The Crown Jewels (28 page)

“I did not take offense.”

There was a moment’s silence. “So what will you do, Drake, to assuage your broken heart?”

There was a quiet glow deep within his lazy eyes.

“Loot Peleng of everything I can carry off. It’s the least this planet can do considering the trouble I’ve had here. Some of my targets are days overdue.”

“Sounds as if you’ll compensate for romantic disappointment well enough.”

“I’ll manage, my lady.”

She smiled, squeezed his hand. “Are you pleased, then, Drake? With your part in this?”

“I cannot say I welcomed this, or am thankful I was involved. But it seems to have come out well enough, especially considering the potential for mayhem. I may even say that, for most of us anyway, I have achieved something of a happy ending.”

Nichole’s laughter rang in the room. “I suppose you have! Tell me— was it the ending you intended?”

His eyes were completely hidden. “Near enough, my lady,” he said.

And with that she had to be content.

the end

BONUS

Two master thieves . . .

One obsessed cop . . .

A very small island in space . . .

And THE GREATEST TREASURE IN THE EMPIRE

All to be found in the second Drake Maijstral adventure,

House of Shards

The following excerpt copyright 1988, 2011 by Walter Jon Williams.

“It’s been a mixed year for you, hasn’t it, Maijstral?”

The question drew him back to the interview. “How so?” he asked.

“Professionally, you’ve done well. Though the videos haven’t yet been released, the Sporting Commission has advanced your rating. Your book on card manipulation has been well reviewed. Yet you’ve had a tragedy in the family, and your personal life has suffered a certain well-publicized disappointment.”

She fell silent. Maijstral gazed at her with noncommittal green eyes. “Pardon me, Miss Asperson,” he said. “Was that a question?”

A grim smile settled into her lips. “If you like, I’ll ask a proper one. Nichole left you for a Lieutenant Navarre, and he is now her personal manager. Have you any comment on her subsequent career?”

“I wish Nichole every success,” said Maijstral. “She deserves it.”

“Have you seen her new play?”

“I have seen recordings. I think she's magnificent.”

“That's very generous of you. Yet here on Silverside, you have encountered another old flame. With Miss Runciter here in the company of Fu George, and Nichole's success on everyone's lips, aren’t there a few too many sad reminders present?”

“Nichole is a dear friend. And Miss Runciter is from a long time ago.”

As he spoke he heard, from across the room, a woman's laugh. He looked up, saw Vanessa looking at him. Their eyes met, and she lifted her glass to him. He nodded to her, and reached a mental resolution.

Damn Kuusinen’s eyes, he thought. And his other parts, too.

He'd do it.

*

Trumpet calls rang from the giant diamond. A pair of leather-covered doors swung open. Couples began moving toward the dining room.

“The Waltz twins, definitely,” Geoff Fu George said, wrapping Vanessa’s arm in his. “Have you seen what they're wearing?”

“I’ve seen it,” Vanessa said. They were barely moving their lips, wary of lip-readers hiding behind invisible cameras.

“They can’t possibly wear those heavy pieces at the ball later.”

“They may go in the hotel safe.”

“In that case, we'll take them off the robot.”

“Not as many points that way.”

Fu George shrugged. “Risks of the game, Vanessa.”

“I suppose. Look. There's Roman.”

“Yes.” Noncommittally.

“I always liked him. Perhaps I should say hello.”

“Perhaps.”

“He never approved of me, I always thought. He probably thought me a nouveau riche adventuress.” She thought about this judgment for a brief moment. “He was perfectly right, of course.”

“Oh.” (A brush . . .)

“Ah.” (. . . not a thud.)

Maijstral offered an excusatory smile. “My apologies. I must not have been looking where I was going.”

Fu George looked at him and nodded. “Quite all right, Maijstral.” He nodded. “Miss Advert.”

“Mr. Fu George. Miss Runciter.”

Maijstral stepped back. “Pray go on ahead of us.”

Fu George was pleased. “Thank you, Maijstral.”

The trumpets were still calling. In his formal dinner clothes, Roman watched, imperturbable, from his corner of the room. The trumpets were not, after all, calling for him…

…Baron Silverside spoke. “My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” he said. “I am flattered by your reception. When I first conceived the idea of this resort, I knew that, if it were to be a success, every detail would have to be accounted for...”

The Baron droned on, his burnsides flaring against the darkness. Behind him, fidgeting with her tableware, was his Baroness, a short, driven woman who Fu George knew was a middling-successful painter and owner of one of the most prestigious small collections in the Constellation. The Baroness was painfully shy, and almost never appeared in public—when seen, she usually wore an elaborate, pleated skirt of a type she'd introduced a decade ago, and which everyone else had long since ceased to wear. Roberta watched with apparent interest as the Baron wandered into minutiae concerning the process of selecting the absolutely
right
asteroid. Fu George watched Roberta and wondered why she had played tiles with Maijstral.

“Milords, ladies, gentlemen, I shall digress no longer .”

The pearl. Fu George smiled. His hand strayed to his breast pocket.

“... may I present the
raison d'etre
of Silverside Station . . .”

Fu George’s smile froze on his face. His hand plunged into his pocket. There was nothing there.

“. . . one of Creation's own wonders . . .”

Fu George remembered the brush with Maijstral, the man's uncommon civility. Vanessa perceived his agitation. She put a hand on his arm. “What's wrong, Geoff?”

“Rathbon's Star and its companion!”

Soundlessly, the steel doors irised open. The room was bathed in the light of one star devouring another.

There was no applause. The company was too stricken by the awesome sight to make any noise at all.

Fu George glared across the room at Maijstral. He was sitting next to Advert, and both were smiling as they tilted their heads back to watch Rathbon's Star being eaten.

Maijstral,
Fu George thought.
This means war.