The Far Side of The Stars

by David Drake

  In actual money there probably wasn't the equivalent of ten Cinnabar florins as far as Daniel could see up and down this street, but the impression he got of the district was simplicity rather than poverty. The women's clothing was a mix of colors tending toward reds and yellows, and the houses were painted bright pastels even though much of the paint had flaked away.

  The street was wide, but pedestrians were the only other traffic. Once the car passed a pair of men trudging along with the carcase of a pig slung between them, but for the most part Daniel saw women with bundles or wicker baskets on their heads. Occasionally they stopped and looked at the vehicle in blank-faced wonder.

  Adele leaned close and said, "There's canals at the back of the houses. They carry the commercial traffic; and act as sewers, I gather."

  Daniel nodded in understanding.

  They were coming to the dwellings of the wealthy, though as they approached Daniel thought what he saw ahead was the industrial district. The three- and four-story houses were built of concrete, but their window gratings were iron worked into patterns of remarkable art and delicacy despite the smears of rust on the walls beneath them. Here drainage ditches bordered the road on both sides. Some of the houses had culverts to their substantial front gates, but many used instead drawbridges—which they kept raised.

  Bunting draped the facade of a building a quarter mile in the distance. The gates were open and servants stood in the street waving flags. Daniel increased the magnification of the goggles he wore with his 2nd Class uniform. "Good God, that's a Cinnabar sandal!" he said.

  "The Novy Sverdlovsk flag is a red eagle on a black and white ground!" Adele said into his ear. "Is that . . . ?"

  "Yes, by God, it bloody well is!" Daniel said, focusing on one of the flags alternating with those of Cinnabar. "Good heavens, they didn't have long to run them up, did they?"

  The tires slowed from a thrum back to a flop-flop-flop. The driver turned hard—the horizontally-mounted steering wheel didn't have power assist, Daniel noticed—and drove through the arched gateway into a courtyard almost filled by the dozen or more similar vehicles which were already parked there.

  A priest in black robes and a score of other people in glittering finery—the headdress of some of the women was remarkable—looked down from second-story balconies. In contrast to the animated servants, these folk were working very hard to impersonate statues.

  The car stopped and the diesel rang silent. Adele leaned close to Daniel as they got out, murmuring, "The Pansuelas invited all the other landowners in Lusa City when they learned we were arriving. There'll be additional guests from neighboring islands later in the evening."

  A couple accompanied by footmen walked down the spreading stone staircase from the wing opposite the entrance. The man was a tall, distinguished sixty-year-old; the woman was somewhat younger and her bosom could almost be described as overdone. She embraced Count Klimov while the man took Valentina's hand and held it as he said, "I am Enrique Pansuela; this is my wife Flora. We are honored, deeply honored, to have guests of your obvious nobility!"

  The locals on the balconies broke their stasis and waved: the men handkerchiefs, the women ribbons or lengths of lace. Though they didn't raise their own voices, the servants standing behind them cheered loudly.

  Flora released the Count and threw herself into Daniel's arms. "Master Leary of Bantry?" she said, raising her lips for what was certainly not intended to be a peck on the cheek.

  "Madame Pansuela," Daniel said, keeping his own face lifted toward the women waiting on the balcony—some very nice ones there, yes. He patted the lady's shoulder-blade with a masculine firmness. "Honored to meet you, Madame, and your esteemed husband."

  By making a quarter turn to the right, then quickly reversing his motion, Daniel detached himself. He extended his right hand to Enrique, effectively preventing Flora from gripping him again. From the corner of his eye he saw her return her attention to Count Klimov with a moue of frustration.

  A striped creature the size of a cat humped halfway across the courtyard, then stopped to raise and lower its front half repeatedly in quick succession. It had either no legs or very short ones; a pair of tiny, bright eyes framed its prehensile nose.

  "Very good of you to grant us your hospitality," Daniel said as he pumped his host's hand with verve, trying to mask the fact of Madame Pansuela's obvious play for him. Though he didn't imagine it was a new experience to her husband.

  Bloody Hell, perfumed powder from the lady's bosom was smudged across the front of his Dress Grays. He'd be lucky if he didn't sneeze!

  "Ours is the honor, Captain," Pansuela said. His speech had a slight glaze and he moved with the stiff formality of a drunk. Daniel couldn't smell alcohol on his breath, but the old man was either ill or on some drug. "Will you and your fellow Patrons accompany me? I wish to introduce you to our friends before dinner and to show you Pansuela House."

  "Yes, I'd like to meet your friends," said Valentina, eyeing her husband with mild distaste. "Some of them, anyway."

  She offered Pansuela her arm imperiously. He took it, bowed, and started up the broad stairs with her at his side.

  Adele set her hand firmly on Daniel's biceps, providing both of them with cover. That probably wasn't necessary, because Flora had welded herself to Klimov; the Count seemed pleased with the attention. The priest watched them from the landing with eyes like chips of obsidian.

  As Daniel and Adele followed the other couples to the second floor, he caught a glimpse of the striped animal. It resumed hopping toward the far wall. Following it now were a half dozen similar creatures of half the size, making cheerful little squeals.

  A good omen, Daniel decided; but from the hard line of Adele's lips as she watched Flora Pansuela, he decided not to whisper the thought to her.

  CHAPTER 15

  "Do have a bite of this breast, Captain Leary," said Estrella, the strawberry blonde on Daniel's left, offering him a tidbit of chicken between her thumb and index finger. She giggled and with her other hand plucked the deep-scooped neck of her blouse momentarily below her nipples. "Wouldn't you like that?"

  "I think Dannie prefers dark meat," said Margolla, the brunette on his other side as she leaned against his arm. Her top covered her from chin to wrists, but the fabric was translucent even in dim light and so thin he felt not only her warmth but her heartbeat. "Do you like dark meat, Dannie?"

  "At the moment . . . ," said Daniel with a catch in his throat. "I think I'll have some more of this excellent wine."

  He emptied his glass and looked around for a waiter. Two servants converged on him, each carrying a ewer. They jostled for a moment, then one poked the other in the ribs with his free hand.

  "Boys!" Daniel snapped. He pointed his finger at the servant who'd jabbed the other and said, "Stand back!" When the servant obeyed, bowing and scraping with his free hand, Daniel offered his glass to the other fellow to fill.

  Daniel saw Adele reach into her jacket pocket when he raised his voice. She alone of the forty-odd diners appeared to have noticed anything. She sat at the end of the table on Enrique Pansuela's right; he'd been lecturing her about the curio cabinets covering the walls to the mezzanine walkway.

  "Oh, you're so masterful," Estrella murmured, absently swallowing the bit of chicken she'd been holding. "I wish we had men like you in Lusa City, don't you, Margolla?"

  The women were young, pretty, and obviously willing—all the traits Daniel looked for in his off-duty socializing; but they were also forward enough to make him a trifle uncomfortable in a setting whose rules weren't necessarily as clear as they seemed. He'd done enough snaring in his youth on Bantry to worry that the open path before him might end in a demand for marriage or huge damages to a suddenly-aggrieved father.

  Come to think, he wasn't even sure the girls were daughters rather than wives with God knew what sort of complications. The way Flora was crawling over Count Klimov at the far end of the table showed that was a possibility.


  The hall filled the second and third stories of a whole wing; even with scores of guests and seemingly twice that number of servants, it was a hollow cavern. Now that night had fallen, chandeliers hanging from coffers between the darkened skylights were the only illumination.

  The curio cabinets along the walls weren't separately lighted, but as a result the few items that reflected the glow from above stood out like stars on a moonless night. Daniel was in a reverie that was part wine, part the warm pressure of the girls to either side, and part concern about that pressure. It took him almost a minute to understand the image he'd seen gleaming on a shelf behind him when he separated the squabbling waiters.

  He set his refilled glass down untasted. "Excuse me, my dears," he said, sliding his chair back so quickly that the girls might well have toppled sideways together had he not kept a guiding hand on the nearer shoulder of each.

  Daniel stepped to the cabinet; as before only Adele paid any attention to him, though in this case there was the excuse that the others probably thought he'd risen to go to the jakes. He took the object out of its niche beside a goblet of tarred earthenware, seemingly ancient, and a sheet of native copper covered mostly with black sulfate corrosion. It was a military belt buckle. That was common enough, but judging from its weight and lack of tarnish this one was made of platinum.

  A golden eagle stood out in high relief from an incised shield whose lower portion was crosshatched to indicate a separate color. Daniel turned and found that Adele and their host were already coming around the long table toward them. He was surprised, but he knew Adele well enough that he shouldn't have been.

  Pansuela getting up did create some interest; half the diners began craning their necks to see what was happening. Count Klimov was too far into his wine to care, but the Klimovna was looking. Daniel caught her eye and hooked a finger toward her. She shook off the hand of the local gallant—from his features very possibly Margolla's brother—and got up to join Enrique and Adele before they reached Daniel.

  "Master Pansuela," Daniel said, holding out the belt buckle, "this appears to me to be a representation in metal of the Novy Sverdlovsk flag. I was wondering how it came to be here?"

  "May I?" said Valentina; the form of her words was polite, but she snatched the buckle from Daniel with the ravenous enthusiasm of a predatory fish taking chum. "Yes!"

  She turned, folding the buckle in her palm. "Georgi! Come here! The Captain has found the buckle from John Tsetzes' regalia!"

  "What?" said Pansuela. He reached for the buckle, but Valentina obviously wasn't in a mood for anybody else to touch it at the moment. He shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't have any idea, Leary. One of my uncles catalogued this, but that was . . ."

  He waved a hand, indicating a past lost in the mists of time.

  "And anyway," he added, "we all thought he was likely to start chirping with the birds, you see. Not quite right in the head."

  "John Tsetzes left Novy Sverdlovsk sixty-one standard years ago," Adele said. Her voice was calm but she wore a tense expression—possibly because she couldn't use her personal data unit unless she sat down and set it on her lap. At the moment sitting on the floor meant she'd be stepped on. "The chances are that were he to have arrived here, it would've been within six months of that time. Is that helpful?"

  "Who knows?" Pansuela said. "I suppose you could check the guest book. You noble patrons haven't signed the book yourselves yet, have you? Or did you? I forget things sometimes."

  "Where would the guest book be, if you please?" said Adele more sharply than perhaps she intended. One didn't want to get between Adele and information, though. "I'd like to look at it now."

  The Count and Flora Pansuela struggled through what was by now a gathering crowd. Given the limited amount of light, it was rather like being in a forest after sunset. Hogg stood nearby—he'd been against the wall behind Daniel's chair during dinner. Daniel didn't see Tovera, but then one generally didn't see Tovera. He had no doubt Adele's pale reptile was wherever she felt she could best safeguard her mistress.

  "Georgi, you see?" Valentina said, holding the buckle toward her husband in her cupped hands. She turned to Daniel and said, "Tsetzes always appeared in public in a white uniform with appointments of platinum picked out with gold: the braid, the buttons, and this buckle of course. He even had a pistol of platinum, they say."

  "And the Earth Diamond," the Count said. He caressed the buckle with his fingertips but didn't try to take it from his wife's hands. To his host he went on, "Master Pansuela, have you perhaps in this potpourri—"

  A sweep of his left arm indicated the egg-crate shelving which held the curio collection on this side of the room.

  "—a diamond the size of a child's head, etched with the continents of Old Earth? Because if you do, my wife and I can offer you. . . ."

  Pansuela shrugged. "I really don't know," he said. "I've never seen such a thing. But the last person to take an interest in the cabinet was Uncle Manuel, as I said."

  "Did your uncle leave a written catalogue?" Adele said. She and the Klimovna sounded like a pair of hounds on a very fresh scent. "Or perhaps electronic files? Either would do."

  "I suppose he must have," Pansuela agreed, wrinkling his brow. "He had a study off the mezzanine." He nodded toward the railed walk midway to the hall's coffered ceiling. "I'll show it to you, but you'd know better than I what sort of thing you're looking for."

  He turned to the Klimovs. "And you're welcome to search the collection itself if you like," he went on. "But a diamond so large, I'd expect to have heard about it. Though perhaps not."

  "You will not be looking at dusty shelves tonight, Georgi," said Flora Pansuela, pressing her ample form so firmly into the Count that he shuffled sideways to avoid being knocked over. "We have other business."

  "Not tonight, Lady Pansuela," said the priest who'd been glowering from the moment Daniel first saw him. "You and I will spend tonight in our devotions."

  "No, Rosario, not tonight," said Flora with an unmistakable edge in her voice. "Perhaps next week—"

  "No!" said the priest. He tried to force his way between Klimov and Lady Pansuela, but he was so short that the wide brim of the hat he wore even at dinner brushed the Count's chin. "I will not permit you to risk your immortal soul by putting off your devotions!"

  "Rosario!" said Flora. "You are my chaplain, not my jailer. If you forget that once more, I'll have the boys put you out the door—and if I do, you'll not be allowed back, I warn you!"

  "Father Rosario," Enrique Pansuela said, putting a hand on the priest's shoulder. "Come upstairs with me and Lady Mundy to find Uncle Manuel's papers. Afterwards you and I can have a nightcap and get some sleep. It won't seem so important in the morning, I'm sure."

  "Faugh, you complaisant lump!" the priest shouted. He glared at the Klimovna, adding, "And you're no better!"

  "Rosario, these are our guests!" Pansuela said. The priest shoved his way out of the assemblage and tramped toward the doorway at the end of the hall.

  Daniel let his breath out slowly. He'd been in enough situations of the sort himself to realize that you couldn't be sure just where they were going to go in the next few seconds.

  Enrique Pansuela turned to Adele with a sad smile. "Lady Mundy," he said, "have you had your fill of dinner? Because I can show you Uncle Manuel's study whenever you like."

  "I've eaten all I need to, Master Pansuela," she said. "I'd like to see the records as soon as is convenient."

  Daniel felt friendly warmth against his left arm. "And you, Dannie?" a voice murmured. "Would you like to go somewhere too?"

  "I would indeed," Daniel agreed. As he settled his arm around Margolla's waist, it struck him that he and Adele both in their different ways were finding Tegeli an unexpectedly pleasant landfall.

  * * *

  The guest book lay open on the folding table servants had brought into the room at Adele's direction. Uncle Manuel's desk of boldly-carved wood was here also, but his study—and for how m
any generations would it be known by that name?—had become a place to dump whatever the Pansuelas decided they didn't need but weren't ready to discard.

  Boxes and odd lots—a set of curtains, rotted halfway to the rod on which they were rolled; a holographic entertainment deck, certainly ancient and probably non-functional—stood along one side of the hallway, the overburden removed to get down to the layers of Uncle Manuel's occupancy. Stolid servants waited just outside the door to execute Adele's next direction.

  She smiled faintly as she twisted off the top of a canister which rattled hopefully. This is really more a task for an archeologist than a librarian, she thought, but she wasn't about to complain. Not only was this a job well within her capacity, it gave her a familiar warm feeling to unearth information that almost no one else could have dragged from the tangles where it hid.

  The canister contained commercially-loaded holochips. According to the legends printed on their sides they were cookbooks. The chips were of a non-standard variety. Adele could probably manage to read them with her data unit, but she didn't bother. Even if they were something other than they claimed to be—a collection of pornography, for example—they weren't going to bring her closer to John Tsetzes.

  She closed the can and set it in the box of discards beside her. It was full enough, so she called, "Boy!" and went on to the next item.

  This was a diary, handwritten by a woman with a penchant for purple ink, though she'd used a number of other colors. Adele skimmed the contents: an empty chronicle of an empty life, very like most other lives. It was from twenty or so years ago, far too recent for the period she was researching, so she set it into the empty box with which a servant had replaced the one he'd carried into the hall.