House of Shards (9 page)

“Success,” Roman echoed, and lapped his wine.

Next to him, Roman could hear Gregor’s fingers tap, tap, tapping on his knees.
Success,
they seemed to be tapping.
Success, success.

*

Baron Silverside, good will welling in his broad frame, entered the dining room with the Duchess of Benn on one arm and the Baroness on the other. Roberta was taller than both by several inches. The Baron showed Roberta to his table, then turned to his guests. The lights dimmed, the trumpets called. A few tables away, Maijstral finished his card trick and called for a robot. Baron Silverside, beneficence waxing in his veins, caressed his burnsides and waited for his moment. He could see a red light that meant he was being projected, in hologram form, into the servants' and the employees' dining rooms.

A bright light came on to his right, a back light behind him (which illuminated his whiskers splendidly), a fill light to his left—he was going to do this properly. A trumpet called again. The room burst into applause.

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” began the Baron. His words were buried beneath the torrent of applause. The Baron was surprised. He hadn’t even unleashed the good stuff yet.

He shuffled. He turned crimson. He yanked on his whiskers. He was having the time of his life.

*

Geoff Fu George sipped his wine and enjoyed seeing, without really looking at him, the Baron go through his agonies of pleasure. His eyes were not directed toward the Baron, but next to him, where Roberta was illuminated in stray light from the Baron's spots. She was not wearing the Shard—in fact her jewelry was modest, possibly to contrast, later, with the Shard when she finally chose to wear it— but he watched her nonetheless.

He wasn’t certain why he watched. Perhaps he was looking for clues. Perhaps he just wanted some idea of her character. Perhaps he was hoping for an indication why she would have a game of tiles with Maijstral—something like a covert glance, a secret signal. (He saw none.) Perhaps he simply enjoyed looking at her—with her deep green gown complementing her strong, pale shoulders and dark red hair, she was worth looking at.

The applause finally died away. The Baron essayed again. “My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” he said. “I am flattered by your reception. When I first conceived the idea of this resort, I knew that, if it were to be a success, every detail would have to be accounted for. . . .”

The Baron droned on, his burnsides flaring against the darkness. Behind him, fidgeting with her tableware, was his Baroness, a short, driven woman who Fu George knew was a middling-successful painter and owner of one of the most prestigious small collections in the Constellation. The Baroness was painfully shy, and almost never appeared in public—when seen, she usually wore an elaborate, pleated skirt of a type she'd introduced a decade ago, and which everyone else had long since ceased to wear. Roberta watched with apparent interest as the Baron wandered into minutiae concerning the process of selecting the absolutely
right
asteroid. Fu George watched Roberta and wondered why she had played tiles with Maijstral.

“Milords, ladies, gentlemen, I shall digress no longer .

The pearl. Fu George smiled. His hand strayed to his breast pocket.

“... may I present the
raison d'etre
of Silverside Station . . .”

Fu George’s smile froze on his face. His hand plunged into his pocket. There was nothing there.

“. . . one of Creation's own wonders . . .”

Fu George remembered the brush with Maijstral, the man's uncommon civility. Vanessa perceived his agitation. She put a hand on his arm. “What's wrong, Geoff?”

“Rathbon's Star and its companion!”

Soundlessly, the steel doors irised open. The room was bathed in the light of one star devouring another.

There was no applause. The company was too stricken by the awesome sight to make any noise at all.

Fu George glared across the room at Maijstral. He was sitting next to Advert, and both were smiling as they tilted their heads back to watch Rathbon's Star being eaten.

Maijstral,
Fu George thought.
This means war.

CHAPTER 3

T
he ball got under way two hours after dinner. The ballroom had no artificial light: the pulses and flares of Rathbon's Star provided both spectacle and illumination for the vast oval room. Maijstral shared the first dance with her grace the Duchess of Benn. Roberta’s ball gown was blazing orange: eyes fixed on her as if she were a magnet. Baron Silverside and his lady, dancing just up the set, were eclipsed entirely.

Geoff Fu George, dancing a short distance away with Vanessa, couldn’t keep his eyes off them. By those who make it their business to notice and remark upon such things, Fu George’s intent gaze was noticed and remarked on.

Paavo Kuusinen had arrived late for the first dance, and so stood on the fringes of the ballroom, tapping his cane to the rhythm of the music, and watched the multitude. Because there was nothing to do, and because (being compulsive) he couldn’t help himself, he glanced upward and numbered the media globes on the scene. There were eight, each controlled by Kyoko Asperson through her loupe.

At a Diadem event one could normally expect a great many more, but Baron Silverside had been firm in the number of globes he would allow onstation to harass his guests.

Kuusinen, his compulsion unsated, began to count the number of instruments in the orchestra.

*

Mr. Chalice attached the portable power source to his coat and smiled. He donned the coat, turned the collar up, and
thought
himself invisible.

He glanced at his reflection in the triple mirror placed in Fu George’s suite and saw in place of himself a distorted smear of color. He knew that smear for himself, that his body was obscured by holographic camouflage tuned to the color scheme of his background.

Geoff Fu George had known that Silverside was going to feature unprecedented security measures, and even before he'd won his invitations at cards, he prepared for dealing with same. He'd thought his usual trunk of equipment would be confiscated, and he had been right. He and his assistants had solved the problem by having miniaturized versions of their equipment built into their evening clothes.

The advanced and unobtrusive design was expensive, but then Fu George could afford the best. The proximity wire in the collar enabled the suit to be given mental commands: it was powered by a micro-source available for a modest price in the station's Electronic Boutique and Gadget Faire; and the darksuit could be used as an evening jacket, permitting

instant changes from social to burgling mode.

Chalice's jacket was the last readied: he'd prepared Fu George’s first, then Drexler's. All three of them had assignments this evening.

He grinned. Maijstral wasn’t going to know what hit him.

*

Gregor looked up from his watch and glanced carefully into the unique view afforded him by his smoked spectacles. As with Kyoko Asperson's loupe, one lens was arranged to show the view transmitted by media globes, in Gregor’s case the superimposed view of two corridors, each broadcast by one of a pair of micromedia globes, which were acting as lookout. Taking a final glance to make sure he wouldn’t be observed, Gregor took a tool from his pocket, inserted it in the wall, and swung an access panel out on its hinges. He stepped into the utility space, strolled as far as the door to the next suite, and then strolled back. He checked his spectacles again—no one present—and stepped out. He pushed the wall back into its place.

He walked twenty paces to an elevator and pressed the button. While he waited he took a hi-stick from his pocket and put it in his mouth.

He was going to the ball.

*

“Pearl Woman!” Delight shone from Kotani's features. He sniffed her ears and offered her three fingers.

“Marquess,” said the Pearl.

“You look wonderful. I was given to understand you were ill.”

“A brief indisposition. I am entirely recovered.” Pearl Woman was flushed and laughing, dressed in an embroidered silk gown. A bandanna was wrapped around her leonine hair, its loose ends dangling above the trademark earring. She was truly radiant, the source of her radiance being relief. Her clothing had been thrown on at the last minute, but fortunately she had the sort of looks which were improved by a slight dishevelment. She'd been standing over a jeweler for most of the last two hours, badgering him while he reassembled the earring. It was now one link shorter, but no one could be expected to detect such an insignificant change.

Pearl Woman glanced over the ballroom.” Is Advert here?”

“Speaking to Janetha. There.”

“Ah. You'll excuse me, Marquess?”

“Of course, Pearl.”

“Your servant.”

“Yours.”

Drake Maijstral stepped into one of the private salons off the main ballroom. Gregor, a few moments later, followed, the hi-stick still in his mouth. An opaque privacy screen flickered into existence behind them.

A minute or so later, Gregor and his hi-stick were observed to leave.

*

Roman stepped around a corner and saw a group of tired, dispirited security guards led by the gangling figure of Kingston. Kingston, he saw, seemed to have forsaken his jester mode. Roman stepped back out of sight, waited until they'd gone on their way, then stepped into the corridor again.

A Cygnus robot passed by, carrying a tray with an empty wine bottle and empty glasses.

Roman glanced right and left, saw no one, took a tool from his pocket, and opened the wall. He closed the wall behind him, took a short stroll, opened the wall at another access point, and stepped into the corridor.

There was no one to see him.

*

Paavo Kuusinen, who had just noticed Gregor leave the ballroom, looked to his right and observed Fu George sliding out by another door. Smiling, he drifted toward the buffet and picked up a glass of rink.

Sipping, he perceived Kyoko Asperson, dressed in green and purple and with her loupe missing from over her eye, leaving by the same door as had Gregor. He looked up and saw her media globes still circling the assembly. Carefully, he counted them. There were six. He frowned. Then he began to smile.

*

“Advert. Marchioness.” Sniffing.

“Pearl Woman.”

“Pearl!” Advert was delighted. “You look
splendid!”

“Thank you, Advert. Enthusiasm becomes you, as always.” She glanced at the Marchioness. “My lady, if you would excuse us? There was a small confusion regarding our bags, and I need to speak with Advert and sort things out.”

“Certainly.” Sniffs. “Your very obedient.”

“And yours.”

Pearl Woman took Advert's arm and pulled her aside, facing the wall. Advert wasn’t practiced at speaking without moving her lips, and some important things needed to be said.

“Where were you when I got back from dinner?” Advert asked. “I dressed and you weren’t there at all.”

“I was hunting a jeweler.”

“I wanted to tell you
everything.”

“You know, then, how it is that my pearl came to my room inside a deck of cards signed by Drake Maijstral, wrapped in a handkerchief with Fu George’s monogram on it, and delivered by robot.”

“Yes.” Advert was laughing. “I arranged it. You see, Fu George was the one who stole your pearl. He had it wrapped in his handkerchief, and was carrying it in his pocket. And Maijstral agreed to take the pearl back for us. Wasn’t that lucky?”

Pearl Woman gave her a look. “And the deck of cards?”

“Maijstral was doing a card trick, and he had to put the pearl
somewhere
so that he could send it to you. You know, I think Maijstral is quite a nice man. He's very entertaining.”

“How much did you agree to pay him?”

Advert bit her lip. Pearl Woman's eyes narrowed.

“How much,
Advert?”

“Sixty.”

Pearl Woman looked at the wall for a long moment. Her expression was calculating. “Not as bad as it could have been.”

“Pearl, I’ve never done anything like this before. I didn’t know how much to offer. And there wasn’t any time to think. We only had a few minutes before Fu George went in to dinner.”

“What did that have to do with it?”

Pause. “Oh.” Another pause. “It seemed important at the time.” Advert's voice grew forlorn. “I
did
talk him down from eighty.”

Pearl Woman tossed her head. The pearl danced at the end of its chain. “Well. At least it’s done.”

Advert's fingers fidgeted with her rings. “You're not going to challenge Fu George, are you?”

Pearl Woman glanced over her shoulder at the other guests. “I think not.”

Advert let out a breath. “Good. I’m so relieved.”

Pearl Woman tossed her head again. It was becoming a habitual gesture, allowing her to assure herself the pearl was still there by the weight of it dancing against her neck.

Her voice was calculating. “I
had
an encounter a little over a year ago, and I couldn’t count on my points rising by that much if I had another. They might even go down.” She frowned. “And I still can’t prove that Fu George did it.”

Advert's eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Maijstral might have had the pearl all along. He may have put it in one of Fu George’s handkerchiefs to make you
think
Fu George had it.”

Advert considered this for a moment. “Ah,” she said.

“All this may have been a scheme to get me to challenge Fu George so that Maijstral could have the thieving here to himself.”

Advert twisted her rings again and said nothing.

“That would be very like Maijstral,” Pearl Woman went on “He's always been more subtle than was good for ... well, for anyone around him.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause. “Pearl.” Advert's voice was tentative. “You know, I’ve already paid Maijstral the money. He sent for one of those chips from the Casino.”

Pearl Woman sighed. “I’m inclined to think he had the pearl all along. He certainly took advantage of the situation quickly enough.” She turned and began walking toward the other dancers. Advert followed. “Where
is
Fu George, anyway?” Pearl Woman wondered. “I'd like to see the look on his face when I dangle the pearl in front of his eyes. If he
did
take it, he might not know I’ve got it back.”