Authors: Walter Jon Williams
What now? Khamiss, marshalling her watsons, was beginning to appreciate what Sun had been going through the last few days. The desk Tanquer’s whiskers were becoming sadly disordered as a result of the unexpected interruption in her routine, and her tail, following its evolutionary imperative, kept wrapping itself around her neck and tightening. Khamiss was beginning to be irritated by the constant sounds of strangulation.
“Don’t you have a guest to take care of?” she asked.
More choking noises. “No. I’m just here in case someone needs to send a message offstation. What’s that?”
“What's what?”
The Tanquer pointed to a light that had just started blinking. “That. An incoming radio transmission from somewhere in the system. We're not expecting any ships for three more days.”
“Let's listen.”
Khamiss turned on the audio. Incomprehensible bellowing filled the air.
*
“Yes, your grace. Maijstral was in public all this time.”
“You mean all any of us had to do was look at the station bulletin board and see that his performance was listed all
along?”
“I’m afraid so, your grace.”
“Hold him there. I’m on my way.”
“My rover.”
“Lady Janetha.” Maijstral took her hand and sniffed her ears, observing to his satisfaction that she wore the emerald
earrings he'd saved from Fu George the previous night. “I hope you slept well.”
“I found the ball and its aftermath so stimulating that I collapsed straightaway into the land of dreams. Yourself?”
“I slept very well. In fact I haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“Poor rover, creating a sensation on an empty stomach.”
“I thought to try Lebaron's. Would you join me?”
“Gladly.” She took his arm. “Though breakfasting
à deux
in your rooms might prove an interesting alternative.”
“Unfortunately the local watsons are due to sack my suite at any moment. I’m afraid intimate meals might be fraught
with inconvenience.”
Her ears flickered in disappointment. “Lebaron's, then.”
“Perhaps we can arrange a dinner later. After the security people have found someone else to harass.”
“I hope so, Maijstral.” She brightened. “I’ve just heard the most interesting news about Pearl Woman. Perhaps you had something to do with it.”
*
Vanessa Runciter finished her polite applause and reached for a cigaret. Dolfuss looked at her. “I thought I'd take a look at the Casino,” he said. “I haven’t been there yet. Would you like to join me?”
Vanessa smiled smoothly. “Of course, Mr. Dolfuss. I was heading there myself.”
Alarms clanged vaguely in Dolfuss's nerves. Why was Vanessa Runciter being so friendly?
“Great!” he said. “I’m happy as anything.”
She lit the Silvertip in its ebony holder. “You
do
play tiles, don’t you?” It might be fun, she realized, to pauperize this geek in retaliation for having to sit next to him through Maijstral’s performance.
Dolfuss frowned. “Tiles? I’m afraid not.”
“Or pasters?”
Dolfuss shrugged hopelessly. “Sorry. I play cheeseup from time to time, but I always lose.”
Vanessa brightened. She put her arm through Dolfuss's. “Cheeseup, then. We'll have a jolly time.”
“I’m not certain I can afford the stakes.”
Vanessa looked at him in mock-indignation. “Mr. Dolfuss, I’m surprised! I thought
everyone
could afford a nova a point.”
“A nova a point?” Dolfuss strove to master his shock. “Well, I suppose ...”
“Settled then,” Vanessa said, and smiled.
Ah, Dolfuss thought, and canceled his internal alarm. She just wanted to fleece him. Reason enough to be friendly.
*
Bellowing still echoed from the receiver. The Tanquer’s fingers danced over her keyboard. “Wait a minute. That signal's coming from the
Viscount Cheng.”
“I thought she was waiting in the dock.”
“She is. I think.”
“Then why doesn’t whoever's making that awful noise use the telephone?
Cheng's
got communication through the station coupling.”
“Oh, no.” The Tanquer’s tail began to make self-throttling gestures again.
“Stop strangling yourself,” Khamiss said edgily, her patience frayed entirely, “and tell me what just happened.”
The voice was a burbling whisper.
“Viscount Cheng.
It isn’t in dock.”
Khamiss looked at the Tanquer in shock. “You mean someone's just stolen a
passenger liner?”
The Tanquer’s eyes were bulging with self-inflicted oxygen deprivation. Still she managed to give an affirmative blink.
Khamiss looked at the Tanquer, then at the board. There had to be a proper response to this.
If only she knew what it was.
*
Paavo Kuusinen was poised and ready when Kovinn finished her phone call and dropped her privacy screen. She goggled when she saw that Maijstral was gone. Kuusinen approached.
“May I be of service, Kovinn?”
“Yes. Have you seen Drake Maijstral?”
“I believe he and the Marchioness Kotani were walking in the direction of Lebaron’s. Please allow me to accompany you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kuusinen. If I lost Maijstral again, I don’t know what kind of trouble might result.”
“Perhaps,” lightly, “if I knew the nature of the crisis, I might be able to assist.”
“I’m afraid I don’t really know, except that it has to do with Lord Qlp. It burst in on her grace this morning, and— there's Maijstral. Sir! Sir!”
Kuusinen watched as Kovinn broke into a run. The mystery, it seemed, was deepening.
*
Cheng's
captain was a short Khosali female who was clearly annoyed at being roused out of bed. Khamiss suspected, from the way she kept looking over her shoulder, that she was not alone. Khamiss also couldn’t help but notice that the captain's annoyance increased a chance resemblance to the crusty-but-loyal Cap’n Bob, one of the fixtures on the Ronnie Romper program.
“Well, no,” the captain said as she fingered the collar of her dressing gown. “There was no one aboard
Cheng
except the maintenance robots. We all have four days’ station leave.”
“So anyone could have got onto the ship.”
“The airlock was sealed, and only the ship's officers had the codes, but I suppose the lock could have been broken. ...” The captain's ears suddenly pricked forward in alarm. “What's happened aboard my
Cheng?”
“It appears someone's stolen your ship.”
“
The whole thing
?”
Given time and thought, Khamiss might have found the captain's response curious and asked if the captain were more accustomed to having her ship stolen one piece at a time. Under the pressure of the emergency, however, Khamiss could only reply in the affirmative.
“The whole thing, ma’am. Sorry.”
The captain sat down suddenly. The phone camera jerked as it tracked her collapse. The resemblance to Cap’n Bob became even more pronounced.
“I don’t suppose,” she said, “there's any way this could be kept quiet.”
*
“Advert. What news?” Pearl Woman's holographic face broadcast against the opalescence of one of the White Room's privacy screens, showed taut signs of strain. Her fingers twined in her leonine hair, drawing it down over her ear. The duelling scar gave her anxiety a sinister cast.
Advert, trying to remember not to giggle with joy, nodded and gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile. “I know who's got the pearl,” she said.
Pearl Woman's eyes gleamed with a tigerish light. “Good. Give me the name.”
“The name was given me in confidence. I’m sorry, but in return for the information I had to promise not to tell.”
“Come now, Advert. You can tell me. After all, I—”
“The price is ninety.” Firmly.
Baffled rage entered Pearl Woman's face. “That's outrageous! Last time he only asked sixty.”
“Apparently the stakes in the contest between Fu George and Maijstral have risen. The price is firm, but at least it includes media rights. No one will ever know the pearl was taken.”
“Drat.” Pearl Woman chewed her lower lip. “Very well,” she said. “If you’d be so kind as to advance me the money, I’ll—”
“Pearl!” Advert widened her eyes in feigned surprise. “I don’t have anything like ninety novae. I spent everything paying for the pearl last time. Now that you’ve gone and lost it again, I’m afraid you'll have to raise the money yourself.”
With visible care, Pearl Woman mastered her indignation.
“Are you certain you can’t give me ten or twenty? Perhaps you can get an advance on your allowance.”
“Sorry, Pearl.” Advert struggled to contain her inward delight and simulate proper regret. “I’m really broke. Possibly you can get a loan from the Marquess Kotani. Or an advance from the Diadem.”
Pearl Woman's eyes narrowed. “I don’t know if it’s worth ninety, Advert. Can’t you negotiate?”
“I wouldn’t know how. Besides, as I said, the price is really firm.”
“Let me think about it.”
“I don’t know how much longer the offer will hold. The price may go up.”
“I said I’ll think about it.” The Pearl’s face was hard.
“Very well. But one shouldn’t become so dependent on the material aspects of existence. You’ve told me that often enough.”
Pearl Woman's face vanished before Advert had quite finished, replaced by the “at your service” ideogram.
Advert gave a short, delighted laugh, then composed her features carefully and dropped the privacy screen. The White Room leaped into existence around her. Kotani was passing by, walking stick dangling from his fingers. It was time, Advert thought, to increase the pressure.
“Ah,” she said. “Marquess Kotani. I’m afraid the Pearl is in an unpleasant situation, and I was wondering if I might ask your advice.”
*
“Thank you so much for waiting. I know her grace will be eternally thankful.”
“If it is, as you say, an emergency, then how could I refuse? It’s cost me nothing but a late breakfast.”
“No doubt,” observed the Marchioness tautly, as the others moved away, “her grace has her own reasons for interrupting Maijstral’s breakfast. Whatever they may be.” The sullen quality of her beauty had increased.
Paavo Kuusinen followed Maijstral’s party in companionable silence. He was thinking about the Disappearing Bartender.
*
Kyoko Asperson told her telephone to record, then rang Pearl Woman's suite. She smiled as she saw that Pearl Woman only answered on audio.
“I apologize, Miss Asperson, but I just stepped out of bed and I’m not presentable.”
“I understand. I’m sure you must be prostrate.”
“Oh?” Badly disguised suspicion.
“I gather you’ve lost some property.”
Pearl Woman's voice turned cool. “Might I ask where you obtained this information?”
“Sorry, Pearl Woman, but you know that I can’t say. I have to protect the confidentiality of my sources.”
“It was just that I wondered who might be spreading this story about me. It’s quite inaccurate, you know.”
“Really? I’ll have to question my source further.”
There was a moment's suspicious pause. “I’ll see you later this afternoon,” she said, “and we'll straighten out the entire misunderstanding.”
“I’ll be looking forward. Thank you.”
“At your service, Miss Asperson.”
Kyoko rang off. Smiling, she sent one of her media globes to hover outside Singh's Jewelers on the main commercial level, just in case Pearl Woman decided to purchase a substitute.
*
“You know, I keep thinking I’ve heard that voice somewhere before.”
“That bellowing sound?” The Tanquer shrugged delicately. “How dreadful. It sounds like a large and very wild
beast.”
“Wait a moment.” Recollection rose in Khamis, then clarified. Her nostrils slammed shut at the memory. She touched an ideogram on the console.
“Get me Lord Qlp’s suite,” she said, denasal. “I'd like to speak to Lady Dosvidern.”
*
“An interspecies emergency?” Maijstral gave the situation a moment of thought. “Do you truly think Lord Qlp might do away with itself?”
Roberta gave an exasperated wave of her hands. “I think Lord Qlp’s
species
might do away with itself.” She glanced up and made certain no hovering media globes were recording their conversation. “I’ll pay you the amount we agreed upon, and I’ll pay it right now. You won’t be involved any further in the matter of Lord Qlp.”
Maijstral frowned and twisted his diamond ring. Roberta’s appeal
might,
of course, be part of an elaborate trap, an attempt catch him red-handed with the Eltdown Shard before it was legally his. On the other hand, the situation seemed too implausibly bizarre to constitute a trap—if Roberta were involved in an attempt to snare him, Maijstral suspected the excuse offered him might be more conventional: a family crisis, say, that required her instant departure from Silverside and the immediate ransoming of the Shard.
“Give me a moment,” he said. “I must offer my apologies to the Marchioness.”
“Of course.”
Maijstral stepped toward where the Marchioness waited out of earshot and leaned toward her, speaking in her ear. “I’m afraid this is a matter of some urgency, my lady.”
The Marchioness drew herself up. “If It’s quite
that
important, Maijstral ...”
“There may be lives at stake. I still trust we may sup together, perhaps tonight.”
She looked at him suspiciously, then relaxed her famous pout. “Perhaps,” she said. “I’ll have to see what Kotani has planned.”
“Till later, then.” He sniffed her and turned, seeing Roman and Gregor moving some of his equipment to their suite. He caught Roman’s eye. Roman nodded, then glided across the room toward him.
“I require a tail track to Dolfuss's room,” Maijstral said. “I need to run a very important errand, and her grace and I may be followed.”
Roman’s eyes glittered. “Shall I tell Gregor, sir?”
“Yes. The more eyes and detectors, the better. Have robots take the stage equipment back to the Coronet Suite.”
“At once, sir.”
Roberta was speaking with Paavo Kuusinen. Suspicion awakened in Maijstral, and he gave the man a cautious nod. “Shall we go, your grace?”