Vandergilt’s expression was sour. “Your information suggests that, does it?”
“Alas for justice,” Maijstral said, “it does.”
“The question remains,” Vandergilt said, “of your intent to prosecute. If Major Song is to undergo a trial, of course it would require you to alter your schedule and remain on Earth for an indefinite period, with enormous inconvenience to yourself and your career.” There was a subdued but hopeful glint in her eye as she spoke.
“And there would be such enormous publicity,” Maijstral said.
“Yes.” Leaping at her chance. “Very troublesome for you, I’m sure.”
“And of course much of the publicity would be aimed at exposing the moral bankruptcy of the pro-Human movement, with unforeseen consequence for the Security and Sedition Act, which would legalize forms of discrimination against nonhumans and vastly increase the power of among others, the Special Services Corps, to which you belong.”
Vandergilt’s face was a mask. “I’m sure I couldn’t make those judgments, sir.”
Amusement glowed behind Maijstral’s lazy eyes. “I don’t see why I should be inconvenienced by a trial at all,” he said. “My presence probably won’t even be required, not with Major Song’s confession. And, of course,” smiling thinly, “an abstract consideration for justice requires me to prosecute.”
“As you say, sir.” Stonily.
“Do I have to sign anything?”
“Right here, sir.”
Maijstral signed with a flourish. “Very well, then, General Vandergilt,” he said. “I leave you to your job.”
“Yes, sir.”
Maijstral waved a hand commandingly. “Go forth and arrest the miscreants, officer!”
“Yes, sir.”
Colonel-General Vandergilt marched out, furiously stuffing loose strands of hair back under her cap.
Maijstral, pleased with this little scene, made his way from the northwest drawing room into the southwest drawing room adjacent.
Nichole looked up from the documents she was reading—information concerning the very best place to eat Fleth à la Normandie at Luna City, her next destination.
“Did it go well, Drake?” she asked.
“I believe it did, yes.”
He sat next to her on the sofa. “It is in large part thanks to your researches that everything has gone as well as it has,” he said.
“It was my pleasure. Those people were absolute poison.”
“Indeed they were. And now they’ve not only been thwarted, they’ve been exposed and humiliated.”
She looked at him with her famous blue eyes. “You lead a surprisingly dangerous life, Drake.”
“Perhaps. But at least I’m lucky.” He took her hand. “Most of all, I am lucky in my friends,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I will always be grateful for our friendship.”
She cocked her head and regarded him. “I sense a but somewhere in this stretch of conversation.”
“I regret it, Nichole.”
“So do I.” She blinked and looked thoughtful. “You are the only man ever to turn me down, Drake, do you know that? And now you’ve done it twice.”
“Even with these disappointments factored in, I think your percentage of conquests remains admirably high.”
She gave a smile. “Perhaps so.”
“I hope this won’t stop you from asking at regular intervals. I may yet change my mind.”
“Well.” She disengaged her hand and rose from the sofa. “Perhaps it was a foolish notion, anyway.”
“I trust not, my lady.” He stood, escorted her to the door, sniffed her ears.
“Next time you’re in mortal danger,” Nichole said, “I hope you won’t forget to call.”
“I won’t. Thank you for everything.”
“Give my love to Roman.”
“I will. Thank you again.”
A pang of regret touched his heart as he watched her leave. If only, he considered, there were two of him, or perhaps three, so that he could explore all the choices available to him.
He’d managed to duplicate himself in his magic act, he thought. Pity it had been a trick, and hadn’t lasted.
*
Prince Hunac’s unblinking dark eyes were still a bit unsettling. Maijstral was brought to mind of obsidian knives and bloody altars.
“I called as soon as I heard,” Hunac said.
“That is very good of you.”
Hunac blinked. Finally. “It is my part to apologize, isn’t it? I misinterpreted events.”
“Some highly intelligent people took very good care that you should.”
“It is good of you to say so. Still, I should have seen that there was something wrong.”
“You allowed Her Grace of Benn to persuade you to delay, and that enabled me to deal with the situation. For that delay I should thank you.”
The obsidian knives flashed again in Hunac’s eyes. “It strikes me that those responsible for the situation should be compelled to atone for their crimes. I have sent out emissaries in quest of Major Song and Alice Manderley, who so abused my hospitality.”
Alice Manderley, Kenny Chang, and Drexler had been released as soon as Maijstral and his party returned from Graceland. Maijstral suspected that Alice and Kenny would book passage on the first liner leaving Earth.
Drexler, deprived of funds, would have to steal something in order to make an escape, a task made difficult by the fact that Maijstral had kept all Drexler’s burglar equipment in his own possession. Maijstral was certain that Drexler would never be employed by any high-ranking burglar again, not once his treachery had been thoroughly aired by the media.
“Would you happen to know,” Hunac inquired, “where Miss Manderley might be?”
“If she’s not at home, I’m afraid I have no idea.” Thoughtfully, Maijstral fingered his diamond ring. “I would appreciate it, by the way, if you postponed any encounter with Major Song until after her trial. I would very much like to make certain that her cause is publicly and thoroughly discredited.”
Hunac nodded. “I will take your request under serious consideration.”
“Thank you.”
“My emissaries have had no luck with Mangula Arish—she keeps running away the second they appear.”
Maijstral repressed a smile. “That is unfortunate indeed, Your Highness.”
“Now I learn that she has resigned her post and fled out-system.”
“Perhaps this is a victory in itself.”
“I will have to consider it so—after I give her flight the maximum possible publicity.”
“I hope other journalists will bear it in mind.”
Hunac permitted himself a flintlike smile, “So do I.” The smile warmed a bit. “I hope you will accept my hospitality in the Underwater Palace again. I think I can promise you that you will have a much better time.”
Maijstral nodded. “I will accept, if I can. My plans are a bit uncertain at present.”
“Good-bye, then. Thank you for being so understanding.”
“Farewell. Give my best to the toadfish.”
“I will.”
The Prince’s image faded, leaving Maijstral with an aftertaste of pure satisfaction.
Things had worked out well.
*
“Dad?”
“Drake? Is that you, Drake?”
“Yes, it is.”
Maijstral sat on a chair and signaled to his father’s guards to leave the room.
He wasn’t about to let his father become the hostage of yet another-political lunatic. He had hired a squad of well-armed, well-equipped bodyguards—well, coffinguards—simply to sit in the room with him and keep him safe from any further adventures until ex-Dornier could be shipped back to the family crypt on Nana.
If the guards had to spend their time listening to the corpse’s prattle, at least they were well compensated for their efforts.
“How are you doing, Dad?” Maijstral asked.
“Well,” the late Duke remarked, “I seem to be dead.”
“Yes.” Trying not to smile. “I had noticed. I meant, you’re not suffering any ill effects from your adventure?”
“With Bertie? Oh no. I had a splendid time!”
“Bertie?”
“Oh yes, my old school chum. He had this most elaborate prank worked out. It had to do with, oh, metaphysics and things.”
Maijstral worked for a moment at understanding, then gave up.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he said. “Is there anything you’d like now.”
“A cup of cocoa and a biscuit would be nice.”
Maijstral sighed. “Well,” he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
*
“Nichole sends her love.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“Thank you, sir, no. I am provided with all the necessities.”
Maijstral smiled as he left Roman’s hospital room. Roman, was recovering swiftly. His flesh had lost its alarming scarlet color and was approaching the normal, healthy grey. Black stubble covered his skin, where his fur was growing back. The new age-ring had healed.
Roman’s molt, thank the Twelve Passive Virtues, was over.
It wasn’t the molt that had put Roman in the hospital, however. When he raised Admiral Song’s coffin above his head and flung it down on Milo Hay, Roman had strained his back.
It was the part of a lord, Maijstral thought, to retire to bed when his back pained him. Roman might as well get used to such privileges while he could.
He walked down the hall to Roberta’s room, knocked, and entered. Roberta was propped up in bed, smiling and chatting with Will, the Bubber, who had come to pay a visit.
Roberta had broken some ribs in the fight at Graceland. She had committed herself to the hospital less because her medical condition required it than because the rest of her household, Batty and Paavo Kuusinen, were already inmates, and she thought she might as well make a party of it.
“Hello, Roberta. Hello, Will.”
The Bubber rose from his chair. “Hello, Drake.”
“It’s good to see you, Will.” Maijstral sniffed Roberta’s ears and kissed her cheek.
“How are the ribs?” he asked.
“Well enough.”
“And Mr. Kuusinen?”
“Well, he was knocked unconscious. The doctors want him under observation. But so far no serious damage has surfaced.”
“Very good.”
The Bubber shifted his feet awkwardly. “I should push off. But first—” He smiled. “Drake, would you like to see a card trick?”
“By all means.”
Will’s trick was a complex one, involving a force, a shift, and a back palm. When he produced at length the three of rovers, Maijstral and Roberta both affected amazement and offered congratulations.
“Very well done,” Maijstral said.
“Thank you,” The Bubber beamed. “Is there any room for improvement?”
“Well, your patter could use a little work. And I could see the little finger break from this angle.”
The Bubber’s face fell slightly. “Oh.”
“I’d advise working the trick in a mirror.”
“I will. Thanks.” He looked thoughtful. “You know, Drake, I’d like to ask your advice in another sphere, if I might.”
“Certainly.”
“Joseph Bob is wondering if he should challenge Alice Manderley and Major Song for their part in misleading him.”
Maijstral gave the thought his consideration. “Well, it was Drexler who stole the pistol, not Alice.”
“J.B. wouldn’t challenge a servant.”
“I shouldn’t think so. And Major Song is about to undergo a trial that will discredit her forever, I expect.”
The Bubber nodded soberly. “True.”
“And—just between the two of us—” Maijstral touched the Bubber’s arm and smiled. “Dueling is a perfectly silly custom, don’t you think?”
The Bubber looked surprised. “Uh—if you say so. I suppose it is.” He shuffled his feet. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Good-bye, Drake, and thanks. See you later, Roberta.”
Roberta waved from her bed. “Good-bye, Will.”
The Bubber left. Maijstral sat on Roberta’s bed. “I suspect I have not thanked you enough,” he said. “You kept me out of Hunac’s clutches, and you risked yourself in my behalf yesterday. You’ve performed superbly, and I’m thankful you suffered no more than some cracked ribs.”
Her violet eyes warmed. “I’m glad it’s over.”
“So am I.” He smiled, took her hand. “I’ve had time to think.”
“At last.” Her look turned serious. “And your conclusions?”
“You’ve made the most attractive offer—”
Roberta’s face hardened. “But you’re not going to take it.”
“My life is too unsettled at the moment for me to consider marriage. If you’d made the offer at another time—”
“It can’t wait.” Shortly.
“Or if it were possible for us to spend time together normally, to get to know one another before making any decision—”
She sighed. “I had a feeling this would happen. Ever since our night together.”
Maijstral’s ears cocked forward in surprise. “Beg pardon?”
“Well. That night wasn’t—well—it wasn’t what I’d expected. Perfectly pleasant, you understand, you were very nice, but somehow—I don’t know—the whole experience was somehow lacking.”
Maijstral was surprised. “It was our first night together,” he said. “A certain amount of awkwardness is to be expected in the early stages.”
She waved a hand. “Oh, it wasn’t that. Just—well, I’d been thinking about being with you for years, understand. And it wasn’t what I had anticipated.”
Maijstral felt a touch of annoyance. He could hardly be blamed, he thought, for any failure to live up to Roberta’s lush schoolgirl fantasies.
“Perhaps,” he ventured, “your expectations were a trifle unrealistic.”
“What do you think of Will?”
Maijstral’s eyes lifted. “Sorry?”
“Do you think I should marry Will?”
“Er—”
“If I’m not going to marry you,” tartly, “I’ve got to marry somebody. And I’ve spent a lot of time with Will in the last days, and he seems suitable enough.”
Maijstral gave it thought. “Speaking dynastically, it would be a good match.”
Fire flashed from her violet eyes. “He’s a little green,” she judged, “but I reckon I’ll be able to make a man of him.”
Maijstral found himself thoroughly glad he had not consented to the engagement. The result might be admirable enough in the abstract, he thought, but hard to live with in the long run.
“If I may be permitted to make an observation,” he said, “it would be that men are not made, but make themselves. A partner can make the task easier, but cannot drive a person to it.”
Roberta frowned.
“Will’s problem,” Maijstral added, “insofar as he has one, is that he has nothing to do that his brother, or someone in his circle, has not done before him. If you marry him, you should encourage him to be something other than a consort.”
Roberta seemed a little amused. “You think I should give him a hobby?”
“You are a very well-known racer,” Maijstral pointed out. “And I think you’d be a lesser person without your hobby, no?”
“Hm,” Roberta said, and frowned.
As Maijstral left, he cast his mind back to the night he spent with Roberta, and felt a cold little anxiety gnawing at the back of his mind. She had seemed enthusiastic enough at the time, he thought. He had thought he had behaved rather well.
And then he wondered if the whole comment had been some small attempt at revenge. Very possibly, he thought.
He dropped into Kuusinen�
�s room and found him asleep. He would thank Kuusinen later.
The next room was Aunt Batty’s. He dropped in, spoke generally of his admiration for Roberta, and then mentioned he had decided with regret to decline her offer of marriage.
“Indeed,” Batty said, and her ears flicked forward in disapproval. “This will not improve my standing with the family. Most of them thought Bobbie’s schemes highly unorthodox, and I supported her. When recriminations are handed out, I will receive more than my share.”
“If it is any consolation, I believe she has replaced me already. With Will, the Bubber.”
Batty considered this. “Well,” she said, “she could have done worse.”
“I hope this will not prejudice your biography.”
Batty looked down her muzzle, her face severe. “Some in the family might consider this rejection an insult, though I suppose I should take a more charitable view. I will try to do my historian’s duty and avoid any reflections—on your character, say, or your valor—which may seem to me unwarranted.”
Valor? Maijstral thought, a taste of panic fluttering in his throat.
He really would have to get a look at that manuscript.
*
The last room was that of Conchita. She, like Kuusinen, had been knocked unconscious in the fight, and likewise was being kept for observation. He opened the door, peered inside, and saw Conchita watching a video.
“Hello,” he said, and knocked.
She brightened. “Hi! I was just watching the vid.”
Maijstral looked at the screen and saw people in Stetsons racing across the prairie on horseback. “Are you fond of Westerns?” he said.
“Only too. They’re my favorite.”
Better and better, Maijstral thought;
Conchita smiled and patted the bed beside her. Maijstral closed the door behind him, stretched out next to her, and put an arm around her.
Their kiss was very long and very pleasant.
“Why don’t you stay awhile?” Conchita said when it was over.
“I have no other plans.” He contemplated the situation for the moment. “Perhaps,” he said, “I should lock the door.”
“Can you lock a door in a hospital?”
Rock of Ages Page 25
