'I have everything I need in my air car.'
'Then take your walk. I'll keep a weather eye on you from here.' Adderson paused as if considering, then he continued, 'And you may meet another man walking about out there. He's a scrawny fellow with a fringe of white hair—pre-prolong. I didn't ask and he didn't say, but I believe he may be with the Security Ministry. The computer accepted his clearance faster even than it did your own.'
'Thank you for warning me,' Justin said. 'I'd have been startled to meet someone out there unaware. I'll check in with you before I leave.'
'Thank you, Mr. Zyrr.'
Justin gathered hat, glasses, and a belt flask of water. Then he crunched down the sandy blue slope to the flats over which the King and Queen had skied just the day before.
He didn't really have much idea what Beth expected him to find. Popular wisdom still held that a criminal would be drawn to the scene of the crime, but, even if that were true, the assassin would be mingling now with the throng of pilgrims, perhaps gloating, feeding on their grief, or perhaps feeling remorse, an urge to confess . . .
No, that would be too easy. Adderson's recollection that the King's ski had indeed been changed for another set—a set that could have been sabotaged in advance—did lend some credence to Beth's theories, but then it had been the difference between the skis that had led her to become suspicious in the first place. To pursue that too closely would be merely to confirm circular logic. He needed something more.
Trudging across the blue salt sand, he wasn't at all certain he would find anything, but for Beth he would continue to look.
Using what landmarks he remembered from the holo, Justin located the general area where King Roger must have crashed. Here the glittering blue crystal sand was gouged and torn, not only from the King's fall, but from the emergency vehicles and personnel who had rushed out to him.
Hunkering down, Justin shifted some of the salt through his gloved fingers, knowing even as he did so that the effort was futile. Perhaps he should go to the morgue where the King's body was being prepared for the viewing, but what could he learn there? He was no pathologist, no forensics specialist. He was just a research engineer!
Footsteps crunching across the sand brought him from his revery. Rising and turning in one graceful motion, he faced the newcomer.
'Justin Zyrr?'
The man who extended his hand in a friendly manner was small and wiry, his features shadowed beneath the brim of a wide straw hat. Justin's general impression was of twinkling grey eyes set amid deep lines and a great floppy mustache. He took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.
'I am Justin Zyrr.'
'Captain Adderson told me I might find you out here.' The man's voice seemed too deep to come from such a slim chest. 'I decided to make `might' a certainty.'
He paused to wipe sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
'I'm Daniel Chou.'
'With the Security Ministry, Captain Adderson implied.'
Chou grinned. 'Captain Adderson must have liked you. I don't suppose I'm violating any rules by confirming your guess. After all, you will be the Prince Consort—and, more importantly, Queen Elizabeth trusts you.'
Oddly, Justin felt himself coloring. There was something about the little man's brash manner that made him feel like a boy at his grandfather's knee. Given the changes of the last twenty-four hours, the feeling was not at all unpleasant.
'Shall we hoof it back to the landing strip?' Chou said. 'Or do you need to do more looking about?'
Justin glared at the blue salt as if it was deliberately trying to hide the truth from him.
'I'm not certain there's anything to look for,' he said.
Chou nodded. 'Not here, although we had to look. We may have more luck inspecting the remains of the grav ski.'
'Why should we do that?' Justin asked, reluctant to take anyone into his confidence without Elizabeth's express permission.
'For evidence,' Chou answered. His grey eyes had stopped twinkling. 'Evidence to prove King Roger was murdered. Certainly you don't believe his death was an accident, do you?'
Everyone rose and bowed as Queen Elizabeth III entered the council chamber. Tellingly, to a long-time political observer like Duke Cromarty, she accepted the monarch's homage as her due. The fact that she'd been Crown Princess all of her life might explain part of that calm demeanor, but the Prime Minister thought there was something more here.
She might be a girl of eighteen, but she was savvy enough to know that those who had raised her might find it difficult to recall that she was their ruler now. By accepting the homage as offered, she was reminding them all who made the final decisions.
After the Queen had greeted them, Dame Eliska brought the informal regent's council around to business.
'This morning's coronation went well. My polls, formal and informal, show that support for the Queen is high in both houses of Parliament. The sooner the matters of Regent and Regency Council are resolved, the more likely they are to be resolved easily and in the Queen's best interest.'
Elizabeth nodded. 'I have reviewed your recommendations for Regent and I think they are all sound.' Even her voice was different, Cromarty thought. She spoke with a deliberate precision, an air of maturity which was new to her yet far too natural, too . . . inevitable, to be feigned. 'Duke Cromarty, do you have anything to add?' she asked, and he cleared his throat.
'Yes, actually, I do. Apparently, there's some resistance to the idea of having either your mother or your aunt serve as Regent.'
The Queen Mother started. 'I protest! There is a long tradition of—'
Elizabeth interrupted her mother with a gentle hand to her arm.
'I need to hear what the Prime Minister has to say,' she said in that same, new voice. 'Allen, I am intrigued by your use of the words `mother' and `aunt' to describe two of the candidates for Regent. Normally, you observe protocol to a fault. Is there a reason?'
The Prime Minister nodded. 'Yes, I chose those words because they reflect precisely the scuttlebutt I've heard. The concern being expressed is that someone as close kin to the Queen as the Queen Mother or Duchess Winton-Henke might not be in a position to advise but might try to rule in your stead.'
'Bluntly put,' Elizabeth said, 'the concern is that I will be dominated by my mother or my aunt.'
'Yes, Your Majesty.'
'A pity,' Elizabeth mused. 'I had just about made up my mind that Aunt Caitrin would be an ideal Regent. No offense, Mother, but I
The Queen Mother looked hurt for a moment, but then she smiled.
'I agree. It might indeed be hard for me to stop thinking as your mother—and as Roger's wife. You don't need a Regent who might be inclined to say `But your father would have done it this way.' '
Elizabeth squeezed her mother's hand. 'Thank you for understanding. I have reviewed this council's other suggestions and, while I have nothing personal against any of the Crown Loyalist candidates you indicated, I would prefer to have Aunt Caitrin. Your Grace, do you think the Henke holdings can spare you?'
Caitrin Winton-Henke nodded. 'They can. The Earl of Gold Peak is quite able to discharge his responsibilities without me.'
'Very good.'
Elizabeth thoughtfully stroked Ariel for a moment before continuing.
'I haven't forgotten the concern Duke Cromarty reported.' Her smile became impish. 'I believe the only way to defuse it is to nominate a candidate who would be unacceptable to Parliament for some reason. When the fuss over the first candidate has died down and Parliament has been reluctantly forced to reject my suggestion, then I can nominate Aunt Caitrin. If Dame Eliska is correct, the general desire of Parliament is to support me. Rejecting a second Regent—especially one so well-trained for the job—would go against that general
