by Timothy Zahn
When it finally happened, it came almost as an anticlimax. One minute the net was empty, the curtain material fluttering in the wind flowing across the city. The next minute there was a muffled thud, and a priceless art object lay within Tavia’s reach, bobbing gently in the breeze.
Three minutes later, with the curtains and rods back in place and the window alarm reset, she walked back through the door and the relative safety of the hallway, the Tchine concealed inside her stack of towels. On one level, she always expected Bink’s plans to work. On another level, she was always terrified they would fail.
So far, this one seemed to be working.
So far.
Bink gave her sister five minutes to complete her part of the operation, then another three just to be sure. Then, putting three final pieces into the ridiculous-looking device she’d been building, she called for the guard.
“I’m ready to go,” she said, stuffing everything back into her bag. “Master Chumu said I should meet him downstairs.”
“All right,” the guard said, stepping forward and taking a quick look into her pouch. Apparently satisfied that she hadn’t somehow teleported the fancy tableware out of the dining room cabinet, he escorted her to the turbolift and gestured her in.
Twice on the trip down she almost called Tavia to see if everything had gone according to the plan. Both times she left her comlink in her belt.
Tavia was good at this, far better than Tavia herself realized. Besides, if you couldn’t trust your own sister to come through for you, who could you trust?
Lando took his time examining the Tchine certificate Chumu had brought down from the penthouse. The other players were equally thorough. By the time they finished, nearly fifteen minutes had passed, and Chumu was clearly starting to sweat.
“Satisfied?” Jydor asked as the last player handed back the datapad.
“Absolutely,” Phramp said, apparently having decided that he was authorized to speak for the entire table. “Thank you, Master Jydor.”
Jydor looked at Zerba. “Satisfied?” he repeated.
“I suppose,” Zerba muttered.
“Then I suggest we continue with the game,” Jydor said, settling back in his chair and handing the datapad to Chumu. “Take it back upstairs,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Chumu said. Tucking the datapad under his arm, he climbed down from the double platform, eased between the guards, and headed across the ballroom.
Lando watched him go, then turned back to the table. Bink had said ten minutes should be enough, and he and Zerba had given her fifteen. They should be good to go.
Mensant finished his fresh shuffle and began dealing the cards. Smoothing out his mustache, Lando prepared his mind for the game.
Tavia had expected Chumu to spot her in the restaurant on his way out of the ballroom. But he apparently wasn’t expecting things to have moved this quickly and bypassed the restaurant in favor of heading straight to the private turbolift. Tavia thought about chasing him down, decided it wasn’t something Michelle the professional art forger would do, and remained seated at her table. Sipping the nonalcoholic drink she’d ordered, she nurtured her patience.
Three minutes later he was back. This time he spotted her and hurried over.
“There you are,” he growled as he dropped into the seat across from her. “What are you doing here?”
“My job,” Tavia said, trying for the sardonic-edged professional tone that Bink had said she’d used on the man earlier. “What kept you?”
“What kept—” He broke off, glaring a little harder. “How long have you been down here?”
“Almost as long as you have,” Tavia told him.
Which wasn’t quite true, of course. In actual fact, she’d arrived at the table barely a minute before he’d left the ballroom, after her quick exchange of clothing and equipment with Bink in the ladies’ refresher. “You need to pay better attention to your surroundings,” she added.
“Don’t be cute,” he bit out. “How are you planning to do this?”
“No planning needed,” Tavia said. “It’s done.”
He seemed taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I took the readings.” Tavia gestured toward the ballroom. “You were right. It’s a copy.”
“Wait a minute,” he growled. “How could you have taken the readings? I didn’t see you in there.”
“You weren’t supposed to,” Tavia said, adding some strained patience to her voice. That one was easy—it was a tone she used with Bink a lot. “Did you hear what I just said? Master Jydor’s Tchine is a copy.”
Chumu’s face stiffened, then seemed to close in on itself as the words finally penetrated. His eyes shifted to her equipment bag, resting on the chair beside her, then to the ballroom entrance, then back to her face. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” Tavia said. “It’s a very good copy, actually. The artist used the same techniques and materials I do.”
Chumu swallowed visibly. “No way to tell who that artist is, I suppose?”
“Not without a closer look.” Tavia wiggled her fingers. “You have my ten thousand?”
Chumu looked back into the ballroom. “Yes, of course,” he said, pulling a credit tab from his pocket and sliding it across the table to her. “You said you made a similar copy for Lady Vanq?”
“I did,” Tavia said sourly. “Though if I don’t get paid soon I’ll be taking it back.”
“Assuming you can even find it.”
“Oh, it’s probably in her vault with the real one,” Tavia said, peering at the credit tab. Ten thousand as agreed, nonencrypted, ready for her to simply take somewhere and deposit or cash. “She was talking about taking it to Devaron with her, and according to the spaceport records her ship’s still here,” she continued, tucking the credit tab into a pocket. “So what are you going to do about your little tournament problem?”
“That’ll be up to Master Jydor,” Chumu murmured, his mind clearly elsewhere. “I’ll let him know and we’ll go from there. Thank you for your assistance. I’ll be in touch.”
Tavia frowned. “About …”
“About making copies of some of Master Jydor’s other artwork.”
Tavia felt her stomach tighten. With the end of her masquerade in sight, she’d briefly forgotten that that had been Bink’s entry vector into this whole thing.
Luckily, Chumu seemed too preoccupied to notice her slip. “Of course,” she said, standing up and looping the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Good luck.”
She headed across the restaurant, her shoulder blades itching with the vivid image of a blaster bolt flashing across the open space and burning between them.
But the shot didn’t come. Chumu had apparently bought the story. Now if only he would react the way Bink and Lando hoped.
From that last lingering look he’d sent toward the ballroom, Tavia rather thought he would.
It was late evening when Jydor finally called for a dinner break.
It had been a good few hours, Lando decided as he eased himself out of his chair, wincing as unused muscles were suddenly recalled to duty. Mensant was still ahead of the pack, but his once commanding lead had been whittled down to nearly nothing. The other players had noticed and were brimming with fresh confidence as they realized it was once again a wide-open game.
Phramp, unsurprisingly, was fit to be tied.
So, apparently, was Chumu, though for entirely different reasons. As Lando and the other players and spectators filed out of the ballroom, he caught a glimpse of the business manager pushing his way upstream against the crowd, making for the platform where Jydor was still sitting, studying something on his datapad.
Pulling out his comlink, Lando keyed for Zerba.
“Yeah, I saw him,” the Balosar said after Lando gave him the news. “He’s worried, all right.”
“The question is whether he’s worried enough,” Lando said. “You want to watch him, or should I?”
“No need
,” Tavia’s voice cut in. “I’ve got electrobinoculars and a clear view. You two go get some food. I’ll let you know what happens.”
Tavia’s first report came as Lando was ordering a light meal: Chumu was telling Jydor of rumors that a professional armed robbery team was in the city, and that he was concerned the Tchine might be their target. Jydor seemed unimpressed, but Chumu was pressing his point and urging that the figurine be returned to the safety of the penthouse display room.
Jydor didn’t seem inclined to bow to pressure, especially not pressure from a gang of robbers. But Chumu kept at him, and as Jydor headed to his private dining room for his own meal he finally gave in. As Jydor disappeared into the dining room, Chumu collected the Tchine and the guards, and they marched together out of the ballroom and into the turbolift.
Tavia’s second report, midway through Lando’s meal, was that the guard Rovi had emerged alone from the turbolift, a carrybag looped securely over his shoulder, and was heading for the exit.
“Better warn Bink that company’s on the way,” Lando said, though he doubted Tavia needed any such nudging.
She didn’t. “Already done,” she said. “By the time the game resumes, it should all be over.”
Lando made a face as he put away his comlink. Their part of it would be over, certainly. But his wouldn’t.
Though it could be. Things were far enough along that even if he left right now Chumu’s grand scheme would still lie in ruins. Jydor would be in the clear; and while Chumu might not get all the punishment he deserved, Lando had long ago recognized that it wasn’t a perfect universe.
He scowled. On the other hand, if he bailed Bink wouldn’t be pleased. And Bink not pleased wasn’t something he was ready to face right now. Probably not ever.
With a sigh, he turned back to his meal. Not exactly what he’d signed up for when he first arrived on Danteel. But he’d come this far. He might as well see it through.
Tavia, Bink knew, hated the rare situations where she had to impersonate her ghost-thief sister. But even hating it, she still did a good job of it.
Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said in reverse.
“You finished?” Tavia’s anxious voice came over Bink’s comlink clip.
“Almost,” Bink growled, glaring at her datapad and Tavia’s supposedly simple, step-by-step instructions on how to break into the encryption. Step-by-step, maybe. Simple, absolutely not.
“You mean you aren’t? Come on, Bink—he’ll be there any minute.”
“Then shut up and let me work,” Bink shot back, irritably swiping at a lock of hair that had fallen down in front of her eyes. She could do this. She had to do this.
And then, from somewhere outside, she heard the unmistakable sound of a closing door.
“He’s here,” she whispered urgently. “I’ll call you back.” She keyed off the comlink clip and looked quickly around the bedroom. Even with half a dozen chairs and wide lounge tables scattered around, there was really only one place she could reasonably hope to hide.
She was under the bed, as far back as she could get, when the door opened and someone stepped into the darkened room. From what she could see of his boots, it was almost certainly Rovi.
Bink held her breath, wondering if he would take a moment to clear the room before he got down to business. Most thieves made that a habit, and she suspected thieves who also dabbled in murder would be even more likely to do so. She had a small hold-out blaster, but it was buried beneath her in a belly holster. If he decided to look under the bed, she was finished.
But for once he missed a bet. Closing the door, he headed directly across the room to Lady Vanq’s safe. Bink heard the faint sound of clicking code bars, and with a soft thud the door unlocked. The heavy panel swung open, and Rovi disappeared inside.
Keeping one eye on the door, Bink keyed her datapad again. With cracks starting to show at the edges of Chumu’s plan, she had little doubt that Rovi’s orders were to dissolve the computer patch as soon as he’d replaced the supposedly fake Tchine with the real one and was safely out of the house. Bink had until then to break in and change the text of the murder note. She finished the last two steps in Tavia’s instructions …
And with gratifying and about-time speed, she was in.
She’d hidden the Tchine she’d gotten from Jydor’s display room just well enough to make it plausible that Rovi could have missed it on his first pass through the safe after the murder. Barely a minute later he’d done the switch and emerged from the safe, closing it behind him and retracing his steps across the room.
But that minute had been all Bink needed. She’d altered the text, put the encryption back in place, and extricated herself from the house computer system.
She waited thirty seconds after Rovi closed the bedroom door behind him. Then, slipping out from beneath the bed, she hurried to the window and the harness tucked out of sight there. Rovi would be returning to the High Card, no doubt wanting to be present when the police swooped in on his soon-to-be-former boss.
Bink had no intention of letting the show start without her.
The hand had just been dealt when Lando spotted Chumu making his way through the crowd of observers to the base of the platform. Apparently all was set, and he’d come to watch firsthand the culmination of his plan.
Lando looked at his cards. It wasn’t a bad hand, but it certainly wasn’t a great one. Even with the shifting-card system that was part of sabacc, it wasn’t likely to get much better.
He set down his cards and took a deep breath. This was going to hurt. “All in,” he announced, pushing his small stack of chips into the center of the table.
The other players looked at him, their expressions ranging from disbelief to contempt to suspicion.
Lando agreed pretty much with all of them, especially the contemptuous ones. Unfortunately, he needed to be away from the table when the police arrived, and this was the fastest way to make that happen.
The bidding began, with some fresh spirit infusing the proceedings as the others saw a chance of eliminating one of their number. A few minutes later, after equally spirited play, the hand came to an end.
To no one’s surprise, Lando lost.
He stood up, offered the traditional gracious thanks to the other players and to their host, then headed down the steps to the floor below. Choosing a seat where he was in Chumu’s line of sight, he sat down and waited.
The wait wasn’t long. Phramp had dealt the next hand and the bidding was under way when a sudden surprised murmur rippled across the floor from the ballroom entrance. Lando craned his neck to look just as half a dozen men and women in the uniforms of Danteel City Police strode into the room and headed toward the double platform.
Lando looked at Jydor. The man was still just sitting there, his face unreadable as he watched the officers’ approach. The players, concentrating on the game, seemed largely oblivious.
“Good evening, Lieutenant Stenberk,” Jydor called courteously as the group reached the platform and came to a stop outside the lower guard ring. “May I ask what brings you to the High Card at this hour?”
“I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news, Master Jydor,” Stenberk said. His tone was also courteous, but it had a grimly official edge beneath it. “I suggest we continue our conversation in your office.”
“What kind of unpleasant news is it?” Phramp asked before Jydor could reply. The players had finally become aware of the looming drama, their cards forgotten in their hands as they stared at the police. “Is it something that might affect the tournament? If so, we deserve to know what it is.”
“I’m sure it has nothing to do with any of you,” Chumu soothed.
“How can you possibly know that?” Phramp retorted scornfully. “No, on behalf of all of us players, I formally request that this be handled out in the open where we can hear what’s going on.”
“Master Phramp—” Chumu began.
“In fact, I’ll go farther,” Phramp cut in. “Having
paid ten million credits for a seat at this table, I insist that what Lieutenant Stenberk has to say be said right here and now.”
Chumu looked up at Jydor and held his hands out helplessly, as if the whole scene hadn’t been carefully scripted between him and Phramp. “Master Jydor?” he asked.
“I have nothing to hide,” Jydor said, his voice steady but his eyes narrowed. “You may proceed, Lieutenant.”
“As you wish,” Stenberk said. “I regret to inform you, sir, that Lady Carisica Vanq has been found dead in her home.”
Jydor sat up a bit straighter. “She’s dead? How?”
Lando shifted his attention to Chumu. There was just the hint of a satisfied smile playing at the corners of the manager’s lips.
“It was suicide, sir,” Stenberk said. “She shot herself with a blaster.”
The smile on Chumu’s face vanished. “Suicide?” he gasped. “But … how do you know?”
“She left a note,” Stenberk said, turning to face him. “More precisely, she had it transmitted to us.”
“There was a—” Chumu clamped his mouth shut. “I mean …”
“The reason we’re here, sir,” Stenberk continued, looking back up at Jydor, “is that Lady Vanq also possessed a Tchine statue like yours. Under the circumstances—I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course,” Jydor said. “I’ll have Master Chumu get my certificate of purchase and authenticity.”
“That would be very helpful, sir,” Stenberk said. “We’ll also want—a moment, please,” he interrupted himself, pulling out his comlink. “Stenberk.”
There was a moment of silence as he listened. “Understood,” he said. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
He put the comlink away. “It turns out the certificate won’t be necessary after all,” he told Jydor. “We’ve now been allowed into Lady Vanq’s safe, and her Tchine is there.”
Chumu’s eyes were bulging now, his breath quick and shallow, his face tight with utter bewilderment. “Are you sure it isn’t—” He broke off. “I understand some collectors make copies of their artworks,” he continued, his voice strained, his words obviously being chosen very carefully. “Are you sure the Tchine you found isn’t something like that?”
