Authors: Walter Jon Williams
But when Nichole’s image appeared before Maijstral, it was not that of a distant goddess, but rather that of an old friend. It did Maijstral’s heart good to see her. In this crisis, it was good to know who one could trust, and Nichole was a true and tested comrade in adversity.
“Hello, Nichole,” he said.
Nichole’s superb eyes glittered with concern. “Drake,” she said, “what’s this I hear about a duel between you and the Prince of Tejas?”
“I see that I can spare you a certain degree of exposition,” Maijstral said. “How did you hear about it?”
“Diadem security, of course,” Nichole said. “Background checks on everyone at the party.”
“Of course,” Maijstral agreed.
Members of the Diadem floated through existence in their own perfect world, with no stray locks out of place, no buttons unfastened, and certainly no rude interlopers trying to crash the party. Diadem security, smooth, efficient, and all-embracing, was the envy of all people of prominence, including the Constellation’s President. His own security problems were never dealt with in such a seamless way.
Of course, he didn’t pay his own guards nearly as much. And for that matter he wasn’t nearly as famous as Nichole, something he found just as galling as the difference in service.
“What in heaven’s name provoked this?” Nichole asked.
Maijstral told her. Her look softened.
“Oh, Drake,” she sighed, “and I thought, when we met, that I was going to unburden my problems on
you
.”
“This may be your last chance,” Maijstral muttered darkly.
“Who’s acting for you?” Nichole asked. Maijstral told her. Nichole frowned. “Isn’t she awfully young?”
“She’s quite mature for her years.”
“Still, it’s your
life
that’s at stake.”
Maijstral winced. He did not need reminding.
“You have no idea who provoked this?” Nichole went on.
“No. I’ve been racking my brains, but I can’t think of anyone who would really want to—”
“I will have Diadem security begin an in-depth survey of everyone you know.”
Gratification sprang warmly to life in Maijstral’s heart. “Thank you.” A cold little icicle of suspicion touched his thoughts. “Your people keep track of burglars, yes?”
“More or less automatically, yes.”
“You might have them concentrate on Alice Manderley. Check the status of her bank accounts.”
Nichole nodded. “Right away. And I’ll advance my schedule and arrive tomorrow morning, so that we can confer,” Nichole said. “I’d come sooner, but there’s a reception this evening I can’t escape—the King of Libya.” A frown crossed her face. “I
think
it’s Libya. I haven’t had my briefing yet.”
“I’m sure he will be pleasant, whatever he’s the king of,” Maijstral said. “Kings have every reason to be pleased with their lot. And in the meantime, I will be very pleased to see you tomorrow.”
Doubt entered Nichole’s voice. “Drake?” she said. “What if they do it again?”
Maijstral stared, his blood running chill.
He would have thought of this himself if he’d not been so completely distracted.
“Why would they?” he asked in desperation.
Nichole’s ears flickered. “Why did they do it
once?
”
“I will arrange for security.”
“That would be advisable.” She smiled. “Please give my best to Roman, by the way.”
Maijstral fled to his chambers as soon as the conversation ended, striding past Laurence and his companion, who seemed to want to converse again.
When Maijstral arrived, the room was empty save for the reef fish under the room’s bubble aquarium dome. Maijstral went to the service place and touched the ideogram for “service.”
“Roman?”
“At once, sir.”
When Roman arrived, Maijstral was shocked at the transformation. Roman was bald, grey-skinned, red-eyed, and he scratched continually, his hands moving, void of volition, from one bodily torment to the next. Maijstral had never seen Roman this bad.
“It has occurred to me,” Maijstral said, “that whoever planted the pistol on us might well try again.”
Roman growled, a long, ominous sound. Maijstral smoothed down the hairs that had just risen on his neck.
“I want maximum security on our rooms,” Maijstral said. “Every alarm and detector we can acquire. Every nasty little surprise that we wouldn’t want to encounter ourselves in the course of our business. Plant them
all
.”
A grim light of satisfaction entered Roman’s agate eyes. “Very good, sir,” he said.
Another cold suspicion lodged in Maijstral’s breast. “You might check all the alarms personally,” he added. “I’d rather you arranged things, rather than Drexler.”
Roman stiffened. Another low growl rolled from his throat. “Am I to understand that we are no longer trusting Mr. Drexler, sir?”
“We are trusting no one, Roman. Drexler was working for Fu George on Silverside Station, remember, against our interests. It’s possible, if unlikely, that he may have conceived an elaborate plan of revenge. Or someone may have conceived it for him.”
“Vanessa Runciter, sir?”
Maijstral’s brow darkened. Now
there
was someone for Nichole’s people to look into. “I wouldn’t put it past her,” he said. “So when you have no other duties, you might simply make it your business to keep tabs on Drexler.”
“Very good, sir.”
“One other thing,” Maijstral said. “Nichole sends her love.”
Roman’s ears flattened in pleasure. He and Nichole had always had a most sympathetic relationship.
“I hope we are still trusting Miss Nichole,” he ventured.
“Of course we are.”
Roman’s tongue lolled in a smile. “Very
good
, sir.”
*
Maijstral had just finished dressing for dinner when Roberta called; his insides quailed as he saw the grim expression in her violet eyes.
“What news?” he said, and hoped his voice didn’t quaver.
“Joseph Bob continues to insist on the fight, and continues to insist that it be soon. There’s no getting around it, and he’s got the right. Unless you’d rather he called in the cops, of course.”
Maijstral sat down and suppressed an instinct to swab away the sweat that had just appeared on his brow.
“How soon?” he asked.
“The day after tomorrow. The meeting is on an island in the Dry Tortugas. The Prince wanted pistols, then swords, and I said no to both.”
“Very good.”
“So we’ve settled on a weapon with which neither of you have any experience. It’s called a
dire staff
.”
Maijstral quailed at the very name. He tugged at his throat lace. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that weapon. . . .” he managed.
Roberta’s hands waved near the phone’s service panel, and next to her image appeared the staff, a long steel pole with a complicated knot of interwoven steel blades on one end and a blunt protrusion on the other..
“It was used in ritual combat by the Hennese,” Roberta said. “It has blades at one end and a low-level stunner at the other. The combatants are placed within reach of one another right at the starts so that anyone attempting to use the stunner exposes himself to a possible attack from the bladed end. And the stunner is, as I said, low-level, so it will only slow the target down, not actually drop them.”
“So the point of combat with this weapon is to slow the enemy with the stunner, then butcher him with the other end once he can’t defend himself.”
“Apparently.”
“How charming.” Maijstral was appalled.
Roberta’s eyes flashed. “Well, what could I
do
, Drake? We had to settle on some weapon or other. They’ll all kill you very messily one way or another, but at least Joseph Bob hasn’t ever had time to practice with one of these, so you’ll have an even chance.”
Maijstral took a deep breath. All was not lost. He could still try to fix this somehow, just as he fixed his last fight when he was at the Nnoivarl Academy.
“I’m sorry if I sounded upset,” Maijstral said. “I
am
upset, of course, but not by you.”
Her look softened. “I will have a staff sent to you tomorrow so that you can get the feel of the thing. We’re borrowing some from a collector on Mars. He made it a condition that he witness the fight—he’s always wanted to see the things used.”
She frowned. “The rules call for an objective witness anyway, so that seems all right.”
Maijstral’s mind raced. So, he thought, Joseph Bob would be practicing with his own dire staff as soon as it came down from Mars. Which meant that Maijstral could get to it and sabotage it somehow.
“Who did you say used these things?” he asked. “I didn’t catch the name.”
“The Hennese.”
“And what are they? A religious sect of some sort?”
“No. A minor race. The Empire conquered them a few millennia ago, but they’ve subsequently become extinct.”
Cold foreboding squatted heavily on Maijstral’s breast. “And why did they all die off?” he asked.
“Well.” Roberta reddened. “They kept hitting each other with dire staffs, for one thing.”
“I thought as much. Thank you.”
Cowards die many times before their deaths
, as Shaxpur remarks in
Tsar Iulius,
his newly translated play,
the valiant never taste of death but once
. After the conversation ended, Maijstral sat in silence for a long, endless moment, dying many times.
He could fix the stunner, he thought, but how could he fix a nest of glittering, sharp blades on the end of a
stick?
This was going to take a lot of thought.
He rose and went to the service plate. “Roman,” he said, “come and unlace me. I won’t be going to dinner after all.”
He seemed to have lost his appetite.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The glories of Palancar towered toward the distant sun, layer after layer of coral and sponge, anemone and fans and gorgonia, every form and color in the world piled atop one another and reaching toward the sky. Among all this richness swarmed the fish, as brightly colored as the corals: grouper and barracuda, squirrelfish and angels, trunkfish and parrot fish and triggerfish.
Nothing was visible that was not alive.
Turn 180 degrees and there was only one ocean, a clear and perfect Cherenkov blue, reaching straight down a thousand meters and going on all the way to the mainland. The color was so blue that, looking at it, you could feel
blueness
prickling all the way along your skin.
Nothing alive was visible in that blue, nothing at all.
Nichole and Maijstral floated along the wall, hovering in the interface between the lonely blue and the bright, bustling swarm that was the coral wall. They communicated with one another along a cyphered link.
It was the only way, given the circumstances, they could achieve any degree of privacy.
“I wonder if we will find a splendid toadfish,” Nichole said. “It’s supposed to be the best. Quite rare.”
“You heard that in your briefing, yes?”
“Yes. Of course.”
Members of the Human Diadem were briefed before every appearance in order to give them something to view and talk about. They learned about the best people, the best art, the best food, the best architecture, the best sights, and—apparently—the best toadfish.
At least they were the best in the opinion of the Diadem’s research staff, who were, of course, the best researchers money could buy.
Maijstral had lived without these briefings for several years now, and found himself perfectly content to exist without his every opinion being scripted ahead of time.
“I am surprised that the Diadem’s researchers didn’t offer to find a toadfish and tag it so that you could locate it and appreciate it properly,” Maijstral said.
“They did. But I thought we’d prefer privacy.”
“Thank you.”
The two floated along a narrow passageway between two giant coral ramparts. Bright swaying tendrils trailed above them in the strong current like old friends waving good-bye.
“I have narrowed somewhat your range of suspects,” Nichole said. “Alice Manderley arrived on Earth only yesterday, on a liner from Qwarism, where she was released from prison last month.”
“I see.”
“Her bank account has registered a substantial increase which our researchers weren’t able to account for—five hundred novae—but she may have signed some endorsement deal, or been paid for a commission that hasn’t become public. The researchers will continue their efforts.”
“They may as well not, since Alice is no longer a suspect.”
“Drake,” severely, “that’s what they’re
for
.”
“Well then. If you like.”
Nichole continued. “Vanessa Runciter is in the Empire with her new consort, Lord Pasco.”
“The foundation garment fellow?”
“Yes.”
“I wouldn’t have thought Vanessa would
need
that as yet.”
“She has expensive tastes. I doubt it’s the underwear she needs.”
“True.”
“Being in the Empire, of course, doesn’t rule out the possibility of Vanessa’s hiring it done, but it puts her so far out of communication with any hireling that it would make it impossible to coordinate anything.”
“True.”
“And your mother is also in the Empire, a guest at Lord Moth’s hunting lodge.”
Maijstral’s relations with his mother were such that he had no objection to her inclusion among the list of suspects.
His mother held many grudges. That she would hold a lethal grudge against her only son was not absolutely out of the question.
A flash of deep paranoia lit Maijstral’s brain. “She’s nowhere near Vanessa, is she?”
“No. Pasco and Vanessa were clean on the other side of the Empire from Mothholm, on Krpntsz.”
“Krpntsz? I heard the fishing is good.”
“According to our researchers,” airily, “the place is passé.”
The water brightened as they passed from the shadowed valley to a plateau of white coral sand. Nichole looked about, frowned, and commanded her repellers to move toward the nearest coral castle.
A grouper, long as Maijstral’s arm, floated nearby and wondered whether or not to ask for a handout.
“Have, you considered Joseph Bob’s brother?” Nichole asked.