Palace (11 page)

‘Well, I promise you, then,’ Rico said. ‘No poking around the Nimue gate.’Barra relaxed. It was a cheap promise, Rico decided. He was certain that security routines of many different kinds had locked the gate to Nimue and the defence grid far beyond his ability to reach it, much less pass through it. The readout down Barra’s sleeves winked and changed. She frowned and punched a couple of transmit buttons, waited, frowned again.

‘I’ve got to go,’ she announced. ‘The re-route carrier’s hit some kind of snag. What’s your news?’

‘Oh, nothing much.’ Hi got up, yawning, offering her a hand to help her out of the sofa. ‘I’m just going to make Rico my heir, that’s all.’

Barra stared, then slowly got to her feet. ‘Well, my God,’ she said at last. ‘Why?’

‘Why do you think?’ Hi stared down at the carpet. ‘I need someone to leave my collection of crap to, don’t I?’ He looked up, towards his nephew with eyes brimming sadness. ‘What do you think, Rico?’

‘I think we should find Arno, that’s what, and -’

‘Rico.’ Barra’s voice sounded soft, quiet, which meant that she was dangerously furious.

‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘Mom, Uncle Hi told me about the drugs.’

‘Oh.’ She glanced at her brother, who nodded, then back to her son. ‘Did Hi tell you how those drugs leave someone’s mind?’

Rico started to say that he didn’t care, but the quiet ache in her voice stopped him.

‘Rico,’ Barra went on. ‘You’ve got to start thinking of Arno as dead. The Arno you knew is dead. All his memories, his skills, everything that makes a person a sapient - they’re gone now.’

In his mind Rico could see Arno staggering away, could remember how he smelled, too, and how long it had taken him to recognize his father’s voice. Hi was staring at the carpet hard enough to be counting tufts.

‘Okay,’ Rico said. ‘I’m sorry.’

Hi looked up.

‘Well, that’s a first,’ he said. ‘We’ll hold the ceremony in a couple of days, then. We’ll make a big deal out of it, let the gridjockeys in, the whole parade. We’ve got to do it fast if your mother’s heading starside soon.’

‘That’s true.’ Barra was still looking at Rico. ‘Do you know what this means? Do you realize what your uncle’s giving you?’

Rico certainly did, whether or not he wanted to take it - to take it away from Arno, as he could not stop thinking of it.

To be the heir of a man like his uncle, who was both a family’s chief patron and the master of a guild, did a lot more than just make you rich. It brought favours to dispense, access to allow, data to trade off, a presence to display on the newsgrid screens: power, in short, all those things that meant power on the world of Palace. Just being a Jons on his mother’s side would have brought him some influence, and being in the Cyberguild, some position, but to be Hi’s personal heir?

‘Do you?’ Barra repeated.

‘Oh yeah.’ Rico got up, turning to his uncle. ‘You sure we can’t do anything for Arno?’

‘Real sure, kid. I wish I could say otherwise.’

‘Okay, then. Thank you.’

* * *

Although the festival of Calios had started out as a secular celebration, nearly a thousand years ago now, the Church of the Eye saw no reason why the occasion shouldn’t taste of holiness as well as strong drink. All day Cardinal Roha had presided over events: private religious services for the Lifegiver order at dawn, a luncheon for the heads of the great families, public services in the afternoon, a tour around Pleasure Sect in the tenwheel owned by his order, more public services in the evening, and finally a dinner of bishops and abbots to honour the new Itinerant, a papal legate from the holy planet of Retreat. Now, late on festival night, he wanted nothing more than to sleep, but etiquette demanded that the Itinerant be privately entertained. She seemed to be the tireless sort, this Sister Romero. Roha was profoundly afraid that she would prove to be tiresome as well. Roha’s rank brought him a suite in the Chapter House, a building within Government House. In his private sitting room, decorated in pale blues and golds for the sky and the sun, he sat with several important guests, but old Bishop Faru slept, snOring in an overstuffed chair, and the younger, leaner Bishop Pol seemed to envy him the state and said little. Sister Romero, however, sat bolt upright in an armless formfit, declined an offer of wine, and seemed ready to talk all night.

A tall woman, with sharp features and wary dark eyes, she wore her wave of jet-black hair bound back in a black headband, studded in the centre with a single white gem. In the pleasantly dim light of the sitting room, the gem glowed, flickering. Although the cardinal and the two bishops wore their elaborate ceremonial robes, Romero wore only a simple sunsilk shift of black embroidered with stars.

‘So,’ Roha said. ‘I trust you won’t find our city too damp for you. It’s very grey, Palace, I’m afraid.’

‘Grey but interesting.’

‘How kind of you! You’ve travelled to so many worlds, of course. After the beauty of Belie, Palace must seem bleak.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that.’ Romero paused for a smile. ‘It’s not a garden spot, no, but the city has, what shall I call it, a presence, a personality, really. I’m hoping to find some time from my regular duties to explore a little.’

Roha smiled, but he felt his stomach clench. Itinerants always acted as spies as much as ambassadors; such was a given. The question lay with what she’d come here to find.

‘The city itself is a fascinating place,’ Roha said. ‘The architecture can practically provide you with a history of the Pinch, style by style. I do believe it was the first human settlement of any size.’

‘So I’ve learned, yes. I’ve been doing some background study, of course, to prepare for this assignment.’

No doubt, Roha thought, no doubt. Just how much did the Pope suspect, anyway? What had he been told? Bishop Pol roused himself briefly.

‘Now, if you’re interested in the blueglass,’ Pol said, ‘I’ve made quite a study of it. Palace has the finest collection of it in the Pinch, you see. Be glad to show you around.’

‘Thank you.’ Romero inclined her head his way. ‘I’d love to be able to do that. Maybe once the research station’s open.’

‘Going to be a lot of work, that,’ Roha said. ‘Those stations haven’t been used in a very long time, and for a doomed enterprise like this, it seems -’

‘Doomed enterprise?’ Romero interrupted, smiling. ‘I see Your Eminence has already made up his mind.’

‘Well, my dear Itinerant, when you’ve lived with the saccules as long as we all have, you really come to see that they’re clever animals and nothing more.’

Romero glanced at Pol, who shrugged.

‘Don’t know, myself,’ the bishop said. ‘Every now and then you see them figuring things out in a pretty amazing way. But symbol use?’ He shrugged again. ‘Never seen one master even a simple glyph. Can’t be sapient without symbolic capacity, eh?’

‘Very true,’ Romero said. ‘But they do seem to understand sapient speech.’

‘Mere conditioned response.’ Roha waved one hand as if batting the argument away.

‘Training them, takes a very long time, I’m told, and a great deal of patience.’

‘Um.’ Romero smiled pleasantly. ‘Well, a proper study will tell us, sooner or later.’

From another chamber came the sound of a commcall, sharp and insistent. Roha cocked his head to listen. Yes, his factor had answered.

‘My priority line,’ Roha said, rising. ‘One of the friars - a grand old man, one of our best researchers - at the abbey is very ill. I promised to come myself for the last rites, you see. It seemed to mean much to him.’

Romero nodded; Bishop Pol sighed. Roha made a half-bow and hurried out of the room, only to meet his burly factor in the short hall.

‘It’s not the abbey,’ Brother Dav whispered. ‘A woman. She said to tell you it was an old ghost calling,’

For a moment Roha could only stare at him.

‘Is it a prank, Your Eminence?’ Dav turned beet red. ‘I thought it might be, but she was so insistent, and she did have the private code, and -’

‘It’s all right, it’s all right. Just surprised.’ Roha cleared his throat. ‘Make sure no-one interrupts us.’

In his private office, a spartan place of dark walls, a few pieces of dark furniture, and a bare wood floor, the wall screen glowed with Aleen Raal’s face, as sharp and grim as Sister Romero’s despite her emerald-coloured hair. When the cardinal stepped into sensor range, she smiled, very briefly.

‘My apologies, Your Eminence. But someone tried to cancel our contract once and for all today.’

‘May the Eye protect!’ Nothing like a little fear to wake one up, Roha thought. ‘I take it that the document in question is still safe?’

‘It is, yes, but I don’t know how long I can keep it that way.’

‘Um, of course. Was it the um...’ Roha paused, searching for the right word in their agreed-upon code to indicate Vanna Makeesa. ‘Was the person who tried to cancel the usual lawyer, the one who’s given us such bad legal advice in the past?’

‘I don’t know, but I doubt it very much. That particular lawyer would have simply gone to the police for a subpoena or some kind of writ of confiscation.’

‘Quite so, quite so. Do you have any idea who else -’

‘Well, when the original business went bankrupt, it left a lot of creditors behind. Any one of them might be trying to cash in, illegally now, since the court order failed them.’

‘Mph. Have you reported this to the Protectors?’

‘What if their report caught someone’s eye, someone who’d take it to our hostile lawyer?’

‘Well, yes. Let me think.’

Aleen nodded. Orin L’Var had had enemies, all right, those ‘creditors’ of their code, but he’d also had friends. Roha could remember him so well, laughing over some obscure joke, striding along with his easy walk, one of the most important men on planet, certainly, but never too busy for his old friend from university, that awkward young monk who didn’t even know what fork to use at a formal dinner. Roha had learned a lot from Orin L’Var; even at this lapse of years he missed him still. If he hadn’t already hated Vanna Makeesa for a thousand reasons, he would have hated her for Orin’s death alone.

‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘What counts is getting the documents to some safe place on the Map, somewhere with proper security systems and so on. It’s time we thought about the long-term future, if we’re going to re-open the business or not. If it weren’t for all these old creditors, you could have started it up safely yourself in Pleasure Sect, not that it’s exactly the site I would have chosen, of course, but it’s a respectable one in its way, I know, my dear. I don’t mean to insult you.’

Aleen’s image smiled, but she seemed suddenly weary.

‘It’s too bad about that lawyer,’ she said. ‘Government House is the safest place in the Pinch, if it wasn’t for her.’

‘Yes, I could bring the documents here and store them with my entourage’s belongings. Wait a moment! We could store it here, among the archives of the Lifegivers.’

For a brief moment Aleen’s image boggled; then she laughed.

‘I fail to see why this idea is so amusing, my dear.’

‘I’m sorry, Your Eminence. I was just thinking of the contrast. It’s a long walk from Pleasure to the Chapter House.’

‘True, true. But I’m sure I can smooth things over, since the contract hasn’t been sealed yet and signed over to someone else. Now, do you have some protection against this thief?’

‘I’ve sent for a Garang bodyguard.’

‘Splendid! That will do while I arrange a proper safe deposit for the papers. And do be careful yourself.’

‘Don’t worry about that, Your Eminence.’

‘Good. We’d best get off-line. I never know what might be overheard around here if I give them a long call to work with.’

Sure enough, once he’d terminated the call Roha found a message on his screen from the scrambler utility - a failed attempt at intercept and interpret. Dukayn’s work, no doubt. Roha was heartily sick of Dukayn, Karlo’s so-called factor and head of security - his head of a secret police force would be more accurate. Roha had to admit, though, that with Dukayn in charge, Government House had become what Aleen called it, the safest place in the Pinch. Could he find a place for young Vida that would be as safe from Vanna Makeesa as Vanna was from her enemies?

When he returned to the sitting room, he found Faru awake and Pol standing, obviously ready to leave.

‘My apologies, my apologies, my dear friends.’ Roha bobbed and bowed all round. ‘Not our friar, but another grave matter.’

At that Romero rose as well - one good thing about this mess, Roha thought. A wave of polite farewells washed the guests out the door, leaving the cardinal alone to think of ancient promises and of how he might carry this one out.

* * *

Karlo Peronida had never slept much, not even as a boy. He’d always been proud of the natural gift that gave him extra time every night when he could work and study to gain an edge over the slower men around him. Now, when he stood on the verge of gaining more than he’d ever thought he’d have out of life, the irony bit deep. Extra hours, extra life - all the extra life he’d ever have! Often late at night the irony drove him out of bed, as it had this night, to stand at the window of his office and look out on the silver skies of Palace. Down below in a roof garden, perched on one of the many buildings of Government House, tall spear trees stood in rows among a scatter of flowering shrubs. When he opened the window he could smell perfume and wet earth, the cool air tinged with the perpetual rot of this city among swamps. Why the hell had the Colonizers built a capital here? By accident of course - he did remember reading about it once, that what had been planned as a simple research nexus grew inordinately when the settlements on Nox failed. He didn’t particularly care about ancient history. What did matter was the future, and his was going to be short. Although he’d known the truth now for some ten years, it never ceased to eat at him. The Colonizers had brought life-extension with them to the Pinch. The drugs were actually a disease engineered with nanotech, a retrovirus that selectively modified a person’s DNA, or repaired it, really, to prevent all those small changes that led inevitably to death. In time, every individual developed an immunity to this virus; a second round of treatment, maybe a third, could overcome the body’s unthinking traitor, its own immune system, but in time, with time, time always won, though after a long time, in the run of things that the Pinch considered normal. Some people, however, were born immune to the life-extension retrovirus. Karlo was one of them.