Resolution (23 page)

But the person who rose from a deep chair in the suite’s outer lounge bore little resemblance to the Lady Renata. He was old, straight-backed with long white hair pulled back by a platinum clasp. His cane, too, was of platinum, and he looked exactly the part for his rank: Primus Maximus, first choice in this or neighbouring sectors to oversee a noble Convocation, and the leading spirit behind the reactionary and influential think-tank known as the Circulus Fidus.

His name was Lord A’Dekal, and his presence here caused Tom’s every nerve to tighten.

‘My good Lord Corcorigan. How very nice to see you.’

‘It’s a surprise to see you, A’Dekal.’

‘But not a pleasant one? Oh, dear. We’d hoped you had matured beyond old resentments. We were all so young once, weren’t we?’

I
don’t think
you
ever were,
thought Tom.

‘What do you mean,’ he asked, ‘by we? Have you brought the whole Circulus with you?’

The answer came from a lean man standing beneath an inner archway, clothed in dark velvet, with a long silver poignard on each sleeve, sheathed along the forearm. They looked like decorations, but Tom knew Viscount Trevalkin: the weapons would be real, and he was deadly with blades.

‘Not exactly, Corcorigan.’

‘Trevalkin. You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.’

Then, Trevalkin had been in an autodoc, bloodied and battered at Tom’s hand. It had been a formal duel, with Trevalkin and his cronies expecting a very different outcome, for Trevalkin was a master swordsman and there were some weapons that the common-born, like Tom, had no chance to learn.

‘And you’re a trifle more civilized.’ Trevalkin’s cold gaze tracked Elva as she stepped to one side, hand hovering near the small of her back. ‘But that’s saying little, isn’t it?’

‘Viscount...’ A’Dekal raised a warning hand, but it shook slightly: some kind of palsy.

‘Corcorigan and I are old friends, don’t worry. Brothers under the skin, eh, my Lord?’

It was the second time he had used that phrase with Tom. This sentiment came from a man who had skinned his enemy’s vassals alive, using femtotech to keep them suffering for days before allowing death to claim them.
‘They screamed so beautifully,’
he had told Tom, that day in the med-centre.

‘Are you seriously,’ Tom said, ‘trying to recruit me to your cause?’

A’Dekal’s face hardened. Trevalkin merely crossed his arms, tucking in his hands very lightly. From that position, he could cross-draw the twin poignards in an instant.

It was no coincidence that Renata met up with Elva.
Tom looked at Elva, and she nodded: she read the situation as he did.

‘My friend Surtalvan,’ murmured Trevalkin, ‘came back with some preposterous tale about your paranoid beliefs. I can’t credit—’

Then the main doorshimmers sparkled and evaporated, and Renata stepped through, followed by a platoon of Palace Halberdiers.

‘I set up this meeting, as you asked,’ she said to Lord A’Dekal. ‘It doesn’t seem quite as amicable as you implied.’

‘My dear, antagonism can be negotiated away, if one is only
reasonable.
’

‘Then perhaps’ - Tom gestured in Trevalkin’s direction - ‘you should have chosen more
reasonable
company. He hardly makes your case, does he?’

‘I don’t think—’

Renata’s voice cut in: ‘Please leave my quarters, Lord A’Dekal. Viscount Trevalkin. If you would.’

Behind her, the Halberdiers stood ready. Everyone in the chamber knew that their loyalty was to Lady V’Delikona, and she had never favoured the Circulus Fidus. If they had been told to obey Lady Renata’s orders, then that was what they would do, even in the face of opposing high nobility.

A’Dekal looked about to protest, but Trevalkin seemed merely amused as he pushed himself away from the inner doorway and sauntered over to Tom. ‘Nice to see you again, my nearly-brother.’ And then he performed a deep bow towards Elva, ironic in its exactitude. ‘My Lady.’

Tom and Elva drew to either side as Trevalkin and then A’Dekal left. After the doorshimmer had solidified, Renata stationed the Halberdiers just inside it, then beckoned Tom and Elva to an inner chamber.

But before she could speak, Tom said: ‘I apologize, my Lady. I’ve brought trouble upon you.’

‘No, Tom.’ Renata bit her lip, then stared back towards the door. ‘I’d been trying to decide on my own allegiance. They
do
favour rebuilding demesnes’ economies ... But I’ve just made my decision, haven’t I?’

‘You can always go back to them and—’

Renata held up a hand to stop him.

‘Everyone thinks my brother Avernon is a dreamer, which he
is,
but he’s also the best judge of character I’ve ever met, and you’re his friend. It isn’t a complicated problem.’

‘You can’t risk—’

But this time it was Elva who interrupted. ‘Shut up, Tom.’ And, to Renata: ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome. Do you think we should have dinner now? I’m starving.’

~ * ~

16

TERRA AD 2162

<>

[4]

The twins’ shared study-bedroom was alight with holodisplays, images and FourSpeak writing suspended over black glass desktops.

‘Did the person who invented the word
neologism’
- Dirk pushed back his chair - ‘realize he was creating one?’

‘Definitely. Nice one, bro. Put it in the essay.’

A soft chime sounded.

‘Later. That’ll be the girls.’

Kian, nearer to the window, peered out into darkness. An aircar floated above the forecourt, Frau Volk at the controls.

‘Time—’

‘—to party.’

Frau Volk chatted non-stop with Frau Schönherr as they flew through the Alpine night, while the onboard AI did all the work. Behind them, their respective daughters, Hilde and Anna, sat with Dirk and Kian in near silence.

Hilde reached out and touched Dirk’s hand.

‘Allons-y,’
said Frau Schönherr as they touched down and the gull-door rose. ‘
So, gehen wir. La noce es bellissima.
’

Her linguistic mix was kaleidoscopic even for this country, to Anna’s mortification and the twins’ amusement. Frau Schönherr herself seemed unaware of the effect on others.

The four teenagers carried skate-blades as they walked up a winding holo-lit alleyway, its cobbles slick with frost - ‘Slowly, dears,’ called Frau Volk - and passed beneath a Gothic arch from which elongated icicles hung like spun sugar.

Fireworks cracked overhead.

Sounds of the Blue Danube waltz grew louder as they neared the fair. The two mothers headed for an enclosed café, passing through the crowd, trusting that their daughters were safe beneath bright lights which rendered the black sky featureless.

Dirk and Hilde, followed by Kian and Anna, stopped at the barrier which surrounded the outdoor rink, and snapped on their skate-blades.

‘I’m ready,’ said Dirk. ‘Hilde?’

‘Ready to show you how it’s done.’

‘Let’s do it.’

Holding hands, they launched themselves onto the ice and skated backwards through the swirling crowd until they reached a clear space near the centre of the rink.

‘Show-offs,’ muttered Anna.

‘Yeah,’ said Kian. ‘You want to hold onto me?’

‘Yes, please.’

Anna held on tight, and stumbled against him often. Kian wondered whether she was unusually inept at skating, or unusually fond of making physical contact with him.

I
know which one I’m hoping for.

‘Kian, you’re pretty good at this, aren’t you?’

‘I do my best.’