Authors: Walter Jon Williams
If Batty was suffering any ill effects, they were well concealed. She lapped tea delicately from a saucer and seemed, on the whole, fully recovered.
Maijstral, Roberta, and Kuusinen sat in a respectful circle around her. Roman and Drexler were back at Tvar’s place, making certain that the police neither stole anything nor planted any evidence. After the police finally, left, Roman would fetch the false Maijstral back from Graceland and rescue the poor fellow from his regimen of fasting, meditation, and prayer.
Laurence and Deco were in police custody. Tvar, the householder, of a more practical and vengeful bent than the Princes of Tejas and Quintana Roo, had announced she intended to press charges.
Kuusinen dropped his teacup noiselessly into his saucer. “The thing that is beginning to signify,” he said, “is the motif of the family that plays throughout Mr. Maijstral’s recent experiences. The media demanding some sort of apology for the behavior of his grandfather, the late Duke Robert. Hay challenging him on account of his grandfather’s behavior while Baron Sancho challenges him out of a misplaced loyalty to the same grandfather. And now Maijstral’s father, who spent his life defending Duke Robert’s behavior, has been kidnapped.”
He looked levelly at Maijstral. “I think whoever is responsible for your predicament has a grudge against your entire family. Perhaps any hatred for you is incidental to hatred for your grandfather.”
Roberta looked puzzled. “Who would hate your grandfather?”
“Thousands of people,” Maijstral sighed. “
Tens
of thousands.”
Roberta was startled. “Good grief. I know he was a famous Imperialist, but what exactly did he do to raise such ire?”
“Your question demonstrates your Imperial education—the Empire was so embarrassed by my grandfather that they don’t talk about him much. He’s barely mentioned in the official histories. But here in the Constellation, he’s the bogeyman—the ultimate oppressor, the ultimate traitor, the ultimate bad example.”
Roberta’s eyes widened. “But what did he
do?
”
“Killed,” Maijstral said, “tortured, threw people in prison without a hearing—here in the Constellation he’s known as Robert the Butcher. He was far more excessive than any Khosali in defense of the Khosali Emperor. The Khosali were so appalled by his excesses that, after he fled to the Empire, they never employed him again—just let him live on his pension. They disbanded the Green Legion so that he’d never get the chance to use it in another war. One reason that I don’t use my title is that I don’t want to be called
Dornier
—it’s a term of loathing here.”
“Tens of thousands,” Roberta repeated. “That’s a lot of suspects.”
“Mr. Maijstral’s problems didn’t begin till he arrived on Earth,” Kuusinen observed, “so I think we can narrow our investigations to Earth residents.”
Maijstral wanted to grind his teeth. “I
meant
tens of thousands of Earth residents,” he said.
“I think I may be able to narrow your range,” said the voice of Conchita Sparrow. Camouflage holograms shimmered off, and she appeared above them, hovering near the ceiling. She flashed a grin at her own ingenuity and then dropped to the floor. Her grin froze as she observed that Roberta was pointing a very businesslike pistol at her. “Am I interrupting something important?” she asked.
“Roberta,” Maijstral said, “may I introduce Conchita Sparrow, a colleague. I have hired her to perform certain investigations on my behalf.”
“I would have dropped in earlier,” Conchita said, “but there were cops all over Tvar’s place, and I preferred not to call attention to myself.”
“Very wise of you,” Maijstral said. Roberta put her pistol away, folded her arms, and looked severe. “I wish you had told me that you were employing an agent,” she said.
Maijstral, having seen that stern expression before, decided to tread warily.
“My apologies for not telling you,” he said. “But you were on your way to Cozumel at the time–– and since then, well, we’ve been busy.” He looked at Conchita. “You have news?”
Conchita eyed Roberta warily. “Can I talk in front of these people?”
Roberta’s eyes flashed.
“You may,” Maijstral said hastily.
“Well,” Conchita said, “I was following Alice Manderley, but I lost her.”
“Is that
it?
” Roberta demanded. “That’s all you have to report?”
Conchita flashed her an annoyed look. “As a matter of pickles, it ain’t,” she said, and then turned to Maijstral. “She was in this bright orange Iridescent flier, a real flash job, and got in the flier with her husband. She opaqued the glass as soon as she took off, so I only had the Iridescent to follow, but the flier is so distinctive that there really wasn’t any problem. I followed her flier to a garage in Alburquerque. A medium-sized cargo carrier flew out a few minutes later, followed by Manderley’s flier, and so I followed Manderley. But when the flier landed in Vancouver, only the husband got out. Manderley had given me the slip.”
“Was the cargo flier large enough to carry, say, a coffin?” Maijstral asked.
“You bet,” Conchita said. “And there’s more. After I lost Manderley, I thought I’d fly to Memphis and see if you had any more instructions for me. And as I was coming in for a landing, I saw the cargo flier taking off from that patch of woods just north of here.”
“The same cargo flier?” Kuusinen asked. “You’re sure?”
“Photon Twelve, brown with white stripe, registration number HHD458772N,” Conchita said.
Kuusinen nodded. “Very good, Miss Sparrow,” he said.
“I figured something was up, so I followed the flier. But it didn’t go very far—it just hopped over the trees to Graceland and landed there.”
“Graceland?” Roberta said in surprise.
“
Graceland?
” Maijstral wondered.
“Graceland?” said Kuusinen.
“Oh my,” Batty said, her ears cocking forward with interest. “
Graceland
.”
“Graceland,” Conchita smiled, and then continued. “She landed in one of the central landing stages, right in the middle of the whole complex. The airspace was restricted and I couldn’t hover overhead indefinitely, and anyway the flier moved under cover almost at once. I tried to find some place to observe from, but I couldn’t see anything, so I thought I’d better give you a report. But when I got to Tvar’s, I saw the place swarming with cops, so I waited until you came out, and then I followed you here.”
“My compliments, Miss Sparrow,” Kuusinen said. “You have done very well indeed.”
Roberta produced her pistol again, twirling it around her finger. “I think it is time to get our hands on this Alice Manderley,” she said. “Perhaps we can lay an ambush near Graceland and wait for her to leave.”
“She could be anywhere by now,” Conchita pointed out.
“We should get ahold of Kenny Chang,” Maijstral said. “Alice will do anything to keep us from damaging her husband. For some inexplicable freak of character she’s devoted to him.”
Get even
, he thought, and a little triumphant hum smiled its sinister way along his nerves.
He rose from his chair and turned to Batty. “If you’ll forgive me,” he said, “I’d like to set Roman and Drexler to work.” The thought of Kenny Chang in Roman’s hands caused him to smile. “We have a long night’s work ahead of us,” he said.
“Have a lovely kidnapping, dear,” Batty said. Maijstral and Batty sniffed ears, and Maijstral left, followed by Kuusinen. Roberta remained behind to comfort the invalid.
From the hospital lobby, Maijstral called Roman to ask whether he’d gone to Graceland to pick up the false bishop, and was told that the police were just leaving: Maijstral told him to wait. He then called Nichole. When her hologram appeared, her face showed concern.
“Well timed, Drake,” she said. “I was on the verge of calling you. My researchers have come up with some alarming news concerning Alice Manderley.”
“That she stole the stele, and took my father’s coffin this afternoon?”
Nichole received the news without surprise. “Indeed yes—or so the information implies. Your . . .
losing
. . . your father in such a way distresses me.”
“Have you heard that Alice took him to Graceland?”
She looked thoughtful. “No. I hadn’t heard that. But it makes sense in light of what I’m about to tell you.”
“Indeed?”
Nichole’s admirable brow wrinkled. “Are you speaking privately?”
Maijstral glanced over his shoulder. “Mr. Kuusinen is here.”
“Could you engage the screen, please?”
Maijstral hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “If you wish.”
He turned to Kuusinen. “My apologies, sir.”
Kuusinen acknowledged the apology with a graceful wave, and Maijstral activated the privacy field. He turned to face the phone pickups.
“Yes? Why the urgency?”
“I have some financial information, gathered quite illegally; and I would prefer not to have to admit how I got it before any third parties. Particularly an attorney who seems to be infamous for remembering odd facts and who may have some professional obligation to speak honestly in front of a judge.”
“I recall your mentioning that Alice had received a sum of five hundred novae,” Maijstral said.
“Yes, though all that information cost me was an inscribed recording of my last play. The
next
mass of data is going to cost me a private dinner with the Chief Auditor of the Constellation Bank.”
“I am sure anticipation has him all aquiver.” Maijstral laughed. “Nichole, have I mentioned lately my exceeding admiration for you? Your resources never cease to amaze.”
“Oh, my news is amazing all right. Alice was paid five hundred novae just before she arrived here from Qwarism. She was paid another five hundred within hours after the stele turned up under your bed. And she was paid a third five hundred earlier this evening, after your father was stolen.”
“Fifteen hundred,” Maijstral said. “That’s a pension generous enough to support Alice for life. Or Kenny for a month. But who can afford to pay them sums that large?”
Nichole looked at him levelly. “The money came from the account of Major Ruth Song.”
Maijstral was staggered. “The
Elvis?
”
Nichole gave an incredulous laugh. “That explains Graceland, doesn’t it?”
Maijstral tried to rein in the astonished thought-imps that seemed to be running amuck-in his brain. “Here I thought she was merely a political crank. Now I discover she’s fanatic enough to spend a fortune to kill and discredit me.”
“Remember her grandfather, the Fleet Admiral? The Nelson of Neerwinden?”
“Yes.”
“Well it turns out his
first
wife, no relation to Miss Song at all, died in police custody in a roundup of the relatives of rebel leaders.”
“A roundup ordered by my grandfather.”
“Exactly. Though it appears that her death was an accident, a mistake by the doctor called in to treat her for some long-standing condition.”
Maijstral tried to work this out. “So Major Song has organized this complex and highly expensive conspiracy in order to avenge the death of some step-grandmother she never met and isn’t in any case related to?”
“So it appears.”
Maijstral shook his head. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”
Nichole looked exasperated. “She’s just
crazy
, Drake! You don’t need any other explanation than that. She not only inherited her political convictions from her grandfather, but her religious ones as well. The late Fleet Admiral Song became a convert to Elvis late in life, and he endowed Graceland with one of its showiest pavilions. He’s buried in the mausoleum and sleeps forever in the Arms of Elvis. Major Song is one of the most important lay sisters in the faith, and she has an apartment in Graceland itself.”
Maijstral stiffened. “I have a feeling she’s got something in that apartment that I want back.”
“Very possibly.”
“I’ll go there directly. But in the meantime I need you to call Kenny Chang and arrange an appointment with him. Tell him you’ve got a part that’s just right for him, and that you’d like to meet him as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning would be nice. Can you do that?”
“Of course. And I take it that it will be you and Roman who keep this appointment, not me?”
“Naturally.”
She gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. Kenny’s so utterly dreary I’d hate to have to really meet him. The phone call will be bad enough.”
Maijstral bowed toward the pickups. “Thank you, my dear. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He made as if to leave, but Nichole fixed him with an urgent look. “One more thing, Drake. This is important.”
“Yes?”
“Major Song has made other payments.”
A warning hum sounded in Maijstral’s mind. “To whom?”
“Drexler. Three payments of twenty novae each. The first a few days before you arrived on Earth, then just after the Tejas theft, and again just this afternoon.”
Maijstral looked down at his hands and found they were miming the act of closing around Drexler’s throat.
Taking dead aim
. That’s what Song and her conspirators had done to him.
And he was about to take dead aim himself.
“
Thank
you,” he said. “I will deal with this at once.”
“I know you will, Drake. Give my love to Roman, will you?”
“Oh absolutely.” He smiled. “Once he’s finished giving
my
love to Drexler.”
*
Maijstral hastened into the servants’ parlor, followed by Tvar.
“Roman,” he said. “Drexler.”
“Sir. Miss Tvar.”
Roman and Drexler rose hastily. They had been monitoring Tvar’s security gear on the unlikely but hopeful theory that the mystery burglar might return.
“Oh. Sorry.” Maijstral, bustling into the room, had brushed against Drexler.
“My fault, boss.”
Maijstral smiled at him thinly. “Yes. I’m afraid so.”
Drexler’s ears cocked forward. “Boss?”
Maijstral stepped back and regarded him. “I confess a certain surprise to discover just how cheaply you work.”
Drexler’s fingers twitched, advancing toward the opening of his jacket. His sturdy body seemed to inflate slightly. “Boss?” he said.