"And how much will that cost me?" the Duke harrumphed. "I've learned that whenever anyone asks to speak to you confidentially, he's out to swindle you." "No money involved, Your Grace," Vonnie said, struggling hard to maintain her temper in the face of this old man's continuing accusations. "It's about who we really are. We're..."

"You're special bodyguards from SOTS," the duke said contemptuously. "Young lady, do me the favor of not belaboring the obvious. I was a veteran of political intrigues before your grandparents even tied the knot-if they ever did. I spent five years as Prime Councilor to Stanley IX, and I was one of the four people to survive that so-called accident of his."

Jules was impressed with the duke's credentials. The accident he referred to was the famous one in which the previous emperor had been killed. He'd been on his way back to Earth after observing some naval training maneuvers, and his private superdreadnaught had materialized from subs.p.a.ce in the exact path of a drifting derelict ship. Before the deflector screens could be activated, the ship was destroyed, and only four people managed to escape alive-Duke Hanforth among them, apparently. It was a billions-to-one encounter, but SOTE's intensive investigations had proved it was an accident, not an a.s.sa.s.sination; there was simply no way all the possible factors could have been calculated beforehand.

"'So-called'?" Vonnie said. "Then you don't believe it really was an accident?"

The duke snorted. "Nothing is ever an accident, especially where the Stanley family is concerned. I've lived under three Emperors and known most of their relatives, and, with the exception of this current chap, they're the most underhanded crew I've ever seen."

"Yet you served as Prime Councilor for five years?" Vonnie was incredulous. "Why did you do that, if you disliked them so much?"

"Because he was my Emperor." The duke drew himself up straight, like an old soldier coming to attention. "I'd serve a dung beetle if it were my true Emperor, and believe me, Stanley IX came close. Hardly a year went by without at least six a.s.sa.s.sination plots, some barely foiled in time. I don't know who finally did it or how they worked the trick, but there are no accidents around the Stanley family-you mark my words on that."

He gave another snort and looked at the two of them as though they were paramecia under a microscope. "And you two DesPlainians are going to keep me safe from this gang that's been murdering n.o.bility, eh?"

"You know about them, then?" Jules asked. As angry as the crusty old man made him, he could not help but be impressed with his intelligence.

"Of course I do. I can read the newsrolls; my eyes haven't gone out on me yet. I can add facts well enough. I may be old, young man, but I'm not stupid. Stupidity's for the young, though I admit they don't hold the monopoly yet. They're working awfully hard at it, though...

His voice trailed off and, for a moment, he stared into s.p.a.ce at a point somewhere between Jules and Vonnie. Then his mind snapped abruptly back to the present. "Khorosho, you're supposed to be my valet. Do something to prove it. Groom me into a n.o.bleman of leisure if you can-or don't they teach you anything at the Academy but muscle stuff?"

Jules rose to the challenge. "Your hair's the first thing needing attention," he said in a businesslike tone, completely ignoring the dare the other had thrown him. "It wouldn't look too bad if it were neatly arranged. Your clothing, however, is another matter entirely. You may have been an imperial advisor, but you have no sartorial taste whatsoever. I expect your entire wardrobe will have to be revised."

"You would speak that way to a duke, with no trace of respect?"

"No, I would not speak that way to a duke. I would, however, talk to a cantankerous old curmudgeon like that, because I have a feeling that's the only way you'll listen. And as for respect, I trade it in equal quant.i.ties only."

"You." The duke turned to Vonnie and poked her in the ribs with one long, bony finger. "Are you merely a pleasant conglomeration of curves or do you actually have some secretarial skills?"

"Try me, Your Grace."

"Khorosho, I will. Make a memo to fire my valet after he saves my life, and not a moment before. Now, are you really married to him, or are you free to fool around?"

"At the moment, Your Grace," Vonnie said coldly, "neither."

"Good. At least you're honest. Let's go." Duke Hanforth started toward the door.

"Where?" Jules asked.

"You said I needed a new wardrobe. We're going out to buy one. We'll see if your taste is any better than mine."

He led them at a brisk pace out the front door to the large gray limousine that SOTS had put at his disposal. The driver and bodyguard-both skilled SOTE agents-were lounging about, but snapped to attention the moment the duke appeared. "Do you know of any good clothing stores in the area?" he asked the driver.

"The best is Haversham's," she replied. "It's about an hour's drive."

"The whole thing's one big d.a.m.ned conspiracy," the old man grumbled. "All of Earth is ruled by the transportation industry. You can't walk anywhere; you can't even get a horse drawn vehicle if you want one. Nothing but those d.a.m.ned machines. They're starting to take over. I tell you, nothing good will ever come of giving machines too much power." But despite his objections he climbed into the back seat of the limo, and Jules and Vonnie got in on either side of him.

Duke Hanforth kept up a steady tirade as they drove, enumerating his complaints, real or imagined, against the conspiracies that ran the Earth. When they reached the shop and Jules started picking out a new wardrobe befitting a man of Duke Hanforth's age and station, the duke found something wrong with every selection. Either he didn't like the color or it didn't feel comfortable or the line was all wrong for him or the material was sleazy or the price was too ludicrous. That last complaint was the one most frequently used, and Jules several times was tempted to say he'd pay the difference out of his own pocket just to get the duke outfitted properly. He could see now why the duke's wardrobe was so outrageous; he must have driven all his tailors crazy with his impossible demands.

Finally a compromise was reached that was neither too unacceptable to the duke nor too outr for Jules's sense of fashion: a set of stylish caftans with fancy embroidery on the sleeves and down the front. The head salesman, with great relief, promised to have the clothes made up to the duke's measurements and delivered to the villa within two days. That matter settled, the duke's party left the shop and started the drive back to their villa.

They found, though, that they would have to take a detour because a broken water main had temporarily closed a number of streets. Jules and Vonnie were instantly suspicious of the circ.u.mstance and kept extra alert as they drove.

The car ended up traveling through some of the poorer sections of the city. Buildings were rundown, people wore rags, drunks and drug addicts slept in the gutters. It was not a pretty sight.

Duke Hanforth was oddly silent as they drove through, though his eyes darted back and forth, missing no details. As they drove out of the slum into a more presentable section, Jules and Vonnie relaxed their guard slightly. Then Duke Hanforth spoke up. "How can they tolerate conditions like that?"

"Most of the people were born there and have lived there all their lives," Vonnie began.

"I don't mean them. People can live almost anywhere if they have to. I mean the authorities-the baron, count, earl and so forth, all the way up to the Emperor himself. How can they dare to let people under their protection live that way?"

"Earth has a population now of nine billion," Jules said quietly. "There is chronic underemployment, starvation, crime. There are relief organizations of various kinds, but the job is so vast and their funds are so limited..." He shuddered. "I've seen worse. The planet Chandakha makes what we just saw look like heaven itself."

The old man snorted. "Secretary, take a memo. Remind me to donate half a million rubles to these relief agencies."

"Half a million?" Vonnie was startled. This was a man who had just been haggling over a ten-ruble price difference in clothing.

"Khorosho, make it a million then. And twice as much to some agency that will help Chandakha." Closing his eyes, the old man leaned back in his seat and said not another word all the way back to the villa.

Over the next two days, Jules and Vonnie were constantly amazed at the multiple paradoxes that comprised the Duke of Melenaria. He was old in terms of years and yet, in some of his enthusiasms, he had the spirit and energy of a child. He could be parsimonious to the point of absurdity in his everyday dealings, then suddenly turn around and perform an act of incredible generosity on a grand scale. He saw conspiracies against himself under every bush, and yet was possessed of insight that sometimes made Jules frankly jealous. All these contradictions and more went into making up the extraordinary person who ruled the planet Melenaria.

"I think I like him," Jules said to Vonnie after their second day on the job. "Most of the time, that is."

The attack came suddenly, late at night when all in the house were asleep but the guards at the gate. Had they been ordinary guards without SOTE's special training or equipment, they would have succ.u.mbed immediately. But, with the special equipment the Service had provided them, they were able to detect the trouble almost from the onset.

The sweetish smell of tirascaline, a powerful sleep gas, activated alarm circuits in the guardhouse even before it reached a density high enough to affect human beings. The SOTE people were jolted instantly out of their complacency by the sounds of the alarms all over the estate. So quickly were they able to reach for their gas masks that only one guard was overcome by the vapor and left unconscious for several hours.

A large copter descended to the open s.p.a.ce in front of the house and immediately disgorged a dozen of the toughest armed killers Abel Howard had been able to find. The men had hoped that their tirascaline attack would incapacitate the opposition enough to make their job simpler, but they came prepared for any eventuality. Clad in battle armor, they immediately drew their blasters and began raying anything that moved.

The guards fired back with blasters of their own. Normal strength weapons would have been almost useless against the armor of the attackers, but these guards were armed with Service heavy-duty specials. A direct hit from one of them could pierce all but the toughest s.p.a.ce armor-and these agents were all graduates of the Service Academy with top grades in marksmanship. Although they were slightly outnumbered, they were not to be outfought.

The air in the courtyard sizzled as beams of incalculable energy were traded back and forth by both sides. Where stray beams. .h.i.t vegetation small fires broke out, and soon there were dozens of them scattered about the grounds. The combatants ignored them; the true danger, they knew, was from each other's weaponry.

After ten minutes of virtual stalemate, the duke's "chauffeur" made a daring move. Filling the beamproof limousine full of her comrades, she drove recklessly straight at the knot of attackers. As the enemy scrambled out of her way, the doors opened and the SOTE agents flew out, blasters beaming.

What had started as an even contest quickly became a rout. The attackers, realizing their forces had been dispersed, raced back to their copter, their only thoughts now being ones of escape. Three of their number lay dead in the courtyard by the time the rest made it to their craft and started lifting rapidly into the air, but that was as close to safety as they got. A deadly beam from the muzzle of one SOTE agent's gun hit a propeller blade, slicing it off cleanly. The disabled copter crashed to earth again and erupted in a giant ball of flame from which no survivors could be expected.

The instant the alarms went off, Jules and Vonnie were also prepared for action. They came sprinting out of their room, guns at the ready. Their only thought was the protection of the duke. Along with him they watched the exciting action in the courtyard outside, but they took no part in it. Though Jules was itching for action, he knew that his a.s.signment was to be the last line of defense at Duke Hanforth's side at all times. It was well that they stayed at their posts, too, for the entire courtyard battle had been just a diversion. While all attention was focused in front of the house, three other a.s.sa.s.sins crept in through the back entrance. They came boldly, not worrying about the alarms on the back door; there was already so much noise and confusion that no one would be able to notice.

These three a.s.sa.s.sins were all DesPlainians. Just as people from the d'Alemberts' home world were in demand as bodyguards and spies, so criminals from that heavy-grav planet were wanted by the underworld to accomplish a variety of nefarious deeds. DesPlainian crooks possessed the same attributes of quickness and strength as their more honest compatriots, and they could name their own price for their services.

As the trio of a.s.sa.s.sins burst into the room, Jules and Vonnie whirled to face them. Jules leaped to one side, knocking Duke Hanforth to the ground just as a blaster beam sliced through the air where he'd been standing an instant previously. Vonnie, meanwhile, had also jumped to avoid a blaster beam, but she had gone straight up. Catching hold of the curtain at the peak of her leap, she clung there looking down on the room as she raised her own weapon into position and fired back.

The a.s.sa.s.sins had been hoping their sheer speed would gain their objective. Having now lost that element of surprise, they hastily took cover from Vonnie's counterattack and settled in for what might be, comparatively, a long battle.

Vonnie knew she could not stay where she was; her position was too exposed. With a sharp tug, she pulled the curtain from its fastenings, and both she and the drapes fell to the floor. She landed in a crouch, gun in one hand while her other hand still clung to the curtain fabric.

Jules had managed, during the brief interlude, to slide both himself and the duke behind a solid solentawood table. The heavy wood would not be proof against concentrated blaster fire, but Jules was not about to allow the three a.s.sa.s.sins the opportunity to make a concerted attack. Reaching around the side of the table, he fired at their covered positions.

The explosion of the copter outside startled everyone The a.s.sa.s.sins were not sure what to make of it but, like most criminals, they were cowards at base. Such an explosion was not part of any plans that had been developed for this strike. One side or another must have made a decisive maneuver. If it was their side, then more of their own men would be coming in here soon and could take over the job; if it was the defenders, the a.s.sa.s.sins knew they would soon be greatly outnumbered. In either case, they saw no profit in sticking around here and fighting against other DesPlainians who seemed more than a match for them. Their thoughts turned instantly to flight.

Before they could act on their impulses, though, Vonnie was doing some pretty fancy tricks of her own. Whipping the curtain fabric around her head like an ancient gladiator would whirl his net, she hurled it in the direction of the three killers. The heavy material did not behave precisely as Vonnie had hoped, but the results were satisfactory enough. As it hit its targets, it knocked into them with sufficient impact to push them off their feet and jar the guns loose from their hands.

Jules and Vonnie raced over to the fallen men. They still had their own guns, but were reluctant to use them-not because they felt any sympathy for these hardened crooks, but because they both knew that they needed at least one of these a.s.sailants left alive if they hoped to gain any further leads to the mastermind behind this plot.

So, instead of simply shooting them while they were down, they launched a personal attack. Vonnie leaped on one thug, raining a sharp series of blows down on him and rendering him almost instantly unconscious. Jules, with the precision of a skilled aerialist, sprang at a second man in a low dive that ended with Jules's head b.u.t.ting into the would-be a.s.sa.s.sin's solar plexus. That unfortunate wight was out cold even before the air had finished whooshing out of his lungs.

The third man made use of both his own DesPlainian reflexes and the time the SOTE team had devoted to his two friends. By the time Jules and Vonnie had finished with their initial antagonists and whirled to look for him, he had already gotten back up onto his feet and retrieved his blaster. The first target he saw was Vonnie, lying on the ground entangled with the a.s.sa.s.sin she'd just knocked out. Without hesitation, the third killer fired directly at her.

Only her equally fast reflexes saved her. Her peripheral vision caught sight of his motion as he raised his arm to shoot, and she acted instinctively. Rolling over on her back, she raised her unconscious antagonist on top of her to act as a shield. The blaster beam hit the hapless foe squarely in the back. The stench of burning flesh seared Vonnie's nostrils, but the bulk of her late enemy's body protected her from the blast.

Even this minuscule delay had given Jules time enough to act. Though he had dropped his gun when he'd b.u.t.ted his head into the man on the ground, he still had his body-a formidable weapon indeed. Springing quickly to his feet, he leaped at the killer even as the latter was starting to fire at Vonnie. The man tried to swivel and catch Jules in his beam, too, but he was the merest fraction of a second too late. Jules's hundred-kilo body rammed into him and the two men went sprawling on the floor.

Had they been fighting in an open area, the outcome would have been a foregone conclusion. But in this room crowded with expensive furniture, Jules happened to come down with his head b.u.mping hard against the leg of a chair. The blow only stunned him momentarily, and against a foe from a light-grav world it would hardly have mattered. But against another DesPlainian it was almost a fatal mishap.

His opponent took perfect advantage of the tiny lapse to extricate himself from the tangle and raise himself up on his knees. He lifted his blaster to fire once more, but before he could do so he was cut down by a beam from across the room. Vonnie had relocated her own weapon and shot the thug before he could fulfill his murderous intent. Then she ran across the room and knelt beside her fianc. "Are you all smooth?" she asked.

Jules nodded his head and climbed slowly to his feet. He looked over at the unconscious body of the man he'd b.u.t.ted with his head. "Well, it looks like we got one alive, at least."

Then the two of them looked over to the duke, who stood behind the overturned table where Jules had left him. The old man had a small blaster drawn and had been covering the entire fight scene, just to make sure it didn't get out of hand. Now that the fight was over, he was tucking the gun safely away again.

"You had that the whole time, didn't you?" Jules exclaimed angrily. "You could have helped us against those guys, you know."

"Nonsense," said the Duke of Melenaria. "You were the ones being paid to save my life. I wanted to make sure I was getting my money's worth, after all."

CHAPTER 5.

The Kriss.

With the blade from the thrown knife still quivering in the tabletop just centimeters from her hand, and Gitana glaring at her with a look that would have scorched lead, Yvette risked a quick glance back at Pias. "What's going on?" she whispered. "Can she get away with this?"

Pias nodded. "Unfortunately, by ancient tradition she has the right to duel with anyone who has besmirched her honor or stolen the love of the man she thinks is rightfully hers. As far as I know that tradition hasn't been invoked in more than a century-but it does exist."

Gitana was coming nearer, still ranting. "If the gadji sow wants my man, she can have him only over my own bleeding corpse. Or I will have him over hers."

Yvette looked quickly around the table, but was met with looks of stony impa.s.sivity. She was not popular here, and no one was about to so much as lift a finger in her behalf. Regardless of whether the tradition was obsolete or not, they sensed that Yvette was somehow a threat to their old established ways, and they would feel no great loss at her death.

She would have preferred to avoid this fight. She had no real complaint against this Gitana, whoever she was, and Yvette risked her life often enough in the service of her Emperor to feel no need to test herself in private grudge matches. But there were other factors involved here-and her beloved Pias was chief among them. Although she was not certain of all the social ramifications, she knew that backing down here would shame not only herself but Pias in the eyes of his family and friends. This homecoming had already been enough of a disaster for him; she didn't want to add to it.

Grabbing the hilt of the knife from the tabletop, she pulled the blade free and stood up from her place. "I don't like fighting," she said evenly. "But I will fight to protect me and mine."

In front of her, Gitana gave a smug grin. Behind her, Yvette could detect Pias's anguish. He obviously didn't want her to fight any more than she did, but, like her, he recognized the necessity for this match. "Be careful, Eve," he whispered. "She's good."

Yvette had already surmised that simply from the manner in which Gitana moved as she approached. Her blade was held point upward for a quick slash or jab, her stance was a slight crouch that would let her spring quickly forward or to either side, depending on circ.u.mstance. Her gaze was fixed squarely on Yvette; she would let nothing distract her from her goal of victory. Yvette was not surprised to see these signs of expertise; it only stood to reason that Gitana would challenge her opponent to a form of combat in which she herself was an expert. It's known as hedging your bets, Yvette thought cynically.

Yvette moved away from the table toward an open area of the room where she'd have more s.p.a.ce to maneuver. Gitana turned slightly and continued coming after her. Around them, the room had grown deathly quiet in antic.i.p.ation of the blood sport that was to ensue.

The two women circled one another warily, spiraling inward toward the center of a small imaginary circle. Each was looking for-some weakness in the other's defense, and each was having a hard time finding one. Yvette was patient, however; she hadn't wanted to have this fight, anyway. She could afford to wait all night if necessary for the right moment to move, and she refused to strike first.

Gitana was not blessed with her opponent's patience. After circling for almost two minutes, she grew tired of the waiting game and decided to force Yvette's hand. With a sudden lunge, her knife lashed out at the DesPlainian's eyes.

Yvette was ready for the move. She had spotted the tiny muscle tensions that preceded the strike, and could predict almost the instant it would come. As Gitana's blade came sweeping toward her face, she took a slight step back with her right foot and lifted her left arm to block her opponent's motion.

Gitana's move, though, was a feint; even as Yvette was reacting to the supposed threat to her eyes, Gitana's hand was drawing back and her-left leg was lifting for a vicious kick to Yvette's midsection. Not even Yvette's reflexes were fast enough to completely ward off the effects of the blow; the best she could do was start to fall backward as she saw the foot approach. The kick did not land as hard as Gitana had intended, but it did have enough force behind it to knock Yvette to the floor.

On a high-gravity world like Newforest, with a surface gravity two and a half times that of Earth, any fall was a serious accident. Even ten or twenty generations had not completely acclimated the inhabitants to such brutal conditions. While their bones were thicker and, to some extent, tougher, they were still basically the same calcium compounds that had evolved over millions of years on Earth. They could-and did- still break when allowed to fall victim to the crushing force of high-grav.

The only thing that kept the fight from being over then and there was Yvette's circus training. Gitana's kick had pushed her off balance. There was no way to prevent the impending fall from happening, but she did know ways to keep it from being disastrous. Using her skills as an accomplished acrobat, she tucked her body up in a compact ball that allowed her to land on the softer portions of her anatomy, cushioning the impact on her more fragile bones. At the same time, she utilized the momentum imparted to her by Gitana's kick to let her roll backward. In one fluid motion she had fallen, rolled and sprung to her feet again, prepared to do battle once more.

I've been underestimating her and overestimating myself, Yvette criticized severely. I've been so used to working on low-grav worlds these past few years, and so used to fighting people whose reflexes aren't as fast as my own, that coming back to a high-grav planet requires an adjustment. Gitana has lived in high-grav all her life, and she's more used to it right now than I am. Her reflexes are every bit as fast as mine. I'll have to watch that.

The only advantage she could count on now, she knew, was her extra training as a circus performer and her greater experience in life-or-death situations. There was a great deal to be said in favor of such experience, but it could not completely compensate for overconfidence.

Gitana was upset that her trick had not worked. The feint and kick was the prime tactic in her repertoire, and she had hoped to use it to end this fight quickly. Now they were in for a more protracted battle. Gitana was still confident of her ability to win, but she had gained at least a slight measure of respect for her antagonist.

She made another feint, but this time Yvette did not respond to it. Gitana pulled back, and the two women began circling one another again. Yvette felt a little more secure now; having a.n.a.lyzed her opponent, she knew that the other's major weakness was her impatience. She wanted to make something happen fast, and that, Yvette knew, could be Gitana's undoing. Things would happen quickly enough, to be sure; but it would be a calculated quickness on Yvette's part, not a quickness born of impetuosity.

Gitana made a slight body feint with her left shoulder, then lunged savagely into an attack. It was no feint this time; her knife was slashing for real as her hand ripped downward in a sweeping motion.

But Yvette was no longer there. She had moved into the feint instead of away from it, so that her body was closer than Gitana had antic.i.p.ated it would be. Yvette came up under the slashing arm, knife at the ready. Gitana, her own reflexes lightning quick, pulled quickly away-but not quickly enough. Yvette's blade raked the side of her arm, leaving a gash fifteen centimeters long and drawing blood.

Gitana howled with the pain and pulled rapidly away from the encounter. The wound seemed only to have doubled her determination to kill Yvette; she glared at the DesPlainian with intensified ferocity. Let her get angry, Yvette thought coldly. The madder she is, the more impatient and careless she'll become. All the better for me.

The Newforester made another lunge, which Yvette easily sidestepped. As Gitana came rushing by, Yvette gave her a blow to the back of the head with her right fist, causing her foe to stumble into the wall a few meters away. Gitana's apparent clumsiness invoked a couple of quiet laughs from the audience. They were quickly hushed, but they had reached Gitana's ears and infuriated her still further. She would not be humiliated this way.

Gitana regained her balance and started what seemed like another blind charge at Yvette. The latter was all prepared to sidestep once more but, at the last moment, she saw Gitana flip her knife expertly from right to left hand. She's ambidextrous! Yvette thought-and that thought in itself was almost too late.

She had been set to move one way to avoid the knife, and suddenly it was coming at her from another angle altogether. She barely had time to pull her head back as Gitana's blade slashed for her throat. The point just did nick the skin, and a drop of red appeared.

Yvette, off balance once more, reached out and grabbed the other woman's arm as it went past. This accomplished two purposes: it helped steady Yvette to prevent her from falling again and, at the same time, it yanked Gitana slightly off her stride. Yvette, with the unbreakable grip of a star aerialist, held Gitana and, planting her feet, began to swing the Newforester around her in a circle. Within another few seconds, Yvette was able to grab Gitana's other wrist as well and began applying as much of her strength as she could to the pressure point there. Gitana felt herself caught between two needs: the need to retain her balance against Yvette's whirling her around and the need to hold onto her knife despite the pain in her hand from Yvette's viselike grip. It was her attempt to do both at once that proved her undoing. Yanking her arms in toward her body, she tried to break free of Yvette's grasp. But Yvette would not let go and, instead, Gitana's struggles only made her knife slip accidentally from her hand. She groaned and tried to grab for it, but once again Yvette proved quicker.

The instant she saw the knife begin to fall, Yvette released Gitana's right hand and transferred her hold, instead, to the other's throat. As her arm clamped around the Newforester's neck in an elbow lock, she pulled backward, lifting her opponent completely off the ground and thus depriving her of a badly needed leverage point. Gitana began gagging, but as Yvette put her own knife to the other woman's throat even that sound stopped. The room was totally silent at her unexpected victory.

"I suppose, under whatever rules govern these things, that I have the right to kill you," Yvette said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "I certainly have no great motivation to spare you. You attacked me without provocation, and I have every right to defend myself.

"However," she went on, "as far as I can determine, your main reason for attacking me was that you love Pias-or think you do. In all fairness, I don't think that should be a capital offense; I'm guilty of it myself, after all. You're just a little more demonstrative about it. So I'll make you a deal. I'll spare your life if, in return, you'll promise to relinquish to me any and all claim you may have held on Pias. Do I have your word on that?" To emphasize her point, she took Gitana's left arm and gave it an extra hard twist behind the Newforester's back. As Gitana winced, Yvette whispered privately in her ear, "If you don't agree, I'll snap it off right here and now."

"Yes," Gitana said through gritted teeth. "You have my word."

Yvette relaxed her grip and pushed the other woman slightly away from her. "Thank you, Gitana. I appreciate that."

Then she gazed around the rest of the room, looking over a sea of unreadable faces. "I believe I've had enough of this delicious meal," she said calmly. "And I'm afraid all this exercise has tired me out. If you don't mind, I'd like to excuse myself and get some rest."