'We're keeping it quiet and simple,' she said. 'We don't want lots of fuss. And besides, we can't afford a big do.'
'Really.' Careful frown. 'Now that your fiance's the foreman of the ordnance factory, I wouldn't have thought money would be a problem.'
'We've got better things to spend our money on.'
'I'm sure.' She was trying to shake him off, like something nasty stuck to the sole of her shoe. That was a flaw in her guard. He leaned back a little in his chair.
'Is that it, then?' she said. 'Can I go now?'
'In just a few minutes,' he said firmly. 'It's been a while since we had an opportunity to talk.'
'What do you need to talk to me about?' she said. 'I thought you said you're giving us permission…'
Psellus congratulated himself on his timing. Letting her think she was almost free, giving her a sight of the door, so to speak; now she was in a hurry to get away, which meant that the longer he kept her there, the stronger his advantage would be. 'Would you like something to eat or drink?' he said. 'I usually have a glass of something and a biscuit around now.'
'No thank you.'
He shrugged. 'If you change your mind later on, just say so.'
He rang the little silver bell that stood just by his elbow. He'd had all sorts of trouble getting hold of one, but it looked as though the effort would be justified. The door opened, and the clerk (on loan for the day from the records office) nodded a polite little bow, as though he'd been a footman all his life. 'Mulled wine with honey and nutmeg for me, and one of those delightful cinnamon cakes,' he said. 'Are you sure I can't get you anything?'
'Have I done something wrong?'
Psellus raised both eyebrows. 'Not that I'm aware of.'
'If I haven't done anything wrong, why can't I go home?'
'Of course you can go home, as soon as we've finished.'
Her scowl only lasted a very short time, a tiny sliver of a second, before her face reverted to dull, wary vacancy. Psellus picked up a sheet of paper-minutes of some meeting, to which he hadn't been asked-and reflected that, however close the play and however smoothly the participants work together, anticipating each other's thoughts, sharing an intimacy otherwise experienced only by lovers, there must always be a gulf between predator and prey; because if the predator loses, he stays hungry for a day, whereas the prey loses forever. Such a disparity gives the advantage in motivation to the defense, provided it's backed up by sufficient skill. The predator, by contrast, must be more outgoing, more extreme.
The clerk arrived, with a cup and a plate. Psellus took a sip-water, as he'd specified-and nibbled the rim of the biscuit, like a mouse.
'Is that why you're keeping me here,' she asked, 'to watch you eat?'
He laughed, as though she'd made a good joke. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I missed breakfast. Well now,' he went on, settling himself comfortably in his chair, 'there're just one or two points I'd like to clear up, while you're here.'
'About my husband.'
'Of course. Why else could anybody possibly be interested in you?'
Her eyes widened, just a little, then closed down again. 'Go on, then.'
Psellus stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'As you know,' he said, 'I used to be attached to the commission that investigated the circumstances of your husband's offense. That investigation is now complete, overtaken by events, somewhat; the file's closed, to all intents and purposes, I've moved on, and so have you. But in spite of that, I can't help worrying away at loose ends, it's in my nature. The more I try not to think about something, the more it weighs on my mind. When it got to the stage where it was getting in the way of the work I'm supposed to be doing, I decided I'd better deal with it once and for all. For that, I need your help.'
He paused and looked at her. Nobody there. Fine.
'Your husband,' he went on, making his voice low and even, 'built the mechanical doll. So far, we've concentrated-reasonably enough-on how he built it. Nobody seems to have stopped to consider why he built it. I think that's where my problem lies. It seems,' he added with a smile, 'such a curious thing for anybody to do.'
She shrugged. 'He made it for our daughter,' she said.
'Quite so, yes. That much was admitted from the outset.' Psellus nodded gravely. 'That doesn't answer the question. Why a mechanical doll?'
Another shrug. 'No idea.'
'That's curious too. Did your daughter tell him she wanted one, very much? Had she seen one somewhere and admired it especially?'
'She could have done, I don't know.'
'Well, why should you?' Psellus smiled. 'Perhaps your daughter told him, but not you. Perhaps it was their secret. Daughters are often closer to their fathers than their mothers, in some respects. Isn't that right?'
'Maybe.'
'Well, that's what people keep telling me,' Psellus said pleasantly. 'I'm not a family man myself. But anyway; he decided to build her the doll, for whatever reason. Now we come to another mystery. Your husband…' He paused again. 'He's not by nature the rebellious type, is he?'
'I don't understand what you mean.'
Psellus dipped his head. 'Some people,' he said, 'have a problem with authority. Breaking rules, to them, is almost an end in itself; doesn't matter what the rule happens to be, the fact that it's a rule makes it fair game, if you follow me. It's a sort of independence of spirit, usually combined with high self-esteem and a low opinion of the system and society in general. But Ziani wasn't like that, was he?'
She shrugged.
'I don't think he was,' Psellus said. 'I think he understood the merits of the system pretty well. He was ambitious, of course; but his ambition was entirely orthodox, if you see what I mean. He wanted to succeed in the proper manner, by climbing the ladder of promotion. That was what gave success its value, I guess. He'd want to win, but cheating would spoil it for him. He assessed his own value in conventional terms.'
'If you say so.'
'Quite.' He stopped talking and stared at a mark on the ceiling for a moment. 'I can understand Ziani wanting to make a toy for his daughter, something she wanted very much that he could make for her. What I have trouble with is the fact that he saw fit to change the specifications. What do you think?'
'It was against the law,' she said. 'He shouldn't have done it.'
Psellus clicked his tongue slightly. 'That's not at issue. What I'm asking myself is this. Let's leave the issue of risk out of it for a moment; let's suppose that he firmly believed that he wasn't going to be found out. A reasonable enough belief, by the way,' he added, 'but we'll come back to that. One thing at a time.' He leaned forward a little, crowding her. 'At his trial, it was sort of assumed by default that he did it out of arrogance, just because he could; he thought he knew better than Specification, and that's a mortal sin. Now, what kind of man do you reckon would think that way?'
She didn't say anything. He kept quiet, making it clear that she was required to answer.
'I don't know,' she said. 'Someone cocky.'
'That's what I'd have said, too,' Psellus replied. 'Let's see; someone who sees a better way of doing something-what he believes is a better way of doing something, at any rate-and can't abide to do it the approved way instead, just because of some rule. Is that how you'd see it?'
'I suppose so.'
Psellus nodded firmly. 'That's not Ziani, though, is it?' he said. 'I mean to say, he worked in the factory all those years, and he didn't go around criticizing the way things were done.'
'Of course not. It's against the law.'
Psellus smiled. 'Not in the ordnance factory,' he said. 'As you well know, it's an exception to the rule. He had the scope, working where he did; and yes, he did propose a number of innovations-quite correctly, through the proper channels-but not in such a way as to rock the boat or put anybody's back up. Most of the time, as far as I can tell, he was perfectly happy to follow Specification, because he acknowledged that it's perfect as it is. Not the behavior, in other words, of the malcontent or the compulsive rebel.'
She made a show of stifling a yawn. Psellus couldn't help approving of that.
