House of Shards Page 17

  “Congratulations, your grace,” he said. “You’ve achieved your object. A sensational debut.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Kuusinen. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

  “You are far too gracious.” He glanced at the last of the musicians as they filed out to the waiting security watsons, who were frisking them in a final hope of locating the Shard. “I wonder how he got it out?” he asked.

  “We’ll have to wait for the videos to come out. Six months or so.”

  “Yes, your grace. I suppose we’ll have to contain our curiosity till then.” He frowned as he glanced up at Rath-bon’s Star, its astonishing display revealed once again now that Silverside personnel had removed Gregor’s overrides.

  “I hope the second part of your grace’s plan goes as smoothly as the first,” he said.

  “Do you think it might not?”

  “I suspect complications. There are… undercurrents.”

  Countess Ankh’s artificial ears tilted forward in curiosity. “Do you think Geoff Fu George might interfere?”

  “He might, particularly if he thought his position as top-ranked thief was in danger. He lost a number of style points when your grace knocked him down; that might even put his rating in danger.” He glanced over the empty ballroom. “But I think there’s something else going on. I don’t know whether it concerns us or not; but it would be well to be cautious.”

  “You pique my curiosity, Kuusinen.”

  “I would prefer not to speculate until I have further information.” He glanced over the ballroom. “Shall I escort you to your room?”

  “That would be pleasant. Please take my arm.”

  “Ever your servant, your grace.”

  ———

  Drake Maijstral, still clothed as a bank robber, folded the Marchioness Kotani in his arms and kissed her. His pulse sped; his knees grew weak. His mind was racing.

  Maijstral was trying to calculate his chances of getting killed. The Marquess, he knew, was a very good shot. But the Marchioness had assured him Kotani would be spending the night harassing Baron Silverside; in any case the two had separate rooms, and the chance of discovery was therefore slight.

  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t earned this, after all. How often did one commit the crime of the century right in the middle of a public function and get away with it? Maybe, for a single night at least, one could get away with anything.

  He decided to take the risk.

  Still, it was not passion for the Marchioness that made his heart throb and turned his knees watery—rather, the thought of a pistol with Kotani at one end of it and himself at the other.

  The kiss ended. The Marchioness gazed up at him with glowing eyes. “I’ll call a robot for you,” she said, and brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. She touched the service plate and cast a look over her shoulder. “My rover,” she said, and stepped into her dressing room. The dressing room door closed. The robot bustled out of a closet and unlaced Maijstral’s jacket and trousers.

  Maijstral dismissed the robot, sat on the bed, and pulled off his boots. “Fu George,” he said, “I think this is your moment to leave.”

  An annoyed grunt came from beneath the bed.

  “And kindly replace anything you stole,” Maijstral went on. “Otherwise her ladyship will think I took it.”

  “Damn it, Maijstral,” Fu George said as he rolled out of hiding. “You owe me something for this.”

  “Something, agreed,” Maijstral said. “Not the Shard. The Shard is more than just something.”

  “Did I ask for the blasted Shard?”

  Fu George’s darksuit made his outlines uncertain, but the Marchioness’s jewels, falling from the vagueness of Fu George’s hand into the open jewel case, were clear. Maijstral rose from the bed to let Fu George out. Fu George turned.

  “You’re going to stay here for the night, are you?” he asked. “I wouldn’t want to run into you again.”

  “I’m not planning on breaking into any rooms tonight, if that’s what you want to know.” Which was true to the letter, Maijstral reflected, if not quite to the spirit of Fu George’s question.

  “Your servant.”

  “Thank you, Fu George. You’ve been very decent. I hope you get style points out of this, at least.”

  “Your very obedient. And hasty.” The shape rose on a-grav repellers and fled down the corridor.

  Maijstral closed the door and stepped into the bedroom again just as the Marchioness entered from her dressing room. She wore a mothwing nightgown. Dark gemstones dangled from her ears and brushed against her neck. Her pouting mouth was drawn in a smile.

  “Was someone here?” she asked.

  “No one of consequence,” Maijstral said, and dismissed Fu George, like her husband, from his mind.

  ———

  “Thank you, Zoot. It’s been the most delightful evening I’ve spent since…” Her ears fluttered helplessly. “Since I was condemned to Zynzlyp.” She and Zoot stopped at her door.

  “It has been entirely my pleasure, my lady. It’s the greatest pity the evening must come to an end.”

  Lady Dosvidern looked at him with burning eyes. “It need not, you know,” she said.

  Zoot’s heart boomed like a gong.

  “Oh,” he said. “Do you think so?”

  “Yes. I think so,” she confirmed, and lovingly closed her canines on one of his ears.

  ———

  Eight silver media globes circled in a perfect halo over Kyoko Asperson’s bed. Gregor kissed her and reached for his trousers.

  “Time for bed check, lover,” he said.

  Kyoko sat up. “I didn’t realize Maijstral ran such a tight ship.”

  “Sorry. Burglar’s hours and all that. The boss might need me for something or other.” Pulling on his pants.

  “Can you come by later?”

  “It would have to be very later.”

  She cocked her head. “I’ll be here all morning. I can’t sleep too late, because Baron Silverside gave me an interview with the head of security here—” She laughed at Gregor’s sudden tigerish grin. “An interview about all the chaos you’ve been causing.”

  “What time is the interview?”

  “Noonish. Why do you ask?”

  A knowing smile. “Nothing.”

  “Come on.” Coaxing.

  “Forget I said anything.”

  “You can tell me.”

  “Not yet I can’t. I’d like to see the man sweat, though.”

  “Speaking of sweating …” She reached to the bedside table for her loupe and stuck it in her eye. One of the media globes detached itself from its circuit and hovered in front of Gregor.

  “Tell me, Mr. Norman,” she said, “what’s a noted burglar like yourself doing in this shocking state of undress, here in someone else’s room?”

  Gregor looked wide-eyed at the media globe and gasped in feigned surprise. “I’m afraid I’ve been the victim of a crime, Miss Asperson. A terrible crime.”

  “Yes?” Kyoko leaned forward intently. “And what might that be?”

  Gregor leaned forward himself till their noses were almost touching. “Someone robbed me of my affections, that’s what.”

  Kyoko grinned and kissed him. “G’night, sad victim that you are.”

  “Goodnight, thief.”

  He reached for his boots.

  ———

  The White Room burned red in the nighttime, illuminated only by Rathbon’s Star. Stark black shadows lay with precise knife edges on the soft blood-red carpet. Above, the impact diamond rang faintly with echoes of distant life.

  Ghosts moved in the ruddy light. Nearly invisible, their shadows danced on the carpet, flickered on the walls, played tag with the rainbows cast by the giant diamond.

  The ghost dance was witnessed by two people, each viewing the action via separate media globes set high in a place of vantage.

  At the sight of the ghosts and their purposeful dance, the onlookers smil
ed.

  ———

  Advert looked at the treasure in her hand and her fingers trembled as a wave of terror passed through her. Panic churned in her mind. Her ringers clamped shut. Moving as silently as she could, she stepped from Pearl Woman’s bedroom into the front room of their suite.

  Once in the front room she whispered for a spotlight and opened her hand. Her treasure seemed insignificant in her pink palm: a pearl, a length of minute chain, an ear-clasp.

  She looked at the thing and experienced a wave of giddiness. She felt as she had when she was ten years old, and successfully evaded her nannybot to meet with her friends at midnight in the Haunted Pavilion.

  She realized she was enjoying herself. She closed her fist around the treasure and performed a brief, giddy dance.

  Serve her right, she thought.

  ———

  “Did you really get the Eltdown Shard?”

  “Perhaps.” Maijstral reached for the bottle of champagne that a Cygnus robot had just delivered to the room.

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “That might be possible. After tomorrow midnight, of course.”

  Her fingers lazily brushed the skin of her throat. Her tilted eyes challenged him. “I’d like to wear it.”

  He smiled as he poured the champagne. “I think it could be arranged. Assuming I’ve got it, of course.”

  “Of course.” Crystal rang as the glasses touched. Maijstral raised his glass to his lips. A knock thundered on the door.

  There was a practiced blur of motion. Moving swiftly and in perfect silence, Maijstral left the bed, scooped up his clothes, flung them through the open closet door, picked up his riding boots, sword, and gunbelt, and then loped for the closet, the champagne glass still in his hand. The Marchioness watched him through laughing eyes.

  “Darling?” Kotani’s voice, speaking Khosali Standard. “Why is your door locked?”

  Maijstral turned in the closet, surveyed the room for signs of his presence, found none, and sotto voce told the closet door to shut as he glided backward, obscuring himself behind the Marchioness’s clothing.

  “I cannot close the door,” the closet said, speaking Human Standard, as Maijstral had. “My sensors inform me there is a person inside.”

  The Marchioness glanced in apprehension at the closet, then at the door that was keeping her husband at bay. “What time is it, dear?” she called.

  “I am the person inside,” Maijstral explained, trying to keep his voice to a whisper. “Shut the door, please.” His heart crashed in his ears as the closet’s idiot brain considered the problem. Blackness ringed his vision, narrowing it. He appeared to be gazing at the world through the barrel of a gun. I am not going to faint, he told himself. He downed the champagne as a restorative.

  “Five,” said Kotani, “or thereabouts. Did I wake you?”

  “I was dozing,” said the Marchioness. She was looking more and more alarmed as she perceived the closet’s stubbornness. She rose from the bed and donned her mothwing gown.

  “Great news!” called Kotani. “Open the door. I want to tell you.”

  “Just a moment,” said the Marchioness. She stepped into her changing room. Maijstral seized the closet door and tried to haul it shut.

  “Do not attempt to close the doors manually,” the closet said. “Damage to the mechanism may result.”

  “Then shut the door,” Maijstral whispered. If he had his burglar’s tools with him, this wouldn’t have been a problem.

  “There is a person inside the closet.” Happy to get back on track again. “I cannot shut the door with a person inside. Please leave the closet.”

  Maijstral could feel beads of sweat gathering on his scalp. Terror yowled blindly in his brain. He gave the closet door a final despairing yank. The closet door yanked back. He thought about letting himself out the other door into the corridor, the exit used by Fu George, but decided against it. A man standing unclothed in the hallway might become subject to unfortunate amounts of attention. Not to mention derision.

  “Do not close the door manually,” the closet said again. “Damage to the mechanism may result.”

  “Why have you locked the door?” Kotani asked. His tone was growing suspicious.

  The Marchioness reappeared, looking desperate. She had a spray bottle of scent in her hand, and she perfumed herself wildly as she searched her mind for an answer.

  “I’m afraid of burglars,” she said. “I have my jewelry here.”

  The door rattled from within as Kotani tried the knob. “I told you,” condescendingly, “to keep your jewels in the station safe.”

  “I’m sorry, dear.” Her eyes implored Maijstral to do something. Maijstral, in the last seconds before his vision faded away entirely, glanced desperately for another hiding place, recalled where he had found Fu George, and dived for the bed. As he rolled beneath it he heard the closet door slide triumphantly shut. The air was drenched with perfume. The Marchioness unlocked the door.

  “Would you like some champagne?” she said, a bit breathlessly.

  Kotani stepped in. “A nightcap would be pleasant,” he said. “I’ve just struck a deal with Silverside.”

  “Congratulations, dearest. Would you fetch a glass from the other room?”

  “A better deal than I expected, my only,” Kotani crowed as Maijstral heard his footsteps leave the room. “In view of his problems with security here, the fact they’ll be highly publicized, and the damage to his custom that could result, he conceded any percentage of gross revenues in hopes my play will contribute to restoring any of the station’s lost ton. He’s got a profit percentage only. I think the poor fellow was so down he was prepared to concede anything.”

  “Splendid, dear.” Kotani’s footsteps returned. Maijstral, over the demon pulse of his heart, heard champagne being poured, then the sound of a sneeze.

  “Allergic to champagne, my dear?”

  “Not at all, Janetha-my-dove. Your scent is exquisite, but you seem to have applied it a little generously evening.”

  “I wanted to smell good for you.”

  “A charming and considerate thought, dearest. But it is a bit… overwhelming.” He sneezed again.

  “Shall we step into the other room? Perhaps a little fresh air might help.”

  “An excellent suggestion, my heart.”

  Good grief, thought Maijstral. Kotani’s conversation in private was just like those in his plays. No wonder the Marchioness was getting restless. Who wants to live with someone who’s a paragon of courtesy and sophistication even when sneezing?

  The door closed behind them. Maijstral let a long breath out. Moving in trained silence, he rolled from under the bed and, in as low a voice as possible, asked the closet door to open. The moronic mechanism was happy to oblige. Maijstral drew his belongings into his arms and decided that he wasn’t about to take a chance of Kotani walking in on him half-dressed. Therefore he rolled under the bed again and began dragging on his clothes. On his way to Dolfuss’s room he’d be walking unlaced—no trained bots-of-the-wardrobe available in the corridor—but that would be far less conspicuous than wearing nothing at all.

  There wasn’t much clearance under the bed, but Maijstral was agile: he was performing the last operation, shrugging into his jacket, when the door to the front room opened again. Maijstral’s heart leaped into his throat. He froze.

  The door closed. Lady Janetha’s plump, pretty feet appeared beside the bed. “Maijstral?” A whisper. “Are you still there?”

  “My lady.” He worked his way to the edge of the bed and stuck his head out.

  “I wanted to say goodnight to you properly.” She knelt and kissed him. Maijstral, almost smothered by her perfume, managed to give a convincing imitation of passion while keeping one eye cocked on the inner door.

  “Don’t forget,” she said, “I’d like to feel the Shard against my skin.”

  “Tomorrow night,” Maijstral promised. He could use Dolfuss’s room for the assignation:
no sense in taking ridiculous chances again.

  “I wager you’ve done this sort of thing before. Your leap into the closet was a thing of beauty. You were hiding before I even had the chance to blink.”

  He appraised her. “I suspect you’re not new to this,! either. The trick with the perfume was a good one.”

  He rolled out from beneath the bed and hitched his trousers up. The Marchioness brushed her lips against his, took the champagne bottle, and stepped through the door with a careless laugh.

  Maijstral knotted his trouser-laces, tugged his jacket close around him, and stepped out the other exit into the hallway. He yawned. There was one more thing he must do, and then sleep.

  “Ah. He’s making his move. You see?”

  “Just like we thought, boss.”

  “Brilliant, my dear.” The sound of a kiss. “We’ve got him where we want him.”

  Geoff Fu George smiled, brushed his lips over Vanessa Runciter’s knuckles, and turned back to the video. The picture was blurred. It looked like a double exposure.

  In the center was the giant impact diamond, picked out in the darkened White Room by spotlights. But right next to it was another, identical diamond, with straps around it and a blurring about its rim. The second diamond was moving, dropping downward.

  “Follow that, Drexler,” Fu George said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Prepare to send the globe on its way. Don’t get too close, now.”

  “Sir.”

  Fu George gave a cold, deliberate laugh. His eyes glowed as he looked at the screen. “A lovely decoy that Maijstral’s made. With a holographic image of the diamond hanging there, no one will even know it’s missing.”

  The diamond sailed to the floor in its a-grav harness, then disappeared into a laundry cart. Sheets and blankets moved to cover it.

  “He’ll snap off the hologram at some suitably dramatic moment,” Vanessa said. “With hundreds of people in the room, no doubt, to be fooled into thinking he somehow made the diamond vanish in front of their eyes.”