"Is he awake? Can I go in?" Pias asked.

"Yes, Your Excellency-yes to both questions." "What... what does he have?"

"Mottle fever, I'm afraid."

Pias groaned. Mottle fever was a disease peculiar to Newforest. So far as was known it was not contagious. It was only seldom contracted, but invariably fatal. Its course was unpredictable; the victim might die within months, or he could live on for a decade or more while the disease ravaged his body. But eventually it would kill him.

Thanking the nurse for the information, Pias entered the room. It was dark inside, kept that way because mottle fever affected the eyes, making them ultrasensitive to light. Pias waited inside the door until his eyes adjusted to the lower illumination, then looked around.

The room was very much as he remembered it: handwoven area rugs covering the hard slate floor; the large ebonwood bureau against the north wall with its mirror in the elaborately carved frame; the portrait of his late mother on the south wall, surrounded by smaller portraits of all the children; and the ma.s.sive wooden bed directly in front of him, with the richly embroidered canopy and drapes that had so impressed him as a small child.

His father lay on the bed, very still. Duke Kistur Bavol was in his middle sixties. When Pias had left home almost three years earlier, the duke could have been mistaken for a man in his forties, but now he looked every year of his true age. His hair, which had been light brown, was now a mane of white, and his leathery skin was mottled with the dark patches that gave his disease its name. His eyes, which before had missed nothing, now seemed watery and l.u.s.terless.

As Pias stood there silently, not knowing what to say, the old man slowly propped himself up and peered out at him. "Who's there?" he asked weakly.

"It's me, Poppa. Pias."

The duke peered at him with rheumy eyes. His mouth moved, but no sounds came out. Breaking down completely, Pias practically flew across the room and put his arms around his father. The two men wept openly for several minutes before any more could be said. Finally the old man pushed himself slightly back from his son and looked directly into his eyes. "Did you find him?" he asked.

Pias nodded. "Yes. Miri has been avenged."

That was all the information the duke required. "Good. Now that you have done what was needed, you are back here where you belong. I need you here with me, Pias."

Pias felt a sudden chill as he was caught in a storm of conflicting emotions. In order to become engaged to Yvette, he'd had to undergo Service training and swear a loyalty oath to SOTE. He'd vowed to serve the cause of the Empire now, and his life was not entirely his own. "I... I can't stay here, Poppa."

The old man looked confused. "What do you mean?

You found the man and avenged our honor. This is your home again."

"But I can't stay, Poppa. I'll have to be leaving again, very soon."

"Why? Why must you leave your home, your family? What drives you out?"

"I made a promise."

"To whom?" The old man was sitting up now, anger creeping into his voice. Some of the old fire was returning, but Pias was not happy at having it directed at him. "Who is more important to you than your father?"

Pias was about to tell him the truth when he became aware of a third person in the room. Tas had entered quietly behind them while Pias and his father had been talking, and was now a presence lurking in the shadows. The duke had always been loyal, and Pias would have trusted him with the knowledge that he was working for SOTE; but he had an instinctive distrust of what his brother would do with that same knowledge. Lamely, he merely said, "I can't tell you now."

"Maybe it's that gadii, that outsider woman he brought with him," Tas suggested. His voice was pure acid.

Pias repressed an urge to strangle his younger brother. He had meant to bring up the issue of Yvette separately, once he'd managed to convince his father of the rightness of his actions. Now Tas had muddied the water still further-deliberately.

"A gadii? And you brought her here?" The duke was furious. "Have you deserted your own people entirely, then?"

"Poppa, you taught me everything I know about kindness and hospitality to strangers," Pias protested. "And Yvette is..."

But he could get no further in his explanation. The old man, in his rage, started in on a coughing fit. His nurse ran in from the hallway and quickly came to the duke's side. "I don't know what you said to him," he told the two younger men, "but he's not supposed to get upset. You'd both better leave, at once."

Reluctantly, Pias let the nurse shoo him out, along with Tas. The two men stood alone outside in the hallway, facing each other appraisingly like two wrestlers in a ring. Pias thought of and discarded a dozen different questions before finally asking, "Why? Why did you hurt him so badly?"

"Me?" Tas laughed strangely. "You'd better check your p.r.o.nouns. My only target is you. Welcome home, brother Pias." Turning quickly, he marched off down the hall, leaving Pias no chance for response.

Pias shook his head. It was true that his father's anger had hurt him, but he knew down deep that it had hurt the duke even worse to feel betrayed by his oldest son. Pias had a sudden insight into just how much his brother must hate him, if he was willing to torment their father to such depths just to indirectly hurt his brother. He had known Tas was a brat even before he left Newforest, but his younger brother had apparently sunk even lower during Pias's absence.

With a feeling of great sadness, Pias started down the hallway toward his own room. As he pa.s.sed one open doorway, he heard a sultry female voice say, "Aren't you even going to say h.e.l.lo, Pias?"

Turning, Pias eyed the speaker. She was a beautiful, dark-skinned woman in her early thirties, with jet black hair flowing smoothly down her back to the waist of her brightly colored skirt. Her eyes had an easy, knowing look about them, and her patchwork blouse was so open down the front that it exposed more cleavage than even the liberal customs of Newforest tolerated.

Despite his worries about his father and brother, Pias forced himself to be cheerful. "h.e.l.lo, Gitana. I'd been hoping to see you again. I wasn't sure what to think when you weren't there at the s.p.a.ceport with everyone else."

Gitana walked toward him, closing the gap until the two of them were just touching. She put her arms around his waist and said, "I was hoping to give you a little more private kind of welcome." Her throaty chuckle left little doubt as to her meaning.

Coming on top of the painful reunion with his father, this new circ.u.mstance left Pias even more confused. There had been a time, years ago, when he and Gitana had been very much in love-but that was before he'd fallen in love with, and become engaged to, her sister Miri. Gitana had felt bitter then, and now that her sister was safely dead, she obviously intended to take up where they'd left off.

Pias's love for Yvette, though, made that impossible. Feeling very embarra.s.sed, he said, "Aren't you even going to ask me whether I found Miri's killer?"

"I a.s.sume you did; you said you wouldn't come home again until you'd killed him." She began kissing him lightly at the base of the neck. "You're a man of your word. Usually."

"Usually?" Pias tried gently to extricate himself from Gitana's embrace, but his former lover would not take the hint.

"You once said you'd love me until the end of time itself."

"That was a long time ago, Gitana. People change, sometimes."

"I haven't." Gitana pulled him more tightly to her, and started backing both of them into the room she'd come from. "I still love you, Pias."

"But I don't love you." The words were out of his mouth before he could hold them back.

He could feel Gitana stiffen against his body. Her fingernails dug painfully into his back. "Who, then? That little simp of a gadji I saw you get out of the copter with? Why settle for a thin-blooded little prissy foot when you can have a real woman?"

Yvette's five times the woman you'll ever be, Pias thought, but this time kept the words diplomatically to himself. He'd hurt her badly enough already; there was no need to add to the insult further.

Instead, with a decisive gesture, he pulled away from her and said, "Gitana, please. We're only hurting ourselves more by dredging up old ghosts and old sorrows. You're a beautiful woman with dozens of men at your feet. I can't be all that special; there are probably plenty of them better for you than I am."

Gitana backed one step away. Her eyes showed clearly the volcano smoldering within her soul. "Then you reject me again?"

"It's not a question of rejection..."

But Gitana was gone, vanished back into the room from which she'd emerged. The door slammed behind her, a final exclamation point to their conversation.

Pias went back to his old room and found it all in order. He lay down on the bed for half an hour, trying to regroup his thoughts and emotions after the disastrous events of the afternoon. Then he went in search of Yvette.

He found her just as she finished unpacking. She could tell instantly that he was not as happy as he should be on coming home after such a long time, but she said nothing about it. She spoke instead about how nice she thought Yuri was and how pleasant the manor house itself made her feel, waiting for him to open up about his troubles.

Finally he did so, telling her the story of his reunion with his father. He told her of the increased hatred his brother felt for him, and how he seemed determined to turn their father against him. Pias chose, however, not to say anything about the equally disturbing encounter he'd had with Gitana.

Yvette repeated what Yuri had told her about Tas, which only increased Pias's depression. "I never even got the chance to explain about you," he moaned. "All my father knows is that you're a gadji-it's a derogatory term for women not of our own people. The sickness must be worse than I thought; my father's always been tradition-bound, but he's at least been open-minded about people. I didn't tell you, because I didn't want to worry you, but I knew he would be less than pleased about our engagement at first; I had thought that some gentle persuasion would be able to change his mind. That's why I wanted you to come here and meet him; I was sure that as soon as he got to know you, he'd see how wonderful you are. But now..."

He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I just don't know anything. It's as though there's been a slow poison at work on his brain, and I suspect its name is Tas."

Yvette held him gently and did what she could to soothe him until it was time to change for dinner. It turned out that all the clothing she'd brought with her was inappropriate for Newforest society; she settled on a yellow tunic-suit as being the best of the lot. Pias, as always, looked dashing in brown slacks and a flowing shirt that had been hand-embroidered for him by his late mother.

Yvette wanted to enter the dining room arm in arm with him, but Pias thought it might be more diplomatic, considering his father's present feelings, if they did not show too much public affection at once. They walked in side by side and sat down next to one another at the long, crowded table.

A few of the people there were quite friendly. Pias introduced Yvette-whom he called his friend-to his sisters. The youngest one, a teenager named Beti, was pleasant and friendly, but the two older ones, both married to men Pias had privately described as louts, were stiff and formal. Others at the main table were also relatives, mostly uncles and aunts who also served as the duke's advisors; the family unit was very strong on Newforest, Pias had explained, and nepotism was not only taken for granted, it was expected.

Very few of the other relatives showed Yvette anything more than surface politeness. She guessed that brother Tas had been busily at work poisoning their minds against her before she'd even had a chance to defend herself. Pias's homecoming, which should have been a joyous occasion, was quickly turning into a nightmare.

The chair at the head of the table, where the duke would normally have sat, was conspicuously empty, and had been, Beti told them, since the old man's illness began. Nevertheless, proper deference was shown to the duke's place, and every so often a diner would nod his head out of respect toward the empty chair.

Yvette had never felt quite as out of place anywhere as she did here, but she resolved not to show it. Her strong social upbringing in a n.o.ble family enabled her to ignore the slights as though they were not there. Still, the knowledge that Pias's family was rejecting her hurt considerably. She could only begin to imagine what it was doing to Pias.

They were almost finished with the meal when a beautiful dark woman seated down near the end of the, table stood up and glared at Yvette. "I challenge the presence of this gadji in our midst," she said.

There was a m.u.f.fled gasp down the long table as the various diners reacted to the statement. Beside her, Yvette could see Pias struggling to remain calm as he said, "Gitana, stop making a fool of yourself."

Gitana now looked at him. "I claim you, Pias. I claim you by the oaths you took many years ago and by the fact that you were my sister's fiancee."

She then looked straight back at Yvette. "Is there any real woman who would dispute my claim?"

Yvette refused to be daunted. With an expression of supreme calm, she said softly, "Pias is a free human being. He chooses his own consorts. No one has the right to claim him for anything."

"Stay out of this, Eve," Pias whispered. "Traditions are different here. You'll only make things worse." Yvette's words had already inflamed Gitana beyond the point of reason. "Who is this gadii who seeks to instruct me? Am I not daughter of Stiggur, of a n.o.ble line and lineage? Am I not of the chosen family for Pias Bavol's mate? Would she deny me my rights by all our ancient customs?"

With a quick flick of her wrist, Gitana sent a dagger hurtling through the air at Yvette. The female SOTS agent gauged its flight path with an experienced aerialist's eye, and did not twitch a muscle as the dagger landed mere centimeters from her hand and sheathed itself in the tabletop.

"If she insults me thus, let her back up her words with actions," Gitana raged. She had another blade in her hand, and was in a fighter's crouch.

Yvette was taken aback by this sudden turn of events. She didn't know much about who this Gitana was, but she was being placed in the position of having to fight for the_ man she wanted. From Gitana's pose, she was obviously skilled at fighting with knives-and she was deadly serious about this duel.

CHAPTER 4.

The Duke of Melenaria.

After leaving headquarters, Jules raced his car as fast as the laws would permit to the Canaveral s.p.a.ceport to meet his darling Vonnie. Even so he was ten minutes late for the appointed time; fortunately, the ship's arrival was even later, and she was not left standing around to wait for him.

When finally she did emerge from the customs checkpoint, he ran over to her and they embraced like any ordinary pair of long-separated lovers. They had not seen each other since their a.s.signment together protecting Princess Edna on Ansegria nearly eight months before. They had each stored up a great deal of emotion during that interval and, in the first few minutes, they almost completely forgot they were in a public place.

After a while, however, sanity returned, and Jules pulled back a step to look her over once more. Yvonne Roumenier was the same height as himself, with brown hair, almond-shaped eyes, an exquisitely beautiful face, and a figure that matched it. Like him, she was also a DesPlainian, and the child of a n.o.ble family. Her father, Ebert Roumenier, was the baron of Nouveau Calais, one of the most important cities on DesPlaines.

As the oldest child, she stood to inherit his t.i.tle one day.

But it was neither her lineage nor her beauty nor the fact that she was engaged to Jules d'Alembert that had led the Head to choose her for this a.s.signment. Yvonne Roumenier had scored 989 on the thousand point test, making her one of the most capable agents at his disposal. The fact that she and Jules made such a compatible team was at most a secondary consideration.

"I could stand here looking at you all day," Jules said at last, "but we've got an a.s.signment that we should be on as soon as possible-meaning ten minutes ago."

"Before I even get a chance to unpack?" Vonnie asked. She was still a little breathless from Jules's kisses, and was unprepared for such a rush.

"Relax, that's part of the a.s.signment. We're live-in bodyguards for Duke Hanforth of Melenaria, so we go straight to our a.s.signment and check in there. I've already got a uniform for you; you can change in back while I'm driving."

Jules took her suitcases out to his car and packed them neatly in the back. As they drove to the outskirts of town, Jules explained as much of the Head's theories as Vonnie needed to know-that someone seemed to be in the a.s.sa.s.sination business, and that Duke Hanforth appeared to be the next prime target. The two of them were being a.s.signed as personal servants to the duke in addition to a regular SOTE team of security agents; the regulars would not know Jules and Vonnie were on their side, for the security of all concerned.

Once out in the open countryside, Jules converted his car once more into an aircraft, and the two of them began zooming through the uppermost reaches of the atmosphere toward the Angeles-Diego complex where Duke Hanforth would be staying. The journey took them all night, but they hardly minded that; they had a lot of news to catch up on, and a lot of stored-up love to express, now that they were alone. In those spare moments between kisses, Jules told Vonnie about Yvette's new fianc, and Vonnie was delighted at the news. "Maybe we can have a double wedding ceremony," she exclaimed.

They arrived in Angeles-Diego just after sunrise the next day. Jules drove to the Luxoria Hotel, where the duke was supposed to be registered, but he was in for a bit of a surprise when he inquired at the front desk.

"No, that old windsucker isn't here," the clerk snorted, "and I'm just as glad. He called our hotel a chrome-plated rubbish heap."

"Why did he do that?" Vonnie asked.

"Because we didn't have any accommodations for him on the ground floor, and he hates elevator tubes, that's why. Said it was bad enough he had to travel in a metal boxcar all the way from Melenaria and a flying lawn mower from-the s.p.a.ceport to here; he didn't want to have to ride on magic carpets just to get to and from his room." The clerk sniffed as though his personal honor had been a.s.saulted.

"Do you know where he is staying, then?" Jules asked, becoming a little concerned about finding the man he was supposed to guard before anything could happen to him.

"Someplace without an elevator tube, obviously. Probably without even running water, if he has his way. It's crazy old blots like him that make you question the rationale for hereditary aristocracy." The clerk turned away and refused to say any more to them.

Jules and Vonnie spent the next two and a half hours calling all around Angeles-Diego trying to locate their wayward duke. Finally Vonnie contacted a rental agent who had leased the duke a private villa near the ocean at Malibu-a sprawling one-story estate surrounded by lush gardens, and probably costing five times what the duke would have spent for the most elegant suite at the Luxoria.

"Well," Jules shrugged, "the Head warned me' our duke was an eccentric sort; I guess we're finding out just how eccentric he is."

They drove to the address the rental agent had given them and were challenged at the gate by the regular SOTS people, who had already managed to find and attach themselves to the man they were protecting. Jules showed the phony ID cards he'd been given, establishing himself and Vonnie as Fedor and Karolina Khermikov from the Star Lane Temporary Employment Agency. Fedor was hired to be the duke's valet while the old man was visiting Earth; Karolina was to be his personal secretary. Both of them were given a thorough screening before they were allowed to pa.s.s through the gate and go to the house itself.

The beautiful exterior of the house-well worth every cent the duke was paying for it-gave no indication of the chaos the two agents found as they entered. Suitcases and trunks lay scattered about the floor throughout the hallways, making walking difficult. Some had been opened, their contents thrown randomly about as though by a hasty burglar. Articles of clothing lay where they'd been thrown, either on the floor or draped at c.o.c.keyed angles across pieces of expensive furniture. Jules and Vonnie exchanged curious glances. Had the house already been broken into, without the knowledge of the guards at the gate?

Just then a figure burst energetically out of one room. He seemed like a scarecrow parody of a man, tall and gangly and constructed of odd-lot pieces. His hair was silvery white and straggled in wisps over the top of his partially bald head. His clothing looked as though he'd dressed in the middle of a rummage sale the tight pants sported a codpiece more appropriate for a teenager; the sweater was thirty years out of date and trimmed with moldering fur; the shoes were ballet slippers, two sizes too large for the feet they were on. The man moved at a swift pace, though, that belied the look of age about his features.

"Pirates and thieves," the man ranted. "I'm surrounded by pirates and thieves." Then, catching sight of Jules and Vonnie, he confronted them. "Are you here to rob me, too?"

"No," Jules said, his voice showing the sudden concern he felt. "Has somebody robbed you?"

"Everybody has robbed me! Hotel clerks, restaurant owners, rental agents, cab drivers, porters, bell captains. The entire population of the Earth divides itself into two cla.s.ses: the pirates and thieves in one cla.s.s, the fools and incompetents in the other. If you're not pirates and thieves, you must be fools and incompetents." He gave a brisk nod of his head, as though having just proved an abstruse point of law before a jury.

"I should hope not!" Vonnie exclaimed, to which Jules added, "You are, I trust, Duke Hanforth?"

"If you trust, young man, you're bound to go astray on this sorry planet." He moved off quickly to another room, and Vonnie and Jules had to hurry to keep pace with him. "Yes, I'm Duke Hanforth, for whatever that's worth, and it seems to be worth less every hour I'm alive. Who are you, and how much of my money are you laying claim to?"

The two agents were taken slightly aback by the duke's brusque manner, but were resolved not to be outdone. "I'm Fedor Khermikov," said Jules, equally crisply, "and this is my wife Karolina. We're here as..."

"I know, I know. Valet and secretary. As if I'd know what to do with them."

Jules cleared his throat. "May I speak confidentially, Your Grace?"