Endgame

by C. J. Cherryh

  "Who's been saying such things?" she demanded, and stood up, her dark eyes snapping anger. "Who would dare? You're one of the few people who've ever accepted me for me: not a Keisel, not a Borg, not a hightowner, not an heiress! You've always treated me like a friend and never once, Justus Lee, have you ever presumed beyond that friendship!"

  "That's because I don't want to lose it."

  "Then sell the books to me. I'll pay you for them."

  He blinked, feeling stupid and slow. "I couldn't do that, Sonja. What if you were caught with them? Gods . . . some of them are tech books. I don't care how powerful your Family is, if Exeter even caught wind of you having such books . . . Sonja, forget I even told you about it. You and your Family are already under Exeter's scrutiny. ..."

  "And you think you're not?" She laughed bitterly. "Anyone I associate with is marked. That's why I came here today to let you know—about my mother. If you weren't being watched before, you are now. Don't you see? It's not only dangerous for you, it's dangerous for me, and for my Family, for both my Families, if you're caught carrying one of those books!"

  "Then why in all the worlds did you offer to buy the books from me?"

  She bit her lip. "Justus . . . there are some secrets the Families hide from anyone not Family. Say there are places Families have that no one outside Family knows about. I can hide them."

  "Let's slow down here," Justice said, lifting a hand. "If I promise this is the last book I'll ever take from the Library, will you forget I ever mentioned it?"

  "Only if you'll take the money. Only if you'll sell me those books. I've been in your aunt's shop and I've seen what she sells. Don't look at me that way ... I wanted to know something about your family. What she sells are old, worn-out and thoroughly read and re-read books. Gods know there's trade in it, or she would have starved by now. But none of these books is worth much, and if the time comes everything's going to hell and you have to get out of town, you're right, you haven't got it. Let me buy books from your aunt. I can do it—say I'm giving them to needy shut-ins. It's something we Keisels have done time and again, and it won't be anything out of the ordinary."

  He stared at his feet. "People would wonder why it was only one shop you traded with. People are already talking."

  "Let them. Unless you're afraid of association with us. I'm not all that important to be watched every single second of the day, and it's not out of character for Families to do charity."

  "All right," he conceded. "Buy books from my aunt. But, Sonja . . . please, be circumspect about it. For both our sakes."

  She lifted an eyebrow. "You're telling one of us to be circumspect? Gods, Justus ... we learned such things in our cradles. No one will know. And so they don't—" She pointed at the book on the floor. "—I want you to unload this book as quickly as possible. When were you going to take it to Bolado's?" "Tonight."

  "Rama protect! Are you serious? You could end up at the bottom of the canal!"

  "It's safe. I've done it before," Justice said, "and I've never—"

  "Have you ever gone alone?" she demanded, "or have you and Raj gone together?"

  "We've gone together," Justice admitted. "But it's just south of Bent which is just south of here—"

  "You don't need to give me directions." She chewed on her lower lip a moment in concentration. "We'll go together."

  Justice felt as if someone had hit him in the stomach. "You're out of your mind, Sonja," he sputtered. "I could never let you go into such dangerous—"

  "You just said it was safe," she pointed out. "So, why don't you and I go for a walk? It's just going on twilight, and it's definitely the time that young lovers take to the walkways."

  "Young lovers?" Justice all but choked.

  Sonja laughed, retrieved the book and slipped it into her own book-bag. "And who would think twice to see us on the walkways? We've been together everywhere else. Besides, I know the Bolados and it won't seem all that strange for anyone to see me there."

  "But—"

  "Oh, come on, Justus, or it will be too late for us to walk safely. I want to get this book out of your hands."

  He sighed, remembering what Sonja had said once about being a Keisel and Keisels usually getting what they wanted. It had never done him any good to argue with her before, and he was damned sure it wouldn't help him now.

  The city grew quieter as the sun set; fewer people were on the walkways and the canal traffic slacked off—in these grim times, hightowners stuck to high-town and more and more shops shut at sundown. Rhajmurti stood leaning on the railway of second-level Spellbridge, torn between going back to the College or visiting Justice on Kass. Stella's words kept going 'round and 'round in his mind; Tell him the truth, she'd said.

  She was right, he knew it, but the very notion of confronting Justice with the truth about his parentage made Rhajmurti question whether now was the right time.

  Was any time the right time?

  It had been an easy lie to spin when Justice was young. Telling him his parents had been lost in a boating accident was a story neither strange nor all that unusual. It was not major news when someone drowned in the canals: it happened all too often. But as Justice grew older, maintaining the lie only got more difficult: he'd perpetuated the untruth, shown only scholarly interest in the talented boy he'd sponsored at the College. Only natural a closeness should develop between teacher and student, but on one side it was a deeper bonding. And maybe Justice felt it; or maybe Justice wrote it down to seeing in his teacher the father-image he'd lacked since he could remember.

  Stella's right. I'm going to have to tell him, sooner or later. And the way things are going, there might not be a later.

  He straightened, then subsided against the railing again.

  If he were to tell Justice tonight, then if order in the city deteriorated to the point that escape was the only option, how might Justice react? Would he stubbornly refuse to leave without the father he'd only just found?

  Or would he go more willingly if he thought Stella was his entire family? Tell the boy he had to get Stella out? Lay it on him that way?

  No. That was being unfair. Justice was a man now, able to deal with life and life's ups and downs. But if Stella told him then who he was—

  Rhajmurti sighed softly. Stella knew him far too well; she could pull strings and make him jump better than anyone he had ever known. He wanted Justice to know who his father was and she knew it. He'd dreamed of having closer ties to the son he was so proud of. And, as Stella had accused him, he was making excuses again.

  He'd tell Justice.

  Tonight.

  He started off down Spellbridge walk, putting his mind to a calming mantra.

  Not the easiest thing he had ever done—finding a path back through all the lies—with the boy he'd lectured about truthfulness.

  And could Justice still act the part, keep on treating his father as his teacher and his friend?

  Or even respect him, once he knew he'd lied.

  Rhajmurti's feet dragged to a stop. He stood for a moment at the edge of Spellbridge-Kass Bridge, unwilling to take the first step.

  Then he saw Justice . . . Justice and Sonja.

  Relief and regret poured through him. He could certainly not tell Justice anything in Sonja's presence.

  But that association suddenly worried him. Nagged him with the awareness of Exeter—and Exeter's sudden interest in House Keisel. Sonja looked worried, walking along arm in arm with Justice. And knowing the reason for that—one could ask oneself where they were going, in that unusual direction, and what Sonja might have told Justice about her family troubles—

  What attention Sonja might focus on Justice—and from what quarter.

  He hesitated, undecided, then leisurely crossed the bridge and followed them. They seemed to be out for an after-dinner stroll like a few other folk. But with a school book-bag? Going away from Hilda's? He could not hear what they were saying at this distance, not the slightest whisper of conversation, but from
the angle of the heads, the gestures, he knew them deep in conversation.

  Justice's relationship with Sonja had delighted him—yesterday. He wished only the best for his son, and a friendship struck with one of the Families of Merovingen certainly would not have hindered Justice's career, no matter the alarm of Sonja's parents.

  Sonja had come to him once, not long after the Governor's Ball, to speak with him in his office of priest, not as teacher. What should she do? Her parents were not overly happy with her association with an un-Housed man—however she protested they were only friends. She'd agreed to contract marriage, she had to go to it with no whisper the promised child would be other than Jorge Kuminski's; once she'd fulfilled that contract and given Kuminski a child, she could have any man in Merovingen for a lover—

  A relationship with Sonja Keisel could make all the difference in the world to Justice in the future. If it didn't create scandal in the upcoming marriage.

  If—

  And what future? All he could see were dark clouds on the horizon. It was plainer every day that the reactionaries who surrounded Exeter would have their way, that Mikhail the Clockmaker would succeed Iosef Kalugin, the machinations of Anastasi and Tatiana notwithstanding. They'd waited too long, they'd lost the votes in council—Exeter had killed the staunchest and terrified the rest: Boregy had left Anastasi's camp and gone to Tatiana's, but Cardinal Boregy was dead, most horribly, House Boregy was powerless to control mad Cassie, and wavering between pandering to Mikhail's fond folly and fearing for their collective necks: Exeter was both baffled and frustrated with Mikhail's one act of self-will. But look to Exeter to find an answer—before Anastasi and Tatiana's sudden appearance at a state function arm in arm, with deathly smiles painted on their faces, could rally any support against her. He knew the rumors. He knew the facts inside the College: the gossip that passed among priests was quick, and accurate, and lately terrifying. He had had no doubt when he'd told Stella to prepare for a sudden departure. The signs were everywhere—that some faction was going to move.

  Sonja's mother had been called in—Vladimir Borg was somehow connected—

  He did not like playing the spy. He didn't like following his son like a thief. But, damn, he had to know.

  Ahead, Sonja and Justice were crossing over to Bent, not all that unusual a path to take if out for an evening walk, give or take the book-bag: they seemed to be in no unusual hurry. They were keeping to second tier—not especially dangerous in early evening, until lately.

  He breathed a prayer to Vishnu, the protector, to grant him strength: the young fools took the steps down to Bent canalside.

  "Who's your contact at the Bolados?" Sonja asked, leaning closer to Justice as she walked. Justus' face was shadowed in the twilight of bottom tier.

  Justus said: "A fellow named Stet."

  Stet. Where had she heard that name? She thought back to her Family's dealings with the Bolados, going through the names of everyone she knew who was connected to that House. Stet, Stet. Ah! She had the man now. Stet was the boatman who worked for the Bolado business. From what she could remember of the man, he was a quiet fellow—not the sort she'd have marked for intrigue with college students.

  Though she would rather have died than admit it to Justus, she was terrified. She was quite sure he had no idea of the value of the books he and Raj were stealing. Justus and Raj had come up with an idea that was, on the surface, utterly sound. And utterly, fatally dangerous. They had to get that cache of books out of there. If he or Raj had ever been caught . . . or mugged . . .

  Priceless, secret articles every so often changed hands among the powerful and the wealthy—and, feeding that market, thieves abounded in the underworld of the city, none of them hesitant to steal a rare painting, book, jewel or the like from one Family and then sell it to another. Many of the Families knew very well they possessed stolen goods; the irony of it was that if they lost something and then later discovered it in another's house, they could hardly cry foul without admitting they themselves had passed off as theirs something stolen from gods only knew what Family had owned it originally. People of good breeding simply kept their mouths shut about the silverware. And in that market—books like this— She cast a sidelong glance at Justus. Damned if she knew why she was so attracted to the man; he had no Family, no wealth, no future other than the one his talent would make—and never the resources a future Househead like Jorge would have. But there was something about Justus Lee that pulled at her. Honesty—first and foremost. Integrity (if one discounted his forays in the Library). And his ability to treat her like a human being, not a bank account.

  Their friendship had deepened beyond that now: she sensed he felt the same toward her, but he was still too shy and too unsure of himself to voice his feelings.

  Damn Jorge Kuminski! Damn all contract marriages! It had looked like a smart move—before she'd cared about someone else. She didn't have to live with Jorge. Just pay a damned year of her life being circumspect. Which she wasn't being tonight. In any sense. If someone raised a question about their whereabouts tonight the marriage could be extended another year and she might have to live with Jorge to dispel the gossip.

  Twelve excruciating months, never alone with the man she really loved.

  * * *

  Justice surreptitiously touched the hilt of the knife he wore sheathed at his belt and felt the reassuring constant weight of the other knife at his boottop— these days he went armed to the teeth, had a third knife sheathed at the top of his spine, hidden by both his hair and his collar. He had learned, not without a few blows and bruises, that the walkways he and Raj used after hours could be deadly dangerous.

  Sonja was nervous. He saw that by the quickness of her gestures, heard it in her voice. He doubted she had ever done anything so foolhardy in her life, or ventured this far at night in the nether walkways without some bodyguard of House Keisel accompanying her. And he wondered how he was going to talk her out of any deal about the books: He and Raj were sure that the books were valuable, but after Sonja's reaction he began to think they might have underestimated the worth of what they had taken. And the danger of the game they'd thought was a small one.

  No one ahead on the canalside but a couple of tradesmen. He didn't want to overtake them, he didn't want to attract attention by hurrying, but, dammit, he wished they could make better time. He hadn't lied when he had told her he and Raj had come to the Bolados before to hide their ill-gotten gains, but she'd rightly guessed he'd never come alone—tell the truth, most times neither he nor Raj had made the trip. Kat Bolado herself had taken the books home with her— on her boat.

  The workmen went around the corner. Thank the gods. Bent-Bolado Low Bridge was only a few steps ahead now. And, at the moment, deserted. They were in bridge shadow from two tiers above: fog hazed the few lights showing. Their steps echoed on the bridge.

  "Will Stet be there?" Sonja asked, shifting the bag with the book to the other hand.

  "He always has been, this time of evening. He lives there."

  "Watergate?"

  "Yes."

  They were on the floating walkway now. Steps sounded behind them, down from the upper tiers. Someone on the stairs. Justice took Sonja's arm and hurried her, never mind looking casual.

  Steps on the walkway behind them.

  "M'sera Keisel?"

  Justice's heart threatened to jump out of his chest. Sonja stopped dead, turned and stared wide-eyed at two large men.

  "And who might you be?" she asked, in her best hightown accent, her posture taking on all the attributes of the rich and powerful.

  The man stepped closer, his face moving in and out of the light past by the lamp that hung on middle-tier above. His companion stayed behind, a faceless shadow in the stair-supports.

  "I'm the one asking the questions, m'sera, not you."

  "Now see here," Justice said, placing himself between the man and Sonja. "We're out for a walk, and hardly in the mood for company. I suggest you go bother so
meone else."

  The man laughed coldly. "Young bully ... get back to your den where you belong. My business is with m'sera here, not you."

  Justice drew a deep breath and settled into a fighter's balanced pose, up on the balls of this feet, his arms hanging loose at his sides.

  Stop it, both of you!" Sonja's imperious voice rang off the walls around them. "Once more . . . what is it that you want?"

  "Just a few questions, m'sera," the man said, all false politeness, "and then you'll be free to go."

  "Ask," she said.

  "I'm afraid you'll have to come with me, m'sera." He shot a look in Justice's direction. "Your—bodyguard—can wait for us here."

  "Don't give me that tone, ser," Sonja spat, all high-town. "And you'd best treat him with the respect he's due. Who are you? Who do you work for?"

  Laughter came from the shadow waiting in the stairway. "All he deserves is a swim in th' canal, don't ye think?"

  Justice's mind was racing. Not blacklegs, these men. Nothing he'd ever run into. Middle-tier accent. Or higher. And Exeter with an interest in Borg and Keisel. . . .

  Nobody coming from any side of these men. The whole waterside was deserted; and in the silence, he could hear no one behind him on the walkway. Nothing moving on the walk over their heads. If he could stall these men, someone would come along. Surely. The hour was hardly late enough to drive everyone indoors.

  "Why don't we just discuss things here?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "If you're about honest business, I don't see why you would object."

  "Our business is our business, boy." The man moved closer. Sonja backed up to Justice, her harsh breathing loud enough he could hear it. "If you want to push it, we can make you our business, too."

  "Just who do you think you are?" Sonja demanded.