Rock of Ages (32 page)

“It’s good to see you, Will.” Maijstral sniffed Roberta’s ears and kissed her cheek.

“How are the ribs?” he asked.

“Well enough.”

“And Mr. Kuusinen?”

“Well, he
was
knocked unconscious. The doctors want him under observation. But so far no serious damage has surfaced.”

“Very good.”

The Bubber shifted his feet awkwardly. “I should push off. But first—” He smiled. “Drake, would you like to see a card trick?”

“By all means.”

Will’s trick was a complex one, involving a force, a shift, and a back palm. When he produced at length the three of rovers, Maijstral and Roberta both affected amazement and offered congratulations.

“Very well done,” Maijstral said.

“Thank you,” The Bubber beamed. “Is there any room for improvement?”

“Well, your patter could use a little work. And I could see the little finger break from this angle.”

The Bubber’s face fell slightly. “Oh.”

“I’d advise working the trick in a mirror.”

“I will. Thanks.” He looked thoughtful. “You know, Drake, I’d like to ask your advice in another sphere, if I might.”

“Certainly.”

“Joseph Bob is wondering if he should challenge Alice Manderley and Major Song for their part in misleading him.”

Maijstral gave the thought his consideration. “Well, it was Drexler who stole the pistol, not Alice.”

“J.B. wouldn’t challenge a servant.”

“I shouldn’t think so. And Major Song is about to undergo a trial that will discredit her forever, I expect.”

The Bubber nodded soberly. “True.”

“And—just between the two of us—” Maijstral touched the Bubber’s arm and smiled. “Dueling is a perfectly silly custom, don’t you think?”

The Bubber looked surprised. “Uh—if you say so. I suppose it is.” He shuffled his feet. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Good-bye, Drake, and thanks. See you later, Roberta.”

Roberta waved from her bed. “Good-bye, Will.”

The Bubber left. Maijstral sat on Roberta’s bed. “I suspect I have not thanked you enough,” he said. “You kept me out of Hunac’s clutches, and you risked yourself in my behalf yesterday. You’ve performed superbly, and I’m thankful you suffered no more than some cracked ribs.”

Her violet eyes warmed. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“So am I.” He smiled, took her hand. “I’ve had time to think.”

“At last.” Her look turned serious. “And your conclusions?”

“You’ve made the most attractive offer—”

Roberta’s face hardened. “But you’re not going to take it.”

“My life is too unsettled at the moment for me to consider marriage. If you’d made the offer at another time—”

“It can’t wait.” Shortly.

“Or if it were possible for us to spend time together normally, to get to know one another before making any decision—”

She sighed. “I had a feeling this would happen. Ever since our night together.”

Maijstral’s ears cocked forward in surprise. “Beg pardon?”

“Well. That night wasn’t—well—it wasn’t what I’d expected. Perfectly
pleasant
, you understand, you were very nice, but somehow—I don’t know—the whole experience was somehow lacking.”

Maijstral was surprised. “It was our first night together,” he said. “A certain amount of awkwardness is to be expected in the early stages.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, it wasn’t that. Just—well, I’d been thinking about being with you for
years
, understand. And it wasn’t what I had anticipated.”

Maijstral felt a touch of annoyance. He could hardly be blamed, he thought, for any failure to live up to Roberta’s lush schoolgirl fantasies.

“Perhaps,” he ventured, “your expectations were a trifle unrealistic.”

“What do you think of Will?”

Maijstral’s eyes lifted. “Sorry?”

“Do you think I should marry Will?”

“Er—”

“If I’m not going to marry
you
,” tartly, “I’ve got to marry
somebody
. And I’ve spent a lot of time with Will in the last days, and he seems suitable enough.”

Maijstral gave it thought. “Speaking dynastically, it would be a good match.”

Fire flashed from her violet eyes. “He’s a little green,” she judged, “but I reckon I’ll be able to make a man of him.”

Maijstral found himself thoroughly glad he had not consented to the engagement. The result might be admirable enough in the abstract, he thought, but hard to live with in the long run.

“If I may be permitted to make an observation,” he said, “it would be that men are not
made
, but make themselves. A partner can make the task easier, but cannot drive a person to it.”

Roberta frowned.

“Will’s problem,” Maijstral added, “insofar as he has one, is that he has nothing to do that his brother, or someone in his circle, has not done before him. If you marry him, you should encourage him to be something other than a consort.”

Roberta seemed a little amused. “You think I should give him a hobby?”

“You are a very well-known racer,” Maijstral pointed out. “And I think you’d be a lesser person without
your
hobby, no?”

“Hm,” Roberta said, and frowned.

As Maijstral left, he cast his mind back to the night he spent with Roberta, and felt a cold little anxiety gnawing at the back of his mind. She had seemed enthusiastic enough at the
time
, he thought. He had thought he had behaved rather well.

And then he wondered if the whole comment had been some small attempt at revenge. Very possibly, he thought.

He dropped into Kuusinen’s room and found him asleep. He would thank Kuusinen later.

The next room was Aunt Batty’s. He dropped in, spoke generally of his admiration for Roberta, and then mentioned he had decided with regret to decline her offer of marriage.

“Indeed,” Batty said, and her ears flicked forward in disapproval. “This will not improve my standing with the family. Most of them thought Bobbie’s schemes highly unorthodox, and I supported her. When recriminations are handed out, I will receive more than my share.”

“If it is any consolation, I believe she has replaced me already. With Will, the Bubber.”

Batty considered this. “Well,” she said, “she could have done worse.”

“I hope this will not prejudice your biography.”

Batty looked down her muzzle, her face severe. “Some in the family might consider this rejection an insult, though I suppose I should take a more charitable view. I will try to do my historian’s duty and avoid any reflections—on your character, say, or your valor—which may seem to me unwarranted.”

Valor? Maijstral thought, a taste of panic fluttering in his throat.

He really
would
have to get a look at that manuscript.

*

The last room was that of Conchita. She, like Kuusinen, had been knocked unconscious in the fight, and likewise was being kept for observation. He opened the door, peered inside, and saw Conchita watching a video.

“Hello,” he said, and knocked.

She brightened. “Hi! I was just watching the vid.”

Maijstral looked at the screen and saw people in Stetsons racing across the prairie on horseback. “Are you fond of Westerns?” he said.

“Only too. They’re my favorite.”

Better and better, Maijstral thought;

Conchita smiled and patted the bed beside her. Maijstral closed the door behind him, stretched out next to her, and put an arm around her.

Their kiss was very long and very pleasant.

“Why don’t you stay awhile?” Conchita said when it was over.

“I have no other plans.” He contemplated the situation for the moment. “Perhaps,” he said, “I should lock the door.”

“Can you lock a door in a hospital?”

“If the top-ranked burglar in the galaxy can’t figure out a way to rig a door,” Maijstral observed, “then he isn’t worth, his title.”

*

Some time later, Conchita curled up next to Maijstral, pillowed her head upon his shoulder, and closed her eyes. Maijstral gave thought to the situation.

“You haven’t experienced any disappointment, have you?” he asked.

“Disappointment? Why should I be disappointed?”

“No feelings that, say, your fantasies haven’t been in some slight way, ah, completely fulfilled? Your expectations haven’t been in any way disappointed?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said, and yawned. “You don’t mind if I take a nap, do you?”

Roberta, Maijstral concluded, was simply
wrong
.

Experience told in these matters.

“There is only one thing I have to request,” he said.

“Mm?”

“The hair,” he said. “You’ll have to change it.”

“The fin? It makes me look taller!”

“I think your height is perfection itself.”

“Well. Thank you for saying so.”

“The fin goes, yes?”

“Oh,” Sleepily. “If you insist.”

As Conchita drifted off to sleep, Maijstral noticed that the video was still on. He looked for the service plate to shut it off and saw that it was too far to reach without disturbing Conchita.

He looked at the image. The Western had ended, and instead Maijstral saw a red-haired puppet with a fixed smile.

Ronnie Romper
, Maijstral thought.
Oh no
.

He looked in despair at the service plate, still out of reach.

“Gosh, Uncle Amos,” the puppet was saying. “I sure was scared. My knees were knocking together like anything!”

“Those dinosaurs were intimidating, that’s for sure,” Uncle Amos said, puffing his pipe. “I was getting pretty anxious myself.”

“I was so afraid I almost ran away.”

“But you didn’t,” Uncle Amos said. “That’s the important thing.”

Ronnie batted his eyes. “I don’t understand, Uncle Amos.”

Uncle Amos gazed at Ronnie from beneath his wizened white eyebrows. “Bravery doesn’t mean that you don’t feel fear,” he said. “A fellow about to be run over by a herd of dinosaurs would have to be pretty stupid not to feel fear, now wouldn’t he?”

“Gosh. I guess so.”

“A brave person is one who feels fear, but who overcomes it and goes on to do what he has to do.”

“Wow, Uncle Amos,” the puppet said, “I never thought of that.”

Maijstral stared at the screen.
I never thought of that, either
, he thought. A sense of wonder overcame him. He lay back and reviewed his life. Based on a conclusion he’d drawn at sixteen, when he’d fought his first duel, he’d always assumed he was a coward.

But he
had
fought the duel, and another just a few days’ ago, and in between he’d been in a number of situations in which either he was shooting at people, or they were shooting at him, or both were happening at once. And yesterday, during the raid on the Heart of Graceland, he’d been giving orders as if he were an experienced warrior instead of a sneak-thief with a sinking heart.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been afraid the whole time. But, just like Ronnie Romper, he’d done what he’d come to do, and not run away. Or rather, he hadn’t run away until it was
time
to run away.

And of course his profession involved breaking into other people’s homes. Preferably when no one was there, of course, but maybe that was merely common sense rather than a reflection on his bravery.

Perhaps, he thought, his sixteen-year-old assessment of himself had been overharsh.

He looked at the screen and blinked.
Thank you, Ronnie
, he thought.

The puppet had his uses, after all. He lay back, Conchita peacefully sleeping on his shoulder, and gazed upward, past the hospital ceiling, into a universe of expanding possibility.

*

Some months later, when she and Roberta had returned to the Empire, Aunt Batty went in search of her notes and failed to find them.

They were missing—all the information she’d gleaned from Roman’s genealogy, from her interviews with Joseph Bob, from her long conversations with Maijstral’s father. All gone.

She had packed them most carefully, she knew. And now the entire package was gone.

She considered this for a long moment.
Most foolish
, she concluded. Her memory was perfectly good, and of course she could draw on the pages of notes and manuscript that had never left the Empire. Most of the second volume was completed. It was only the third that would be delayed.

It was never wise to annoy a biographer, she thought. They—
we
—have ways of getting our revenge.

If there was anyone who was an expert in the matter of interpretation, in the slight distortions of the facts necessary to cast aspersions on a person’s character or ability, on an individual’s motivations or worthiness—well, that person was a biographer.

She would take
very good care
, she thought severely, with her study of Maijstral.

And if he regretted the outcome—well, Aunt Batty thought, whose fault was it anyway?

THE END