Lady Cecelia, who seemed to think of nothing but horses, but had the same lightning rod effect on things as she herself, Brun thought. Lady Cecelia, who could see through a brick wall at the worst possible moments. At least she was a Barraclough too.
"It's going to look bad," she told her brother. "Just Hobart alone would have looked bad, but this—"
"It was an accident," her brother insisted. "Old weapons, brittle metal . . ."
"It will still look bad," Brun said.
"But you don't think . . ." Buttons' voice trailed away; his face was taut and strained.
"I don't think our mother managed to connive at the deaths of a Speaker and one of his Ministers at the same time, and if she had, she certainly wouldn't have gone fencing with one of them with faulty equipment."
That seemed to satisfy him; his face relaxed slightly. It did not satisfy Brun.
"What are we going to do?" Buttons asked, almost plaintively. "I can't very well come back now—we're in the midst of some ticklish negotiations—and even if I did, it'd be weeks before I got back to Castle Rock."
"Stay there," Brun said. "I'll deal with whatever happens here. Did Mother ask for help?"
"No—"
"Then we'll assume she settled things on Sirialis."
"But Brun . . . can you do it alone?"
"We'll find out," Brun said, more cheerfully than she intended. "They're going to hold a Council meeting to try to ram something through. I don't know what. I have to go."
"Well . . . I guess there's nothing I can do from here. I'll contact the committee and see if they'll let you vote my proxy, but if they're convinced we did it, they won't . . ."
"That will help, Buttons. Thanks. I'd better go now."
Brun let herself out of the combooth, reset the controls, and went back to the breakfast room.
"More trouble?" asked Kevil after a quick look at her face.
"That was Buttons," she said. "You remember Pedar Orregiemos? Hobart made him a minister."
"A blot," Kevil said. "Your father disliked him very much."
"Well, my mother just killed him." She could not resist pausing a beat to see the result of that remark. The Lone Star Ranger choked on her muffin; Kevil blinked slowly, his mouth tightening. "By accident," Brun said then.
"So I would hope," Kevil said. His glance flicked sideways to the other woman. "Did Buttons give you any details?"
"Only that they were playing around with the old fencing gear and something went wrong," Brun said. She wanted to chatter; she must not chatter. In lieu of chatter, she picked up a muffin and buttered it, then spooned on a dribble of apple-blossom honey. Around a mouthful of sweetness and crumbs, she added, "Lady Cecelia was there."
"Why?" asked Kate, before Kevil, his mouth already open, could ask the same thing.
"I don't know." Brun took another bite of muffin, slowing herself down. She felt that her brain was beginning to spin out of control. "I don't think Buttons knows; he said he was surprised because it wasn't close to hunting season."
"Perhaps she wanted to look at your bloodstock," Kate said. "She's the one who's so crazy about horses, right?"
"Yes . . . I suppose that could be it." Brun was aware of a warning look from Kevil, and took another bite of muffin.
"By the way, I'm coming to the city with you."
"You don't have to," Brun began, but Kate waved her to silence.
"I'm coming, because you may be in danger. If these Consellines really believe you engineered Hobart's death—"
"I have security staff," Brun said.
"Yes, but they're just security." Kate grinned, that wide insouciant grin that made her seem so harmless. "I'm a Ranger, remember."
"I suppose you're going to wear your badge?" Kevil asked.
"On this occasion, yes."
"I think I'll come," Kevil said. "I haven't been back, since—" Since they had brought him to Appledale, out of his poverty, out of the clutches of that most suspicious male nurse.
"To the house?" Brun asked. She wiped her mouth and rang for staff, sending the first for her briefcase and the second for her car.
"No—but I'll check with the banks in person. That might loosen their memory. I can also find out when my new arm might be coming out of the bins. They said next week, but I might be lucky . . ."
"Fine, then. Let's get going."
On the drive to the city, they reviewed possibilities. Brun updated her personal comp with the whereabouts of all the Seated Family members; she was sure there would be an emergency Grand Council meeting that day or the next.
Brun did not ever remember seeing the Benignity ambassador before. She knew they had one—she knew which building in Embassy Row belonged to the Benignity of the Compassionate Hand, a big gray stone building like so many in the city. Now, in the Grand Council chamber, she stared like everyone else at the man of middle height, dark-haired and green-eyed, who wore a perfectly conventional dark suit. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but Sr. Vadis Unser-Marz, as his name appeared on her monitor, looked too ordinary to represent the fabulously wicked Benignity of the Compassionate Hand.
So far news of Pedar Orregiemos's death hadn't reached the news media; reporters outside the chamber had asked only for a reaction to Hobart Conselline's assassination, and she had expressed shock, and her condolences for his family. "I know what it's like to lose a father," she had said, and they had gone looking for another victim.
Brun knew the meeting would be chaired by the head of a minor family, Jon-Irene Pearsall, as neutral as anyone could be. She wondered how long he'd last; he didn't look very forceful. He tapped for order.
"On this sad day, we have only one order of business; Ambassador Unser-Marz has an urgent message from his government, which we will hear."
War
. Brun could feel the tremor of apprehension across the chamber. The ambassador stepped up to the podium with ceremonious grace.
"Chairholders, it is my responsibility to read to you this urgent communication from our government and to assure you of the most sincere apologies and regrets which accompany it."
That sounded ominous, but why would anyone apologize for declaring war?
"I am having the text sent to your individual displays, but I will also read it." He began quoting; Brun glanced down at the monitor. His accent was not hard to follow, but she wanted to be sure to catch every word. "It is with sincere regret that the Benignity of the Compassionate Hand must take responsibility for the unprovoked attack by Swordmaster Hostite Fieddi on the head of state of the Familias Regnant. This attack was ordered by the former Chairman of the Board of the Benignity, without the knowledge or consent of the Board. The former Chairman has been judged guilty of political assassination and punished."
Brun realized she'd been holding her breath, and let it out. She glanced around and met startled glances. She looked down again. There it was in print—and then a sharply focussed video clip of a much older man, almost bald, with a crawler below: Pietro Rossa-Votari, the Chairman, and the charges against him. Sentenced to death, it said. Then the text flicked back up, and the ambassador started reading again.
"Although the Benignity of the Compassionate Hand did not consent to, or condone, the former Chairman's order to assassinate Hobart Conselline, it is felt that the Grand Council of the Familias Regnant should be made aware of the reasons for his decision, deplorable as that decision was."
A rising murmur, as Chairholders drew breath and looked at one another. Brun said nothing, trying to think it through. Hobart had been a power-hungry blot, but why would the Benignity want him dead?
"It is important for you to know that no one in the Familias Regnant was involved. No sept, no family, no individual. Chairman Rossa-Votari acted alone. He left the following recorded message to be transmitted to you."
"It's a fake!" blurted someone off to the right. Brun checked her display. Kasdar Morrelline, that was, Ottala's older brother.
"No, it is not a fake," the ambassador said. "I beg of your courtesy to hear this—and the text will appear on your monitors, since the Chairman's accent was stronger than mine."
The voice in the recording was pitched a little higher, and sounded older; Brun scanned the text and tried to match words to sounds. "It is with deep regret that I order the death of a head of state. This is a decision never made lightly by one in my position, for to order it is to order my own death as well. Yet I must care for my family, and it is God's will that sometimes a father sacrifice himself for his children. I am convinced that the safety of my people—perhaps of all people everywhere—requires that Hobart Conselline die.
"It became clear to me that Ser Conselline and his government favored the unrestricted use of rejuvenation technology to extend lives without limit. The implications of this, and of a free-birth policy, are clear: the Familias Regnant will inevitably seek to expand its territories at the expense of its neighbors. This will bring us into conflict, possibly into full-scale war. This we do not want.
"I urge the successors of Ser Conselline to consider the benefits of accepting the natural and legal limits of expansion. The Guerni Republic has used this technology but committed to maintaining a constant population size and has a long history of staying within its present borders. The Familias, by contrast, has been expanding slowly but steadily for the past two hundred years, and more rapidly in the past fifty."
"So have you," someone near Brun muttered. Her thought exactly. They had invaded the Xavier system.
"It is my hope that my successor and the government of the Familias Regnant can come to some permanent agreement on the border between us, and some controls to be placed on Familias expansion." The ambassador paused, then went on. "That is the end of the the former Chairman's message, Chairholders. I am at your service to answer any questions."
Brun pushed the button that signalled her request to speak.
"Ambassador, I'm not clear on something. Does your government expect us to stop using rejuvenation technology, or does it expect us to offer some guarantee that we will not expand into your territory?"
"Sera, we have many concerns about rejuvenation itself. It was our Chairman's belief that rapid population growth and the restriction of opportunities for younger persons would lead to political unrest, culminating in either civil war or expansion into the territories of neighboring states. We do not choose to be overrun by you, and we would avoid a war if possible."
"So you think repeatable rejuvenations are driving population growth and this will make us an expansionist state?" asked one of the Dunlearies across the chamber.
"Or a very volatile, unstable neighbor, at the least," the ambassador said. "It is our intent to press for some restriction on repeatable rejuvenations—"
"No!" yelled Oskar Morrelline; he was gavelled down.
"Or some other reliable, measurable means of population control," the ambassador said. "What we want is a stable border—"
"You just invaded
us
in Xavier a few years ago," someone pointed out.
The ambassador folded his lips together, shook his head, and said, "Ser . . . it is not my mission to discuss what might have motivated the late Chairman to attempt an incursion into your space. That was his responsibility, and he is no longer able to answer our questions. It is my mission to inform you of these facts; that your Speaker, Hobart Conselline, was executed on the order of the late Chairman, who has paid for that order with his life, and that the reason for the order was his concern—which the present government shares—about the instability unrestricted rejuvenation might cause in both your internal politics and our relationship."
"But it's none of your business what we do in our own space," someone else said.
"Sera, we are neighbors. A fire in your house could loose sparks to burn ours."
"But you can't expect us to just turn around and quit using a medical procedure that so many—"
"Sera, I expect nothing, but to be heard. It is not my place to tell you what to do, only to tell you what my government thinks of what you do, and what my government might do in response to what you do."
"Is that a threat?" Brun asked.
The ambassador spread his hands. "I would hope we are very far from discussing threats."
"And yet you killed Hobart Conselline."
"The late Chairman ordered his execution, yes. It is not quite the same thing. The present government deplores that decision, and wishes most heartily that the late Chairman had found it possible to convey his concern in a less . . . striking . . . way."
"By starting a mutiny, I suppose." That was Viktor Barraclough.
"No, ser. We started no mutiny. We deplore the mutiny and consider it a serious threat to peaceful interaction between our governments. Though if you want our opinion—"