House of Reeds

between his shoulder blades. He had a sinking feeling the ablative, armored mesh would not stop the ice-pick-like stroke for more than a heartbeat.

The guttural exchange between the Resident and the Jehanan general was now a three-way conversation as Bhrigu, kujen of Parus, had arrived, and the sound level was rising very, very quickly. The prince hopped nervously from one foot to the other, complaining loudly to Petrel in a mishmash of NГЎhuatl and Jehanan. The Skawt could feel more people – men in Army dress boots and trousers – crowding into the salon. All of the prince's 'new friends' had fled.

Dawd edged into Colmuir's field of vision, pudgy face lit with a kind of inner glow. 'Nice party, Master Sergeant? The Governor's got kujen Bhrigu calming down his man. Apparently the bonny lass is regarded with protective affection by General Humara there. But we need to get his highness out of here immediately.' Dawd peered at the boy's face. 'Knocked him out, did you?'

'Aye.' Colmuir rolled sideways, saw the massive shape of the Jehanan soldier had withdrawn. A solid wall of Mixtec officers – though none of them were armed with more than carving knives snatched up from the buffet tables – was between the limp, sweaty shape of the prince and a steadily growing crowd of hissing Jehanans. The rose- tinted female had disappeared. 'Didn't take much. Don't see how the lad can drink, smoke and drop so much in one night…'

'Youth,' Dawd grunted, slipping one arm under Tezozуmoc's. Colmuir took the other side and together they sidled off, heading for the servants' entrance at the back of the entertaining room. A tall, well-dressed woman with white-shot hair held the door open for them. She looked down at the prince with a pensive expression as the two Skawts hustled him into a brightly lit, tile-floored maintenance corridor.

Itzpalicue watched the bodyguards dragging the prince away in an eyecast v-pane transmitted by a spybug loitering near the roof of the kitchen corridor. She sniffed with longstanding amusement. Her opinion of the prince had not changed in years. 'Well, he certainly livens up a party, doesn't he?'

Will he live? a female voice replied. The old woman nodded, marking the efficient way the two Skawtsmen were moving the body.

'Of course,' Itzpalicue said quietly to the empty air. The mezzanine balcony had emptied with amazing speed once word of the altercation lit through the party. An excited buzz throbbed in the air as hundreds of people chattered madly about what they imagined they'd seen. 'He's young and took no direct harm. Worse for his liver, to judge by the prodigious quantity of stimulants he downed this evening. But I suppose he'll get another fresh one.'

He was sweating like a malaria victim when he greeted me, Mrs. Petrel said in a concerned tone. Does he spend all of his time like this?

'Probably,' the old woman answered drily. 'With the Light of Heaven for a father? This son is not cast from the same alloy as the others. But no matter, more fuel for my fire. We'll make sure he gets home safely this time. Can't have him dying in some sordid brawl over a joygirl – that would not play well on the holocast nets, no indeed.'

Bhazuradeha is no courtesan. Greta's voice was very sharp. She may be the finest poet in this generation of Jehanan – certainly the most talented in Parus. General Humara was enraged because she was singing part of her new composition, Skythe-Color-of-Birthshell-Fragments, for the prince. They were verses the general had yet to hear – and among these people, such things are touchy matters. Humara is particularly sensitive.

'A few stanzas were cause for attempted murder?' Itzpalicue bristled at the implied reprimand in the woman's voice. 'Over poetry?'

Over an impromptu audition. Bhazuradeha is very ambitious. Humara feared the prince would become her patron in his place.

'Not a very discerning woman.' The old Mйxica snorted into her hand. 'What would she want from our dissolute boy?'

To be elevated beyond the reach of these squabbling petty nobles. The safety to speak that which is in her heart. In time, holocast access via the Development Board's new satellite network. The chance for her words to reach millions of her fellow Jehanan, rather than merely the tens of thousands who gather to hear her recite in public.

'Tens of thousands?' Itzpalicue said in disbelief. 'For a poet?'

If Nezahualcoyotl of Tetzcoco were alive today, how many of your people would wish to hear him read Nitlayocoya or Song of Flight in person? A hundred thousand? A million?

'That's entirely different. The Doomed Prince was a Mйxica!'

Of course.

Itzpalicue terminated the conversation and switched back to the operations channel. She did not enjoy being mocked. Frenetic air surged around her like a living sea, making her tremble with reflected excitement, fear, rumor and adrenaline. She started a breathing pattern to slow her heart before she lost focus.

'Lachlan? Yes, you saw? Good. The crowd is nearly hysterical right now…patch me through to the Whisperers downstairs…' There was soft tone in her ear. 'Instant rumor, little mice: There is a secret Imperial archaeological mission on Jagan, seeking to steal certain artifacts…'

The Cornuelle

Over The Northern Pole of Jagan

A large v-pane on the wall of Hadeishi's office displayed the threatwell feed from the bridge. A mass of ship glyphs in a variety of colors stood poised at the center of focus. The Chu-sa was only paying partial attention to the chatter on the Fleet channel; too many lists and rosters and status reports spread out on the table between him and Kosho demanded his concentration.

'Transit kick in three…two…one…' The voice of Thai-i Hayes was calm, collected and a little bored.

The threatwell convulsed as local space distorted. The cloud of lights wavered, climbing rapidly into gradient, and then vanished abruptly. A side-glyph flashed as the Cornuelle's main sensor array went active, scanning a vast empty globe around the transit point. Two minutes passed as the Chu- sa paged through readiness reports, lips pursed.

'Transit zone secure. No debris. No gravitational anomalies.' Hadeishi heard the senior lieutenant straighten up in the command chair as he activated a wideband transmission channel. 'Attention all ships. Imperial battle group Tecaltan has made transit. Bharat system traffic control reverting to IMN Henry R. Cornuelle. Please verify orbit and routing status…'

Hadeishi turned down the sound. Duke Villeneuve and his weekly dinner parties had departed, leaving the Cornuelle the sole Fleet presence in orbit around Jagan. For some reason, the Chu-sa felt a weight leave him. He grunted at himself, causing Kosho to look up, dark brown eyes questioning over the top of a stack of repair and maintenance requests.

'I feel,' he said in answer to her silent question, 'as if we've stood down from alert status.'

Susan laid down a lengthy report discussing repairs to the Officer's Mess. To other eyes, she would seem perfectly composed, but Hadeishi saw a frown hiding behind her smooth features. 'Chu- sa, there are persistent rumors of trouble groundside. Now we are alone again and our armaments are drawn down to almost nothing. No backup. Not even a frigate to extend our sensor range…our crew exhausted…'

'I know.' Hadeishi shrugged, offering a tiny smile. 'I still feel better. We're used to operating alone. I wait with interest to see if Nineteenth Fleet responds to my latest readiness report in a timely fashion, or if another battle group arrives from the direction of Keshewan with sobering news.'

'You still think Villeneuve is making transit into a trap? That the Admiralty purposefully gathered every suspect captain into one group, so they could all be exterminated at one go?'

'I suspect – but I do not know – such things have happened before.'

Susan frowned openly. 'Chu-sa, I disagree… If those captains carried the 'black mark,' then the Mirror would disappear them one at a time. Quietly. Without anyone noticing. It's insane to let them form a battle group, complete with resupply ships, a fleet mobile repair dock, everything they'd need to flee…or