by David Drake
"I'd have done the same," Daniel said as he turned toward the BDC at the other end of the corridor. Over his shoulder he added, "And regardless, Captain, it's your decision."
Tovera cycled open the heavy hatch as Daniel approached; the BDC was armored, like the bridge and Power Room. She gave him a smile that made him think—as usual when he was around Tovera—of snakes, then said, "Come have a drink with me, Hogg. They won't need us for a little while."
Daniel glanced at his servant. "Yes, of course," he said. He didn't know what Tovera wanted to discuss with Hogg, and he did know that asking wouldn't gain him anything. "For that matter—I intend to go out later myself, but there's no reason you need to accompany me."
Hogg sniffed. "No reason the sun needs to rise in the morning either, young master," he said. "But I guess it will."
To Tovera he added as the hatch closed, "I've got a pint of what they call whiskey on Blennerhasset. Leastwise we can make room for something better, eh?"
The consoles of the BDC were arranged petal-fashion around the center of the compartment, with five jumpseats along each sidewall. Adele, alone in the room, didn't turn when Daniel entered behind her.
"I've been busy," she said as her wands flickered; she'd slaved the console to her little data unit as she generally did. She was so familiar with its controls that she gained minusculely by the circumlocution. "I assume you want to know about Admiral Wrenn?"
"Yes-s-s. . .," said Daniel carefully, patting his head by reflex to be sure that he wasn't after all wearing a commo helmet that would've transmitted the business aboard the destroyer back to Adele here in the Princess Cecile. He wasn't—of course.
He settled onto the console to the left of Adele's. Text spilled across the display, broken up with images of Wrenn at various stages of his life. Mostly he was dressed in one or another comic-opera Bennarian uniform, but in one he appeared in the unpiped gray of a probationary RCN midshipman.
Understanding dawned, filling Daniel with relief. "I turned the Sibyl's console on!" he said. "You used that to see what was going on aboard her. And then you gathered the rest of this because you knew I'd want to know what had gotten into Wrenn."
"You would, and I did also," said Adele, cocking her head just slightly sideways and offering Daniel a smile. Well, a smile for Adele; a slight tick of the lips for anybody else. "And I suspect the answer is that Wrenn was sent to the RCN Academy at Xenos as a foreign student but was dismissed after the first year. He doesn't seem to have showed up for classes. The Wrenns are a Counciliar House, of course."
She frowned. "I'm a little surprised that he wasn't simply waved on through," she said. "Since he wouldn't be entering the RCN, after all."
Daniel shrugged. "If he'd been from somewhere more important," he said, "Kostroma or the Danziger Stars, say, I suspect that's what would've happened. Bennaria doesn't matter enough for External Affairs or Navy House either one to worry about offending the local nobility."
He laughed. "I suppose I ought to regret that choice," he said, "but I don't. I don't care that some dimwit from Bennaria gets angry any more than the Academy Provosts did."
"I was puzzled by the timing of Wrenn's appearance on the Sibyl," Adele said, cascading additional text across Daniel's display. He glanced at it but kept his attention on his friend instead; she'd give him the information he needed in an organized and compact fashion, a much better plan than him trying to sort the raw data himself. "Since it didn't seem random. I found—"
More text in the corner of Daniel's eye; he continued to watch Adele and to smile as she worked, completely absorbed with her task.
"—that as soon as Councilor Fahey had returned to his townhouse, he called Admiral Wrenn and informed him you were inspecting the ships and installations at the Squadron Pool. You see from the transcript—"
"Summarize it, please," Daniel said mildly.
Adele looked up, caught his smile, and managed one of her own. "Yes, of course," she said. "While the Councilor doesn't refer directly to the fact Wrenn flunked out of the Academy, he's obviously wording his comments in a way to remind Wrenn of the fact. 'These Academy-trained Cinnabar officers think the sun shines out of their asses,' was one of his lines. It strikes me as an effective job of goading Wrenn into actions that he'll reasonably regret."
She frowned and added, "I don't see why Fahey's opposing us, though."
"He's not," said Daniel. "He resents Waddell's power, so he's using my visit to embarrass him. Fahey doesn't gain anything, but he irritates his rival. And he doesn't think his involvement'll be traced back to him."
Daniel shrugged. He smiled, but he felt suddenly tired.
"It's the sort of thing my father'd do," he said. "Except that my father would probably have done it better."
"I have enough to regret about my own actions," said Adele coolly, "that I'm not going to become depressed over the behavior of foreigners whom I neither know well nor care for. And as it chances, my trip back to the ship wasn't as uneventful as I'd expected either. I've met Yuli Corius. He arranged to meet me, rather."
"Did he indeed?" said Daniel, his expression sharpening. "And what was that in aid of?"
"He told me he intends to defeat the Pellegrinian invasion of Dunbar's World," Adele said. "By himself, if necessary; but he'd like us to work with him."
"By himself?" Daniel repeated. "Can he do that, do you think? From the way Waddell was talking. . . ."
He let his voice trail off. Adele had been at the same meeting; he didn't have to repeat what was said there. Besides, anything Councilor Waddell said had to be taken with a grain of salt.
"I'm still working on that," Adele said. "Corius has rented four large transports, which implies he's serious about moving a significant number of troops somewhere. They're at his estate eighty miles up the River Noir from Charlestown."
More data appeared on Daniel's display; this time he did look at it. The ships were the Greybudd, IMG 40, Todarov, and Zephyr; 3,000-ton freighters of the type standard in Ganpat's Reach.
His hope had been wrong: they weren't warships and couldn't be converted to warships. Two of the transports mounted single 10-cm plasma cannon; the other pair had pods of unguided 8-inch rockets, the sort of light armament that pirates used to cripple their prey. By no stretch of the imagination could they tackle a cruiser, even a cruiser crewed by Pellegrinians.
"On a short run," said Daniel. He was thinking out loud as much as he was informing his companion. "You could pack three thousand people aboard them. A run from here to Dunbar's World, that is. But soldiers—not nearly so many, not if they've got any kit at all. And even three thousand troops won't throw Arruns off Dunbar's World. Corius's going the wrong way about it if that's really what he plans. He ought to be looking for warships."
He pursed his lips. "Do you believe him?" he asked.
"I don't disbelieve him," Adele said. "He's a clever man and clearly a bold one." She smiled faintly. "Rash, in fact. He nearly got himself killed this afternoon, and I can easily imagine him miscalculating other risks just as badly."
She paused. "I don't disbelieve him, Daniel," she said. "But I certainly don't trust him."
Daniel laughed and got up from the console. "Based on what I know thus far," he said, "I see no way to accomplish our mission. That doesn't mean I'm giving up."
Adele sniffed. "I didn't imagine you were," she said dryly.
"No, of course," said Daniel in mild embarrassment. "Sorry."
He'd been talking for effect rather than talking to Adele. He didn't need to convince her of anything, and she wasn't the sort to be swayed by words alone anyway.
"We need more information," he said. "We'll get it—here, I think, though I'll go to Dunbar's World if we've explored all the avenues here."
"Corius may be the answer," Adele said. "There's his assembly tomorrow."
"Right," agreed Daniel. "And tonight I'm going out to see what I can learn around the harbor. Spacers may tell me what the Councilors wouldn't."
He grinned and added, "Besides, it's been a long voyage. I'm looking forward to having a drink on the ground."
Adele nodded. "I'm going out myself," she said. "I'd like to get a neutral opinion about the situation here on Bennaria before we pick a side—whether Waddell or Corius."
Daniel felt his lips purse; he knew Adele was a spy, but that wasn't a business he felt comfortable around. "Well, I trust your judgment, of course," he said, and turned toward the hatch.
"Oh, not one of Mistress Sand's people, Daniel," she replied with a hint of amusement. "His name's Krychek, and I have an introduction to him from an old family friend. His ship's berthed at the other end of this island. From the way he responded when I called him this evening, he'll be very glad to talk to someone whom he considers civilized. The members of the Council of Bennaria and their associates don't qualify as civilized in his opinion, I gather."
Daniel laughed as he cycled the hatch open. "Well," he said, "Master Krychek and I agree about something, at any rate. Good luck to you!"
* * *
The water taxi's electric motor began to arc and spit before it'd carried Adele and Tovera more than halfway to Krychek's ship. They wallowed.
"Can you get us to shore?" Tovera said. Adele couldn't see her face in the darkness, but her voice was cold. "We'll walk the rest of the way."
"No no!" said the boatman, pulling on a rubber glove. "Is not a problem, you see!" He put his index finger on the motor's control panel, apparently holding down a relay. The motor buzzed back up to speed and they proceeded, a nimbus of sizzling blue wrapping the boatman's hand.
"There's no road on the island," Adele said mildly. That was why she'd called a water taxi for the trip to the Mazeppa. "It's just mud except for the individual slips."
"Yes," said Tovera from her seat in the far bow. She was wearing RCN goggles which gave her several light enhancement options as well as magnification if she wanted. "But even so we wouldn't sink as deep."
The boatman cut inshore toward a freighter hulking against the tip of the island. The stars were thick enough to silhouette dorsal turrets at the vessel's bow and stern; there were rocket clusters also, bolted on awkwardly between the folded masts.
Krychek's Mazeppa displaced nearly 6,000 tonnes, nearly twice the size of anything else in harbor. Lights shone through open hatches on the upper levels, though the hull at the waterline was dark save for the vast square of the entrance hold.
Adele had examined the Mazeppa through its computer. The vessel didn't carry missiles so it couldn't engage a real warship with any chance of success, but its array of short-range armament was enough to warn off a pirate—or squadron of pirates.
"There's two automatic impellers aimed at us," Tovera said. She didn't sound frightened, but she'd raised her voice more than she usually would.
"Sheer off!" a man shouted. "We don't want visitors!"
A powerful searchlight above the entrance hatch blazed down at the taxi. The boatman yelped, jerking his hand away from the relay. The motor spluttered, leaving the boat to wallow again.
Adele had expected the light and was already squinting. In the side-scatter of the beam she saw a pintle-mounted automatic impeller aimed at them from the boarding ramp. Tovera'd opened her attaché case, but she used the lid to conceal her right hand from the vessel.
"This is Mundy of Chatsworth!" Adele said. "Visiting Captain Krychek by arrangement!"
"Bloody hell!" somebody muttered from the Mazeppa. The searchlight cut off, turning the night into a pit of total darkness.
"Come aboard, Mistress," a different voice called. "Sorry for the confusion."
The taxi coasted against the Mazeppa's outrigger. The boatman was hunched with his hands clasped over his head, so Adele herself grabbed the rope ladder hanging from the metal. Tovera remained as she'd been, smiling faintly but focused on other concerns than whether the taxi would drift away from the freighter.
Adele didn't have local currency, so she dropped two florins beside the boatman and climbed the ladder. "That's too much, Mistress," Tovera said mildly as she waited for Adele to reach the outrigger."
"He may have trouble changing Cinnabar money," Adele said, waving aside the spacer bending to offer her a hand. "Besides, he just had guns pointed at him."
Tovera tittered. Adele didn't ask what her servant had found funny. Perhaps it was the thought that an automatic impeller was more dangerous than she was.
A hatch squealed open; full illumination flooded the entrance hold in place of the yellow watch light that'd been on before.
"Mistress Mundy!" said the big man coming toward her with his arms out in greeting. "I am Krychek! Pardon my men's mistake. The Bennarians do not welcome us, and we do not encourage drunken louts to speed past and hurl garbage. As has happened in the past."
Krychek was about sixty, with close-cropped hair, a full beard, and a wrestler's build. He wore closely tailored trousers and tunic of blue fabric with red piping. The outfit suggested a uniform but had no unit or rank markings.
"I regret to hear that," Adele said, clasping Krychek's right hand in both of hers to prevent him from embracing her—if that was actually what he'd intended. "I was hoping for a neutral assessment of the political situation here."
Adele'd looked up Krychek as soon as Claverhouse mentioned his name, though at the time she hadn't expected the information to be of importance. He was hereditary Landholder of Infanta, one of the founding worlds of the Alliance of Free Stars.
From the beginning Infantans had been more notable for military prowess than scholarship; Adele didn't remember ever meeting one in the Academic Collections. She didn't know what the culture considered a friendly greeting, and she had no intention of adapting her own upper-class Cinnabar reserve to anything more physical.
"A neutral assessment?" said Krychek, taking her firmly by the elbow and guiding her toward the companionway. "A difficult task, mistress. Flies, I am sure, can find all manner of subtleties in garbage, but for such folk as you and I—what can we say about a stench and an abomination? Still, come with me to my library and I will do what I can to inform you."
The first segment of companionway would've been dark except that a work light hung on a length of flex running back into the corridor behind. Adele had noticed that the floor of the entrance hold wasn't level, a more serious maintenance problem. The port outrigger must leak enough to float lower than the starboard one.
"Do you appreciate fine wines, mistress?" Krychek asked. "Or liqueurs, perhaps?"
He was immediately behind Adele, which meant Tovera brought up the rear. She'd presumably decided that she could best protect her mistress from that position, though Adele couldn't imagine what criteria she'd used. Tovera didn't have the emotional concern for Adele that Hogg did for Daniel—she didn't have emotions at all, so far as Adele'd been able to tell—but she would stolidly and efficiently do the best job she could through intelligence and ruthlessness.
"I can't say that I do, sir," Adele said, honestly but for effect also. She wasn't here to socialize. "I might say that I'm a connoisseur of information, but even there I have catholic tastes."
She stepped out in the A Level corridor and turned left—toward the bridge—by reflex. "This way, if you please," Krychek said, opening the hatch across from the companionway. The interior lights went on automatically.
In a compartment down the corridor men—she was sure they were all men—were singing, "Rosy dawn, rosy dawn, will today my grave-mouth yawn?"
Krychek nodded toward the voices. "The crew are my retainers," he said. "My children and closer than children. They came into exile with me—for me."
"Soon I'll hear the trumpet sound," sang the hidden chorus. One of the group had a guitar. "I to death am surely bound, I and my dear comrades."
"I'll join them, mistress?" Tovera said, flicking her eyes toward the singing. Adele nodded agreement.
"I understand," said Adele as she followed Krychek into the compartment. The h
atch was an ordinary steel valve, but the inner surface was veneered in the same dark wood as the cabinets and other furnishings. "The circumstances of my own exile were rather different, of course."
"I never thought, I never thought—"
"Exile?" repeated Krychek, pausing with his hand on the hatch. "But of course, I should have realized—you were an associate of my friend Maurice!"
"—my joy so soon would come to naught," the chorus sang with lugubrious gusto.
"Yes, my family was implicated in the Three Circles Conspiracy," Adele said simply. "I spent most of my adult life on Bryce, until the Edict of Reconciliation permitted me to return to Cinnabar."
She was using the massacre of her own family as a tool to elicit the sympathy and thereby cooperation of this Infantan noble. Part of her was horrified at such callousness, but that was an intellectual thing. Emotionally she was quite content to use any tool available to accomplish her task.