House of Shards

by Walter Jon Williams

  “More style points that way.”

  “He thinks like a conjurer, boss,” said Chalice.

  “I’m moving the globe, sir,” Drexler said. The point of view began to shift as the globe followed the cart, which was rolling, apparently under its own power, out of the room.

  “Leading us right to the Shard,” Chalice said. He gave a barking laugh. “This is great, boss. Almost worth losing ten novae for.”

  “Ten novae?” Fu George asked, distracted.

  Vanessa’s eyes glittered. She put her hands on Fu George’s shoulders. “When will you take Maijstral’s loot, dear?”

  “Ah.” Forgetting the ten novae. “That will depend, lover. We’ll have to see if the room is guarded. It would be best to wait till the place is vacant.”

  “Pity you can’t just turn Maijstral and his friends into stripped electrons.”

  Fu George patted her hand. “Now, now. No style points for violence.”

  Vanessa’s mouth tightened. She touched the semilife patch on her cheek and eye, where Khamiss’s elbow had bruised her. “More’s the pity, Fu George,” she said. “More’s the pity.”

  ———

  As Maijstral, a mere blur in his darksuit, pushed the laundry cart down the corridor, Drexler’s media globe followed cautiously behind. Drexler knew that Maijstral’s darksuit contained detectors that might spot the motion of his globe: he kept his distance, and crept around corners with caution, He had no need to keep close, fortunately; the laundry cart was a large target. Drexler was entirely pleased with him- self.

  He might have been less pleased had he known that he, himself, was being followed.

  Behind Drexler’s globe came another, one that moved cautiously, keeping Drexler’s dark sphere just in sight… following Drexler’s globe, which was following Maijstral, who was moving at all deliberate speed to his hideout.

  The second globe’s operator was very pleased. And happily making plans for the morrow.

  ———

  Dolfuss held open the door of his room as Maijstral pushed the laundry cart inside. As Dolfuss closed the door behind him, Maijstral turned off his holographic camouflage, stripped the darksuit’s hood from his head, and shook out his long hair.

  “Things went well, sir?” Dolfuss inquired.

  “Very well indeed.” Maijstral picked up the sixteen-foot impact diamond—in its harness, it was weightless. He frowned for a moment, then moved toward the closet.

  “Full of art, I’m afraid,” Dolfuss said.

  “Well.” Maijstral set the diamond down. “I suppose it will have to stand in the corner.”

  “Best not take any more bulky loot, sir.”

  Maijstral took off his signature ring, which he wore over his suit gloves, and began to peel off the darksuit. “I intend to take no more loot at all,” he said. “A wise thief quits while he’s ahead.”

  “I’d say you have reason enough to be pleased.” Dolfuss reached for the Eltdown Shard, which had been tossed rather carelessly on the bureau top. The dark stone glowed softly in his hand.

  “Pity I couldn’t have watched you take it,” he said. “But boors—even phony boors—don’t get invited to the more exclusive parties. I spent the evening watching an old vid. Prince of Tyre, by Shaxberd. What a piece of rubbish.”

  “I like much of his other work.” Maijstral cocked an eye at the actor. “The Llyr might suit you. You’re old enough for the part.”

  “Too depressing. Satire’s more my style.”

  “It dates rather more quickly than other sorts of comedy, however.”

  “True, sir. But while it lasts, it has more bite.”

  “I’ve subscribed to Aristide’s translations. Comedy of Errors is the next.”

  “Farce. Even worse. It’s so low.”

  “Taking the last few days into account, it does seem more true to life.”

  “Precisely my point, sir. If you take my meaning.”

  Maijstral reached for his dressing gown. “Literary debates later, I think. For now, I want only bath and bed.”

  “I’ll get out of your way, then,” said Dolfuss.

  “Would you mind taking the cart with you, Mr. Dolfuss? Just leave it somewhere.”

  “As you like, sir.” But he hesitated, frowning at the Shard in his hand. “Do you think, Mr. Maijstral, that the Shard is worth all the fuss? All the lives?”

  Maijstral gave a self-satisfied laugh. “It’s not worth my life, at any rate.”

  Dolfuss smiled. “As you say.” He put the stone on the bureau and stepped toward the door. “Have a pleasant night, sir.”

  “I’m sure I will. And you.”

  “Your servant.”

  Dolfuss pushed the cart out of the room. Maijstral told the room lights to grow dimmer, and then told the room to ready his bath. The sound of running water came from the bathroom.

  Maijstral looked at his Grat Dalton costume, now tossed on a chair, and smiled. Even the Dalton Brothers had never pulled off a string of robberies as glorious as this one.

  Like Drexler, like Fu George, like the operator of the second globe, he was very pleased with himself.

  ———

  Elsewhere in the night, unobserved by anyone, magic was happening. Wrapped in dark cloth, discarded in a corner of a room, a pair of objects were transforming themselves. Cold fire ran over their surfaces: burning red, cold violet, electric green… shimmering, iridescent, and wonderful. Silent. Unseen. Entirely unanticipated.

  CHAPTER 9

  Miss Asperson? Kyoko?” Gregor rapped on the door. There was no answer. Must be a sound sleeper, he thought. He reached into his pocket for a touchwire, snapped off the lock, then entered Kyoko’s room. “Kyoko?”

  The room was empty. Six abandoned media globes circled the bed like moons bereft of their primary. The vidset was on.

  The vidset was repeating, over and over, all known biographical data on Mr. Sun, Silverside’s head of security. Gregor watched for a few minutes, learned nothing of any significance, and shrugged and left the room. Kyoko must have been studying for her interview. Poor Mr. Sun, Gregor thought, and grinned. Too bad he’d lost his affections to such an early riser.

  ———

  Sex and death have an unfortunate association in the Khosali mind. Every child of the Empire is brought up on tales of the disgraced Madame Phone and the spectacular suicide of her lover Baron Khale, whose internal organs were, as specified in his will, preserved and set up in a monument as a warning to future generations.

  Studies by curious anthropologists have shown that the Khosali sex drive is at least as strong as the human; yet it remains a fact that adultery among Khosali is fairly rare, and though many Khosali do not marry till late in life, they manage to remain fairly chaste during bachelorhood. Adultery and fornication are often accompanied by elaborate displays of anguish and torment that must, in the words of Mad Julius (a human wit and debauchee), be at least as much fun as the act itself. (After making this remark poor Julius was banned from the City of Seven Bright Rings by an emperor who was himself a bit prickly on the subject of adultery, having been tormented throughout his life by a vain and perfectly chaste devotion to the wife of one of his ministers. Khosali emperors are only rarely known for appreciating jokes they suspect might be aimed at them.)

  Human sexual attitudes and behaviors have continually proven a scandal (and a fascination) to the Khosali, and have contributed unfortunately to the frivolous stereotype with which the Khosali view humanity. If the humans can’t be serious about sex, the Khosali wonder, what can they be serious about?

  The fact remains, however, that only rarely does a human caught in adultery have the decency to slaughter himself in rightful atonement. For a Khosalikh caught in the wrong bed, a last regretful note (to be published afterward), a pistol, and a final cry of long life to the Emperor are often the only proper recourse. Retreating to the cloister, devoting a fortune to charity, or spontaneous enlistment in the Emperor’s service are also popular
. The point is that atonement should be seen to happen. One is not permitted the social luxury of private regret.

  Flouting conventional Khosali taste is the Human Diadem, whose affaires are often broadcast before their audience of billions. That many of these billions consist of fascinated Khosali is, no doubt, a manifestation of Khosali, as well as human, perversity.

  A Khosali in love is often a Khosali in torment, anguished and tortured, with High Custom gazing balefully over one shoulder and the Grim Reaper over the other. This is only decent. One cannot help but contrast the unfortunate behavior of Maijstral, who not only enjoyed himself with another’s spouse but declined to feel sorry afterward; and who, if caught, wouldn’t have slain himself, but would if possible have avoided death altogether (or at least made Kotani do it for him); and who (conclusive evidence of his froward nature) had the unmitigated gall to sleep soundly upon returning to his own room. His conscience should at least have made him thrash the mattress a little.

  No wonder humanity proved ungovernable. One only wonders how they govern themselves.

  ———

  A Cygnus robot scuttled into the hallway, its dignity upset by a kick that almost knocked it off its repellers. “Where is it?” Pearl Woman’s tone mingled rage with incredulity. There were soft thuds as pillows and bedding hit the wall. Advert, her heart thumping, stepped from her dressing room and, with effort, gave Pearl Woman a soothing smile.

  “Perhaps you left it in another room.”

  “I remember very distinctly where I left it.” Pearl Woman’s voice was edged with menace. She limped across the room—booting the robot had re-strained her leg muscle— and reached for one of her matched cutlasses. She drew it and the cutlass sliced air in accompaniment to her thoughts. “I can’t believe Fu George or Maijstral went after it again,” she said. Slice. “That would be so…” Slice. “Redundant.”

  “Perhaps it was a different one, this time. I mean the other one, the one who didn’t take it last time. Possibly he did it to show up the other one. Whichever that was.”

  The Pearl’s trademark was in one of Advert’s inner pock ets. She fancied she could feel it against her skin, a burning weight. Her excitement made her giggle.

  Pearl Woman fixed her with a look. “What’s so funny?”

  Advert laughed again. “I was just thinking. Maybe I could hire the other one to get it back. Like last time.”

  The Pearl snarled. “I’ll do it myself, thank you.” The cutlass whirled over her head, cut air as it diced an imaginary enemy. “I’ll do it my way.” The cutlass flew through the air, sliced an innocent korni bloom above a rare matched Basil vase, and buried its point in the wall.

  “But Pearl.” Advert, to her rising pleasure, was finding this deception easier by the minute. “You can’t leave the room, not without your trademark. Kyoko Asperson might notice it’s gone.”

  A growl came from Pearl Woman’s throat. The other cutlass snicked from the scabbard and flashed through the air like silver lightning. Pearl Woman lunged, then grimaced and clutched her thigh. The muscle had betrayed her again. She flung the cutlass across the room, and another innocent korni bud died. The second vase trembled but did not fall.

  “Very well, Advert,” she growled. “You’re right, I can’t risk it. Just go out and make yourself visible. Perhaps someone will approach you.”

  Advert’s heart leaped. “You’ll get your pearl back,” she said, “if I have anything to say about it.”

  She turned and left the room, her feet so light she felt as if she were dancing.

  ———

  Vanessa Runciter put her feet into her semilife boots and felt them roll up her ankles, calves, and thighs. She bent down, smoothed the dark proughskin with her hands, and asked the Cygnus for her matching jacket.

  “Geoff,” she said, “shall we find breakfast? We haven’t tried Lebaron’s yet.”

  Fu George appeared from the bathroom, still in his dressing gown. Gorged semilife patches surrounded his eyes. “I really don’t feel like appearing in public, Vanessa,” he said. “Let’s have Lebaron’s bring our breakfast here.”

  The robot began lacing Vanessa into her jacket. She reached for her cigaret holder—ebony with a matching proughskin band—and inserted a Silvertip. “If we’re going to steal Maijstral’s treasure trove,” she said, “we shouldn’t do it on an empty stomach.”

  Over the years Fu George had grown used to the gratuitous we. “There’s no hurry. Maijstral won’t be rising early. I doubt he’ll make an appearance before sixteen.”

  Vanessa flicked her proughskin lighter. “Why sixteen, Geoff?”

  “According to the station bulletin, that’s when he’s doing his magic act in the White Room.”

  The light hesitated halfway to the Silvertip. “Ah,” she said.

  “Quite so. His friends won’t miss his performance, so his loot probably won’t be guarded. That’s when we do the job.” He peered at her from between the swollen patches. “I’d like you to be in the lounge for the show. Advance lookout, if you like. I’m sure Maijstral’s laid traps protecting his stash, so I’ll need both Chalice and Drexler.”

  “Sixteen. So that’s when we do the job?”

  Nodding. “That’s when we do it.” That we, it appears, was catching.

  ———

  Drake Maijstral, drowsing, rolled over and bunched the pillow under his head. His hand touched the alarmed box wherein he’d hidden the Eltdown Shard. Still half asleep, he smiled, and fell into a dream in which, a mysterious masked figure in black, he appeared before the Dalton Brothers as they rode into Coffeyville, and warned them away, telling them of a fabulous gem in the next town, ready for the picking.

  ———

  “Miss Asperson. You’re up early.”

  “I’m an early riser, Miss Advert. And I have an interview in a few minutes.” Smiling. “You seem in high spirits. You’re practically skipping down the hall.”

  “I’m on a secret mission.”

  “You don’t say.” The media globes performed a subtle change of position. “May I inquire as to its nature?”

  “I doubt I can trust you with secrets.” Advert’s rings glittered as she wrung her hands in make-believe indecision. “Besides, it’s not my secret. It’s Pearl Woman’s.”

  “Surely it can’t be all that bad.”

  “But it is!” Glee bubbled in Advert like fine champagne. Let everyone think her scatterbrained—she knew better.

  “Pearl Woman had her pearl stolen last night,” Advert said. “She doesn’t dare go out in public without it. I’m supposed to ransom it quietly and get it back before anyone notices.”

  Kyoko gave her a surprised look. “If this is such a secret, Miss Advert, why are you telling me?”

  “Well, really, Kyoko—why should Pearl care? It’s just an earring, after all.”

  Advert was beginning to realize how much fun people like Geoff Fu George and Drake Maijstral must have had, what with their opportunities to masquerade so often as someone they weren’t.

  “It’s her Diadem trademark,” Kyoko said. “She’s never seen without it.”

  “I‘ve seen her without it. Most of her friends have, I imagine. I think it’s silly to invest so much meaning in a little trinket, don’t you? Just because the public expects it?” She smiled. “That sort of thing can become a trap, can’t it?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “A trap,” Advert repeated happily. A trap into which she’d just dropped Pearl Woman, and serve her right.

  “One shouldn’t become so dependent on the material aspect of existence,” Advert said. “That’s what Pearl Woman’s always told me.”

  “Thanks for the chat, Miss Advert. I wish you luck on your mission.”

  “Thanks, Kyoko. I’m sure it’ll go all right.” Right as Robbler, she thought, and went skipping toward the White Room, wondering in whom else to confide.

  ———

  Paavo Kuusinen had risen early. He hadn’t slept m
uch, as his mind, like a tongue unable to leave off prodding the site of a missing tooth, had been unable to cease working on a problem. He ate breakfast in his room and then set off on a private quest of his own. When last observed, he thought, she’d gone this way.

  It took him some time, but he knew approximately what he was looking for, and with persistence he found it. A hammock, a cache, a disabled alarm.

  Good, he thought as he stepped toward his quarters. Now maybe he could stop worrying about it.

  ———

  Mr. Sun had neither eaten nor slept. He felt completely numb: he had been unable to summon the energy even to leave his control room, the azure, murmuring scene of his martyrdom. Transfixed by the awesome spectacle of his own downfall, he was unable even to rouse himself to Kyoko Asperson’s first knock. He opened his door to her second rap.

  “Mr. Sun. I hope you are well this morning.” There was a brilliant smile on Kyoko Asperson’s round face. Sun couldn’t stop staring at it. She looked, he thought, like a daffle gazing at a prough, preparing herself to spring and rend it limb from limb. He couldn’t remember having seen a more sinister expression in his life.

  “Miss Asperson. Please come in.”

  He retreated deeper into his whispering blue heaven. Silver globes pursued him, diving gaily into the room’s corners, swooping irreverently over the console like a flock of frivolous birds. Kyoko, her horrible smile still brightening her features, stepped into the control room and perched on the edge of the console.

  The room was very quiet. Sun had disconnected the alarms: nothing would interrupt this inquisition.

  He had been judged and found wanting.

  His time of atonement was nigh.

  ———

  Diamond studs winked at collar and jacket front. “I hope you can amuse yourself while I nail down my agreement with the Baron.”

  “I expect I’ll visit the White Room and watch Maijstral’s performance.”

  A sniff. “Trickery and illusion. One can do anything with holograms these days.” Kotani’s ears went back. “Still, dearest, one may attend such an event simply to be seen.”