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Alicia rises to her feet and departs, letting Martel follow as he will.
Kryn? What about me if she comes back? I'm for his plea-
sure and her convenience. He lives for Kryn. Was it always this way? Don't
remember it like this ... Black scares me.
Master Seine ... master of what? They all accept him ...
from nowhere ... why?
Martel understands her questions and her fears. He tries to disarm some of
them with another question he places in her thoughts.
What woman could show Kryn love?
Alicia frowns.
Love? Who knows love? Not her, not the Duke ... for his
daughter ... maybe ... for me? Just lust.
Martel decides to make a few more arrangements. He touches the Duke's mind,
even as the Grand Duke Kirsten is entering the flitter to take him to the
palace. Alicia will be safe ... and loved.
Next ... a quick touch to the Duchess' thoughts, giving her relief that the
Duke loves the maid she has so conve-
niently provided.
How do you know, Martel, he asks himself, that your thoughts haven't been
rearranged the same way?
He drives the cold chill into his own deeps and pushes the thought away.
By the time they reach the kitchen, Alicia has thawed and
Martel is ready for the warmed rolls and juice that are shoved at him in the
back pantry.
From the kitchen the tour begins, and Alicia is thorough.
For that Martel is thankful, though his feet hurt long before they finish,
because virtually everyone at Southwich has a memory of Kryn. And if some of
the staff wonder at the be-
mused look on Master Seine's face, so be it.
Once he leaves the environs of Kirsten, he will have to cover the palace, as
well as some nobles and key staff in the
Houses of Gatwick, Ngaio, and Sulifer. After that will come all the peerage
records, and the records of Lady Persis'
School.
Along the way he will plant as many memories as he can with the general
populace, the gossip columnists, and the opinion leaders. Not that total
coverage is necessary, particu-
larly when the subject is the daughter of a Duke renowned for his privacy in a
Regency court society that revolves around the Prince Regent and his latest
boyfriend.
Dinner is served promptly at 1300 hours in the family din-
ing room to exactly five people the Duke, the Duchess, Captain Herlieu, Madame
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Herlieu, and Master Seine.
"How was the Council meeting this morning?" That is the
Duchess, uninterested, but trying to break the silence.
"Same. Interesting problem, you know." The Duke pauses to slurp his red-turtle
soup. "Prince Edwin asked the Council to suggest ways to increase revenues
while reducing taxes.
Little difficult, would you say, Master Seine?"
"I'm not an expert in high finance, Your Lordship. It does seem rather
paradoxical."
"Polite way of saying it's confusing. Those ninnies sat there and hee-hawed.
Perhaps this ... perhaps that." The
Duke frowns, puts down his soup spoon.
The Duchess takes another delicate sip of her soup, almost a consomme", lays
her spoon on the Blackshire china, and sur-
veys the table. The softness of the glow lights and the dim-
ness of the exterior light, blocked as it is by the heavy draperies, reduce
the sharpness of her nose, display her face as ten years younger or more,
hinting at the beauty she once
had been. Her silver hair, maintained by cosmetology, adds to the regal
impression.
"Did the Council make any decision?" Martel asks.
"Of course! They made a decision to study the request.
That's what happens most of the time."
"How did you vote?" asks the Duchess.
"Last," rambles the Duke, "and for it the study, that is.
Stupid study, but stupid to oppose it now. Right, Milady?"
The Duchess nods.
"Don't they see the danger?" That comes from Herlieu.
"Which danger?" questions the Duchess. Her soft voice carries, silken with the
feel of iron behind it. "The danger from within or the danger from without?"
"I'm a simple fighting man," answers Herlieu, "and I
worry about the dangers from outside. Once they're taken care of, you always
have a chance to set your own house in order."
"But doesn't a weak or disorderly house invite attack, and a strong one
discourage it?"
"Makes my point, Your Ladyship. You have to be ready to fight in either case.
If your house is disorderly or if it isn't."
Martel adds nothing. The last time around, he hadn't cared to try
understanding the intricacies of Regency infighting, and he still doesn't. The
Duke admits voting for something that is worthless with a total stranger
present, and the Duchess agrees.
Martel lets his mind soak up the loose thoughts.
Few escape from the Duchess ... a loose melange from
Herlieu ... and a surprisingly ordered progression from the
Duke. Martel zeroes in on the big man.
Edwin ... not half the man his father the Emperor is ...
queer ... doesn`t understand economics or military power
... amused by politics ... way to favor is to amuse him, and.
they all do ... from Mersham to Stelstrobel ... the Fuards pour credit after
credit into R&D, ships, men ... and Edwin asks about financing his annual
carnival ... Karnak, guard of the Empire's Marches, does nothing. You, admit
it, Kirsten, you do nothing either ... too many jackals ... all ready to pull
you down ... amusing, they'd find it ... and they're younger ... maybe Kryn
... if it's right ... haven't thought that ...
"Does Councilor Mersham feel more committed to internal or external problems?"
ventures Martel.
"Councilor Mersham is gravely concerned about all prob-
lems, as they all are."
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"And the reaction to the Fuards?"
"Ha! We all are deeply concerned ... deeply concerned ...
but also we are deeply concerned about the unrest caused by the latest tax
levy which went to expand the Regent's Palace and for a ten percent increase
in the basic dole."
"Did the increase make people happier?" asks Martel, re-
membering full well how his mother had snorted.
He is rewarded by a sniff from Madame Herlieu, a thin-
faced redhead, a snort from the good Captain, and a raised eyebrow from the
Duchess.
"I can see why you sent your daughter away."
"Not sure I agree now," mumbles the Duke. "Seemed good at the time. Now I
wonder."
"Experience in other milieus might give her a broader out-
look," comments the red-haired woman.
The Duchess nods again, and Martel reaches for the thoughts behind the nod.
Needs a lot more experience ... maybe trip to New Au-
gusta itself when she gets back. Then a cadet tour. Not many women do, but she
can. Kryn will handle it.
For not having had a daughter until that morning, the
Duchess is certainly busy plotting the path Kryn will take, Martel thinks to
himself, a bit sadly.
"Why so downcast, Master Seine?" booms the Duke.
"Thinking about your daughter, I just wondered. My chil-
dren," he lies, having none, "won't have to worry about high finance and privy
councils, and sometimes I think they'll be
,the happier for it. Lady Kryn will become our outstanding
Duchess, maybe more, but I wonder if she'll be happy."
"Are any of us ever really happy?" replies the Guard Cap-
tain.
"Maybe not. Maybe we delude ourselves into thinking so.
Is happiness everything? And can anyone stay happy if some-
one isn't out guarding, and someone else ruling?"
What's he want?
The Duchess is sharp, too sharp, and Martel keeps forget-
ting it. The sooner he leaves the better, and the less he says the better.
The main course is scampig, roasted and lightly basted with Taxan brandy.
Martel enjoys it and says little.
"... 'course the Prince got the next bird with that needle rifle. Not at all
sporting. Single-action, but never have to re- [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]