House of Shards (2 page)

“An electronic device of the sort referred to as a 'black box,' “ he said. The quotes were clear in his voice. “Commonly used to interrupt alarm systems.” He wagged a solemn finger at Gregor. “Very naughty, Mr. Norman,” he said. “You'll get it back when you leave.”

Gregor turned red. Maijstral folded his arms. “Must we be subjected to this amateur stand-up routine while you search our baggage?” he asked. “Let's get it over with, shall we?”

“Certainly, your worship,” said Kingston. He handed the black box to his robot with an elaborate gesture. “Now let's see what Mr. Norman has in his gadget box, shall we?”

*

There seemed to be a delay in disembarking the second-class passengers. Dolfuss waited patiently, glancing over the concourse. There were supposed to be members of the Diadem here, and Dolfuss had always been a big Nichole fan.

The lounge bar, called the Shadow Room, was dark, quiet, scarcely inhabited. A woodwind quartet readied their equipment in a corner.

“Marquess.”

“Your grace.”

“I enjoyed the recordings of your last play. I only wish I'd had the chance to see it live.”

“Thank you, your grace. The play did wonders for my share. I believe I saw you in that race on—Hrinn, was it?” The Diadem's researchers had given the Marquess Kotani current facts on every prominent person scheduled to be at Silverside, the better to be ready for informed conversation. The Marquess always did his homework.

“Yes. I did fairly well in the Hrinn race.”

“Second only to Khottan.”

The Duchess smiled. “Khottan,” she said, “was lucky.”

Kotani returned the smile. He was a spare, cultivated, brown-skinned human with a brief mustache, greying temples, and a distinguished profile. He had been born in the Empire and had made his reputation with the naturalness of his languor. He was one of the older members of the Diadem—their first lord—and his share had always remained in the top twenty.

The Marquess cast a careful glance over the lounge bar, seeing no one he cared to talk to other than the Duchess. “Will you join me at my table?” he asked.

“Alas,” said the Duchess, “I am here to meet someone.”

“Some other time, your grace.” He sniffed her and withdrew.

Her grace Roberta Altunin, the Duchess of Benn, was nineteen and a gifted amateur athlete. Her hair was dark red and cut short, her eyes were deep violet, and she moved with grace and confidence. She had first-rate advisors, and they had suggested Silverside as a perfect location for her debut.

She stepped to the bar and ordered a cold rink. She nodded to the man standing next to her.

“Mr. Kuusinen.”

“Your grace.”

They clasped hands (one finger apiece) and lightly sniffed one another's ears. Mr. Paavo Kuusinen was a slight man with an unexceptional appearance. He wore a green coat laced up the sides and back.

“The coat suits you, Kuusinen.”

“Thank you. I discovered that my wardrobe marked me too easily as an Imperial citizen, so I had a new one made. Your gown is quite becoming, by the way.”

Roberta smiled lightly. Her drink arrived, and she put her thumbprint on the chit.

“The
Count Boston
has arrived,” Kuusinen said. His forefinger circled the rim of his glass. “I understand that Zoot is aboard. And Drake Maijstral, the burglar.”

“Have you seen them?”

“I have seen Maijstral. He seemed to be having difficulty at customs.”

Lines appeared between Roberta’s brows. “Will that be a problem for him?”

“He seems a man of considerable resource. I’m sure he will rise above the difficulty.”

She raised her glass, put it down again. “I don’t want this to go wrong, Kuusinen.”

“Geoff Fu George is already on station. Perhaps he would be more suitable. He has more resources to draw on.”

“I want Maijstral.” Firmly.

Kuusinen assented. The woman's mind was made up. “Your grace,” he said.

Roberta glanced behind her, seeing Kotani in conversation with a short woman in bright clothes and a funny hat. “We shouldn’t be seen together for very long, Kuusinen. Perhaps you should make your congé.”

“As you wish, your grace.”

They clasped hands, still one finger apiece, and sniffed. Kuusinen passed the woodwind quartet on his way to the door. Roberta took her drink and drifted in Kotani's direction. She noticed silver media globes hovering over Kotani's conversation.

“. . . I’m still looking for something suitable,” he was saying.

“I understand,” the short woman agreed. She spoke a broad provincial accent that seemed less comically non-U than, somehow, a deliberate provocation. “It must be difficult finding a part nowadays that features the sort of old-fashioned character you favor.”

Kotani stiffened slightly. “Not old-fashioned, my dear,” he said. “Classical, I should think.” He turned to Roberta. “Your grace, may I present Kyoko Asperso. Miss Asperson is a
personality journalist.”
He gave the words an unnecessary emphasis that indicated his distaste. “Miss Asperson, may I introduce her grace the Duchess of Benn.”

Roberta offered the journalist a cautious finger during the handclasp, receiving two in exchange. Kyoko Asperson was a head shorter than Roberta, with straight black hair and a round face. She dressed in bright reds and yellows, and wore a odd mushroom-shaped hat. A loupe stuck over one eye allowed her to see through the lenses of her hovering media globes.

“Congratulations on your Hrinn race,” Kyoko said. “You gave Khottan a run for his money.”

“Metaphorical money, of course. An amateur event.”

“Will you be turning professional anytime soon?”

Roberta sipped her drink. “Probably not. Though I haven’t quite decided.”

“You don’t need the money, of course, but on the professional level the competition is more intense. Do you find yourself intimidated by the prospect?”

Roberta, having never considered this question, was mildly surprised. Amateur contests, in her circle anyway, were far more fashionable than professional competition. “Not at all,” she said, truthfully, and then wondered if she'd said it convincingly enough. But Kyoko had already moved to the next question.

“Do you feel any pressure to turn professional simply in order to have people take you more seriously? Do you think that people take amateur sports
seriously
enough?”

The quartet began to play, starting with a high-pitched screech from the ristor. Roberta glanced at Kotani in dismay. He smiled at her and nodded, happy to be out of it.

Roberta resigned herself to a very long afternoon.

“Mr. Drake Maijstral?” Maijstral’s interrogator was a slight man in a brown jacket.

“Yes. May I be of assistance?”

“Mencken, sir. VPL.”

Mencken held out Maijstral’s Very Private Letter. Throughout Maijstral’s life, the appearance of a VPL courier would have been an occasion for dismay. Maijstral’s father used VPL almost exclusively, and his letters were either long lectures concerning Maijstral’s faults, or requests for money in order to honor an old debt. Maijstral restrained his reflexive annoyance, signed for the letter, glanced at the seal, then broke it.

“Will there be a reply, sir?”

“Not now. Thank you.”

“Your servant.” Mencken bowed and withdrew. Maijstral looked at the card, then handed it to Roman. “We're invited to a wedding. Pietro Quijano and Amalia Jensen will be getting married on Earth in six months’ time.”

Roman read the card. “Will we be attending, sir?”

“Possibly. We're heading in that direction. I’ve never seen Earth.”

“Nor have I.”

“Perhaps It’s about time we did. But I’ll need some thought before I decide.”

“Very well, sir.”

The orchestra was packing up and heading for the main lounge. Dolfuss had finally arrived at the customs desk. “I feel so lucky,” Dolfuss declared. “I won my ticket in a lottery. Otherwise I'd never have a chance to visit a place like this.” He glanced around the room. “I’m impressed already!” he said.

The uniformed Tanquer closed her nictitating membranes, as if to deny what she was seeing. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I understand just how lucky you feel.”

“And I was able to schedule my ships so as to work in a business trip. Stop at Ranc on the way home. That's why I’m carrying my sample case.”

The Tanquer’s bushy tail twitched. “The exit is that way, sir. Your room is programmed to receive you.”

“Thanks. I’m going to have fun here, I know it!”

Dolfuss laughed as he picked up his suitcases and walked for the exit. He was the only person carrying his own luggage. As he moved into the corridor, he saw Maijstral asking directions of a robot.

“Mr. Maijstral,” he said.

“Mr. Dolfuss. I hope your journey was pleasant.”

“It was. Very. I even made some sales.”

“How fortunate.”

“See you later.”

Dolfuss bustled away. His head swivelled left and right. He was enjoying the scenery.

The robot was a latest-model Cygnus, a dark, polished ovoid that hovered a precise sixteen inches from the floor and did all its work with grappler beams. Its dark carapace bore an ideogram meaning “Advanced Object.”

“As I was saying, sir,” it said. “Take the second left, through the arcade, then your first right.”

“Thank you,” Maijstral said. “I don’t know how I could have got lost so easily.” A frown crossed his face. “I believe your carapace has something on it. Let me see.”

As he leaned over the robot, he made a brushing gesture over the carapace with his hand. A programming spike was inserted into the robot's input connector. Maijstral brushed again. The spike was removed and palmed.

“There,” he said. “Much better.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Stepping lightly, Maijstral began to stroll in the opposite direction from that which the robot had indicated.

*

The orchestra had moved from the entry concourse to the main lounge, appropriately called the White Room. The music was muffled by dazzling white couches, chairs, and carpeting, but the music was also echoed pleasantly by a sixteen-foot length of natural impact diamond that hung overhead. The stone had been discovered during the excavation; it wasn’t gem quality, but it resonated well, and added a lustre to the room.

Overhead was a window, its view fixed at the sight of one star devouring another. The shutters were resolutely closed, awaiting the grand unveiling.

“Pearl Woman.”

“My lord.”

Kotani and the Pearl stood on the white soft carpet, sniffed, and gave each other three fingers—Diadem members were
de facto
intimates.

“Have you met Advert?”

“I don’t believe so.” (Sniff. Three fingers. Sniff.) “Charmed.”

“Pleased to meet you, my lord.”

Kotani cast a glance over his shoulder. “I just made my escape from Miss Asperson.”

The Pearl curled her lip. “I understood she was to be here.”

“She is currently fashionable. Fashions pass, thankfully.”

“One may hope her vogue will be of short duration.”

“Have you seen Zoot?”

Pearl Woman shook her head. “Perhaps he's waiting to make a grand entrance.”

“Perhaps,” archly, “he's hiding from Asperson.”

The orchestra came to the end of its piece. Those in the lounge tapped their feet in approval. The carpet absorbed the sound entirely.

Above, the diamond still rang.

“Shall we sit down, my lord?”

“Certainly.” They found a settee and settled in. “Her grace Roberta is here,” Kotani offered. “The Duchess of Benn.”

“Ah. The racer.”

“There will be a race tomorrow. Before the Duchess's coming-out ball.”

“Perhaps I’ll enter the race.”

“She's very good.”

“Perhaps I’ll cheat.” Smiling, a little too whitely.

“In that case,” said Kotani, “I’ll have to be very careful of my wager.”

*

“. . . then take the first right.”

“Pardon me, but I think there's something on your carapace.”

*

Mr. Sun looked with satisfaction at the piles of burglar equipment that had been confiscated from Maijstral’s party. “That should serve to slow him down.”

Kingston, his tall assistant, gave him a look. “You don’t think it will stop him entirely?”

“I think he will have to steal
something.
After all, Geoff Fu George is here. Neither of them can afford to be shown up by the other.”

“I suppose not.”

“And there's another factor.” Sun gave his assistant a significant look. “The Shard is here.”

“Virtues!”

“We may
hope
the Virtues will prevail. And no swearing, Kingston.”

“ Sorry.” He looked thoughtful. “Perhaps the rivalry will make them careless.”

Sun's face split in a thin smile. “Yes. That's precisely what I’m counting on.”

“Excuse me.”

Kotani looked at the rotund figure, then blinked at the eye-scorching pattern of the man's jacket. “Yes? Mr.—”

“Dolfuss. I’m a big fan of yours. I was wondering . . .” Holding out a notebook and pen.

“Oh. Certainly.” Kotani took the objects and turned to give Dolfuss the benefit of his noble profile.

“Do you suppose Nichole will be here?” Dolfuss asked. “I’m a particular fan of hers.”

“I believe Nichole is touring with her new play.” Kotani scrawled his signature, then looked at Dolfuss over the pen. “Mr. Dolfuss, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. How came you here?”

“I won a raffle.”

“I thought it must have been something like that.”

*

“The first right, you say? Oh. I believe you have something on your carapace.”

*

The woodwinds chortled away, laughing in their lower registers. Roberta passed them on her way out of the lounge. Behind her, Kyoko Asperson was interviewing one of the waiters.

“Your grace.”

“Mr. Fu George.” Roberta’s lips turned up in an amused smile. “I have always expected to meet you sooner or later. I’m relieved the suspense is over at last.”

Geoff Fu George offered her two fingers and delicately sniffed her ears. He received two fingers in return.

A certain object of mutual interest assured them of a degree of intimacy before they had ever met.