved around the room, pausing on each guest in turn. Some began to put down drinks and get out of chairs, but all in the cold silence.

‘May I speak to you privately, Se Wan?’

The remainder of the crowd rose, gabbling apologies, dropping things, kicking over drinks, stampeding for the door. Dan Motta touched Vida’s arm.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘You’re pretty flash, know that?’

When Dukayn turned his limpid gaze Dan’s way, the young lord bolted for the door like the rest of the party. Wan and Leni ended up alone out in the middle of their smashed gaming ring. Behind them the two saccule servants cowered against the wall and let out a stench of fear like vomit. Leni started to speak, thought better of it, then turned to Wan with a look that seemed to wish that Wan had killed him in the fight.

‘Se Lenobai?’ Dukayn purred. ‘Will you excuse us?’

Leni nodded vigorously, stepped over the ribbons, then dashed out of the room, still in his white vest.

‘Well.’ Wan finally found his voice. ‘What do you want, Dukayn?’

‘Your factor called me.’ Dukayn turned to Vida. ‘She got the message you left. I don’t think it’s wise for you to go running around alone.’

Vida nodded.

‘As for you,’ Dukayn returned to his leisurely study of Wan. ‘I’ve just spoken to your father. He was wondering how you were getting along with your fiancee.’

Wan’s green eyes flicked over Vida, then away.

‘Oh, did he? Why doesn’t he just screw her himself, if he’s so damn desperate for heirs?’

Dukayn moved. All at once he was across the room and grabbing Wan by the throat. Vida gasped aloud. So fast! She had never seen anyone move so quickly, not even her self-defence teacher. When the two saccules rushed forward, Dukayn let go of Wan, then sent them howling with a pair of well-placed kicks. Wan feinted in, then tried to land a punch on Dukayn’s face. Dukayn swept it aside with one hand and grabbed with the other, caught Wan’s throat a second time and slammed him back against the wall. For a few minutes Wan tried to break his grip, but his face was turning a dangerous dark red. He began choking, flailing as he struggled to breathe.

Dukayn let him go and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. It was Wan’s turn to fall to his knees, gasping and coughing, drooling down his protective vest while he rubbed his throat, which began to swell, purple with bruises.

‘All right,’ Dukayn said. ‘You will never speak of your father in that tone in my presence again. Is that understood, boy?’

Wan could only nod, eyes down.

‘Good.’ Dukayn turned mild eyes Vida’s way. ‘Now. What are you doing here, Se Vida?’

‘I wanted to talk with Wan, that’s all.’

‘Ah. I’ll wait outside.’

Dukayn turned and strolled out, as casually as if he walked in a garden. Gasping, panting, Wan got to his feet. Reeking of the vomit-smell, the two saccules rushed forward to help him, but he waved them away and leaned against the wall.

‘All right,’ he croaked. ‘What was it you wanted to say?’

Vida considered for a long moment.

‘Go on, whore!’ he snarled. ‘Or are you enjoying the show too much to talk?’

‘No, I’m not enjoying it at all.’

He caught his breath at last and straightened up.

‘Maybe not,’ he said. ‘So, go on. What did you come here to say?’

‘Only that this is a political marriage, Se Wan. They happen all the time. We should try to make the best of it.’

‘The
best
of it?’

In two quick steps he crossed the room and swung, slapping at her face. Vida spun out of the way, spun back, and kicked him as hard as she could across the kneecap. Even drunk, his reflexes amazed her. He slid to one side just in time to avoid being crippled, but still the blow caught him. He winced, swore, and then swung again, grabbing her hair, pulling her close. Vida yelped with the pain, but her lessons had become reflex, over the years. She brought her knee up hard and caught him between the legs. The protective vest had a crotch strap that saved him the worst, but he did let her go. She moved back against the wall and dropped to a fighting stance. Wan relaxed, smiling, just a small twist of his mouth, but a sincere one.

‘I’ll be damned,’ Wan said. ‘Not bad.’

‘Is that the only thing that can get through to you? Violence?’

‘Oh come off it, Vida! Don’t preach like a fucking Lifegiver! I’d forgotten, but yeah, someone told me that the girls in Pleasure all know self-defence. You want to make sure the customers pay for it, huh?’

‘Know something, Wan? I’d rather marry a Stinker neuter than you.’ Vida spat on the floor in front of him. ‘The sex would be better.’

She turned on her heel and marched out to the sound of his laughter. Dukayn was leaning against the wall of the outside corridor, his eyes distant, his mouth a little slack - he was accepting download from his neural chips, she supposed.

‘Se Dukayn?’

‘Yes?’ Immediately he was all attention, glancing round, bowing to her.

‘I’d like to speak to the Peronida himself, and right now, please.’

‘What? You’re joking.’

Vida looked the factor right in the eye. It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

‘No, I’m not. This isn’t going to work. You saw him. I’m going back to Pleasure. I’d like the First Citizen to arrange it. Immediately.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, girl. You aren’t going anywhere.’

‘Se Dukayn.’ Vida put every bit of steel she had ever learned from Aleen into her voice.

‘You can either tell Karlo, or I will. Either way, this is not your decision. It’s mine.’