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cides he is in surprisingly good shape for all the energy he has expended.
Alicia leads the way.
The hallway, windowless, is lit with a uniform glow from the high ceiling and
from the pale yellow heatstone flooring.
The fabric-covered walls display a pale cream-and-blue pattern of intertwined
lilies and swords.
The Duke's study is in the tower opposite the Duchess'
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morning receiving room. Unlike the other rooms through which Martel has
passed, the walls are of dark wood, or wooden bookshelves, though each shelf
is permaglassed over and sealed.
The Duke, standing behind a massive and all-wooden desk of a design centuries
old, wears a dark green dressing robe and white silksheen shirt, open at the
neck.
" "How's Kryn, Master Seine?" The Duke's voice booms as he extends his hand
down toward Martel from his near-two-
meter height.
Alicia, notes Martel, does not leave, but seats herself in a window seat in
the far corner of the book-lined room. She will report to the Duchess.
Martel reaches out, taking in the man's thoughts, and freezes time for them
both for an instant.
Do I really have a daughter? My own daughter? All seems so vague.... And Seine
... why ... who is he? What report?
Why can't I remember more? Damned rejuv. Takes the good memories with the bad.
Duke Kirsten will be good to Kryn. Perhaps too good, but the Duchess'
hardheaded approach will provide balance.
Martel supplies more memories ... image after image ...
thought after thought... Kryn as a dark-haired, serious-faced infant; Kryn
taking a first step, holding on to the Duke's hand; Kryn drawing a squiggly
tower meant to be Southwich;
Kryn stamping her foot in the courtyard; Kryn ... Kryn ...
Kryn ...
... and the Duke's mind laps them up, image after image.
Martel stretches his reach further and time-freezes Alicia as well. Then he
walks to the desk, places a small album on the corner. The cover is plain
blue, bordered in gold, with the
Duke's seal in the center.
Inside are copies of holos he remembers from the Kryn of so long ago and some
he has done just for this purpose. The
Duke would have had such an album, since he lives in the past as much as the
present. The Duchess would not. She be-
lieves she has had a daughter for her husband, most reluc-
tantly, and while she will ensure that Kryn meets her standards, meaning
excellence in everything, the Duchess lives in the present and future. No
sentimental holos for her!
Martel retreats to where he had stood and unlooses the mo-
ment he has held in check.
"She's fine, Your Lordship. Just fine. Adapting well, and doing excellently.
Frankly, I don't see why you were so con-
cerned, or why you hired me for a personal report. I'm cer-
tain Lady Persis is giving you much the same information, or will. She's an
outstanding young woman and could go far if she chooses."
"Like her mother," muses the Duke. He looks down at the album quizzically,
opens it, sees the first holo, smiles fondly, and shuts the cover.
"Her studies?"
"She excels, particularly in languages and in science. Very strong-minded."
"Don't know if I should have sent her away, Master Seine.
I don't know, but I probably spoil the girl too much. She needs a wider
perspective, and I know the Duchess feels that way."
"Are you asking me for a recommendation, sir?"
"No ... but what would you do?"
"I cannot recommend, sir. Lady Persis runs a fine school.
No school is home. But then, private tutors cannot teach the interplay of
other fine minds, nor the relations between one's peers."
"Good points."
Martel waits.
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The Duke looks across at Alicia, as if to mark her pres-
ence, then looks back down at the album, which he picks up, fingers, and sets
down again before continuing.
"All damned confusing ..." he muses.
His face clears, and he looks straight at Martel.
"Would you join us for dinner, the main meal of midday here?"
"Your offer is most generous, and I would enjoy that."
"Fine, just fine."
Martel coughs, gently.
"Your Lordship ... I did not anticipate such an invitation, and, alas, can
wear only what I have on."
"We're not that formal. Wear what you have on. Black's appropriate most
places, anyway . . . except the Regent doesn't seem to like it. Doesn't bother
me, though."
The Duke looks at Alicia.
"Alicia, will you escort Master Seine back to his quarters
... but first get him a bite to eat, and then give him a tour of the place.
I'll be late getting back."
The Duke returns his eyes to Martel. "Sorry I can't chat longer, but due at
the Regent's Council meeting. Sure you un-
derstand."
"Most assuredly, Your Lordship. Most assuredly."
Alicia rises to her feet and departs, letting Martel follow as he will.
Kryn? What about me if she comes back? I'm for his plea-
sure and her convenience. He lives for Kryn. Was it always this way? Don't
remember it like this ... Black scares me.
Master Seine ... master of what? They all accept him ...
from nowhere ... why?
Martel understands her questions and her fears. He tries to disarm some of
them with another question he places in her thoughts.
What woman could show Kryn love?
Alicia frowns.
Love? Who knows love? Not her, not the Duke ... for his daughter ... maybe ...
for me? Just lust.
Martel decides to make a few more arrangements. He touches the Duke's mind,
even as the Grand Duke Kirsten is entering the flitter to take him to the
palace. Alicia will be safe ... and loved.
Next ... a quick touch to the Duchess' thoughts, giving her relief that the
Duke loves the maid she has so conve-
niently provided.
How do you know, Martel, he asks himself, that your thoughts haven't been
rearranged the same way?
He drives the cold chill into his own deeps and pushes the thought away.
By the time they reach the kitchen, Alicia has thawed and
Martel is ready for the warmed rolls and juice that are shoved at him in the
back pantry.
From the kitchen the tour begins, and Alicia is thorough.
For that Martel is thankful, though his feet hurt long before they finish,
because virtually everyone at Southwich has a memory of Kryn. And if some of
the staff wonder at the be-
mused look on Master Seine's face, so be it.
Once he leaves the environs of Kirsten, he will have to cover the palace, as
well as some nobles and key staff in the
Houses of Gatwick, Ngaio, and Sulifer. After that will come all the peerage
records, and the records of Lady Persis'
School.
Along the way he will plant as many memories as he can with the general
populace, the gossip columnists, and the
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opinion leaders. Not that total coverage is necessary, particu-
larly when the subject is the daughter of a Duke renowned for his privacy in a
Regency court society that revolves around the Prince Regent and his latest
boyfriend.
Dinner is served promptly at 1300 hours in the family din-
ing room to exactly five people the Duke, the Duchess, Captain Herlieu, Madame
Herlieu, and Master Seine.
"How was the Council meeting this morning?" That is the
Duchess, uninterested, but trying to break the silence.
"Same. Interesting problem, you know." The Duke pauses to slurp his red-turtle
soup. "Prince Edwin asked the Council to suggest ways to increase revenues
while reducing taxes.
Little difficult, would you say, Master Seine?"
"I'm not an expert in high finance, Your Lordship. It does seem rather
paradoxical."
"Polite way of saying it's confusing. Those ninnies sat there and hee-hawed.
Perhaps this ... perhaps that." The
Duke frowns, puts down his soup spoon. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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