But Adrian relented. “I’d forgotten, though, I have another appointment. I’m rather late, so if you two gentlemen will excuse me—?” He accepted their bows and said, “But thank you again for your congratulations. The Muirs have always been the most loyal of families on the Diamond, always contributing to our success in one ministry or another. Clearly Harry is following in your footsteps, Lord Muir. I’ll see you, I hope.” And he walked very quickly down the corridor, having dispensed enough honey to salve the disappointment of Harry’s father.
“Did you hear that?” Lord Muir asked his son.
“Can I go now?” asked his son in return.
I rounded the comer of the corridor and heard Lord Muir’s voice as he raised it into a full critique of his youngest child—his understanding of politics, his choice of companions, and his lack of appreciation for all his father was trying to do. I quickened my pace until the voice had faded. It was a living incitement to murder.
Chapter 44
Will was awakened in the grayness just before dawn by a hand on his chest. He grabbed hold of the arm it was attached to and was starting to try a maneuver when he realized it was a woman’s hand. Miranda. He stopped, and it was just as well, for the arm hadn’t budged. The woman must be made of stone.
She lifted her hand. “Are you awake, Sergeant?”
“I guess so. More or less. Is anything wrong?” His room was on the third floor of the villa, and the glass doors near his bed led out to a tiny balcony overlooking the mountainside. The sound of birdsong came into his room, adding to his disorientation. Planet birds must get up early, he thought.
“It would depend on your viewpoint,” said Miranda. “Troops from Baret One have landed on Western Continent. There’s no official word from the city, but we can assume there’ll be trouble there today.”
“Shit,” said Will, in Sangaree. He felt around on the floor for his socks.
“The rest of the household has been up for two hours,” she said. “We almost forgot about you.”
“Oh.” He started pulling on his pants. Ordinarily he would have been uncomfortable dressing before a lady, but this gloriously beautiful Miranda had all the warmth and humanity of an android.
He froze. No, that was a crazy idea, and born of his own neurosis. He buckled his belt.
“I’ll see you downstairs,” she said in her troubling voice, and she left him.
No, the odds on having to deal with two simulacra-passing-for-human in his life were too much. So why did Miranda remind him so much of Miss Smith?
His footsteps echoed in the halls as he went down the stairs. He found Miranda in the kitchen setting out a plate of bread and fruit. She wore her uniform, and on her the trousers clung snugly. It was a cold morning on the mountain, but she wasn’t wearing her uniform jacket; it hung over one of the chairs. “Where is everybody?” he asked.
She turned her wide, dark eyes to him. “The minister has been called to make a tour of inspection of Eastern Continent troops, to assess morale. He left half an hour ago. Those of the household staff he didn’t bring have been let go for the duration of the emergency.”
That made sense, the man was in charge of propaganda, after all. He’d want to check out the troops and see what was likely to go over with them and what wasn’t.
Why did it sound like a lie?
“Will you eat before we leave?” She gestured to the bread and fruit.
A final meal? “Where are we going?”
“I was asked to drive you to the port. Your presence is no longer needed, and you’ll be in danger here. The minister’s address may be known to various malcontents.”
“I see.” He bit into one of the local fruits. He’d seen it on scores of fruitstands along the Street of Dreams; it was red and soft and he didn’t know its name. “What about you?” he asked.
“State security will assign me to a new project.”
“The idea of the Republic taking over doesn’t bother you? I’d think they wouldn’t be kind to Empire security people.”
“I’ll survive.” She didn’t say do you mean, take over? the way a good Baret Two security officer should.
He took a swallow of the bread. It was crispy and fresh and had been kept warm for him. A sudden fantasy scenario flashed through Will’s head; he saw himself opening doors along the corridor upstairs, finding evidence of things broken and stolen, dead bodies of servants who’d not yet run away. And then opening one of the closet doors with their pleasant shutter design on the outside, and finding the minister with a red line around his throat, among the brooms and jackets.
Paranoia. Paranoia had come into his life, and he could trace it to the moment he’d found Hartley Quince in Iolanthe’s sitting room on the Opal.
Or maybe dealing with Hart had strengthened his sensitivity to the way things really were. Did he want to go open any doors upstairs?
“You’re not eating,” said Miranda. She pushed a silver pot toward him.
“I’m not very hungry. —Thanks, no, I don’t drink coffee.”
“Then we shall leave.” She put on her jacket and buttoned it methodically.
Will got up and followed her out to the front terrace. “A groundcar?” he asked.
“The minister took the aircar when he left on his inspection tour.”
“Oh.” Will debated getting in. But if she were truthful, there was no reason not to; and if she weren’t, she could probably run faster. And he ought to stop this psychotic fit right now.
Miranda took the driver’s seat and powered up. They started down the long, snaky, dangerous mountain road. Her gloved hands were light on the controls—she drove like an angel, in fact, which didn’t surprise him.
Will realized that his own hands were trembling and he put them on his knees. He tried to stretch unobtrusively. Whatever his
