Prudence sighed. “He can’t talk to you until you turn to face him. You’re the lady, you have to signify that his attentions are welcome.”
“They’re welcome enough,” Io said to the plate.
“Don’t tell me, tell him.”
Io waited until the rumblings of Adrian’s voice, addressing Tal, had stopped for a moment. Then she turned tentatively to her right.
And found her eyes looking straight into Adrian’s brown ones. He said, “I hope the soup was acceptable?”
“Oh, yes. Very nice.”
“And the mint-roll?”
“Yes. That was very nice, too.”
A brief silence ensued, and Io felt herself starting to panic. The momentary ease of this afternoon, over muffins and tea, had clearly been temporary. Her mind was a glaringly blank field, seared empty.
“May I ask how you spend your time, my lady?”
“My time?” She was puzzled. “I took a nap.”
“No, I mean at home. What do you like to do?”
“I don’t know. I studied with my tutors. I read books. I had a doll collection,” she offered, though nothing new had been added to it for the last several years, and she’d never been really engrossed by it, even as a child. She couldn’t think of anything else. She was terrible at this. Why had they sent her?
“Would you like to tell me about your collection?”
Io looked down at the plate again. “You wouldn’t be interested in that.”
“Probably not,” he agreed disarmingly, “but I do like to hear your voice.”
He appeared to mean it. She picked up her fork and moved it randomly around on the plate, writhing inwardly with pleasure and acute discomfort. When she didn’t continue, Adrian said, “I wonder if I might take this opportunity to expand your acquaintance with City society. May I introduce you to my friend, Officer Tal Diamond? Tal—”
He turned to get Tal’s attention, and failed to see the way Iolanthe gripped her fork as though she might need it as a defensive weapon. Then he pushed his chair back an inch, so that Tal and Iolanthe might exchange words more easily.
“I’m honored to make your acquaintance,” said Tal, who had been extensively coached by Adrian on how to open social conversations. His encounters tended to be such that he was rarely called upon to close them.
“The honor is mine,” said Iolanthe.
One would not have thought so, from her tone of voice. Adrian said, quickly, ‘Tal was just filling me in on dinner customs in the Empire. Did you know, my lady, that people above the rank of ‘cyr’ are judged on how lavishly they entertain? The poor souls have to give huge parties on their birthdays, with presents for the guests. Not to mention hired singers and dancers, that sort of thing. Turning fifty can set a bank account back years, apparently.”
Iolanthe was thrown off-balance. She had always been led to believe that the Empire was a sinkhold of depravity, and here Adrian was, teaming up with his demon to present her with a full-color picture of their heretical customs. The degree of jadedness they had so casually reached was rather daunting, and they hadn’t even gotten past the soup yet. I don’t think I’m advanced enough for this, regardless of what the Lord Cardinal says.
“I’m afraid those sorts of ideas go over my head,” she said, hoping to change the subject. To her horror, she heard it come out in what she would have called a “snippy” tone of voice, the voice of one trying to administer a snub. She froze. Adrian looked merely puzzled, but the demon’s gray eyes fastened on her with polar attention.
“I would be happy to clarify them for you,” he said, in a tone that made it clear what a snub really was.
Adrain’s chair slid abruptly back into close proximity with the table, cutting off the view between Tal and Iolanthe. “Well!” he said heartily. “Ivan! Are those fish-rolls? Bring one over here, will you?”
“You hate fish-rolls,” she heard Tal’s voice say.
“Shut up,” Adrian replied.
It was ten past midnight on the Transport deck when Spider finally located Tal at the entrance to Bay Blue. Three-Shift had just come on duty; he’d passed any number of yellow-suited techs before spotting Tal’s dark jacket across the floor.
“You could work on your punctuality,” said Tal.
“You didn’t tell me where to meet you. It’s a big place.” Tal had a briefcase and a luggage bag on the floor beside him, and was reaching for the briefcase as Spider spoke. “So how was the banquet? You were there, weren’t you? What did you think of Adrian’s bride?”
“Is she worth thinking about? Here, hold this.” He handed Spider the briefcase and turned, apparently looking for someone. “Mynor!” he called. “Over here.”
Spider followed his gaze to a man standing by the side of the bay, looking out of place in a soft velour bodysuit colored in black and white zebra stripes that curved in a pear shape below his waist. “Who the hell is—”
“Mynor Cat Eshlava,” said Tal, introducing him to Spider with the Empire honorific denoting a middle income. At least one knew where one stood, financially, with Empire citizens. “He’s from Baret Station, an installer of technical devices.”
“Hello,” said Spider politely. Mynor Cat Eshlava was past his prime, with watery eyes and a belly that made Spider work to keep from glancing at his own growing paunch. He’d thought there were pills Outsiders could swallow that took care of that kind of thing. Maybe the poor guy was allergic or something.
“Honored, cyr,” said Eshlava, shaking hands. There was a tremor in his grip, and if he’d been a Three Cities man, Spider would have sworn he was a drug addict or an old alkie. He’d thought Outsiders had clinics that took care of that kind of thing, too. It was nice of the fellow to call him “cyr,” very polite, but it suggested a level of financial backing way over Spider’s head. He hoped Tal hadn’t been flashing money around.
“We’ve brought you a gift,” said Tal to
