'This . . . thing. It's a metal sphere. Very valuable. They have it inside a compound up in the Splinters. Place is like a fortress. I need a way to get in, or a way to get it out.'
'A sphere,' she repeated. 'Valuable.'
'Yes.'
'I don't suppose I want to know any more than that.'
'Good policy. If it makes you feel better, it's rightfully mine. Well, mine and my colleagues, anyway. They stole it from us. We want to steal it back.'
'And once you have it, you'll be rich?'
'Astronomically so, apparently.'
'And then you'll think yourself worthy of me?'
'Absolutely.'
She rolled over in bed, facing away from him. She managed to convey her sadness and disappointment through the set of her bare shoulders, though Frey couldn't work out how.
'I'll see what I can do,' she said.
They had breakfast on the south terrace in the morning, overlooking a calm lake edged by drowsily nodding trees. The sun was strong, for they'd slept in till past midday, and Amalicia was all smiles again. Frey enjoyed himself immensely. Etiquette made him awkward, but being waited on hand and foot was an experience he didn't think he'd ever get tired of.
'A man could get used to this,' he murmured, as he took his third glass of sparkling breakfast wine. Amalicia gave him a sideways glance and said nothing.
Later in the afternoon, they walked in the gardens, among the flowerbeds and the arbours. Frey wasn't much for plant life, but he was feeling quite grand today and more than a little buzzed from the wine. The presence of a beautiful woman who plainly adored him wasn't exactly unwelcome, either.
They'd been ambling around for some time when a manservant approached and whispered something in Amalicia's ear. She smiled and nodded.
'Plotting something?' Frey asked, watching the manservant retreat down the path.
'Actually, yes,' she said. 'I've secured us invitations to a soiree in Lapin.'
'A party?' Frey exclaimed. 'What did you go and do that for?'
'Because that's where you'll find out what you want to know.'
Frey scratched the back of his neck. The thought of a society party made him uneasy. Give him a good old life-threatening gunfight anyday. At least there, if someone was wittier than you, you could just shoot them in the face.
'It's a very exclusive soiree,' said Amalicia. Frey felt his nerves tighten another notch. 'Among the guests will be three Interpreters and a Grand Oracle.'
'Three whos and a what now?'
'High-ranking Awakeners, Darian,' she explained patiently. 'There are only four Grand Oracles in all of Vardia, and they are second in power only to the Lord High Cryptographer himself.'
'And you think they might know something about the sphere?'
'I'm sure you can get something useful out of them. You're a resourceful sort.'
'That I am,' he said. 'But do you think they'll even talk to me? I mean, look at me. They have handkerchiefs that cost more than my entire wardrobe.'
Amalicia gave him an up-and-down appraisal. 'Yes, we'll have to tidy you up a bit. But I shouldn't worry. They'll accept you as long as you're with me. And you'll find that the great and good are a lot less formal in these small, private gatherings than they are in public. We aristocrats get up to all kinds of things when the commoners aren't looking.' She smiled to show she was joking. Sort of.
'I'm not very good with polite conversation,' said Frey. 'It's more Crake's thing.'
'Don't fret, my darling. I have a scheme in mind. You see, there's always a games room at these little affairs. And this particular Grand Oracle is very fond of Rake.'
Frey's eyes lit up. 'Rake, you say?'
'Sit him down at a table, ply him with drink, lose some hands to him. He'll be your best friend in no time.'
Frey chewed his lip. 'I could do that. I'd still feel better if Crake came too, though. Another pair of ears in the room. He's an aristocrat; he wouldn't embarrass you.'
Amalicia tutted. 'Very well. I'll see it's done. But he'd better behave himself, Darian, or I shall be very put out.'
'Don't use his real name on the invitation.'
Amalicia rolled her eyes. 'Such reputable company you keep. I'll say he's your cousin. How's that?'
They walked for a little while.
'Why are you helping me, Amalicia?' Frey asked at length.
'Because I love you, of course,' she replied.
'Not because you want to get back at the Awakeners for all that time you spent in the hermitage?'
A wicked smile touched the edge of her lips. 'What kind of petty, vengeful woman do you take me for?' she asked with exaggerated innocence. 'The soiree is in a week. Until then, you're mine.'
Frey was allowed a brief visit back to the Ketty Jay to explain things to his crew and to tell Grist what was happening. Grist was enraged at the delay, but there was little he could do about it. He'd left some of his own men keeping watch on the compound where the sphere was hidden, in case the Awakeners moved it, but Frey thought it a futile exercise. Aircraft probably came and went all the time, and there was no telling if any of them were carrying the sphere, and no chance of following them anyway. Even small aircraft would be spotted in open sky and chased off.
His duty to his crew done, Frey returned to Amalicia. The days that followed were slow and luxurious. He spent the majority of them in bed, occasionally rising to enjoy exquisite meals or to wander the grounds of the Thade estate in the sun. On the second day Crake visited, and they were fitted for new clothes and seen to by a barber. When their transformation was complete, they looked a strikingly handsome and sophisticated pair. Frey spent the evening resisting the urge to preen.
Amalicia, for her part, was sweetness itself. Gone were the rapid and occasionally violent mood swings he remembered. She was attentive, considerate and sexually voracious. Frey had a wonderful time in her company, and he basked in the attention she lavished on him.
'You still want to run away, Amalicia?' he asked at one point. 'Still want to go slumming round Vardia in a battered old aircraft with a bunch of inept alcoholics for company?'
The sun fell on one side of her face as she sipped her glass of wine, and she looked devastatingly serene. 'No,' she said. 'Do you?'
It was a question Frey spent a lot of time pondering, during those heady days. What was there for him back on the Ketty Jay? Sure, he had friends, and that was worth something. But was it worth the endless toil, the frustration, the danger? How much further would his luck take him before he caught a bullet somewhere vital, or his craft got shot down?
Sooner or later, a man had to stop wandering and plant his flag. Wouldn't this be a fine place to do it?
She'd marry you, if you asked her. You know she would. She's loved you all this time.
But even thinking it made him restless. How long before he got bored? Bored of her, bored of all of this? The fine food and quality booze were undoubtedly attractive, but there were only so many gardens a man could wander. Sleeping on silk sheets with a pretty young woman was all well and good, but what about after a month? A year? A decade?
Amalicia, for her part, was obviously on her best behaviour. He knew what she was doing. Seducing him with her lifestyle. Intoxicating him with the dream of aristocracy. Think what your life could be, Frey, she was saying. Why carry on with this foolish scheme of riches? I have all the riches you'll ever need.
With money like hers, he could do whatever he wanted. He could build a dozen orphanages. He could make a mark, something to leave behind that said: Here was Frey. He might not have been perfect, but at least his life meant half a shit.
