Palace (7 page)

‘Something wrong, Rico?’ Tia said. He liked her voice, soft and full of warmth. ‘It’s all right to be scared, you know. All first-timers are scared.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Tia shook her head in mock-sadness. ‘You poor guild boys! They don’t really give you a chance to grow up, do they?’ She winked. ‘Not in the fun ways.’

He grinned, suddenly eased.

At the next door Tia knocked, and in answer the door slid open with a whisper. From perfumed shadows a young woman came to meet them. Although she was delicate and small-boned, she had heavy breasts; he could see them clearly under her wrap of transparent black. Her hair, cut in an exotic fan around her heart-shaped face, did indeed gleam with reddish highlights among the brown. Between her dark eyes sat the tattooed red sun. She smiled and let her wrap fall open, just a little, so he could see pale skin, a soft curve of stomach and a tuft of dark hair just below. All at once he realized that he never should have worried about being able to go through with this.

‘Darla, this is
Se
Rico,’ Tia said. ‘Please show him every courtesy.’

Darla smiled and caught one of Rico’s hands in hers to draw him inside. He managed to wait before the door behind them closed to kiss her, but only barely.

* * *

Since The Close was Aleen’s personal home, and she demanded quality, its kitchen was the best in the entire sector. When Vida came downstairs again, washed and exhanged into a worn shirt and an old pair of shorts, she found its long tables spread with refreshments ready for the reception buffet out in the Pause: steaming platters of weidal topped with cinnamon, fruits and klosh with fancy icings, plates heaped with pastries stuffed with exotic meats from the swamps beyond the city walls. When the cook looked the other way, she stole a few cinnamon pasta wheels and crammed them into her mouth.

Sugar, the old saccule that Aleen had bought some fifty years ago, caught her theft and shook a floury fist at her, but it ‘laughed’, or rather, the little bladders clustered on its face let loose a delicate fruit-like scent. Vida laughed, too, then went to the work-table to help stuff pastries. As the saccule flipped pieces of raw pastry over fillings, the overhead light prismed through the fine web of membranes between its fingers so that Sugar seemed to be adding rainbows to each piece. When Vida nudged Sugar and made a low honking sound, the saccule reached out and gently squeezed her arm. In the bright light Vida could see the bulging veins and age-white tissue covering all the pouches and bladders around its neck. Fifty years was a very long time for a neuter saccule. Vida moved away fast before Sugar could smell how sad she was. At least Aleen refused to have her saccule servants put down when they got old the way some humans did.

Laughing and shoving each other, some of the Marked men who worked the brothel hurried into the kitchen to grab platters for the buffet. Lera drifted behind them, saw Vida and her chance to put off working for a few minutes.

‘Was Tia real mad at you?’

‘She got over it.’ Vida shrugged. ‘I just hope Aleen doesn’t chain me to a post until Marking Day.’

‘Once you’re Marked, you’ll be a full citizen and you can leave The Close any time you want. Then Aleen will stop treating you like a baby.’

‘I sure hope so. What about that kid? The first-timer?’

‘Oh yeah! His name’s Rico, and he is so sweet. His uncle’s outside in the Pause, making business contacts, or something. You know Hivel Jons. He hasn’t even looked at any of the girls.’

‘How about the boys?’

‘Nah. He’s a dull one. Rico’s with Darla, now.’

Vida smiled. Darla made a specialty of virgins.

‘Come on, Lera,’ Jeri called out. ‘It won’t break your back to carry something, too.’

Lera pouted in his direction but picked up the smallest tub of klosh.

‘Come back later and tell me how it went,’ said Vida.

‘Sure.’ Lera leaned close and added in a whisper, ‘Too bad you’re not Marked, this Rico asked if we had any red-haired girls. He looked so cute! I took one look into those deep dark eyes and wished
I
had your red hair.’

Vida laughed. But after Lera left, she found it hard to concentrate on her work. If only she were Marked, she could have asked for Rico. But even if she had, he would only go away again afterwards, back to his life of freedom, and here she’d still be, trapped in Pleasure Sect forever. Loath. Just too utterly loath. Vida picked up a baking sheet and threw it hard against the wall.

* * *

Hivel Jons y Macconnel was not a man used to being kept waiting. With a frightened Lera muttering excuses at his side, he stalked through The Close and stepped out through double glass doors to the sheltered garden of the Pause. Hanging on poles among the tall ferns and frond-trees, coloured lanterns gleamed. Flowers, real ones this time, oozed perfume into the warm night air. Laughing and talking, clients stood round in groups or clustered near the buffet tables, although a small crowd had gathered in front of the vidscreen hanging from a garden wall. Hi edged through the crowd and got himself a skewer of spiced meat and a glass of wine so dark a red it seemed black in the lantern light. At least Aleen set a good table at these functions. But where,was the damned woman?

‘Se?’ Lera still hovered at his elbow. ‘Is there anything else I can give you?’

He glanced at her face, as vacant as a flower if as pretty.

‘No thanks.’ He reached into a pocket of his robes and pulled out a couple of coins, then pressed them into her hand. ‘Run along.’

She smiled, bowed, and darted away, as if she were afraid he’d change his mind. Hi took a long good look at his fellow guests, guildspeople mostly, since only the rich could afford The Close. He spotted plenty of clients with the sashes of masters slantwise over their robes, talking together and smiling like the best of friends - not that any of them believed it of the others. Off to one side stood a woman who towered over the Palace citizens around her. Slender as a stalk, with jet black hair wound round her head in braids - she had to be from Souk, whose low gravity grew humans tall.

‘The ambassador,’ Tia’s soft voice murmured at his elbow.

‘Ah,’ Hi said. ‘Is Rico okay?’

‘More than okay by now.’ She paused, smiling. ‘He took to Darla, shall we say.’

Hi forced a grin and wondered why he disliked this woman so much.

‘Fine. Just let me know when Aleen gets back.’

With a nod Tia walked away, pausing now and then to speak to a guest before she disappeared inside. It occurred to Hi that maybe he disliked Tia so much because she disliked him. Under her little smiles he saw an edge - not thiat he particularly cared. She knew her job, he supposed, and that was all that mattered. Just like Jevon did. He winced, remembering his factor’s pale face that morning, and the way she’d clamped her lower lip between her teeth, determined not to cry. He should never have taken his nerves out on her, never! She was due for a raise; he’d better make it a big one. In front of him a saccule servant, dressed in a lacy black apron, paused with a tray of used glasses and napkins. Hi dropped his empty skewer into the litter and made a little hissing noise out of the side of his mouth. The saccule released a good-humoured smell like candy and wandered on.

Off by a wall covered with gold flowers, the round little Countess of Motta was standing draped in silver, and talking with two masters wearing the dark green robes of Power Sect. Hi strolled over, sipping his glass of wine, the only drink he’d allow himself this evening, and joined them. One of the Power men excused himself and wandered off, but the other stayed, though he moved back several steps in deference to the leader of the all-important Cyber-guild, who would expect to keep the attention of a countess all to himself.

‘Hivel, darling,’ the Countess said and extended a lazy hand.

‘Olletta, lovely to see you.’ Hi kissed her hand, which smelled of perfume and mushrooms in equal measure, briefly. ‘How are things out on the estates?’

‘Damp, cold and filthy, of course. They always are. Festivals mean so much to us poor farmers. It’s so rare that a swamp girl like me gets into Palace.’

‘Swamp girl.’ Hi raised his eyes heavenward. ‘Poor farmers.’

‘Well, rich farmers, then.’ She smiled, glancing slantwise at the man from Power Guild. ‘But farmers nonetheless. You’d all starve without us.’

‘Which is why you’re rich, yeah. Did you just come in for the festival?’

‘No, I’ve got a little scheme in mind.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Yes, really.’ She raised an arch eyebrow. ‘And I can’t help thinking, Hivel, that it might in some way interest you.’

She smiled, he smiled, and he was thinking of her hereditary vote on the Upper Council. The Cyberguild could always use another ally when the time came to appropriate public monies.

‘You’re always interesting, Olletta,’ Hi said. ‘We should meet while you’re in town. A lunch, maybe.’

‘Yes, indeed. I’ll have my factor call yours. It’s about the Magnus AI. I heard on the newsfeed that it’s going to be reprogrammed.’

‘That’s only talk. He’s too damn valuable to mess with. I know what you’ve heard. It’s those new robopumps that Industrial thinks can run the drainage system instead of Magnus. They haven’t been tested enough to suit me. If the pump system fails, this city drowns.’

‘Well, that’s true.’ The Countess allowed herself to look disappointed. ‘There’s just so many other things that an AI could be doing.’

‘And the Agricultural Guild can think of a few requests?’

‘Let’s have lunch.’

‘Okay, sure. I’ll look forward to it.’

Around them the party began falling silent; the laughter faded, the talk stopped, sapients turned away. On the vidscreen on the far wall, the evening newsfeed had begun. A few at a time, the guests drifted over to watch the crack presenter team of Grid TransPalace. Each presenter, three humans and a Hirrel, appeared in a corner window, commenting back and forth on the windowed images that shuttered open and closed at centre screen. Hi, who got his newsfeed direct through an implant, raided the buffet.

It was some while later that Tia finally appeared, smiling at his elbow to tell him that Aleen was back.

‘Shall I escort you, Patron Jons?’

‘No thanks. I know the way by now.’

Tia’s smile barely hid her resentment. Hi strode down the long hall to the lift booth, then punched in a code that only a few of Aleen’s clients knew. Up under the spires lay a hidden fourth floor to The Close. Stepping out of the booth brought him into a tiny room that held only a door. Hi punched still another code. When it slid back, Hi walked through a pair of autogates into Aleen’s public bedroom, a suite, really - a bedroom, a washroom, a little bar for drinks.

The bedroom had dissolved its walls with holoscreen views - a wide prospect of snow and mist from Tableau, a dense jungle from the Equatorial States of Belie, and a view of a garden, planted with life-forms he didn’t recognize; in its sky hung a double sun. When he glanced back, he saw a fourth screen powering on around the closing door - a view of deep space, a nebula gleaming behind a spangle of stars. The bed itself stood in the centre of the room, overhung by a canopied webbing, hand-knotted by Lep women from gold and silver threads. He heard movement and turned just in time to see Aleen walking through the garden holo. She wore a modest grey slithergown and a dark green cloak. Her emerald green hair hung loose, flowing down her back.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Hi snapped.

‘Out cleaning up your mess.’ Aleen took off the cloak and dropped it onto a chair. ‘Or your nephew’s mess. You don’t want anyone to hear this.’

Hi reached through the front slit of his robe to his shirt pocket and brought out a flat featureless black card that looked like nothing but a strip of packing plastic. When he whispered a code word, a strip of red light ran round the edge. A blackbox card, as they were called, would defeat any surveillance mechanism on Palace. They were expensive, hard to find, and highly illegal.

‘Nice,’ Aleen said. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘You don’t want to know. I’ve got my reasons for carrying it. Now, what’s this mess?’

The door to the washroom slid back, and Arno walked out, wiping his hands on a towel. Apparently Aleen had objected to his filthy trousers, because he now wore a blue pair that were a size too big for him. He gave his father a lopsided grin.

‘Those Protectors caught me,’ he said, and his voice was perfectly clear and steady.

‘Threw me in deeplock.’

‘Thanks to what’s-his-name,’ Aleen snapped. ‘Making sure they noticed you.’

‘Hey,’ Arno said. ‘Don’t blame Rico. I’ve never known anyone more loyal.’

‘I wasn’t calling him a traitor. I was calling him stupid.’ She turned to Hi. ‘Don’t you people teach your kids
anything?
It’s cost me a long pass to my second best house to crack your son out, and it’s just a damn good thing the officer on desk duty tonight owed me a few favours, or I’d never even have heard about it.’

‘Tell him the worst, why not?’ Arno glanced round, then headed for a pale blue datachair in front of the deep space holo. ‘The arrest went to file before Aleen’s goon could stop it.’

‘So? You’re supposed to be a trash addict. They get arrested all the time.’

‘They get tested down at the station, too. My blood’s clean. And that went into the file.’

Hi swore under his breath. Arno flopped into the chair and stretched his legs out in front of him.

‘Nice to see you, Dad. Aren’t you even going to say hello?’

‘You idiot! What the
hell
were you doing on the street? You’re supposed to be in hiding.’

‘Aren’t you going to sit down?’ Aleen snapped. ‘You make me nervous, pacing around like that.’

Hi hadn’t realized that he was pacing. He sat down on the end of the bed, facing Arno, and Aleen perched on the edge of an overstuffed grey chair.

‘It’s a long story, Dad,’ Arno said, ‘and you aren’t going to like any of it. The short answer is that I didn’t have any choice. It started two days ago. I was backtracking some rips in the Map, looking for that cybermaster who crashed that Customs gate last week. Remember that?