The pathways and corridors were filling up again; the wedding must be over. Will kept his Keith in his pocket. At the door to Will’s room, Hart paused.
“You’ll get a bad reputation, Willie, inviting men home to your quarters.”
“Just get inside.”
The door opened into the main room with its four cots. One of Will’s men was there already—TJ, standing at a mirror, adjusting the laces on his dress shirt. He looked at them in surprise as they entered.
Will said, “What are you doing here?” Nobody off- duty spent their time in these cramped quarters when all the Diamond was available.
“I’m getting ready for the ball.”
Of course. He’d forgotten. ‘The others already leave?”
“Uh-huh. I know it doesn’t start till seven, but they’re opening the hall at five.”
Will nodded. “We’re going to talk in the other room. Knock on the door when you leave.” The link was in this room, but Will felt awkward about using it in front of TJ. TJ was already looking at him like he wasn’t making sense. He motioned for Hart to precede him into the other room—it was a tiny space with a folding chair and wall pegs for capes, and Will thought it must have been a supply closet once. He thanked God it was there; otherwise they would’ve had to go into the spit, and heaven knew what TJ would have thought.
He closed the door. “Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing to the chair.
“Thanks.” Hart seated himself negligently, leaning back and stretching his legs.
Will wished that he smoked. “Adrian likes to sit that way, too,” he said.
“Does he?”
Will took the few paces the narrow space afforded him. He wished TJ would finish primping and get out.
“Willie?”
“Yeah?” He looked over at Hart and into a small silver handgun.
He cursed. Hart stood up, walked to the edge of the room, and said, “Put yours on the chair—slowly, and all that.”
Will placed his Keith gently on the chair. Hart said, “I bought this off a Graykey on the Opal. How do you like it? It’s half the size of a Keith, and lethal whenever it hits. I understand the Graykey are like that.”
Will didn’t respond to this.
“You have to be consistent, Willie. I can understand your choosing not to search me; every one-on-one search is taking a chance. But if you don’t, you shouldn’t take your eyes off me later.”
Hart liked to give him little lectures on life back in school, too. Will said, “I could yell, and TJ would be in here in a second, ready to shoot you.”
“Well, that’s probably true. You’d be dead and all, but I guess you’d see it as your duty. So let me give you a few reasons why nobody here should get killed, if you don’t mind.”
Will folded his arms. “All right, try.”
Just then there was a knock on the door, and a muffled voice said, “I’m leaving now, Sarge.”
Without turning Will called, “Could you stick around a little longer, TJ?”
“Okay,” said TJ’s voice, puzzled.
Hart said, “Let’s make a trade. Information for freedom.” Will frowned. “What kind of information?”
“I don’t know, what kind would you like?”
“This isn’t funny—”
“We could start with the girl. Would you like to know who she was? Ask me who she was.”
“Wait,” said Will, and he took out a pocket jammer, activated it, and set it on the floor. “Who was she?”
“Her name was Isabelle Saddler, but before we go on, do we have an understanding? You’re not going to call your slobbering Doberman out there, and I’m not going to shoot you? And we’re all going our separate ways?” Between gritted teeth Will said, “What in your pointed little brain makes you think we’re going our separate ways, when you’ve just killed somebody?”
“Well, she’s dead, you know. Past fixing. And I have an explanation.” Hart leaned back against the wall. “And you have a problem, Willie. You like to know things. We worked on your other problems back in Sangaree, but this is one we never got to.”
Will had a quick and unpleasant flash of breaking into the teacher’s residence because he wanted to know the truth about Miss Smith. He banished the memory. “Maybe I’ve overcome it on my own.”
“If you’re going to turn me over to the Diamond, why did you just take out a jammer?”
Will had no immediate answer for that. Hart said, “Well, we’ll pass over that. Ask me about Isabelle Saddler.”
“Who was she? Was she an informant?”
“Everybody’s an informant, but Miss Saddler knew the market value enough to insist on actual cash. You know Brandon Fischer, the First Adviser? Isabelle knew how he was going to vote on anything before he even walked into the council chamber.”
Will considered this. “Why? Was she his mistress? A friend, a relation?”
“Not exactly. She lived in his house. She was his daughter’s maid.”
Will started to chuckle. “We’re scraping the bottom of the barrel here, aren’t we? Brandon Fischer’s daughter’s maid.”
Hart said, “It’s not necessary that a connection be direct, only that it be accurate.”
“Well, hooray. Why did you kill her? Just don’t like girls?”
“Really, Will,” said Hart with some disappointment. “Just because you’re under the confused impression I’m homosexual—”
“I don’t think you’re homosexual. I don’t think you’re heterosexual either. I think you’re an omnivore. I think you’d do it with a turnip, actually, if you thought it would get the turnip into trouble.”
“I forgot. It would be a matter of Sangaree honor, wouldn’t it, to be just a little rude to a person holding a gun on you.”
Will said nothing for a moment, then: “Do you have other informants on the Diamond?”
“Naturally.”
“Why did you kill her?”
There was a sound of voices from outside. One of the others had come back, probably to hurry TJ along; so much the better, two more armed people against Hart’s one.
Hart moved closer to the door to listen. As Will backed away, he brushed accidentally against the tiny
