“Teal. An excellent fellow. Ask him to help. No, order him to assist you—say it was a directive from the Protector. His department falls within your jurisdiction, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does! I’ll see him at once.” Muir began stacking his notes together again, out of order, oblivious to the wide smile painted across his features.
“I suppose we’d better call it a day, then,” said Adrian. “Unless anyone has further business to bring up.”
Nine pairs of eyes turned to bum into Lord Baltis, who stayed where he was, brooding silently.
“Fine,” said Adrian. “Thirtieth of March meeting, two-thirds of the members being present, is over. As always, thank you for your counsel.”
Roger Messina grabbed his notebook and was out the door, followed by the rest of the council at a more leisurely pace.
When they were alone, Fischer looked over at Adrian. “The Teal thing was a stroke of genius.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t help remembering how he destroyed the first five ideas I ever came up with. He focused his beady little eyes on them and melted them down with a beam of white hot logic. Very painful, it was.”
“He won’t be logical with Muir, I trust.”
“Oh, no. He’ll just help Muir flesh out his ideas on paper, and by the time they’re finished Muir’s plan will be identical to the system that now exists. I’m very fond of Teal, you know.”
The table chimes sounded and a feminine voice said, “Information level five.”
Adrian sat up straight and put his feet back down on the floor. “Accepted.”
“The lady Iolanthe Pelagia is waiting at the Cavern of Audience.”
“She’s what?”
“The lady Io—”
“When did she arrive? How long has she been there?”
“She requested audience twenty minutes ago.”
“Good God! Doesn’t anybody call me?”
“Interruptions below level six are not permitted during council sessions. The session only ended forty-five seconds ago.”
“Why wasn’t it classified a six? No, don’t tell me!” To Fischer, he muttered, “Nobody wants responsibility for anything.” He raised his voice. “Please inform the lady Iolanthe that I will be there presently.”
He turned to Fischer. “God, what do I do now? She wasn’t supposed to arrive today!”
“Amo, being a pain in the rear quarters.”
Adrian got up, walked impatiently back and forth, then stared at his ghost in the Flux Chamber wall. The wall gave back only a vague outline. “How do I look? Where’s my comb? Where’s Lucius? Is he on duty this afternoon? Do I have time to stop at my quarters?”
“My dear boy, she won’t turn you down, you know. She can’t.”
“That only makes it worse.”
He paced up and down again, and a faint look of alarm came into Fischer’s eyes. “Adrian, you’re not getting into one of these moods—”
“No, I am not getting into one of these moods! Dammit, Brandon, could you show a little compassion? Could you give me a straight answer on how I look? —Oh, why is Tal never here when I want him? Damn the fellow!”
“Adrian, you look fine. I swear it. I’m not unsympathetic, but for heaven’s sake, why are you nervous? You’ve just handled the council beautifully, and they’re eight grown men!”
“Grown men are nothing, Brandon. We’re talking about the woman who’s going to be my wife.”
Occasionally, it dawned on Fisher that there were times to abandon logic even when talking to his friend and exprotege. He said, “You look excellently well today, in fact. That sand-colored jacket suits you. I meant to remark on it earlier.”
Adrian’s pacing slowed. “Really?”
Good lord, thought Fischer, he sounds just like Muir. I hope Opal never finds out how wide his weak spot is when it comes to appealing to women. “My Jane saw you in it last week at the river festival and told me how well you looked. Piratical, I think she said; meaning it in some romantical female sense. Were you wearing your white silk shirt with it?”
“Light blue.”
“Good choice, but I like the white you’ve got on now better.”
Adrian stopped pacing. “Well, there’s no need to make a fuss about a premature meeting.”
“Certainly not.”
“I mean, we have to meet sometime.”
“Of course.”
“Opal only wants to irritate me, and why give them the satisfaction?”
“Exactly.”
Adrian stood in thought. “And of course, she might not be in any position to carp. I mean, she might be a crone.”
Fischer rose purposefully. “I think it’s time we met her.”
“Yes,” said Adrian. He straightened his shoulders and strode toward the door. Just across the threshold he stopped, nearly causing Fischer to bump into him. “You don’t think one of my dark suits would be more appropriate?”
“No,” said Fischer, the word coming out between his teeth.
The door slid shut. A kaleidoscope pulsed against the walls of the empty room.
Io was getting near the edge, and she knew it. She’d felt the ghost of the migraine aura several times and understood that she was in for a very bad time, very soon. And then they’d had to wait, all seven of their party, standing conspicuously outside the audience hall while gentlemen in capes and silk jackets and ladies in hats of feathers kept whispering among themselves. She considered the fact that this was the pattern her life was to take: the misery of public spectacle, forever and ever.
It was interesting, at the age of seventeen, to have nothing whatsoever to look forward to. She glanced at Hartley Quince, lounging against the wall. He’d gotten a smokeless from one of the Diamond courtiers and was trying to engage one of the servers in conversation. How easy it was to hate Hartley Quince. Will Stockton, on the other hand, stood ramrod stiff beside her, giving every evidence of official obliviousness to the stares they were getting. But it was clear to her that he was aware of every one.
How could Adrian leave them out here? Was he trying to humiliate her? They’d
