The Dark Lady (19 page)

He frowned. “Interesting,” he mused.

“I would say that it is frightening,” I replied. “Except that I am not frightened by her.”

“Why should you be?”

“Because she is not human and she is not alien.”

“What she mostly is is not truthful,” scoffed Heath, sipping his drink. “She's as human as I am.”

“Then how did she come to know about Brian McGinnis?” I persisted.

“Probably the same way you did.”

“I have seen representations of her that predate the McGinnis painting by over two thousand years.”

“Do you think she's the only black-haired woman who ever lived?” demanded Heath.

“No,” I said. “I think she is the only black-haired woman who has lived this long.”

“Do you know what the human life expectancy is?” he snapped.

“Yes,” I replied. “But she is not human.”

“She looks human, she lives with humans, she gets painted and sculpted by humans, she takes human names, Does that sound like an alien to you?”

“She said that she is not an alien.”

He snorted contemptuously. “Once you've eliminated human and alien, what else is there?”

“Could she be a psychic or spiritual manifestation?” I asked.

He pointed to her half-empty cup. “Manifestations don't drink coffee.”

“I was unaware of that,” I said. “Doubtless you have encountered manifestations before.”

“Damn it!” he snapped, finishing his drink. “I know this is especially difficult for a Bjornn to grasp, but not all women tell the truth.” He put his drink on a table and walked to the ship's computer. “We'll solve this once and for all. Activate!”

“Activated,” replied the computer. “Waiting... ”

“How many sentient beings are aboard this ship at this moment?”

“Three,” answered the computer.

“Who?”

“Yourself, a Bjornn named Leonardo, and a human woman whose name may or may not be Nekhbet, Shareen d'Amato, Eresh-Kigal, or the Dark Lady.”

“Give me some physical data on the woman.”

“Height, five feet six inches. Weight, 128 pounds. Hair, black. Eyes, black. Age, between twenty-eight and thirty-six years, based on skin texture and skeletal structure, with a possible error of... ”

“Deactivate,” commanded Heath. He turned to me. “Does that sound like an apparition?”

“No,” I said.

“Then are you satisfied?”

“No.”

“No?” he repeated. “Why not?”

“Your computer is a machine, and as such, it can only analyze the data it was programmed to analyze. It cannot take into account the facts I have accumulated about the Dark Lady's past.”

He stared at me for a long moment.

“You know, you're becoming rather argumentative,” he said. “I trust I'm not the cause of this newfound aggression.”

“I apologize if I have offended you,” I said.

“I'm not offended, just surprised.” He sighed. “All right, Leonardo, what do
you
think she is?”

“I do not know.”

“You've no explanation for why she claims to have known these long-dead artists?”

“No,” I said. “And I should point out that most of the men who painted her were
not
artists.”

“Oh?” he said, surprised. “What were they?”

“I have been unable to establish a common link among them,” I admitted.

He seemed to consider the problem for a moment, then shrugged and mixed himself another drink.

“Well, there's no sense driving ourselves crazy worrying about it. Maybe Abercrombie will be able to figure it out.”

“Why should Malcolm Abercrombie chance upon the solution?” I asked. “He knows even less about her than you do.”

“We're going to deliver her to him,” said Heath.

“I do not understand.”

Heath smiled. “Perhaps ‘deliver’ is the wrong word. We're going to negotiate with him for the pleasure of her company.”

“You cannot sell one sentient being to another!”

“Nobody's selling anything, Leonardo,” he said easily. “We're just performing a social service for two people who might find out that they have a lot in common.”

“She is not a piece of property to be rented by the hour!” I said, horrified.

“Who said anything about prostitution?” asked Heath innocently. “From what you tell me, between his age and his tumor, Abercrombie's probably past the point of being able to do anything about it even if he wanted to.” He leaned forward. “But he's spent tens of millions of credits buying paintings of her. The man's got an obsession that's taken up a third of his life. Surely the chance to actually see her in the flesh, to know that she exists, to talk to her and maybe commission an artist of his own choice... it's got to be worth
something
to him.”

“She said that she will never meet Abercrombie.”

“And I'm sure she believes it,” replied Heath. “But believing something doesn't necessarily make it true. Hell, she also believes that she isn't human.”

“This is kidnapping!” I protested.

“We would be guilty of kidnapping if we had taken her against her will,” he said. “She came with us voluntarily.”

“But she did not know what you planned to do.”

“You seem to think that she's some kind of royalty, to be treated with deference and abject respect,” complained Heath. “Let me remind you that she consorts with killers, she arranged for her lover to be brutally slaughtered by bounty hunters, she's been kicked off Acheron, and she hasn't got a credit to her name. She should be grateful that we consented to take her along at all.” He paused. “Look,” he said more reasonably, “if it will appease your conscience, I'll give her ten percent of whatever I can get from Abercrombie. It'll probably be more money than she's ever seen at one time.”

“She will not accept it.”

“Of course she will.”

“She will not,” I repeated. “She has already said as much.”

“She will, when she realizes that the alternative is being delivered to Abercrombie and
not
getting ten percent.”

“I cannot permit this!”

“Leonardo,” said Heath, “let me be absolutely straightforward with you. I find myself in a somewhat awkward financial position.” He paused and sighed. “In point of fact, I am currently a fugitive from justice. I can't go back to Charlemagne for the foreseeable future, and I'm sure the police have frozen all my assets there. They will doubtless have put a trace on all my credit accounts, so I don't dare use them either. I must have a prompt infusion of cash, and this seems to afford me the best opportunity of obtaining it.”

“You will obtain money when Tai Chong pays you for the Mallachi painting.”

He shook his head. “That will barely be enough to refuel the ship.” He paused. “I wasn't raised to mingle with the common herd, Leonardo. It may be unpleasant, but there it is: I require money to maintain the quality of my life.”

“And what about the quality of
her
life?” I demanded.

“She was in a prison cell when we found her,” he said. “What kind of quality was that?”

“For whatever reason, she was there voluntarily,” I pointed out. “You are doing this against her will.”

“You're becoming tiresome, Leonardo,” he said. “I liked you much better when you were completely subservient.”

“I cannot stand by silently and let you do this to a
lady.
”

He arched an eyebrow. “Would it be different if she were a man?”

“It would still be immoral.”

“But you wouldn't be as upset?”

“It is a heinous crime no matter who the victim is,” I said emphatically.

“But worse if it's a woman?”

“All females are sacred.”

“That's a strange world you come from,” he said.

“It is
my
world,” I responded. “I believe in it, and I cherish it.”

“Well, next time we're in this situation, I'll be certain to kidnap a man,” said Heath. “In the meantime, the subject is closed.”

“The subject is
not
closed,” I said. “I must make you understand what a terrible crime you are contemplating.”

“The subject
is
closed,” he said firmly. “Or am I going to have to put you in the Deepsleep chamber again?”

I realized that I could be of no service to the Dark Lady were I to continue arguing, so I meekly agreed, and waited until he fell asleep a few hours later. Then I silently entered her compartment to inform her of Heath's intentions.

It was empty.

I examined the interior of the small ship and could find no trace of her, and finally I woke Heath.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded as he got up off his bunk. “People don't just vanish from a spaceship! Where is she?”

“She is gone,” I said.

“Gone where?”

“I do not know.”

“We'll see about this!” he muttered, walking rapidly to her compartment. He practically tore it apart, even looking beneath the bunk and in the undersized closet. This done, he proceeded to the control room, the storage area, the lavatory, and back to the galley.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded. “Computer— activate!”

“Activated,” announced the computer. “Waiting... ”

“How many sentient entities are currently aboard the ship?”

“Two.”

“Have any of the hatches been opened since we left Acheron?”

“No,” answered the computer.

“Is there any way we could have jettisoned the Dark Lady without our knowing it?”

“No.”

“Has she made any effort to leave the ship?”

“No.”

“Then what has become of her?” asked Heath.

“I do not know,” said the computer.

Heath came in from the wooden deck that overlooked the snow-covered mountains, rubbed his hands together vigorously, and walked over to the bar.

“Beautiful day!” he enthused. “A bit nippy, but beautiful.”

“If you find it cold, why do you go out?” I asked without much interest.

“Do you know what this place cost me?” he said with a laugh. “All the realtor could talk about was the climate and the view. Well, the climate may be lacking from time to time, but the view is positively spectacular.”

“How much longer must we stay here?”

“Leonardo, there are people who would give their eyeteeth to have a mountain chalet on Graustark. Just relax and enjoy yourself.”

“Have you heard from your lawyers yet?” I asked.

“They've still got another government official or two to enrich,” he explained. “Everything's coming along beautifully. Another day or two, three at the most, and we can go back to Charlemagne.”

“I do not want to go back to Charlemagne.”

“Then you can stay here.”

“It has been nine days since we left Acheron. I must go back to work.”

“We diverted to Graustark because Tai Chong told you to relax for a few days.”

“I thought it was because you are hiding from the authorities,” I said.

“That is another reason,” he agreed wryly. “Still, as long as you're here, why not try to get into the spirit of it?”

“Must we go through all this again?” I asked wearily.

“No, of course not,” he said. “But I know you've been feeling morose since you heard from your mother... ”

“My Pattern Mother,” I corrected him.

He shrugged. “Whatever. Why not take a walk with me before it starts snowing again? It's glorious outside!”

“I am more affected by extremes of temperature than you.”

“Then dress warmly.”

“The paths are narrow and winding, and I would fall.”

“All right,” he said, staring at me. “I have another suggestion.”

“What is it?”

“Why don't you just sit here feeling sorry for yourself?”

“You simply do not understand the enormity of what has happened,” I said.

“Your mother's mad at you,” he replied. “So what? She'll get over it. Tai Chong has squared things with the police, nobody thinks you're a thief or a kidnapper any longer, you're still working for Claiborne, and you're sitting in a chalet at the most exclusive resort on the most exclusive planet in the Quinellus Cluster.”

“I have my work to do.”

“For a zillionaire collector who hates the sight of you,” said Heath with a smile.

“That cannot be helped.”

“Of course it can,” said Heath.

“How?”

“Tell him to go to hell. Be a man!”

“I am not a Man,” I pointed out.

“That doesn't make you any worse than Abercrombie,” said Heath. “You really ought to stand up to him.”

“He is my employer.”

“He's also the most incompetent art collector I've ever heard of,” said Heath. “It took him a quarter of a century to find thirty portraits of the Dark Lady, and you found three in the first month you were working for him.”

“I had special knowledge about two of them,” I replied. “That is why he hired me.”

“But you found the third one,” continued Heath. “And, more to the point, you found the model.”

“Actually, it was you who found her,” I pointed out.

“You, me, what's the difference?” he said. “The main thing is that Abercrombie didn't find her. He never once went looking for her. He never even
thought
of looking for her. He sits alone in his house, surrounded by a fabulous collection that he can't begin to properly appreciate, and lets everyone else do his work for him.” Heath paused. “I can't for the life of me understand why you're so anxious to go back to work for him when you're sitting by a roaring fire atop the most beautiful mountain in the galaxy!”

“Friend Valentine,” I said, slipping into the Dialect of Affinity, for indeed I
felt
affinity toward him, “why don't you simply say what you mean?”

“I don't think I follow you, Friend Leonardo,” he replied, though a certain detached amusement in his eyes assured me that he did.

“You think that if you can convince me that Malcolm Abercrombie is a reprehensible example of his species, and that he has received services from me far beyond what he is paying for, I will describe the more valuable pieces of his collection to you and tell you how best to steal them.”

Heath grinned. “Then you admit that he's
got
valuable pieces in his collection!”