by B. V. Larson
Her thinking was thus revealed to me. She was more interested in the election of my father to the office of President than she was in discovering who had attacked him. It would seem odd to an outsider, but I understood. My parents were ambitious to a fault.
Heaving a sigh, I assured her I would do as she asked. I gave her a peck on the cheek, which she returned. Then I left her side quickly, before she could insist on any more conditions.
Miles was indeed waiting for me on the roof. It had begun to rain in the city; the dark clouds overhead drizzled onto my upturned face.
The turbines of the air car whined, slowly gaining in pitch as I approached the passenger side. I climbed in and shook myself off. The hydrophobic surfaces of the upholstery shed the rainwater, sending every droplet quickly to a drain in the bottom of the cabin.
“I’m so glad you found time to visit your father in his hour of need, William,” Miles said. “House Sparhawk is blessed to have a man such as yourself representing our—”
“Save the praise for House Astra, Miles,” I said. “You’re coming along to massage their egos, not mine.”
Tannish fell silent as the airship lifted off.
I glanced at him, and I quickly determined that he was annoyed.
“Why does everyone think offending the House Astra is worth ignoring a violent attack?” I asked him.
He set the autopilot and leaned back in his seat, glancing at me. “Is that a serious question?”
“I rarely ask any other kind.”
“House Sparhawk has considerable political influence, William. Your father is a popular man. But he isn’t all-powerful. He needs funding.”
“Ah,” I said, “and House Astra is one of the richest Houses in the Ministry.”
“Exactly. Now, I’m supposed to coach you on civility. How long has it been since you’ve visited another of the Great Houses? As an official representative of House Sparhawk, I mean?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I avoided his gaze. “I don’t recall the specifics. As a child, I’m sure I—”
“That’s what I thought,” he said, heaving a sigh. “Let’s go over the basics. It’s critical that you maintain certain realities in your mind at all times during the visit. First of all, we’ll be in their home, not ours. We must conduct ourselves with decorum and respect.”
My eyes rolled of their own accord. “I’m a guardsman, Miles. I can’t conduct an investigation without impressing them with my authority.”
“You may find that they’re more forthcoming if they like you—or if they at least feel you’re a welcome guest from an allied House.”
“Friendship and alliance—these things are not my goals. I seek cooperation and truthfulness.”
My statement did not seem to deter Miles. He continued to lecture me as we flew out of the city and across several districts toward the north. When the lights below were few and far between, we came upon a constellation of light nestled in a forest on a mountaintop.
Intrigued despite my mood, I watched as we glided down into the estate grounds. The service road resembled a thread of light winding up the mountain to the bejeweled crown of brilliant stars that was the estate itself.
“It’s much larger than our estate,” I said.
“As I said, they have the wealth, if not the most charismatic leader.”
Mesmerized, I watched as we landed in a fairytale scene. The estate was walled, with six tiers of boulders laser-cut into a perfect jigsaw puzzle pattern.
“Bricks were too ordinary for them as well, I see,” I remarked.
“Each of those stones was quarried from living rock on a distant colony,” he said.
I glanced at him in surprise. “A colony? This castle is that old?”
“Yes, it dates back to before the Cataclysm, as does House Astra. There are many wonders here. You would do well to—”
“Wait,” I said in concern, “we’re passing the landing zone.”
“Naturally. We invited ourselves, not the other way around. Accordingly, we’ll be using the tradesman’s entrance at the rear of the House.”
Glaring at him, I couldn’t believe what he was saying. He landed with a thump in a poorly-lit back alley behind the main structure. He popped open the canopy and climbed out. I didn’t follow him.
“Miles,” I said, “you will immediately take me back to the front entrance.”
He poked his head back into the cab and looked at me.
“Unthinkable,” he said. “This is exactly the sort of thing that made your mother insist on my guidance. We’re not invited guests here, William. We represent the interests of House Sparhawk, yes, but—”
“I’m not walking in that door.”
Miles shook his head and sighed. He steepled his fingers and took on a pained expression as he readied himself to explain the harsh realities of the situation to me once again.
Two butlers in livery had caught sight of us by this time and were hastening out to help us from the air car. Miles turned and greeted them effusively.
That was the last straw for me. I’d suffered a great deal tonight, and it was getting late. I wasn’t in the mood for another moment of decorum and pretended humility.
Laying my hands on the controls, I flipped it into manual control mode. The stick slid neatly and automatically over to my side of the cab, and I pulled back on it.
Miles was left on the landing pad wearing a stunned expression. Matching him on either side were the two butlers, holding their felt caps to their heads and gaping up at me.
-6-
After a minute-long flight, I bumped down in front of the mansion on the very edge of the landing pad. Admittedly, it had been a few years since I’d flown an air car without a program to follow.
I popped open the canopy and climbed out. This time, the service people moved with much greater speed. They rushed toward my side. One of them carried a fire extinguisher.
“Sir?” asked the one with the extinguisher. “Has your vehicle malfunctioned?”
“No,” I said. “Please care for it. I’ll be needing it on my return journey.”
That said, I walked toward the house. Their eyes followed me in astonishment. Their mouths opened, but no words escaped until after I’d passed by. At that point, they whispered intensely amongst themselves.
Taking the oddly cut stone steps in single strides, despite the fact the steps were placed too widely apart for such treatment, I reached the towering front door.
At first, when faced by a door that had to be six meters tall and equally as wide, I was at a loss as how to enter. Then I saw the smaller door cut into the larger. I reached for a knocker made of what appeared to be dulled silver—but I suspected it was platinum or perhaps titanium.
Before my fingers could grasp it, the door creaked open. An elderly gentleman peered at me as if I were a stray dog.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked.
“Yes, you can let me pass. I’m here to meet with the membership of House Astra. I’m a guardsman who’s been charged as an investigator—”
“Ah,” interrupted the elderly doorman. “I see. This is a misunderstanding. The appropriate entrance, sir, is around to the back. You’d best return to your vehicle, it’s nearly a kilometer-long walk.”
Feeling a flush come over me, I struggled to control an outburst.
“I’m William Sparhawk,” I said quietly, “of House Sparhawk. Are you refusing to allow me to enter?”
The doorman eyed me uncertainly. “One moment Mr. Sparhawk,” he said, and left me standing there.
A full minute passed, then another. During this time, I tried not to peek into the interior of the mansion but found myself drawn to do so. There were startling sights inside; I could see that from where I stood.
Paintings stood as tall as the door at which I’d been abandoned. Steps of polished onyx gleamed under a chandelier of translucent, custom-grown crystal.
Craning my neck a fraction, I caught sight of the doorman. He was talking
to an elderly, white-haired lady in a fur robe.
I froze in recognition. The robed figure was none other than Gwen Astra, the head of the House.
Almost without conscious thought, my hand reached out to push open the door another dozen centimeters. A creaking sound resulted, and the two looked in my direction.
Gwen caught herself quickly. She clapped her leathery hands together and beckoned for me enter.
“There you are, young Sparhawk!” she said. “Come inside and warm yourself by my fire.”
I was by no means chilled, but I did as she asked. I followed her to a circular arrangement of chairs and sofas in the midst of which was a roaring fire as tall as a man. I glanced upward, but saw no obvious means by which the smoke was being removed from the chamber. Perhaps the fire was an illusion, although it gave off a great deal of flickering light and heat.
“Sit, sit,” Gwen insisted, waving me to a settee, which I perched upon uncomfortably. In contrast, she stretched out like a Roman empress.
It was all I could do not to stare at her. She was a member of a select group known as “oldsters.” She’d been alive at the cusp of the longevity revolution, from a time before science had perfected the process.
Oldsters were people of great age who were among the first humans to have the wealth and foresight to begin taking the treatments when they were first made available.
The reason for my scrutiny was the strangeness of the result. Oldsters were hale and healthy, even physically powerful at times. But they looked old. their hair hung thin, white and lank, as did their sallow skins. The drugs hadn’t been able to freeze the aging process until it had taken a dreadful toll.
Seeing an old person wasn’t what made a man stare at them, however. Among the poor, plenty of aged persons existed. What was alarming was the horrible vigor these oldsters possessed.
Gwen had feet like those of a pale frog. Her eyes looked too big for their sockets, and her skin appeared stretched over the bones beneath. For all that, she moved with energy. She smiled broadly, and I could see the sharp wit trapped within her ancient skin.
How old was this woman? I could have looked it up, but I hadn’t bothered. If I had to guess, I would have said she was past the two century mark. Most of the oldsters were.
“Madam,” I began, “I’m sorry to trouble you at this late hour, but I’m afraid a serious crime has been committed tonight.”
“Really?” she asked, reaching out and grabbing a bunch of grapes from a nearby table. “You must be talking about that dreadful business at the ballroom. As I understood it, no great harm was done.”
As Gwen spoke and I watched, she popped tiny purple fruits, one at a time, into the air. She caught each grape with her mouth, demonstrating alarming dexterity. I was left with the impression she did this often.
“No great harm?” I demanded, forcing my voice to sound even with a conscious effort. “That’s hardly the case. I was slightly injured, and my father was nearly killed.”
“You have my heartfelt sympathies,” she said. “But I’m not quite sure what I can do to help you.”
“There are certain questions I’d like to ask, madam.”
“Is this, then, a formal affair? You are wearing the uniform of a guardsman, after all.”
“Yes, it is,” I said. “I’ve been assigned to investigate the assassination attempt.”
“That reminds me,” she said, making a fluttering gesture with her fingers. Each of them was tipped with a long, pink nail. “Please do not take offense, but the customary path for a guardsman when entering a Great House for an official visit is through the back entrance. It’s a trivial matter, but at House Astra we do prefer that traditions are maintained.”
My eyes hardened. I said nothing, as I could not trust my words to be civil at that moment. When I felt I could speak in an even tone, I answered her. “As you say, a trivial matter. Now then, can we proceed with the interview? Do you, madam, have any knowledge of—?”
Gwen interrupted me with a loudly stifled yawn.
“I’m sorry, William,” she said. “Could I possibly trouble you to return in the morning at a decent hour? I’m an oldster, you must understand, and we’re not always in perfect condition. Extended life isn’t the panacea that some might have you believe.”
“But if you would only—”
“I’m sorry,” she said, standing suddenly. “I must excuse myself. My doorman will show you out. Give my best to your parents. I’ll send them a gift in the morning, be assured.”
Open-mouthed, I stood and stared at her back as she headed for the stairs. She paused at the top and looked down at me from that lofty perch.
“One more thing,” she called down to me, “should you decide to return, would you be so good as to use the appropriate entrance next time? It would make things so much easier for everyone.”
I was at a loss. The urge to shout, to command her to sit down and answer my questions was almost overwhelming.
But I restrained myself. I was a Sparhawk, and a guardsman. It wouldn’t do to throw a fit in House Astra in front of its matriarch. It occurred to me that she might be attempting to elicit just such a response.
“Good night, Gwen of Astra,” I said.
She left, and I sighed deeply. The doorman approached, gesturing for me to follow. I frowned as he wasn’t leading me to the entrance I’d used not ten minutes before. Instead, he beckoned for me to follow him into a side passage.
“What is it?” I asked him in a husky whisper. “Do you have something to tell me?”
The doorman looked confused. “No sir. I’m merely leading you back to your vehicle.”
“But I left it out front.”
“Ah, yes, well…it’s been moved to a more appropriate location.”
Simmering, I allowed the old man to lead me into passages that grew increasingly dim in illumination and less grand of aspect with every step. When we’d found an area with ringing concrete floors and doors so low I was almost forced to stoop to enter them, I passed by the scullery. There, I caught sight of a familiar face.
Her dress wasn’t sea-foam green. Nor was her hair filled with sparkling jewels, but she was lovely all the same.
“Lady Chloe of Astra?” I asked.
“The same,” she replied.
She turned her eyes toward the elderly doorman, who was gaping at both of us uncertainly.
“You can go, Tobias,” she said. “I’ll show him the way.”
“But Miss….”
“Don’t worry, I’m of age now.”
He smiled tightly and nodded. After he’d vanished, Chloe offered me her hand. I took it and touched it briefly then let it gently drop.
“To what do I owe this honor?” I asked.
“It’s you who honors me, Officer Sparhawk.”
For a moment, we looked at one another, full of uncertain formality. In our time, such chance meetings were embarrassing for both parties.
Suddenly, she laughed.
“Such foolishness,” she said. “Do you want a drink?”
“I’d love one.”
I quickly found that following Lady Astra the Younger was a far more pleasant experience than following the doorman had been. She led me to the kitchens where pots simmered and refrigerators sighed. We helped ourselves to a fine soup and a bottle of the best beer I’d tasted in years.
“Tell me about what happened tonight,” she asked me. “Did you really kill me—a copy of me?”
Her eyes were big, and I felt embarrassed to tell her the truth. “It wasn’t like you. It didn’t speak. It moved with perfectly even steps. It had your face, but that’s all.”
“How did you kill it? The news wasn’t clear.”
I shifted on the bench opposite her. Between us was a polished table of fine hardwood and two open bottles.
“I…I thrust my saber into the creature. But I didn’t actually kill her. She was shot down by another guardsman.”
“Another guardsman? A man under you
r command?”
“Yes.”
Chloe nodded and studied me. I found her gaze discomfiting, and it left me wondering how I’d ever mistaken the false version for a real, living person.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked her.
She laughed. “That’s your first question? Don’t you want to know if I did it or not? If I built that robot, clothed it in my flesh, then sent it to slay your father?”
“I’m getting to that part,” I assured her.
“Ah, make the subject feel at ease first, then elicit information? Is that the procedure they teach guardsmen? But I apologize, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking about: here’s a man, sitting before me, who had no trouble driving a saber into my back.”
“Now hold on,” I protested.
“No, no, it’s true. Don’t bother to deny it. I’m staring because I’ve never faced a killer before. Especially not my killer.”
“I understand your concern,” I said. “But from my point of view, you’re the one I witnessed attack my father. Wouldn’t you stop me if the situation were reversed?”
“I suppose,” she said uncertainly.
“All right then. Let me ask you a few questions: Did you know anything about this before tonight?”
“You mean the attempted assassination? No, of course not.”
“Do you know of anyone from House Astra who might want to take such a drastic action?”
“There aren’t that many of us, no more than a dozen. Most don’t even visit the mansion if they can help it. Only Mother is truly a political animal. The rest of us have less focused interests.”
“Your mother?” I asked, not getting it for a second, then I realized what she must have meant. “You mean Gwen is your mother? I didn’t know…”
“Didn’t know what? That such an oldster could still produce young? They can, you know. Their organs typically work quite well. It’s just some of the external elements that show the years.”