The Crown Jewels (20 page)

“Still,” said Roman, “I would not like to see a dynasty destroyed as a result of anyone’s actions on Peleng.”

Maijstral looked up at him. His smile was casual. “In that case, Roman, we must take care.”

“As you say, sir.”

“Was that all?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Close the door behind you, please.”

As the door swung shut, Maijstral kicked his legs out and settled onto the bed, his mind humming. Any impulse to sleep had vanished. Roman, he had always known, was a traditionalist— insofar as Roman thought it proper to possess opinions, he probably regretted the existence of the Constellation and had a sentimental regard for the Empire in which he had never lived. Gregor, contrariwise, hated any aristocracy and wished death to the Empire. Maijstral had it in his power to serve one of these ends, but not both. The problem was that Maijstral counted on both his assistants for much. Gregor wanted money and instruction in ton, and could be kept content so long as he was paid in both. Roman was loyal to the Maijstral family— Maijstral knew Roman would never do anything underhanded, or betray any trust— but still Maijstral’s future depended not simply on cooperation, but on
willing
cooperation. Their jobs were too critical— their hearts had to be in it, or mistakes could be made. If an alarm was overlooked, a tool left on a windowsill, a trap remained unsprung— who could say that it was an honest oversight, or the unconscious sabotage that could spring from a troubled mind?

He had to keep both his henchmen happy, and willing to continue insulating him from the menace represented by Humanity Prime and the Anastasia mob.

Maijstral nestled back against the pillows and closed his eyes. This was going to take some thought.

CHAPTER TEN

Nichole, stretched comfortably on a couch, contemplated her feet and thought about how ugly they had become. Her profession required her to spend hours on her feet, and though she’d had them reshaped five years before, they had already splayed a good deal and it was time for another rebuild. She’d have to arrange for a week or ten days away from people so that she could have the job done and get used to the results before she’d have to appear in public again.

She could see her minute reflection in each of her toenails. By way of good-morning she waved at her reflection, then wriggled her toes in answer. There was a chiming at her door.

“Second breakfast, madam.”

“Bring it in, room.”

A robot table floated in on a silent a-grav field, lowered its legs, planted itself. Room furniture readjusted to the new arrangement. A chair rolled to the table, then pulled back invitingly.

“Your breakfast, madam.” An Emanuel Bach woodwind concerto sprang into existence around her.

“Thank you, room.” She moved to the chair and seated herself. Covers rose from the plate, releasing steam. Second breakfast in Peleng was a lot heavier than first. She wasn’t certain if Maijstral still wanted her to keep up the pretense he was staying with her, but she’d ordered only one breakfast, not being able to face two. She declined the table’s offer and poured her own coffee.

There was another gentle chime. “Drake Maijstral, madam.”

“Oh.” She put down the cream jug. “Put him on directly.”

Maijstral seemed in much better spirits. The old assurance gleamed in his green eyes, and Nichole’s heart lifted to see it. Otherwise he was difficult to recognize— his face had been sprayed a pastel blue color, he was wearing ghastly earrings that winked on and off like mechanical toys, and behind him was a view of a game arcade.

Nichole, having got used to these little dodges four years ago, concluded that since he was using disguises and a public phone, he wasn’t yet out of danger.

Nichole raised her cup and smiled, “Delighted to see you, Maijstral. You seem in good spirits.”

“You look lovely as ever, Nichole.”

“I see your alarming taste in disguises hasn’t altered.”

He bowed toward the holo camera. “I plead the necessities of the service, madam.” His eyes flickered to the boundaries of the holo image, as if trying to glance out of it. He touched a tentative finger to one of his earrings. “Pardon my boldness, but might I inquire whether you are breakfasting alone?”

“That depends, I daresay, on whether or not you’re still supposed to be living here.”

He smiled. “Unfortunately for our deception, its intended victims are all too well aware of where I was last night.”

“I thought you seemed buoyed by success. Did it go well, whatever it was?”

“Well enough. Villainy was thwarted, at any rate.”

“Had the villainy in question anything to do with the Countess Anastasia?” Nichole smiled as she saw his eyelids twitch. “She called here yesterday and asked me to give a message to you. But the message may well be out of date by now.”

Maijstral gave a lazy shrug. “Tell me. It might amuse.”

“She said you had something she wanted, and that she was willing to pay for it. Sounds like a proper villain’s message, I’d say.”

He grinned. “That’s indeed what it was. I’m pleased to hear she’s willing to pay for my object. That’s precisely what I had in mind.”

Nichole laughed. “You seem to have things fairly well in hand.”

“For the present.” He glanced over his shoulder in a conspiratorial way.

“You are about to ask me for another favor,” Nichole said.

Maijstral seemed a trifle embarrassed. “You’re right, of course.”

“I know you too well, Drake. Out with it.”

“I observed that in your announced schedule, you have no appearances planned after meeting the methane creatures at the zoo, which interview should end at noon.”

“That’s true. It’s my afternoon and evening off.” Nichole wiggled her toes in the carpet in Joyful anticipation of time to herself. She propped her chin on her hands and gave the Maijstral-image her girlish, ingenuous look. “You’re not planning on interrupting my beauty rest, are you?”

“Only in a pleasant way, I hope. I was hoping you might invite the Maijstral of your choice to dinner.”

Nichole laughed. “With your permission, Drake, I’ll eat my breakfast while you explain what you meant by that.”

“Please go ahead. I’ve eaten.”

Merriment bubbled to the surface of her mind as Nichole listened to his scheme. She laughed.

“Very well, Maijstral, I’ll do it. I’ve got a holo of you somewhere.” She took a bite, then thoughtfully waved her fork at him. “Truth to tell, Drake, I’m grateful for this diversion of yours. Life in the Diadem has been uncommon tedious of late.”

“My sympathies, lady.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I don’t need facetious commiseration, Maijstral. Not from old friends.”

“Apologies, Nichole.” Promptly.

“Accepted.” She took another bite, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed. “Do you not find, Drake, that your occupation, however well suited, begins to tire?”

Maijstral’s expression was hooded. “It contents me well enough, my lady. Travel, new sights, new acquaintances, adventures when I wish them, relaxation when I need it . . . My celebrity is not sufficient to be obnoxious, but it is great enough that I am treated well where I go. I am rarely bored, my lady. If one has to have an occupation at all, mine seems a good sort to have.”

“Your profession grants you more freedom than mine does me, Drake.”

“That is true. You know why I—”

“I am beginning to wonder, Drake, whether or not you were right, four years ago.”

Comprehension entered his eyes. “Ah.”

“I travel more than you, but the new sights are always hidden behind a screen of hangers-on and gushing interviewers and a swarm of people eager to make an acquaintance . . . it’s all the same, and it’s all become unreal in quite the same way. My celebrity gets in the way of my work— it has
become
my work.”

“You knew that, Nichole. You knew what the Diadem was about when you became a member.”

“It’s not the same as living it. I’m supposed to be an actress— my god, I haven’t acted in two years!”

“Find a new play.”

“There are only certain roles suitable for members of the Diadem. And they’re unreal in the same way my life is unreal. And worse— they’re dull, Drake. Impossibly dull.”

Maijstral absorbed this. “Are you considering leaving the Diadem?”

“Considering. I haven’t decided.” Nichole wiggled her toes again. Maybe she wouldn’t need to have her feet done after all.

Maijstral was looking at her intently. “Would you be happy, Nicole? Once you were outside?”

She shrugged. “I have a hard time remembering what it was like.”

“I think you would not. I know you, Nichole.”

Nichole stirred the food on her plate. “I’m two points down,” she said.

“Ah.”

“That’s what this tour is about. I’m supposed to introduce my audience to new marvels. My writers are giving me mots for each of eight planets. Each guaranteed spontaneous, witty, and quotable.”

“I think, if you don’t mind my observation, that Nichole ushering tours of the Peleng City Zoo is not what your ratings need, no matter how glorious the collection.”

She glanced up. “I know that. What else do you suggest?”

“Find a new play, Nichole. Something outside of what they’ve been giving you. Stretch the concept of a Diadem play. Stretch yourself.”

Nichole’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “And that’s what I need? Just a new play? And— stretching?’’

“Perhaps something else, my lady.”

“Yes?”

There was amusement in his glance. “A new passion?” he suggested.

Nichole barked a laugh and flung a teaspoon through Maijstral’s image. The coffee in her cup trembled in alarm. “Damn you, Maijstral. You know me too well. Won’t you let me get away with anything?” Her laugh turned rueful. “All right. I’ll tell my people to look for something.”

“My lady, if you want a thing badly, you should look for it yourself.”

Nichole sat for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Yes, Drake, I will. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do, considering how much you have helped me. We make light of it, but your assistance may yet save my life. These people I’m involved with . . . they’re serious people, Nichole.”

“I must take care to preserve your health, Maijstral. Your advice may prove invaluable to my career.”

Maijstral glanced over his shoulder again. “I should end this, my lady. We have gone on too long for this line to be secure,”

“Well. As usual, it’s been refreshing. Give my love to Roman.”

“I will.”

“I hope I will see you in person before I leave.” Maijstral smiled. “You forget. I am seeing you tonight.”

“Yes. Of course.
Au revoir
, then.”

“Your most obedient, Nichole.”

His blue-faced image vanished. Nichole thought for a moment, looking down at her toes, and tried to think of who she should call to have her feet done.

*

Khotvinn felt charged with energy. The semilife carapace that supported his crushed back and ribs had fed him enough drugs to obliterate the pain and infuse him with vigor. When the doctor added some patches to his legs that would make him relax and go to sleep, he waited till the human creature left, peeled off the disappointed creatures before they could take effect, and dropped them in the trash.

He hoisted himself out of his bed, reeled, then steadied. He bared his teeth and growled. The puny human redbellies were going to get what was coming to them.

His mind brooded darkly on revenge. He got his weapons out of the closet and donned them.

Khotvinn the Avenger! He needed to demolish something, and fast. He opened the window and got one leg over, then hesitated.

He realized he didn’t know where he was going.

Khotvinn pulled the leg back in and thought for a long moment. He knew where Amalia Jensen lived— but the house was a wreck, the Jensen creature probably wouldn’t be living there, and the place might well be monitored by police. Tvi could have got him in, but she had disappeared. He could try Maijstral’s residence, but he had no idea where Maijstral was.

The sound of voices filtered over the morning breezes. Khotvinn’s ears cocked in their direction.

Time, he decided, to do a bit of skulking.

He slid over the windowsill, overbalanced, and grabbed a climbing vine to keep himself steady. The morning air still smelled of burning. Chuckling to himself, Khotvinn loped along the back porch until he stood beside the open window of the dining nook.

“. . . and another to Lieutenant Navarre,” Sinn’s voice was saying. “Miss Jensen may stay with him.” Khotvinn’s ears pricked. This was the second time he’d heard the name of Navarre.

“And that odious Nichole woman.” Countess Anastasia’s voice.

A clatter of tableware obscured the Baron’s next observation. “Far better to let the media do that for us,” he then remarked. “The security around the Diadem is strict. Anyone lacking proper credentials and observed in Nichole’s vicinity would be jailed, at least for inquiry.”

“Perhaps you, yourself. Baron, might—”

“I’ll do what I can, my lady.” The next part of the conversation was dull, and consisted mainly of the Countess proposing names for various tasks, and Baron Sinn asking about their capabilities and credentials.

Khotvinn grinned. Navarre it would be, then! He smelled food and his stomachs growled. He turned and began to lope toward the back kitchen door. He’d steal enough food for several days, find Jensen through her pal Navarre, and hold her for ransom to both sides. And while he was at it, he’d carve her companions like kidneys.

It was great to be alive.

*

The police left at last, unhappy with a tale of Ronnie Romper-garbed abductors who had held Amalia Jensen inexplicably for a day, neither asked for ransom nor committed any assault, then let her go. There was more to it, or so they clearly thought, but Amalia Jensen wasn’t giving it to them. It was
her
kidnapping, she thought, and she could say what she liked.

Pietro was back in his own apartment— Amalia had decided there was no point in involving him in any police business. New household robots were moving silently about the place, wiping dust from corners, gorging themselves on debris she had missed on her first sweep. Amalia badly needed a rest, but duty demanded she supervise Pietro’s mobilization of the local members of Humanity Prime, who were to be sent out to look for Maijstral and to keep an eye on Baron Sinn, the Countess, and the Khosali consulate. She sucked on a hi-stick and walked to her communications control plate. It had been replaced in the last few hours by technicians working overtime. Time to call Pietro.