Worlds of Honor woh-2

by David Weber

  At another time, her approach might have been heavy-handed, but this time it was perfect. Howell stiffened, sipped his cognac, and much of the exhaustion dropped from his features to be replaced by something rather like hope.

  "Perhaps we will not need to concern ourselves for much longer with the question of what titles go with that improperly annexed system," he said. "LeBrun told me this evening, confidentially . . ."

  He paused until everyone had nodded.

  " . . . that the Queen is seriously considering a member of our Party for her Regent's council and that, if he were asked . . ."

  "Which he will be," Gwinner interrupted.

  Howell raised a chiding eyebrow, " . . . that I will be his first choice."

  "Congratulations," Seltman said. "This also means that you would be considered as a candidate for Regent as well. Do you have any idea who the Queen will be nominating tomorrow?"

  Blind Jean Marrou raised a hand for attention. "May I hazard a guess?"

  Seltman was taken aback. Marrou had been with him all evening and had admitted when they met that she had no idea who the candidate would be. Had she been holding out on him? However, her almost uncanny talent for political analysis was one of the reasons he had recruited her. It might be amusing to learn what she would say.

  He glanced at the others, saw some reflection of his thoughts in their expressions, and grinned.

  "Certainly, Jean. Who do you believe will be nominated as Regent?"

  "Normally, I would not hazard a guess based only on listening to news commentary," she began, clearly enjoying the moment, "but tonight I had the distinct impression that the Lord Chamberlain, Lord Jacob Wundt, is her choice."

  Both Howell and Seltman gasped. Gwinner shook her head, laughing.

  "Incredible, Jean! That's exactly what I heard from my sources. How did you know?"

  "Listening to the description of the Queen's party tonight," Marrou said smugly, "I noticed that she frequently called the Lord Chamberlain to her side."

  "But this was a social/political function," Howell protested, "that is his usual role. How could you tell that anything had changed?"

  "The frequency, the proximity, the fact that he also spent time speaking with Cromarty. As you know, Wundt is closer to being a Crown Loyalist than anything else. His new friendliness with the Prime Minister seemed to indicate that Cromarty now finds him useful."

  Seltman nodded. "Interesting. Padraic's reports confirm that Wundt has been part of the informal council meetings that have been held today. I had assumed his presence was because he could provide information on the inner workings of Palace protocol. However, My Lord, did you hear anything that would confirm this?"

  Howell had stopped gaping like a fish, but he continued to study Marrou as if her talents were akin to sorcery. Marrou did not help to settle him by appearing to feel his gaze and turning her blind eyes on him.

  "Yes," Howell managed. "LeBrun did say something of the sort. He also said that he expected the party to be somewhat torn on confirmation. Our platform usually is complete support for the Crown and, as you've noted, Wundt is by personal inclination one of our own, but his age and the fact that he has not actively participated in debate on the issues make him a poor choice as Regent."

  Seltman rubbed his hands briskly together. "If even the Crown Loyalists have second thoughts, then some of the other factions must be truly torn. When is the vote for confirmation to be held?"

  "The question will open for debate tomorrow at ten," Howell said. "Protocol demands that it not be called to the vote until reasonable discussion is held. However, the need to put in place both a Regent and a Regency council suggests that no one will choose to filibuster."

  "I second that," Gwinner said. "Since Wundt has never firmly allied himself with any one party, no group will see a benefit from delaying the vote. My guess is that we will have a vote by midday tomorrow."

  Marrou nodded. "I suspect the pacing in Commons will be similar. Our general support for the Crown will not extend to rubber-stamping the Regent. A few well-made speeches . . ."

  "Can we expect one from you?" Seltman asked. "I am somewhat less popular."

  "That's true," Marrou agreed. "Your personal ambitions are too well-known. While they frequently garner you respect, since no one thinks you would promote an issue you haven't carefully researched, I think too much interest in the Regent would seem suspicious."

  Seltman stared at her, trying to decide if he had just been insulted. He decided that he had, but that it was not worth comment.

  "I shall hold my tongue then," he said. "You will speak. Earl Howell will certainly be expected to speak, since he is a rising hope within his party. Paula?"

  Gwinner nibbled a piece of cheese before answering. "Let me get a feeling for the mood of the House. Given my youth and my position as a second-generation prolong recipient, I don't wish to speak out against an older candidate. It could cause something of a backlash. If I can find an angle that is not age or party related, either I'll speak or I'll put the idea into one of my more ambitious colleague's minds."

  "Who do you have in mind?" Howell asked.

  "Sheridan Wallace hates anything that promotes established privilege," Gwinner replied, "but he's smart enough to say so tactfully. I can use him."

  "Who do you think will be the Queen's second choice?" Seltman asked. He was amused to see that everyone looked at Jean Marrou. Knowing she could not see this, he prompted, "Jean?"

  "I can't say based on what I heard tonight," she said honestly. "I will have a better idea after I attend tomorrow's viewing, especially if I can schedule my timing to match the Queen's attendance."

  "She won't be there all day tomorrow?" Gwinner asked.

  "No," Marrou said. "The newscast noted that this would be unduly exhausting. Instead, various members of the royal family will be attending in shifts. I believe that the Henkes will be taking on some of this duty."

  "They were all present tonight," Howell noted. "Lord Calvin Henke and Justin Zyrr both stayed close to the Queen. The Honorable Michelle shadowed the young Crown Prince."

  "The House of Winton and its offshoots have always been clannish," Seltman said. "Although I don't have Jean's gift for analysis, I still suspect that the Queen's next candidate will be a family member. Paula, I suggest that you begin to lay groundwork for why this would be unacceptable."

  "I'll do what I can," she promised. "Certainly, Earl Howell can't. It would look too much like self-interest."

  Jean Marrou stood, balancing herself lightly against the back of her chair. "If we are finished with tonight's discussion, I believe I will make my way to my hotel. If I'm too late screening my husband, he'll screen and wonder why I'm still out."

  "You could screen from here," Seltman offered.

  "No, I would be more comfortable among my own things." She smiled. "Besides, if I am to attend the viewing during the Queen's vigil, I need to rise early to make some inquiries."

  "Good night then," Seltman said.

  The earl, with the instinctive social courtesy of his rank, rose and walked her to the door.

  Deep in her own thoughts as she left the hotel, Jean Marrou switched off the small computer unit that regularly scanned her environment and reported on those present. Even if she had not been distracted, it is doubtful that she would have taken note of the security guard who held the door for her or bothered to run a cross-check to learn that she had encountered the man before at the estate of the Earl of North Hollow.

  As predicted by many, Lord Jacob Wundt was not confirmed as Regent for young Queen Elizabeth. After heated debate, a vote was taken and Parliament sent its regretful refusal.

  "We'll wait until tomorrow to name Aunt Caitrin as our next choice," Elizabeth said to Dame Eliska and the Queen Mother. "That will give ample opportunity for the pundits and politicos to guess."

  "Should I put out any hints?" Paderweski asked.

  "No," Elizabeth said decisively. "I think not. Simply stat
e that I regret the result of Parliament's vote and will be reviewing their objections to Lord Wundt before selecting my next nominee."

  "Acid, Beth," Queen Angelique commented. "Your father would be proud."

  "Thanks," Elizabeth grinned. "Now, I believe I have a few hours in my schedule to spend with Justin. If you would excuse me?"

  "Of course, Your Majesty," Dame Eliska said, concealing a slight smile.

  "Have fun, dear," Queen Angelique added. "And give Justin my love."

  Ariel romping beside her, Elizabeth hurried off to her suite in King Michael's Tower. Justin, his handsome features somber, was waiting. After they had embraced, Elizabeth sat him down firmly and planted herself in his lap.

  "Tell me, Justin," she said. "I don't need to be as sensitive as Ariel to know that you have found something out—and that you don't like what you've learned."

  Taking a deep breath, Justin said, "I have every reason to believe that you were correct in believing that the King was assassinated."

  As concisely as if he were presenting an experiment report, Justin told her of his visit to the Indigo Salt Flats, of his meeting with Daniel Chou, and, finally, of their conclusions. When he finished, Elizabeth's eyes shone with tears.

  "I knew," she whispered, "but I so wanted to be wrong."

  "You might as well have been for all the evidence we found," Justin said flatly. "Chou is right. Negative evidence won't hold up in court. We need something more."

  "Chou is checking the records for who was at the Flats that day?" Elizabeth queried.

  "That's right."

  "Then we can't despair until we know what he learned. Justin, you must be my ears and eyes in this. With the Regency confirmation and the wake, I cannot spare attention."

  She squared her shoulders. "Until we know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is the Kingdom's business, I must apply myself to ongoing problems."

  "Problems?

  "Nothing that I can't handle with Cromarty and Mother's advice, but the existing business of the Star Kingdom didn't stop simply because the King died. Already there are those who are trying to use this period of transition to their advantage."

  "That's hardly fair!"

  "No it isn't, but my Parliament is filled with canny politicians. I may not agree with their tactics, but I'm rather like a starship captain who takes battle damage in a skirmish and then finds an enemy squadron bearing down. There simply isn't time to complain about fairness."

  Justin nodded agreement and chuckled. "It still isn't fair."

  "True," Elizabeth squeezed his hand, "but it could be worse."

  "How?"

  "I could be facing this without you."

  Chou wasn't very hopeful when he met Justin late that morning.

  "I've checked," he said, "and I have the names of everyone on duty on the chalet on the day of the King's death and for a week before. No one on the list has the least blemish on record, not that I expected to find any."

  "No," Justin agreed. "Anyone on report would have been put on duty elsewhere. The Star Kingdom doesn't take risks with its monarchs."

  "And," Chou continued remorselessly, "I've run mock-ups based on the available data and there are numerous ways the accident could have been caused. The most likely is a small receiver set mounted on the ski and controlled by remote."

  "Wouldn't that have been found during the diagnostic?"

  "It would if it was set in the ski's own works," Chou said, "but if it was placed in a strap or within a bit of decoration . . ."

  "Or if the person doing the diagnostic chose to overlook it," Justin added. "Did you find out who dissuaded the King from using the ski set that Beth gave him?"

  Chou nodded. "It was a member of the King's Guard named Padraic Dover. He's a native of Gryphon and has an impeccable record."

  "I've met him," Justin said. "He's been on the Palace staff since Beth was eight or ten. That doesn't make him a likely suspect."

  "No," Chou agreed, "but that's exactly what we need to look for—an unlikely suspect. There is no one who is likely."

  The two men sat in silent meditation, Chou stroking his drooping mustache, Zyrr frowning and chewing on his inner lip.

  "I suppose I'd better speak with Dover," Chou said at last. "Do you want to attend?"

  "Why don't I speak with him?" Justin suggested. "If you call on him he's going to know that something is up. Even if he's innocent, a casual mention of the interview could start rumors."

  "The PGS questioning a member of the Queen's Own," Chou mused. "Yes, it might raise questions. You can talk to him more casually. But I'd like to be present—concealed—if possible."

  "We can work something out. Can you get into my suite at the Palace without being noticed?"

  Chou merely smiled.

  "Then before I leave here I'll try to set up an appointment with Dover so you know when to meet us."

  Twenty minutes later, Zyrr had made the appointment for later that same day. Returning to the Mount Royal complex, he was accosted by Michelle Henke.

  "Hi, Mike."

  "Justin! You're the very man I was hoping to find."

  Zyrr doubted that the Honorable Michelle had found him by accident. Already, the confident young woman left little to chance.

  "What can I do for you?"

  "It's Monroe. He's becoming increasingly despondent. We're worried that he's going to suicide. He won't tolerate anyone but immediate family near him, so we've been taking turns sitting with him, but right now everyone is scheduled elsewhere. Michael and I are set to be at the viewing next; Calvin is out meeting with some of the young turks, trying to sway their vote for one of Beth's projects, Mom is—"

  "I get the picture. Do you need me to take care of Monroe?"

  "Would you? Michael's with him now."

  "Do you think Monroe would come to my suite? Someone is coming to meet me there."

  Mike tilted her head thoughtfully. "I don't see why not. A change of setting might be good for him. If he fusses, you can have your appointment redirected to Uncle Roger's office."

  Justin glanced at his chronometer. "I'll run over and relieve Michael one way or another."

  "You're a prince!" Mike gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

  "Not yet," he smiled.

  Laughing, the Honorable Michelle hurried off to don her uniform for the viewing.

  Mike, Justin mused as he walked over to King Roger's office, couldn't fail to make an impression on young Michael. He'd be willing to bet that the Crown Prince was being not so subtly indoctrinated in the virtues of a Navy career.

  When the guard at the door signalled Prince Michael that Justin had arrived, Justin was admitted with indecent haste.

  Michael must have taken the initiative to have his valet bring his formal wear to the office so that he could dress while he waited, for he stood by his father's desk, nearly attired in his court finery.

  "Justin!"

  "You're the second person in ten minutes to greet me with such delight," Justin said wryly. "I suppose I should be honored. Mike has filled me in and I'm here to spell you with Monroe."

  "Thanks, Justin." Michael gestured to where the treecat lay limp and bedraggled on his perch. "He's quit eating, only drinks a little water. Beth says she thinks the only thing keeping him from quitting is knowing that we're worried about him."

  "So we want to stay close." Justin completely agreed.

  He walked over to the limp 'cat and stroked him, suppressing his shock when he felt how sharply the 'cat's backbone stood out beneath the fluffy camouflage of his coat. The cat's eyes were closed and not even a hint of green flickered when Justin tried to tickle him under his chin.

  "Are you even certain that he's conscious?" he said, shocked.

  "No," Michael said wearily. He seemed years older than the boy who had burst into tears at the memory of his argument with his father. "The vet said that Monroe isn't conscious much of the time, but that he can probably still feel our concern."

 
The Crown Prince extended his arm. "Can you help me with my cufflinks, Jus? These are Dad's. They're harder to snap tight than my old ones."

  "No problem."

  Justin fastened the cufflinks and straightened the lace front of the boy's dress shirt. When King Roger I had become the first monarch of the Kingdom of Manticore, he had commissioned an artist to design court dress. His only dictums had been that the new attire would be comfortable, elegant, and equally suited for male or female wear.

  The artist had done his work brilliantly, Justin thought as he helped Michael into his jacket. The tail coat worn over tailored trousers had been borrowed from ancient England. The ruffled shirt with its lace cuffs had been taken from a slightly earlier time. There was no hat to create awkward clutter, and the footwear consisted of low-heeled boots that looked elegant while permitting the wearer to stand comfortably for hours.

  By tradition, each noble house had its garb tailored in colors corresponding to those of its family's crest—in the case of the Wintons dusky blue trimmed with silver, although the Queen wore the red and gold of the Star Kingdom of Manticore. Awards, marriage alliances, and the like were indicated by slim bands at the cuffs. Since tradition also dictated that the fabrics be sumptuous brocades, a gathering of the nobility was awe inspiring indeed.

  Commoners wore clothing of similar cut, but avoided both brocades and color combinations that directly mimicked an aristocrat's heraldry. However, Members of Parliament were encouraged to allude to the district they represented in the colors they elected to wear.

  On the few occasions in his pre-Elizabeth life where a uniform would not serve, Justin had opted for rather generic colors. Since his official engagement, however, he wore a combination of Gryphon's bronze and dark brown with bands in the Winton colors at his cuffs. Idly, he thought that before he dismissed his valet, he had better make certain his clothing was ready for tonight.

  When Michael had left, Justin crossed to Monroe.

  "Come on, fellow. Time for a change of venue."

  The treecat didn't budge from his perch. However, when Justin picked him up he came away with only a token grasping of his claws.