"You're not authorized . . ." one guard began. Van Gar stuck his head back inside Drew's office.
"Drew, am I authorized to tell these knuckle heads what to do?" Van yelled.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Drew said with a wave of her hand.
Van Gar drew his head out of the office looked at the two guards and smiled. "No one. Do you understand? No one!"
"What about the high councilors?" asked the talkative one.
Van grabbed him by the neck of his uniform and held him up in front of the other one. "Would you explain to this gentleman what 'no one' means."
The guard looked into the other guard's strained, pleading face and cleared his throat. "No one. Not the high councilors. Not visiting dignitaries, no one."
Van Gar turned the man he held to face him. "Do you understand?" He asked slowly, as if speaking to the mentally impaired. The man nodded as much as the hold on his collar allowed, and Van Gar put him down, straightened his collar and smiled, baring most of his impressive teeth. Then he set off down the hall.
After Drew had finished making a list of everyone on the staff that she had offended or screamed at, there was no one left but herself and the head gardener.
"Quick! Run out and tell the gardener that I said his roses look like shit, then we won't have to leave him off the suspect list."
She glared across the table at Fitz, whose idea it was to make the list in the first place. "It's ridiculous to think the head cook would want to kill me because I bitched about her cooking, or that the steward would want to crush my head in with masonry because I ordered a beer keg to be delivered to each room in the palace."
"Some people do not take their duties lightly, my Queen," Fitz said. "They are very proud, and . . ."
"If Margot did it . . ." Van Gar started.
"Margot has been in a coma for three days now," Drew hissed. "I don't want to hear you accuse her one more time while she is unable to defend herself."
"The accusation is absurd anyway," Facto mumbled.
"You're my number one suspect, Facto. You have the most to gain. We all know that you don't like or approve of Drew, and it was you that delivered the message that she was needed at the palace. Then, as fate would have it, someone came and pulled you away just seconds before the archway blew up."
"Except there was no business here," Stasha said accusingly.
"Obviously, someone wanted to shift blame to me, and they did a good job." Facto looked at Drew. "I don't believe that Margot had anything to do with it, but I didn't either. We questioned both the page that gave me the first message, and the one that delivered the second. As you know, neither would divulge who had sent them."
"Which only means you might have sent them yourself," Van Gar said, and Stasha nodded.
"Which means we should put our prisoners to the torture." Drew said grabbing her thumb and making a twisting motion.
Van Gar looked at Fitz. "You're awful quiet, Fitz."
"I don't want to believe that any of us would want to harm the Queen. Let's not forget that Lord Greyston made the first attempt. Those persons of Royal Blood have made no bones about the way they feel about Drewcila. Why, just last night on the view screen, Lady Damest was saying that you had committed High Treason by dismissing the advisory council, and that you should be dethroned. Daily, I hear complaints from those of the nobility that feel that you have closed yourself off from them completely."
"None of them are in the Palace, Fitz," Drew said skeptically.
"No, but many of the staff, as well as the guards owe them loyalty for one reason or another. In fact, most are distantly related, and have noble blood themselves."
"Great, so I am surrounded by people who hate me because I have offended or cussed them, and who owe loyalty to people who want me dead." She lit a cigar and puffed on it madly until it got going. "Some days being ruler of all you survey is just not what it's cracked up to be." She thought for a minute, and then smiled. "So, we fire each and every one of them and bring in Salvagers to take their places."
"Oh, yeah," Van Gar scoffed. "I can just see Benny the Can Opener as court herald, or Jackie Skin as head cook, or . . ."
"I get the picture, Van. Any better ideas?"
"I think it's that guy with the little eyes and no nose who puts towels in the bathrooms," Van said, nodding his head. "He's always sneaking around, staring at me."
"You know, Van. You're going to have to stop jumping around, here. First Margot, did it, then Facto. Then they did it together. Now it's that poor deformed boy that delivers towels to the bathrooms," Drew grinned and shook her head.
"He's always staring at me," Van Gar said.
"I hate to bring this up, Van Gar," Stasha said, "but you happen to be the only alien most of them have seen."
"Which brings me to my own theory," Facto said. "It's no great secret that you would like to have Drew to yourself, or that you think she made a mistake coming here. I'm not the only person who has seen you make those late-night trips to the Queen's chambers, nor am I naive enough to think that these rendezvous are innocent. Eventually, Zarco will be returned, and I would imagine you find that thought distressing . . ."
"First off, you are reading things into mine and Drew's relationship that simply are not there. Our meetings, I can assure you, are quite innocent."
Drew didn't add credence to his words when she nearly choked to death on the cigar smoke that went down the wrong way when she laughed.
Van Gar ignored her. "But let's say, for the sake of argument, that you are right about us. Why would I try to kill her?"
"Oh, you're not," Facto said with a sly smile. "You're just trying to scare her into thinking someone's trying to kill her, so that she'll get scared and go away with you. You put the slug in her bed—we all know you have access. You rigged the keystone to break away, knowing that she'd hear the explosion and move. I don't think you planned on Margot's being hurt, or the arch coming all the way down, but I'm sure you did it. Who else would have reason to try and frame me? You probably got the idea after Lord Greyston's failed attempt . . ."
"You're just trying to pull the blame off yourself," Van Gar screamed.
"Ridiculously, I might add," Stasha said.
"Really, well what about you, Stasha?" Facto said hotly. "You were in the office when Drew got here. You could have ordered the pages to give me those messages, and I doubt they would betray you."
"I don't know anything about explosives . . ."
"No, but any of the guards do, and again, it would have been easy for you to gain their aid . . ."
"What reason would I have to kill my sister?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?" Facto asked sadistically. Stasha's face went scarlet. Drew looked at her then rocketed to her feet.
"You fucked my husband!" Drew screamed in disbelief. "After all the rot you fed me about his being true to me, and his great love. Damn he's an even bigger creep then I thought he was. All the servants and courtiers and he has to screw my sister." She glared at Stasha. "All the shit you gave me about fucking Van Gar and you were boffing my husband while I was having my brains sucked out of my head."
"It only happened once," Stasha cried.
Facto laughed loudly.
"He was so lonely, and . . ."
"You fucked my husband!" Drew shook her head in disbelief.
"So, you can see Stasha's motive," Facto said with a smile.
"My sister may be a whore, but she's not a murderer." Drew defended shaking a finger in the air. Stasha bawled loudly and ran from the room.
Drew looked at Van Gar, who was laughing loudly. "I don't think it's funny," she said.
"The King had no way of knowing whether you were alive or dead," Fitz said in the King's defense.
"So he balls my baby sister," Drew hissed.
"They were both devastated by your abduction. They were comforting each other . . ."
"What? Kind of a 'let me cry on your shoulder—take off your clothes' sort of thing?" Drew screamed.
"With all due respect, my Queen. I hardly think that you are in a position to hold a grudge about infidelity . . ."
"I didn't even know who I was, much less that I was married . . . what's his great excuse? His fucking winky was lonely!"
"I think we are wasting our time pointing our fingers at each other," Fitz said. "As much as I hate to say it, I fear we are dealing with a conspiracy buried deeply within the nobility of this kingdom. It's the only thing that makes sense. They're the only ones that command the kind of loyalty that would have those pages go to prison rather than divulge who they were working for. As I have said before, the nobility does not approve of the way you are running either the palace or the kingdom . . ."
"So, what's the answer? Order them all shot?"
"No, no, no," Fitz said quickly. He laughed nervously. "Just show them that you haven't forgotten them completely. That you still value their input . . ."
"But I don't," Drew said. "I think they are a lot of fat, gluttonous pigs, living off the backs of the working class."
"How could a little pretense hurt you, my Queen? A banquet, a chance to re-acquaint yourself with your own class."
"You know, they're just shallow enough that it might work. OK, Fitz. Arrange it. The sooner the better."
"How about a week from tomorrow? That should give us time to get the invitations out." Fitz seemed elated. "I'll get on it right away. If I may be excused?"
"You may." She watched him go, then she looked at Facto. "Do you think he's right?"
Facto shrugged. "It would seem to tie in with the Lord Greyston thing," he shrugged again. "He's right about one thing. Only a noble could command that kind of loyalty."
"But what about this banquet? Do you really think it will make a difference?" Drew asked.
"Actually, it might. But only if you act Queenly. If you walk in there dressed like a Salvager and tell them that you think they are a bunch of fat bloated pigs . . . Well, I don't really think that's going to help."
"I think I'd rather be shot." Drew made a face. "I suppose I could kiss their blue-blooded asses for one night."
"You might also reinstate the advisory council."
"That bunch of incompetent idiots?"
"I didn't say you had to take their advice," Facto said with a smile. "For that matter, you could call it the advisory council, and have them work on your letter-reading campaign. As long as they get to call themselves advisors, they're not going to care."
"I like your thinking." Drew nodded her head.
"If you're through with me, I think I'll turn in now," Facto said.
"No problem, sleep well."
"Thank you." He got up and walked to the door, but he stopped half-way through it and turned around. "Please believe me, Drew. I don't want you dead." He left.
"Drew, that man is trying to kill you . . ." Van started.
"Yeah, and the butcher and the baker and the candlestick maker." She smiled, and then frowned. "I can't believe Stasha. My own sister . . . how could she sleep with my husband?"
"I can't believe that you're making a big fucking deal out of it. Why should you care?"
"Why should I care?" Drew echoed in disbelief. "Let me spell this out for you. This husband who is supposed to have this undying love for me, consoled himself in my absence by doing my sister . . ."
"And again I say . . . So fucking what?" Van Gar felt the anger welling up inside himself long before he identified it. "You wouldn't give a shit if you didn't have feelings for him. You know something, Drew? I'm beginning to agree with ole Zarco. You've got to be remembering something. Feeling something for him. Or why would you care what he and Stasha did, especially since you were halfway across the galaxy boffing everything that moved . . ."
"You fucking dick head!" She threw a paper weight at him, and he dodged it with the ease of much practice. "I was never a fucking space tramp, and you by damn well know it!"
"Kicker, Sloat, Jackson, Dreake, Terlon, me. And those are only the ones I know about."
"Six men does not a slut make. Why don't we talk about all the space hags you've banged . . ."
"Because I'm not the one throwing a fit because my sister slept with my husband."
"Because you don't have either a sister or a husband," Drew spat back.
Van Gar got up and took a deep breath. "You know something, Drew? That was a really low blow." He stomped out of the office.
She threw a book at his departing figure, then ran to the door and screamed after him. "Fuck you, Van Gar!"
"Yeah, and half of space!" he shouted back, and marched out of sight.