Now what was that for, thought Will? They must be used to all kinds of goings-on in here. Although … although, I hope that Hart is really interested in business, and not in just making me nervous.
Hart closed the window and put a jammer on the floor, two reassuring actions as far as Will was concerned. The morning was warming up, and Hart pulled off his red headband and used it to mop his forehead. Then he grinned and let himself fall on the huge bed, and turned to Will and said, “So—what did your newest drinking buddies have to tell you?”
There was a teapot on a stand by the bed, with a little flame underneath. Will poured a cup. “I’m hungry.”
“They don’t have food here. We can send down for coffee.”
‘Thanks, I prefer tea.”
Hart folded his hands on his chest and looked at the low ceiling. “Of course, they can probably provide things like nuts, whipped cream, honey. Skin foods, so to speak.”
Will set the cup down firmly on a stool. “I didn’t find out much. The Duke’s popular enough with the army and the local guard. They’re not looking forward to a clash with the Republic, but they can scent it in the wind.”
“And the rest of the family?”
‘They call Elizabeth Mard the ‘Smiling Bitch.’ They don’t call her husband anything. Either way, though, I don’t think they really care.”
“Ah, well, neither do we, really. What’s this about their daughter? She’s deformed or something?”
“The kid’s name is Sara Jean Arbrith. That’s her Redemptionist name—her real name is Casamara Tonnelly.” Hart sat up straight and looked at him. The expression he reserved for nonserious pastimes, like torturing Will, was gone. Will said, “Yeah. Her father was Lord Kermis Tonnelly. You remember there were rumors of some kind of purge going on at Imperial Center a few years back? Kermis’s wife died after giving birth—under shadowy circumstances, they claim, but who knows—and his lordship wrote out a document removing the baby from the line of succession. Then he shot himself. But just before that, he sent the kid off to the custody of his old school friend, Hyram Det Arbrith. Hyram had her baptized Redemptionist right off and he’s brought her up as his daughter. The deformity is a harelip. Officially her title is still ‘Princess.’ ”
Hart was silent for a minute. Then he said, “They don’t seem exactly strict about enforcing the canons around here. Why haven’t they corrected her lip, do you think?” Will shrugged. “Maybe it’s true that they just haven’t gotten around to it. She’s only six years old. And it’s not like anybody would make fun of her for it—they wouldn’t dare. And her parents really are busy—they’re active government participants, not figureheads.” He paused. “On the other hand I don’t really know, because it’s the first thing I would have done.”
“Of course a few of the Imperial family have been born with harelips. Maybe they don’t want people to forget she’s a Tonnelly.”
“Dangerous reminder for them.” Meaning the Arbriths. “Umm. Well, never mind for now. I don’t suppose anybody came out and said, ‘Willie, old pal, I hear you’re looking for the Sawyer Crown, it’s in my basement’?”
“It was more like, ‘I hear you’re looking for the Sawyer Crown, you Cities Redemptionists must be the most naive saps we’ve met in a long time.’ ”
“Huh.” Hart sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at the dirty windowpane. After a few minutes he spoke in a quite different voice. “Willie, attend.”
“I’m listening.”
Hart reached into a pocket, pulled out a small plastic rectangle and tossed it to Will. It had red and white stripes and a blue comer square with little five-pointed symbolic star-shapes. Hart said, “You know what this is?”
“Sure I do,” said Will. “I’ve seen it on half the walls in Sangaree.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s just a symbol. It means we’re the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
“I’ve been reading the early chronicles of the Cities, Willie, and it means more than that. Do you know Sangaree was settled by descendants of some of the first families of Opal?”
“Yeah? I wish they’d brought their money with them.”
“Pay attention. Sangaree was settled by families descended mostly from Americans and French. Even more specifically, the eastern seaboard of America, and the city of Paris.”
Hart seemed to expect something from him. “I can’t tell you how little those words mean to me.”
“They were geographical locations on Earth. You’ve heard of Earth?” Irritation crept into his tone.
“I’ve heard of Earth. We’re from Earth. Everybody’s from Earth.”
“Oh, a chink of light.” Hart glared at him. “Adrian Sawyer was from Earth, and more importantly from our point of view, he was from the United States of America.”
He was saying all this like it should mean something. “All right,” said Will.
“Don’t you get it? The highest concentration of American descendants by far is on Opal—not on the Diamond—and Adrian Sawyer was an American.”
Will said, hesitatingly, “I guess that’s quite a coincidence.”
Hart raised his arms for heaven to witness his frustration. “Willie, I know there’s a brain in there, I built it myself. Don’t you see that Adrian Sawyer obviously meant for leadership of the Three Cities—and therefore the Crown—to go to Opal?”
“For the sake of your blood pressure I wish I could say I saw the connection.”
“He was an American! He would want Americans to be the leaders!”
Will shook his head. “Hart, I know you’re very bright. But isn’t this far-fetched? How could anyone possibly care one way or another about which planetary subdivision they get born into? It’s just not reasonable.”
“Willie, you have no idea. From the records I’ve gone through, they thought about nothing else. They had wars about it all the time.”
Was Hart just making this up to play with his sense of reality? “It’s hard to believe.”
“Willie, twenty-five years ago we had a war with the Diamond based on two different interpretations of the penitential rite.”
“But that was important.”
Hart sighed. “Never mind. We
