Eyes of the Calculor

by Sean McMullen

  "Me, Seyret, Bronlar . . ." said Samondel, counting on her fingers and frowning.

  "That's all."

  "Three, a lucky number. You must keep it at that."

  "The others are a long, long way away."

  "But I am close, and I love you."

  "I love you as well, far more than Bronlar."

  Samondel sighed. "What a pity that it is the time of a dangerous moon for me."

  Serjon considered. For that entire evening he had told the truth. Why bother to resort to lies now?

  "I did have hopes for your favor," he admitted. "Only this evening I bought a packet of suitable devices, just in case your favor might turn to me again."

  "Always the considerate one," said Samondel, then she rolled onto him and kissed him on the lips, a hard, greedy kiss.

  Serjon rolled her onto her back, reached down and began to run his hand up her left leg, raising her skirts.

  "And how many more have there been for you?" he asked.

  "Just you."

  "Just me? I don't believe it."

  He stroked her inner thigh, noting that she wore no underclothes. Perhaps she had been intending to be his all along for this night.

  "It's true."

  "Not even that ex-monk you told me about?"

  "Martyne? Ah, I was just lucky that you came along. A day more and I might have been his."

  "Really?"

  "Well. . . leave me some secrets. Now here we are and I love you, Serjon." She placed her hands over her left breast. "You have my body and my heart."

  "And I love you," Serjon purred in her ear as he unlaced his trousers. "All this time in this strange land, I have bedded nobody else. I knew that you were here, alone. I could not bear the thought of you being alone if I was in company."

  Serjon rolled between her legs, but she wriggled out from under him at once.

  "First, apply your device," she warned.

  "Not even this once?"

  "In a fortnight I may consider all reasonable arguments. For now, if it is not on, then neither are you."

  Serjon lay on his side, picking at the string binding of the Amar At'agnine, 6 ME package, his trousers tangled around his ankles. Samondel's skirts were around her waist as she lay on her back, watching the operation with considerable amusement and giggling continually. Serjon rolled back onto her.

  "And now—"

  The door burst open. Framed between Samondel's legs was Ve-lesti, and flanking her were two more women in uniform, both wielding short-barrel, wide-bore flintlocks. The fist with which Velesti had smashed the door's lock was still clenched, and a Morelac was in her other hand. Serjon made a move for the reaction pistol beneath his pillow, but Samondel seized his hand.

  "No, Serjon, no!" cried Samondel, grasping at him. "She'll kill you. She's faster than humans, or even featherheads."

  Cowering in each other's arms, they faced the Dragon Librarian, who was still standing in the doorway, unmoving.

  "Frelle Samondel Leover and Fras Serjon Feydamor, you are

  both under arrest and charged with espionage," said Velesti. "Get dressed and come with us."

  "Where we are to go?" asked Samondel in Austaric.

  "The University Library."

  "The University?"

  "It is not your place to ask questions," replied Velesti.

  Samondel stood up, letting her skirts drop to cover her legs. Serjon stood with his back to the Dragon Librarian while he raised his trousers and laced up again. When they were both ready Velesti gestured to them with her gun.

  "Take these two and hold them in the street outside," Velesti said to the Tiger Dragons in the corridor. "I must examine his room."

  Alone in Serjon's room, Velesti did a quick but thorough search. As she had expected, there was nothing of interest apart from one Clastini reaction pistol and four spare clips of ammunition. She put the Clastini into her belt and buttoned her jacket over it, and pocketed the ammunition. His papers appeared to be in order, but were probably an expensive forgery. All of his clothing bore the marks of Seymour tailors, and he had five royals in gold and some silver.

  Velesti straightened the bedcovers, dropped the remains and contents of the Amar At'agnine, 6 ME package into her pocket, then went downstairs. The landlord was waiting for her, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

  "The lock mounting is broken," Velesti told him. "Have it repaired. Now."

  "Yes, Frelle Dragonliber."

  "And, Landlord,"

  "Yes, Frelle Dragonliber?"

  "I have made an inventory of the room's contents. If everything is not as it was when the young man returns, you will suspended over a slow fire and asked some very probing questions."

  "Oh, Frelle Dragonliber, it will be as secure as your undoubted virtue," the landlord assured her.

  "It had better be an improvement on that," Velesti warned.

  Uramoren was shown into Lengina's parlor while she was still draping a red flannel dressing cloak over her nightgown. Her handmaids squealed and gathered in front of her, but she ordered them out even as the Highliber was bowing.

  "Alarming news, Frelle Overmayor, a foreign monarch has been arrested after two months disguised as a student of the university," he began succinctly.

  "From Woomera?" she asked, more puzzled than alarmed.

  "From North America. She was in that flying machine that Ala-rek Andren arrived in. She is called an airlord."

  "She? Airlord?"

  "There are suggestions that she is behind these Christian Gaia Crusaders in the independent castellanies of the Southeast, and there are further suggestions that there is a conspiracy against Rochester. There are also suggestions that she has contacts with the Reformed Gentheists, and there are even suggestions that these Crusaders intend to arm the Gentheists with very advanced weapons."

  "Suggestions, further suggestions, also suggestions, even suggestions? Has anyone in the Espionage Constables ever heard of hard evidence?"

  "Frelle Airlord Samondel Leover has been openly associating with a Reformed Gentheist spy and activist."

  "Ah. And what does she have to say?"

  "She has not yet been questioned. I would bet a bag of royals that it is something along the lines of T am innocent,' yet bear in mind that we did fire upon her flying machine without provocation."

  Lengina folded her arms beneath her dressing cloak and thought for a moment, but all that she could think of was that her feet were cold.

  "Speaking as a fellow head of state, I suppose I would have hidden too. All right, then, Fras Dramoren, I am in the dark without a lantern. Advise me."

  "I suggest a judicial duel. Their society recognizes dueling, and I have a suitable champion ready, one who can place a shot on the

  target so well that she could not go on to a blood duel. We would then have a pretext to hold her for trial, and have a full trial before a magistrate. That way her government cannot be affronted if she is speaking the truth."

  "If she loses."

  "She is up against a former Balesha monk, gracious Frelle. She cannot win."

  Lengina nodded. "Do it. Is there any point in me going back to bed just now?"

  "Probably not. I shall send news as soon as it is available."

  When they reached the University grounds Serjon was taken to the administration chambers by four of the Tiger Dragons. Samondel continued on with Velesti and the other five.

  "We must call past your room at Villiers College, Frelle Samondel," said Velesti in Old Anglian once they were walking across the darkened lawns. "You need to change out of those casual robes."

  "I do not understand. Why we are here? Why were we arrested— and how do you know Old AnglianT

  "I fought in Mounthaven, against the aviad radicals. As for the rest, there are sensitive issues involved, Frelle. Politics, religion, loyalties, identities, and deception have been mixed into a most unstable and explosive paste. Unfriendly eyes watch Libris, the cathedral, the city watchouse, and even the m
ayoral palace. The university is safer ground, for all the parties concerned. The Highliber, City Constable, and others are waiting to speak with you in the University Library cloisters."

  "But why?"

  "Your lover Serjon and you have been named in a plot against the Rochestrian Commonwealth."

  "No! We are innocent. And he is not my lover! Well, nearly— again—but not quite, thanks to you. But I am not ashamed—"

  "Would you like to stand up at a public trial and speak under oath about just exactly what you were doing with him? I might be

  inclined to lie on your behalf, but Gellien and Sylendi saw what I saw and will beg to differ."

  It took only moments for the logic and full consequences to trace a very alarming set of projections through Samondel's mind.

  "You think I am lying?"

  "Frelle, Martyne has trained with me for many months. How many Dragon Librarians seriously believe that I have never slept with him?"

  "None, quite probably," said Samondel with a trace of annoyance.

  "Yet that is the truth. I believe that I forestalled a seduction, but when one is at such an advanced stage of proceedings as we caught you at, does it really matter whether his ramrod had actually been inserted or not? This is unimportant, however. Sex is legal in the Rochestrian Commonwealth, espionage is not, and espionage is what you are charged with."

  In Samondel's room Velesti selected a pair of lace-up boots, riding trews, a wide belt, and her dark green satin cloak.

  "You have no wide-sleeve shirts," said Velesti, rummaging about as Samondel changed out of her wine-splashed clothes.

  "No, I prefer tunic over trews for general wearing, and a blouse with skirts for looking nice."

  "That will never do, for where you are going. Here, take mine."

  Velesti unbuttoned her coat, then removed her shirt. Samondel gaped, even though she had seen the unbelievable muscles before. She blinked. The muscles did not go away, but Samondel now noticed that her benefactor did have moderately large breasts stretched across her pectorals. Velesti's shirt was loose but somehow rakish on Samondel as she regarded herself in the mirror. Velesti struggled into one of Samondel's white blouses, but it split across her back as she bent over to pick up her Libris jacket. No damage showed once the jacket had been buttoned up, however.

  They proceeded to the University Library, and past the reading rooms to the cloisters. At least a dozen lamps lit the scene, and standing at the center on a wide stone path were Martyne and three other men. A steady, chill wind was blowing through the cloisters.

  Velesti spoke to the guards of their escort, then went over to the waiting men, undid her jacket, and showed them the Clastini. She spoke softly and quickly so that Samondel did not hear.

  "Frelle Leover, do join us," said the oldest of the men finally. "I am dean of this university. This is our Highliber, Fras Dramoren, and this gentleman is the City Constable. Fras Camderine you already know, I am led to believe."

  Martyne's face was as blank as a whitewashed plaster wall. Samondel could sense that something extremely serious was about to take place, and could not work out what part a mere edutor in applied theology could have there. Then she realized that he was wearing the jacket of a Dragon Librarian.

  Plots. Trickery. Deception. She had fallen for it all so willingly. Suddenly an airlord again, she walked forward.

  "My Honor, meeting all," she began. "Intending, I was, to seek audience, with Overmayor. After first reception, rather nervous, however."

  "That was not her doing, Frelle Leover," Dramoren quickly assured her.

  "I lived, so is not problem. What is now problem?"

  "An agent of the Libris Espionage Constables has been conducting investigations into yourself and a certain foreign national named Serjon Feydamor," said the City Constable. "That agent is present, in secret, at this gathering. You and Fras Feydamor were seen in each other's company today."

  "In particular, you are both accused of selling certain highly sensitive equipment and designs to enemy nationals on Rochestrian soil," said the Highliber, "and of aiding those nationals in the act of subversion within the Rochestrian Commonwealth.

  "A watching order was placed upon yourself and this Serjon Feydamor. You have been heard to converse in an unknown language while keeping company. A search of his room at the Inn of Celestial Dreams revealed a very advanced weapon that fires prepackaged charges with the bullets."

  Mortified, Samondel gritted her teeth. A spy. Present, but in secret. Martyne! He had never been courting her, or even been her

  friend, he had been spying on her all along! He was a Dragon Librarian, and was almost certainly an agent of the Highliber.

  "My agents have collected more evidence besides this," said the Highliber, his arms folded as he stared at her. "It is circumstantial, but still alarming. Can you explain yourself?"

  No doubt much of it being intensely intimate as well, thought Samondel.

  "Cannot! Shall not!" said Samondel sharply. "Am Airlord!"

  "That's a type of mayor," said the Highliber to the City Constable.

  "Have you brought agents of the Christian Gaia Crusaders into the Commonwealth?"

  "Who?"

  "An American organization dedicated to the abolition of all fueled engines," Dramoren explained.

  "What? Me? Airlord of Highland Bartolica? If meeting Crusader perverts, have them shot for treason—and heresy, and perversion of public morals and insult to all wardens' honor."

  The vehemence of her reply seemed to satisfy Dramoren in part.

  "Speaking of morals and honor—"

  "No more! Having not privacy affairs waved like flag on pole."

  "That is why I am here, Frelle," said Dramoren. "As another head of state's representative I can grant you diplomatic immunity as an envoy if you challenge the word of my agent. The most incriminating evidence is circumstantial, you see."

  "Not understanding."

  "The Highliber is willing to trust your word if you are willing to fight a duel to clear your name, and that of your lover," Velesti explained.

  "Do you challenge the honored and sworn word of my agent that Fras, er—"

  "Serjon Feydamor," prompted Velesti.

  "Fras Serjon Feydamor's actions did violate the security of the Rochestrian Commonwealth?"

  "Do challenge accusation. Word of mine, do have, Saireme Highliber."

  There was complete silence, and all others but Samondel and Martyne stepped back several paces.

  "As champion of the Highliber and thus his agent, I accept," replied Martyne, his words barely audible.

  Again there was silence. The silence began to lengthen. The City Constable cleared his throat.

  "You must say 'Who will stand with me?' Frelle Leover," he prompted.

  "Who will stand with me?"

  Velesti took three steps forward and stood beside Samondel.

  "I stand with Frelle Samondel Leover," she declared.

  Martyne glared at them, his arms folded and his legs apart.

  "Who will stand with me?" he asked.

  "You stand champion for me, so I suppose I had better be your second," said the Highliber as he joined Martyne.

  "I am registered to adjudicate without judges," said the City Constable.

  "I was once Academician of Surgery at this university, so I can be the medician," said the dean.

  "Seconds, confer with your principals," ordered the City Constable.

  Suddenly everyone began walking to apparently prearranged positions, and the City Constable chalked a line across the path. Two Tiger Dragons stood to either side of the line, their muskets' strikers cocked and ready to fire.

  "What is happening? "asked Samondel." Is there going to be a hearing now, in the middle of the night?"

  "Hearing? §aid Velesti." Don't you realize? You have just challenged a member of the Espionage Constables to a duel."

  "What? No! I thought I was agreeing to a trial, an inquest, whatever you have here
."

  "There can be no trial now. To back out would be an admission that Martyne's charges are true. Your lover would be shot for spying. You might be shot too, or at the very least be held for ransom. What you must do now is name me as champion. Martyne and I are equally matched, but I am in better practice."

  "This is . . . just beyond belief. Martyne is your best friend, but now you are going to kill him. How do your minds work in Aus-tralica? Are you all insane?"

  "Martyne is the Overmayor's champion, neither of us has any choice. I pledge with my life to be an honorable champion for you, Frelle Samondel. Trust me, follow my advice. I can bring him down and save your beloved for you."

  "Beloved? Serjon is my friend, Serjon is delightful company, but—"

  "Do you want him dead?"

  "No."

  "Then I must kill Martyne."

  "You Australicans really are mad."

  "The moderator has his hand raised, we must fight now. Let me do the talking."

  Samondel nodded.

  "Frelle Leover, do you call a champion?" called the City Constable.

  "She—" began Velesti.

  "I do not!" barked Samondel.

  Velesti's head snapped around, her eyes wide.

  "Declare the choice," said the City Constable.

  "Miscafis," replied the Highliber.

  "Declare the time and place."

  "Here, now, in the cloisters of the University Library."

  Both Velesti and Dramoren loaded the Miscafi flintlocks, then presented them to the duelists.

  "Why did you do that?" muttered Velesti.

  "I shall not let you fight your friend," replied Samondel. "Besides, I learned in the hard school of Bartolican politics that I must fight my own battles."

  As challenger, Martyne shot at the conciliation target first. He stepped up to the line, extended his flintlock and fired in a single fluid motion. The smoke cleared, and a hole became visible at the top of the outermost circle.

  "Frelle, with that shot Martyne is saying that he is a deadly