"I'll go with you and show you the way in case you've forgotten," Pias said quickly. Taking her arm, he escorted her out the door, turning his back on the anger and hostility raging within his family.

Later that evening, Tas Bavol knocked on Gitana's door, and let himself in without waiting for an invitation. Gitana was lying face down on her bed, crying. A bandage had been wrapped around the knife gash Yvette had made on her arm. As Tas entered, she looked up and wiped at her eyes in an effort to hide her misery. "What do you want?" she asked bitterly.

"A few words about our common problem."

"You mean the gadji?" Gitana propped herself up on the elbow of her good arm to look at him better.

"In part," Tas agreed. "But she's only a portion of a larger problem-namely, what we're going to do, about Pias."

"He's no longer my concern," Gitana said, rolling petulantly onto her back and staring up at the ceiling. "You heard me tonight; I relinquished all claim to him."

"You're still a Newforester, aren't you?"

"I'm beginning to wonder if I'm anything at all."

Tas sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking her. "My father has mottle fever. He could die at any time. By law, then, Pias would be our duke. He's already told my father he doesn't want to stay here; he's perfectly willing to betray our world and our people for something he refuses to explain. Is that the sort of man you want as your ruler?"

Gitana sniffed back the remainder of her tears as she considered what Tas was saying. Pias had already betrayed her twice: once by dropping her in favor of her younger sister, and now by taking up with this loathsome gadji. No, she realized, she did not want him to become the next duke of Newforest.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked Tas.

"We'll call for a kriss. Surely there are enough grounds for that." Gitana looked a bit uncertain, so Tas pressed on quickly, "If I called for one, no one would listen. My feelings about him are well known, and besides, I'm next in line. I would stand to inherit if the decision goes against him. Obvious bias. But your father is the most influential marquis on the planet. If you could persuade him to call for the kriss, they'd all listen. They'd all come. Once they hear everything Pias has done, they're sure to vote against him."

"Yes," Gitana whispered, staring up at the ceiling. "Yes, that would serve him right, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I'll call my father first thing in the morning. I'm sure he'll be as shocked at all of this as I am."

Tas began stroking her cheek gently with two fingers. "And once I'm confirmed as the new marquis and future duke," he said softly, looking directly into her eyes, "I could make you the future d.u.c.h.ess."

It took a moment for the full implication of his words to sink into her misery-numbed mind. Then she looked more closely at his face. He was not Pias, but the family resemblance was strong. He was far from unattractive, and if she squinted long enough she could forget the slight differences...

Tas bent over to kiss her. She knew one slight moment of further uncertainty, then gave herself in to the situation. Reaching her arms up around his shoulders, she pulled him down on top of her and returned the kiss with all the frustrated pa.s.sion she had felt for his brother.

The next day Pias and Yvette strove hard to put all the unpleasantness of the past twenty-four hours out of their minds. They stayed completely away from the rest of the Bavol family, hoping that events would be forgotten and that the anger and resentment would cool in their absence. It was a forlorn hope, and both knew it, but neither said a word about it.

During the morning, Pias showed Yvette around the estate, with a special tour of the elaborate gardens. Yvette was fascinated by the redness of all the vegetation. Because the radiation curve from Newforest's sun peaked in the infrared portion of the spectrum, the local variety of chlorophyll-which allowed the native plants to use this light as their food and energy source-reflected light at a lower frequency. It seemed strange at first to see so many multicolored flowers atop red stems and sprouting red leaves, but Yvette had seen many strange sights in her travels around the galaxy so far, and quickly accustomed herself to it. Pias took great delight in naming all the flowers and explaining to her some of their peculiar characteristics.

"The red color is one of the main reasons why I love Earth roses so much," he explained. While he had been traveling through the Empire on his quest, he had made it his custom to wear a fresh red rose every day, either in his hat brim or on his sleeve. "It's something unmistakably Earthly, and yet its color captures the quintessence of my home planet. I once tried to have the gardeners plant rose bushes here in our garden, but the gravity and the strange sunlight were too much for them and they never grew properly." He sighed wistfully. "Things I love just don't seem to transplant well to Newforest." And then he changed the subject abruptly.

After consuming the delightful picnic lunch Yuri had packed for them, Pias took Yvette into the capital city of Garridan for an afternoon of shopping and sightseeing. There were no museums or architectural wonders to visit, but Yvette took immense interest in seeing the shops of the local craftsmen. Newforest was still so spa.r.s.ely settled a world that it had no heavy industry; virtually all the local goods were handmade. Yvette spent a fascinating hour watching a gla.s.sblower work at her trade. She visited the local weavers and admired their cloth and rugs. A potter offered to give her a free lesson in ceramics, and Yvette sculpted a slightly off-kilter pot; the man nodded politely to her, but Yvette was sure he would probably remold it once she had left. She had spent so much time on the more populated, more progressive planets that she had forgotten how much tranquillity could exist on the simpler ones.

Pias was recognized everywhere they went. Word of his return had spread throughout the city, and everyone seemed to greet him like a long-lost relative. If there had been any news of trouble among the duke's family, it had not filtered down to the populace. The ordinary people of Newforest loved Pias, even if his relatives did not.

The pair returned to the Bavol manor to find a large number of private copters sitting in the front courtyard. Pias recognized most of the heraldic devices on the sides which marked the vehicles as belonging to some of the most important n.o.bles on the planet. Perhaps at that moment he had some notion of what was about to happen; but if the idea crossed his mind, he kept it entirely to himself. Yvette, too, noted the abundance of n.o.bility, but she resolved not to say anything unless Pias first brought the subject up.

They had their dinner privately, alone together in Pias's room, and as they ate they could hear the arrival of still more copters. Pias began feeling very jittery. After dinner he showed off his collection of bookreels, but his eyes kept wandering to the door, as though expecting someone to come at any moment.

Finally his fears were confirmed. Two of his uncles came into the room without knocking and stood to either side of the doorway. "Pias Bavol," one said, "you are summoned to the kriss."

Pias gave a slight shudder, then closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "Khorosho, IT be down in a few minutes."

"You'll come with us now."

Pias looked for a moment as though he'd explode with anger; then suddenly that look vanished, to be replaced by an expression of resignation. As he started to walk toward his two uncles, Yvette grabbed his arm. "What's the kriss?" she asked.

"It means 'the law.' It's a throwback to the old tribal system of justice, where the elders-or, in the present case, the n.o.bles-sit in judgment of some offender. It's a trial for the violation of tribal tradition."

"But what have you done that's so wrong?" Yvette persisted. She looked at the two men standing by the door, but they gave her no indication.

"I'm not precisely sure, though I can make a few guesses. Tas will come up with some interesting charges, I'm sure. I can see his not-so-subtle hand behind all of this."

As he again moved toward the door, Yvette said, "Let me come with you. This is partly because of me, I know it..."

Pias shook his head. "The kriss is for men only another old tribal throwback. And even if women were allowed, they'd still bar you; you're a stranger, an outsider, and therefore unwelcome. This is something I have to face for myself. Wait here for me."

Yvette wanted to ask him what this tribunal could do to him if it decided against him; but he and his two uncles were out the door so quickly that the question died unborn on her lips. It couldn't be too bad or he would have put up a fight, she was sure of that. So the only thing left for her was to do as he'd suggested, wait here for his return.

Minutes dragged by- for her like years. She tried to interest herself in one of Pias's bookreels, but none of them seemed worthwhile at the moment. She paced the room, staring out the window at the darkness beyond and trying to make sense out of everything that had happened since she and Pias had arrived on Newforest. She wished she were fighting ten of Lady A's most ferocious minions-anything seemed preferable to facing this unmitigated torture.

The upper floor of the house seemed deserted. Every time a board creaked or the house made some minor settling noise she would jump up and run to the door hoping to see her fianc returning. All of her finely tuned senses were on alert, awaiting some sign that he was coming back to her unharmed.

An hour pa.s.sed, then two. Were there loud noises downstairs, the sounds of an argument? Yvette could not tell; her imagination was afire, and every slight stirring only served to feed the flames. She tried to picture Pias standing before the kriss, arguing against his brother. How would he do it? Would he be defiant or contrite? Sincere or flippant? Would the confrontation devolve to a knife fight as had her duel with Gitana? Or would it remain a verbal duel only? Over and over, her unasked question returned to her mind: what could they do to him if they found him guilty of some violation? Could they kill him? And how many of them would she kill if they did?

At last she heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall at a rapid pace, a pace that connoted violent emotions. She tensed, preparing herself for instant action should any enemy come through the door. She was not a part of their barbaric system, and she certainly wouldn't give in to them without a fight.

The door flew open and Pias stormed in. His face held an expression of anger she would have thought totally alien to his normally happy-go-lucky personality. "The little b.a.s.t.a.r.d," he muttered. "The drapping little..."

"What happened?" Yvette asked, crossing the room quickly to stand by his side.

Pias smacked his palm with his fist and seemed for a moment not to have heard her. "I never would have thought so much cruelty could exist in one spot!" He looked at Yvette as though seeing her for the first time. "Do you know what that younger brother of mine did?" "No. That's why I asked you."

Her calm voice took some of the edge off his anger. He put his hands on her shoulders and she could feel him still trembling with rage. He stopped for a moment and tried to organize his thoughts. "My father, as duke, had to preside over the kriss. They brought him down from his sickbed especially for the occasion. I don't mind anything Tas can do to me; he's always been a brat. But taking my father apart in public like that... our father..."

He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "I was accused," he said in more level tones, "of betraying my people. Tas told them that, while I was away looking for Rowe Carnery, I grew to hate my own people and to look down on them as being too provincial. He said I only came back here because I'd heard my father was dead and that I was going to inherit, and that once I learned it wasn't so I was all set to leave again immediately. He said that bringing my... that bringing you here-his term was even less complimentary than gadii-was a slap in the face for all Newforest women.

"I tried to counter all his arguments, but there was little I could do. I told them that I loved Newforest and my father, but that I had to leave again soon and I couldn't tell them why. I had to admit that I loved you and had asked you to marry me, and yet I couldn't tell them anything about you." He gave a small, mirthless laugh. "It sounded pretty lame even to me.

"And there they were, nearly two dozen men I've known and respected all my life. Many of them liked me and were trying ' to help me wriggle out of the mess, but because of the Service's secrecy I couldn't give them any information that would help. They didn't want to condemn me, but I wasn't able to provide them with any strong alternative. The vote, in the end, was unanimous."

The anger started to grow inside him once more as he continued, "But that wasn't enough for my d.a.m.ned, self-serving b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a brother. There would have been plenty of ways to implement the decision, but Tas insisted that my father p.r.o.nounce the final decree. My dying father, who was always so proud of me and my accomplishments, who's in constant pain these days... the others all tried to talk him out of it, but Tas wouldn't let go. My father, no matter how much it pained him, was going to have to be the one to p.r.o.nounce my sentence, no matter how much it hurt him to do so. I didn't dream Tas could be so cruel as to force him to do that."

"What... what is the sentence?" Yvette asked. "They're not going to kill you, are they?"

His anger against his brother vented, Pias seemed to lose some of his steam. Walking over to the edge of his bed, he sat down and held his head in his hands. "No, but they might as well have. I've been disowned by my father and my family. They've burned my baby clothes and my wedding shirt and destroyed all pictures of me. I've been banished from the planet, with all traces of me wiped from their memories. No one of my acquaintance will speak to me or even acknowledge my presence."

He lifted his head again and his eyes had a deep, hollow look to them. "Eve, it's as though I ceased to exist any more."

CHAPTER 6.

The Chanteuse of the Iron Angel Jules left Vonnie to watch over Duke Hanforth and guard their one surviving prisoner while he went out to his car and put a scramble call through to the Head. It took several minutes before Grand Duke Zander von Wilmenhorst could actually get to the vidicom-the hour was late, and he'd been enjoying the small bit of sleep his dual role of Grand Duke and Head of SOTE permitted him. Once on the line, though, he was wide awake and listening with interest as Jules described the events of the evening.

"Get your captive down to our regional office there, p.r.o.nto," the Head said when Jules had finished. "I'll dispatch someone there to handle the interrogation; I know Yvette usually handles that for you, and I want this done as expertly as possible. In the meantime, we've got to put out some sort of cover story to keep the opposition guessing. They'll know by now that their team has run into some trouble. We'll have to keep them from trying again."

After a brief discussion with Jules, they decided to leak to the press the story that Duke Hanforth of Melenaria had indeed been killed during a premeditated attack on his villa. Although all the attackers had died in the attempt, they had nonetheless been successful in eliminating their target. Meanwhile, the still-living duke would be kept tightly under wraps-or at least as tightly as anyone could manage to keep him-until the day of the wedding. In the meantime, Jules and Vonnie would be pulled off that a.s.signment and instead be given the job of tracking down further the chain of command in the a.s.sa.s.sination conspiracy.

As he'd been instructed, Jules took his prisoner to the SOTE branch office and stood by while an expert interrogator subtly questioned the killer. Virtually every technique was used short of nitrobarb-and the interrogator a.s.sured Jules that this man was not highly enough placed to merit nitrobarb. He was squeezed clean of information even without it.

The information they did get was little enough. This DesPlainian had served one function only in the organization-to kill his a.s.signed targets. He had no political convictions, no personal philosophy to uphold, no grudges against Duke Hanforth. He was a total mercenary. His only contact with this organization was through one of the men who had died in the copter crash, a man named Kojome. Kojome had been the one to collect all payments and get the orders from the higher-ups. Under even more intensive questioning, this killer did recall Kojome mentioning a place called the Iron Angel and the name Howard, but whether that was a first name or a last name, he didn't know. No matter how much more they questioned the man, nor how many threats they issued, they could not get any more information out of him than that.

The local SOTE office did have a listing for a nightclub called the Iron Angel, a quite respectable middlecla.s.s entertainment spot. There had been no previous suspicion that the club might have any strong links to the underworld, although known bigwigs in local crime organizations had been seen there upon occasion. Nevertheless, this was the only lead they had; Jules and Vonnie would have to follow up on it.

It was midmorning by the time the interrogation was completed, and Jules put in another call to the Head to discuss strategy and options. Within an hour they had a plan mapped out and they broke connections again; the Head began the backup work to implement the plan while Jules returned to Yvonne and explained what they had learned.

"We're going to have to infiltrate that nightclub," Jules said. "The Head and I worked out cover ident.i.ties for you and me as singer and manager."

"It shouldn't be hard for me to guess which of us will be which," Vonnie laughed. "You couldn't carry a tune if it had chrome-plated handles attached."

"How's your own voice these days?"

"I haven't done anything formally since leaving the college choir. How does this sound?" She broke into a spontaneous rendition of the Imperial Anthem.

Jules listened and watched her with a dreamy expression on his face. "That's sweet enough to make me want to spring to attention," he said. "You might not be destined to be the recording idol of billions, but it will serve perfectly well for a lounge like the Iron Angel."

"But I'll need an act, some kind of professional routine..."

"All being planned. The Head is arranging for Honey Sloc.u.m to come up with something for you; from what I'm told, she's one of the best show business arrangers on Earth. You'll be fantastic, believe me."

"But how can we be sure the Iron Angel will even hire me?"

"With me as your manager, how could they possibly resist?" Jules grinned.

Two days later, the singer who normally performed at the Iron Angel received an unexpected offer from a talent syndicate on the planet Rumfelt. One of their scouts had spotted her while vacationing on Earth, they said, and he'd been very impressed with her performance. They wanted to sign her to a multi-year exclusive contract involving films, trivision, recordings, and personal appearances. The amount of money involved was more than she had ever dreamed of earning-but she would have to leave immediately, because the opening could not be held. Even had she stopped to think about it, she would not have thought there was anything significant to the fact that the planet Rumfelt was located in Sector Four-which was owned by Grand Duke Zander von Wilmenhorst.

Her sudden departure from Earth caught the manager of the Iron Angel, a man named Shorken, completely unprepared. He was angry at her for running out on him without notice, and he was dreading the legions of talent agents who would soon be besieging him with possible replacements. Out of nowhere, though, came a short, chunky man named w.i.l.l.y Bledsoe claiming to have a performer all ready to fill the opening. Bledsoe said he'd heard the spot was vacant from a friend of his on Rumfelt and had been waiting for just such an opportunity. Desperately, Shorken agreed to an audition.

Vonnie, who would now be performing under the name of Lyla Beaumonde, had been rehearsing constantly for two days under Honey Sloc.u.m's able direction. To her pleasant voice had been added a flip, sultry style that was currently very popular among singers on Earth, and a few simple dance routines to supplement the singing. Vonnie was, fortunately, a quick study; Gospozha Sloc.u.m admitted she'd never had a more apt pupil. Thus, by the time Lyla Beaumonde's audition was scheduled, Vonnie was ready to perform.

"I don't think I've been this nervous since being in my grammar school play," she admitted to Jules just before going on.

"Relax, and remember, you're not just a singer, you're a chanteuse-you've got style. Go out there and knock 'em dead."

The act was not the most polished show business performance, but the Iron Angel's manager was not in a position to demand perfection. As he watched and listened to Vonnie, he went over the faked press clippings of her career on the planet Largo that Jules had supplied to him. Everything was in order, and Lyla Beaumonde appeared to have a satisfactory reputation as a steady performer. She would at least satisfy his immediate needs. If she did well at the club, he could keep her on indefinitely; if she didn't, she would at least fill the hole until he could round up some better talent. Before Vonnie had even finished her full act, Shorken called Jules over and they signed a ten-day contract.

If Vonnie had thought she was scared at the audition, the feeling had tripled in intensity by the time of her first show that night. Fortunately it was a Tuesday night, and the audience was only three-quarters of capacity. Still, she had some fidgety moments before she finally overcame both stage fright and opening night jitters and settled down to do her act. Her fears were all for naught; the audience loved her, calling her back for two curtain calls. After that she settled down and took to her new career with a more professional att.i.tude.

Nine days pa.s.sed and Lyla Beaumonde began acquiring a good reputation-but that was not exactly what Jules and Vonnie had been aiming for. There were now only two days to go before the Princess's wedding. There had been no a.s.sa.s.sination attempts against any n.o.bles since the try against Duke Hanforth; perhaps the enemy's forces had been too depleted in that attack and hadn't been rebuilt quickly enough. Or, Jules thought, perhaps they had gained as much as they thought they could and were biding their time until the actual wedding ceremony. Both Jules and the Head were in agreement that something was in store for that event, though neither could guess precisely what it was.

And their only lead-this nightclub-was turning cold. There had been no sign of any activity suspicious enough to point the way to a treasonous conspiracy nothing more criminal than watering the customers' drinks, Jules thought dismally. There had been no sign of anyone named Howard, no sign of Lady A-no sign of any trouble whatsoever. If I ever want a perfectly safe, boring evening, Jules thought, I'll sure know where to come.

Finally, on Thursday night just before her last show, Gospodin Shorken came to Vonnie's dressing room. "Make it a good show tonight, Lyla," he said. "Abel Howard is in the audience."

Though her heart jumped, Vonnie managed to keep her face expressionless as she applied her makeup. "Who's he?" she asked casually.

"Gospodin Howard is one of our big customers and a very important man. If he likes you, all sorts of good things come your way-provided you play ball with him, if you know what I mean."

Vonnie knew precisely what he meant, but she knew that it didn't pay to look too smart. "What do I have to do?" she asked.

"Nothing, just yet. Just go out there and do your act. If Howard likes you, he'll come back here after the show and you can wing it from there."

As soon as Shorken was gone, Vonnie left her dressing room in search of Jules, who was busy chatting with one of the musicians, slyly pumping him for any information about shady dealings that might be occur ring around the club. Aside from a small amount of illicit drugs and a minor call girl ring, the man knew nothing. Jules didn't bother with those leads; he was fishing for bigger game.

Vonnie took her fiancee aside and told him of Shorken's visit. "I was beginning to wonder whether this Howard was a myth," he said. "But it all depends on whether we can draw him to our bait."

"And since when have I ever had trouble attracting a man?" Vonnie asked, rolling her hips suggestively. "Go a little easier on that," Jules said, pretending to shade his eyes. "We only want one man, not the entire audience, to come racing up onto the stage after you." He paced up and down, trying to think of a plan. "Can you get him to come to your hotel room?" he asked after a bit.

"Do bunnies hop? That's the least of my problems, lover. The more important question is what we're going to do with him once I get him there."

"Leave all that to me. You just play the dumb, helpless female all the way, no matter what happens. Do whatever he suggests. I'll make sure things don't get out of hand."

"You'd better," Vonnie said. "If I'm going to be unfaithful to you, I'd prefer it to be with someone a little more cla.s.sy than this Howard character."

That evening, Vonnie gave the most outstanding performance of her short career. She was called back for six curtain calls and had projected enough s.e.x appeal to have the men standing in the aisles and whistling. If all that doesn't hook Howard, she thought, I'd better grow a beard and start smoking cigars.

As she'd hoped, Howard came to her dressing room shortly after she'd finished changing. She took an instant dislike to the big man; she'd seen his kind entirely too many times in the past, and she despised their dehumanizing notions of how to deal with women. But she was playing a role tonight, and she vowed she'd play it to the hilt.

After a remarkably short attempt at small talk, Howard got right to the point. "I like you, lyubovnika," he said as though he were handing out the Imperial Medal of Honor. "How'd you like to go to dinner with me?"

"I've already eaten, and my manager says that I have to watch my weight if I'm going to keep my figure," she said, all innocent and little-girlish. "Besides, he's laid down very strict rules for me. He says I'm supposed to go home and go to bed immediately after I finish every night. That way, he says, I won't get all old and wrinkly looking."

"Sounds like a smooth guy," Howard cracked. "Look, did he specify you had to be alone?"

Vonnie giggled coquettishly and shot him a smile that was both ingenuous and knowing at the same time. "Now that you mention it, I don't believe he did. What did you have in mind, you naughty man?"

Howard told her, in the crudest possible terms. Vonnie didn't have to act to make the blush creep into her cheeks, but her theatrical abilities were taxed to the limit as she forced herself to give him a civil and affirmative answer. Howard smiled, mentally chalking up still another conquest.

They left the club together in his chauffeured car and drove straight to her hotel. She snuggled up to him in the back seat and forced herself to smile as his clammy hands were exploring her body. The things one does out of loyalty to the Empire! she thought. I only hope Jules is quick about whatever plan he has worked out; if this b.a.s.t.a.r.d breathes on me too much more, I know I'll throw tip.

They reached the hotel and took the elevator tube up to the eleventh floor where her room was. They walked down the hall together, laughing, and then stood outside her door for a minute as she fumbled through her purse trying to find the key. Finally she located it and opened the door. They stepped inside and she reached for the light switch, but he stopped her. "We don't need that, do we?" he said. He closed the door behind them, pulled her body tightly against his, and began kissing her crudely. At the same time his hands were behind her, clumsily unfastening her dress.

I f Jules doesn't do something soon, Vonnie thought distastefully, I'll take care of this ape myself. Howard will be walking bowlegged for a week when I get through with him.

Just then the lights switched on and she heard Jules's voice across the room say, "Ahal So that's what you've been up to while my back is turned, eh?"

Vonnie backed away from Howard, a look of mock horror on her face. "w.i.l.l.y, please! You don't understand..."