The clockwork traitor, p.7
The Clockwork Traitor, page 7
"Any suspects?"
"I haven't had much time to look them over. I got a few minutes alone with Jules this afternoon to compare notes, but he's a little puzzled, too. All of them are theoretically loyal, yet all of them are potential assassins. Jules thought Borov should be the prime suspect, since he comes from Kolokov, the planet where Winsted was captured and where the plot apparently was conceived. I don't really like him too much."
Edna nodded in agreement. "Same here. He's far too intense, far too cocky. I've encountered that type before on these outings. He thinks pure brashness and snobbishness will get my attention, and he tries to show off at every opportunity. Marriage to him would be intolerable; he'd always consider himself right and he'd try to boss me around. I will want a partner to help me rule the Empire, but I can't tolerate a boss."
"He certainly is determined, though, insisting on staying with the Progress despite those broken ribs," Yvette mused. "I'm wondering whether it's because he's got an assignment to plant a bomb and doesn't want to leave until he's completed it." She shrugged. "Oh, well, Jules said he would go through Borov's room while he's still in the hospital and check for any traces of a bomb. If it's there, he'll find it.
"Jules also said he's keeping an eye on that Anarian, Choyen Liu. He said the man made some remark or other that made him a little suspicious."
"Choyen Liu is a very strange man," Edna agreed. "I talked to him a little bit this afternoon. I don't know what to make of him, he's so different from any other man I've ever met. It would be so easy to just dismiss him as a mystic or a spouter of pontifical sayings, but then he does something like quieting those dorvats and you -begin to wonder. He's certainly handsome, in an exotic sort of way. What do you think?"
"Can't say, I haven't really had any contact with him yet. But if Jules considers him a suspect, I'll keep an eye on him as well."
"And what do you think of Paul Symond?" Edna asked suddenly.
"As a potential assassin or as a potential Imperial Consort?"
"Both."
"As a suspect, he ranks equal with everyone else. As a man-" she grinned,-"I'd say yummy. As long as he's a ladykilIer only in the metaphorical sense I'll have to restrain myself from slobbering all over his shoes. Can I have the leftovers when you're through with him?"
"I promise," Edna laughed. "That's the word of a princess. Yes, I was impressed with him, too. He's not so interested in proving he'd make a good Consort as in proving he'd make a good husband. That's mostly what I'm looking for." Her laughter faded into a warm smile and she looked straight into Yvette's eyes. "I'm so glad you're along, and not just as protection. You're a friend I can talk to, and we're about the same age. I need someone like that." She hugged Yvette, and the SOTE agent returned the gesture affectionately.
The two women talked some more, then Yvette left to prepare for her midnight rounds. Edna watched the door close behind her with satisfaction. With people like Jules and Yvette d'Alembert looking out for her welfare, she knew she would be able to sleep safely tonight and every night.
Chapter 6
Invitation to Rimskor
On any planet where the Circus of the Galaxy played, Duke Etienne always made it a point to send free courtesy passes to all the local nobility, from the Baron in whose city the Circus was stationed all the way up to the Duke of the entire world. If Kolokov was any exception to this rule at all, it was because of the special attention Etienne d'Alembert paid to the invitation he sent Duke Fyodor Paskoi.
The invitation was handwritten in letters of pure gold and elaborately illuminated by Etienne's niece, Francoise, an expert in the almost extinct art of calligraphy. Included with this impressive-looking document was a note from Duke Etienne, extending his personal invitation as one duke to another to join him in his private box for a showing of the Galaxy's greatest performers, and to sample Duke Etienne's fabulous supply of wines and enjoy the cooking of his chefs, who were famed throughout the Galaxy.
The Duke was going to this trouble for a very special reason. It would be possible, of course, for him to order an assault team of his own into Duke Fyodor's stronghold; but such an endeavor would have been foolhardy. They would have no idea of the layout of the castle; no idea of the defenses they would be going up against; and, worst of all, no idea of what they were looking for. Three of his family had died in the assault on Evekian's offices, and another thirteen had been hospitalized. That operation would look like child's play compared to the losses he would sustain attacking a ducal fortress. He had no doubt he would win; he had supreme confidence in the abilities of his family, the most well-trained group of people in the history of the human race. But he wanted to bring the cost of the operation, in terms of lives, down to absolute minimal limits.
So instead, be was hoping to win his way into Duke Fyodor's favor and possibly receive an invitation in return to visit the local duke at his castle. Once inside, he would be able to size up the situation a little better and plan his attack from there.
He had, of course, considered the possibility of having the local SOTE office arrest the Duke just on the basis of what evidence they had obtained from Evekian, who was now being detained indefinitely. But there simply was not enough proof to act on. Dukes were of the second highest rank in the Empire's system of nobility, and questioning them was not as freewheeling an affair as questioning some minor criminal. As the Emperor's right arm, the Service of the Empire did have wide authority-but along with that authority came the responsibility not to abuse it. If Duke Fyodor did not voluntarily cooperate with his questioners, he would have to be held for a High Court of Justice to try his case-which could take months. In the meantime, the Crown Princess's life would still be in danger from the bomb threat. More subtle methods would have to be employed.
The reply from Duke Fyodor's social secretary was disappointing. The Duke, it was explained, seldom left his castle because of physical infirmities, and, in any event, could not indulge in rich foods or wines because his delicate system would not tolerate them. The Duke would be delighted to see the show via television hookup-his body would not tolerate sensible shows, either-if that would be agreeable to Duke Etienne.
The senior d'Alembert answered back promptly saying that he respected the fact of Duke Fyodor's health difficulties, but that it was against a nearly two-centuries old tradition of the Circus to broadcast their performances in any way. That was how they maintained such an interest in their show. He regretted that Duke Fyodor would be unable to share the food and drinks, but he reiterated that the Circus was quite used to caring for people with many problems, and that the utmost attention would be paid to His Grace's particular needs. Duke Fyodor would be as well taken care of as if he were still in his own castle.
This time, the missive met with success. A letter came back saying that the Duke was pleased with Duke Etienne's concern, and would indeed be honored to be his guest at a performance of the Circus. A date was arranged for that very night, and Etienne was delighted. The Circus's manager began setting the wheels of his scheme in motion.
Duke Fyodor arrived in his own personal copter, accompanied by a smaller man whom he introduced as his physician, Dr. Immanuel Rustin. The sight of Duke Fyodor's skeletal figure, locked rigidly into its maze of tubing and machinery, startled Etienne at first, even though it had been described in SOTE's files on the man. He tried gamely not to react to the taut-stretched skin, bug eyes, and shining metal teeth, but apparently was not completely successful. Duke Fyodor smiled a death's head smile and said, "Yes, I have that effect on nearly everyone." His voice, coming from twin speakers on either side of his head, had an eerie effect.
"I meant no disrespect, Sir," Etienne answered at once. "I admit to being startled, but that's all. I'm dependent on prosthetics myself, you know."
To illustrate his point, Etienne held up his right arm and unscrewed the hand at the wrist. He had lost that member fourteen years ago to a stray blaster beam while on an assignment. The artificial hand that had replaced it was perfectly adequate for the job, as it was indistinguishable from a natural one; it was, in fact, more than adequate, because each of the fingers housed equipment of a very specialized nature. The fingers were detachable just above the knuckles, and Duke Etienne had different ones for different purposes; but this fact was not generally known outside the family. Etienne concealed the finger joinings with a series of gaudy rings.
Duke Fyodor's eyes lit up as he recognized another rebuilt human. "How did it happen'?" he asked.
Etienne shrugged his shoulders. "Accidents will happen at times in a circus," he replied evasively.
As Duke Fyodor leaned forward to examine the false hand, Etienne noticed the odd piece of jewelry around the other's neck-an integrated circuit chip on a golden chain. I've seen something like that once before, he thought, but a quick skim of his memory failed to turn up a concrete image. Finally he gave up the effort for now, and relegated it to the status of an interesting datum. There were more important matters to attend to.
Now that the initial awkwardness had been cleared away, the two dukes got on quite nicely. As Etienne had promised, they had the best seats in the house, the manager's private box; and the performers, knowing that a very special guest was in the audience, put on an especially impressive display of their considerable talents. Duke Fyodor was flabbergasted by their acts.
"I must admit I've always admired good performances of physical agility. Perhaps it's because I've always been so limited in that direction myself, but I get a thrill out of watching people utilizing their bodies to perfection."
And when the show was over, Duke Fyodor told Duke Etienne how glad he was that he'd chosen to come, after all, and that he couldn't recall when he'd enjoyed himself more. "You really must be my guest while you're here on Kolokov. I know. I'm giving a diplomatic reception tomorrow evening for the ambassador from Horatia-it's the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of the settling of their planet, and I have a big party planned. I insist that you come along as my guest, in return for your splendid hospitality today."
"I'd be delighted to come. May I bring my brother Marcel?"
"Of course. I absolutely adored his act. Do you think I could prevail upon him to perform for my guests tomorrow?"
Etienne d'Alembert smiled. He'd been hoping for just such an opportunity. "Yes, I know he'd be honored. Until tomorrow night, then." And the two dukes-one a traitor, the other a loyal agent of the Crown-parted amiably.
Duke Fyodor sent one of his personal limousines around to the Circus the next evening to pick up his two special guests. Duke Etienne d'Alembert of DesPlaines and Lord Marcel d'Alembert, to use their full titles, were dressed in all their formal splendor. The Duke was wearing a tunic of gray velvet over a pair of gray flared slacks. The tunic's sleeves were slashed to show the silver undersleeves beneath them. An unadorned platinum fillet rested on his head, almost hidden by the curls of his silver-gray hair, and a platinum chain hung down from his shoulders, supporting a single sapphire in the center of his chest that matched the sapphires in the rings on his artificial hand. He wore a half-length gray velvet cape lined with gray satin, and his feet were shod in gray velvet embroidered acrobat's shoes.
Marcel enhanced his mysterious, Mephistophelean image by wearing a skintight black jumpsuit, whose sleeves were also slashed to reveal brilliant red fabric beneath. His waist was circled by a belt of rubies set in black leather, and his jet black hair was topped by a red velvet skullcap. His tall, spare frame was cloaked in a full-length black cape with red satin lining. These two dashing, handsome widowers were bound to attract the attention and interest of every eligible lady at the reception.
The limousine drove for about an hour, with neither of its passengers saying much from the back seat. Eventually a large dark hill loomed before them. "Is the Duke's castle on that mountain?" Etienne asked the chauffeur.
"The castle is the mountain" was the terse reply. Rimskor Castle was indeed an imposing edifice. It rose an incredible 275 meters into the air, and the diameter at its base was over a hundred meters. Built out of structural steel and covered with aluminum and plastic, the outside of the castle was an artificial forest. Ersatz trees of gleaming metal dotted its slopes, while robot animals frolicked and gamboled among them. As an architectural achievement there was nothing to compare with it in this entire Sector of space.
There was only one way into the mountain, which was otherwise solid. The private roadway led up to an enormous arched gateway. An electrified gate, with vertical bars only twenty-five centimeters apart, stood in their path while their car was bathed in light from a series of spotlights directly over the entrance. Two armed guards stood inside the gate eyeing the party coldly until the chauffeur produced a small electronically coded plastic card and fitted it into a slot in the wall. As the gates swung slowly open, the chauffeur retrieved the card, tucked it into his pocket and drove the limousine past the guards and into the large garage that was the lowest level of the castle's interior.
There were already an enormous number of cars parked here, indicating that the reception must be going at full strength upstairs. The chauffeur held the car door open for the two men as they got out, and Marcel d'Alembert brushed slightly against the driver. "I want to thank you for your fine service, my good man," he said with dignity. "I trust it will be you who drives us back to the Circus when we leave."
"Me or one of the other chauffeurs on His Grace's staff, My Lord."
No, I insist that it must be you. You did such an outstanding job that I would entrust the task to no other." "As you wish, My Lord." And he showed them the way to the elevator tube.
"Did you get it?" Etienne whispered the instant they were alone.
In answer, Marcel d'Alembert slipped him the plastic entry card he had picked out of the chauffeur's pocket when he bumped him. Etienne took the piece of plastic and ran the fourth finger of his right hand lightly over its surface. The electronic sensing device inside that artificial digit read the coded pattern and recorded it for future reference. Then he handed the card back to his brother. "It'll be back in his pocket when we leave," Marcel said. "They won't suspect anything, so they won't change the gate code."
"What if he misses it in the meantime?"
"He'll find it eventually in that same pocket and think he just searched haphazardly before. Haven't you ever found something in a place where you thought you'd already looked for it? Just one of life's little frustrations. What about the defenses?"
Duke Etienne stroked his right pinkie finger lightly. "There's a heavy minefield on either side of the road. I detected pressure plates all along the roadway itself to let the guards know someone's coming. The road's mined, too, so that if the guards see someone approaching whom they don't like, they can blow him to smithereens."
Just then the doors to the elevator tube opened, cutting off further conversation, and the two brothers emerged into the main hallway. As was the case with the rest of the castle, this chamber had walls of metal that were polished to a perfect shine. Large jewels set in the walls reflected rainbow patterns allover the immense room. The arched ceiling was easily twenty meters over their heads and was composed of thousands of mirrors, so that their movements on the floor were reflected above them. There were several dozen people milling about in the hall, but both men knew that if the room had been empty their footsteps, even in their relatively soft shoes, would have resounded like gunshots in an echo chamber off the shiny metal floors.
A robot decked in fancy livery came over to them. The machine was standard for its type, being a meter and a half tall and roughly cylindrical, with numerous tentacular arms extending outward around its body. They showed it the invitations the Duke had sent them and it promptly announced them over the loudspeaker. In just a few moments, they could see the tall, thin machine-body of Duke Fyodor striding down the corridor to greet them personally. "How are you both? I'm so glad you could make it. My Lord Marcel, it's a pleasure to meet so talented a man. Your act yesterday was nothing short of superb."
"You put on a pretty good act yourself, Your Grace. This castle of yours has got to be one of the most incredible pieces of workmanship I've ever seen. It makes my own magic look puny by comparison."
The compliment was precisely the perfect thing to say, for Duke Fyodor beamed like a little boy winning a prize for having the best puppy in the show. This castle was obviously a labor of love for him, and to have it praised so enthusiastically opened his gates of cordiality. "I've done my best to make it unusual," he said. "Would you like me to show you around?"
"I'd like nothing better," Marcel said truthfully. "Right now, your castle is the most interesting thing in the Universe to me." He turned to his brother. "What about you?"
Etienne smiled. "Yes, I have to admit my own castle back on DesPlaines can't begin to compare with this. We have to build short and solid there, you know, because of the gravity. I'd be honored if you'd give us the grand tour."
"Right this way, then." Duke Fyodor began walking toward one end of the immense hallway, and the d'Alemberts followed after him, having to quicken their pace to match their guide's giant strides. They passed by many elegantly dressed dignitaries who gave them curious glances, as though wondering who these two people were to be so singled out for the Duke's attentions.
you will notice," the Duke continued as he led the way out of the public portion of the hall and into a more secluded area, "that I chose to build almost exclusively in metal and plastic. The great majority of my servants are robots, and a great deal of the maintenance around the castle is done by automation. Some of my critics have actually analyzed me using that as a basis, did you know that? Some nonsense about my having more of an affinity for machines than for people because it's machines that keep me alive; that because Nature has seemed to turn its back on me, that I in turn despise Nature and try to shut it out of my life. Bah, nothing could be further from the truth." There was a bright light glowing at the end of the hall, and as Fyodor led the two men into the room, both had to squint not to be blinded by the incredible sight.
