Will felt himself reddening, recalling the feeling of Iolanthe’s arms clasped around him. “No, sir.”
They reached the place where Io and Prudence stood holding each other. Adrian stopped abruptly; Will thought he heard him say something under his breath, something nearly unintelligible; “poor little gargoyle,” it sounded like. His voice carried a weight of tenderness that was almost shocking.
Then Adrian stepped forward; he touched Io’s cheek, raising her face, and carefully showing no reaction when she did so. She was flushed and sodden from weeping, the redness filling in the spots where welts had not cut. She stood straight, in a doomed but wrenching attempt at dignity.
“My lady,” said Adrian more clearly, “the chair will be here soon. They may have difficulty bringing it past the benches and tables. I believe it would be better to wait outside, where the air will be cooler. May I assist you?”
Will took her arm on the other side, and they made their way down the aisle, past the benches, to the front doors of the gemfarm. They passed Roger, who stood aside with a helpless, appalled look on face. The supervisor clearly had no further ideas about advertising today’s tour to anyone.
They gathered outside, blinking in City daylight. Will glanced up at the artificial ring of suns, then over at the gleam of the lift; it was such an ordinary day. The group huddled in unhappy silence.
After a moment, Adrian said, “I owe you a debt, Sergeant.”
That startled him. “It was my job.”
“Not only pulling her out, though that also, of course. I’m sorry I can’t reward you properly, but you don’t work for me. Still, if you put in a request for, say, a diamond- and-ruby ring from the treasury, it would be honored.”
“Sir, I can’t. It wouldn’t look right.”
“You’re a hero, people would expect me to do something. And it’s to the credit of Opal, so they can’t object. Don’t think of yourself, Will; wouldn’t your wife or girlfriend be happy to receive something like that?”
It was good Opal PR, now that he thought of it. Besides— “My fiancee would like it, yes, sir. Thank you.”
“Ah, you’re engaged. Welcome to the club. We’re an exclusive band—”
A sound like a small sob came from Iolanthe. They turned to her. “Sweetheart?” said Adrian at once. “Does it hurt?”
“I think I was holding her too tightly,” said Prudence. “I’m sorry, baby. They’ll be here in a minute.”
Iolanthe made no reply. She looked up, met Will’s glance, and started crying again.
This time none of diem commented on it.
Chapter 10
Will strode purposefully across the public space of Rose Court. He climbed the winding staircase behind Glassfall Cascade, crossed the arboretum, and walked past the entrances to the quarters of the lesser nobility without a second look. It was early Sunday evening. Ladies and gentlemen strolled the esplanade, flute-boys and small dogs walking behind. A number of the passersby glanced curiously at the angry red welt that cut across his cheek, then glanced away when they took in the expression on his face.
At the entrance to Lord Muir’s he stopped, debating for an instant whether the tradesmen’s door or the family door would get him to his goal the sooner. He took the family door, presented his credentials to the servant, and was shown to an anteroom below the main quarters.
He paced beside a small carved oak table with a greenglass figurine on it. In less than a minute, the door to the room beyond opened and Hartley Quince stepped out. Behind him, Will could see several young men of good Diamond family lounging amid a haze of smoke, among them Harry Muir, who was stretched out on the expensive carpet with his eyes shut. Will felt his lip curl into the sneer of contempt that one who came up the hard way can feel for those who toss away their birthright. Beyond this, he gave Muir and his friends no thought at all. Hartley closed the door.
“What is it?” he asked.
Will, feeling as though he were the mere final expression for the momentum that had carried him through the levels to Rose Court, walked into Hartley’s personal space, grabbed him by his collar, and pushed him back into the wall.
Hartley’s hands went at once to Will’s, trying to pry them off, but Will was stronger. “What the hell are you doing?” Hartley demanded. In answer, Will tightened his grip on the collar, causing a most satisfying paleness in Hartley’s countenance. ‘Tell me,” he got out, with difficulty.
“Somebody just tried to kill Iolanthe Pelagia.”
“Really?” Hartley’s eyes widened with interest. He seemed to forget that he was being strangled. “Where? What happened?”
Will released him. “At a gemfarm tour, on the agri levels. Somebody loosened a strap, and she fell into a vastule pit.”
“I take it she’s alive.”
“Yes.”
“A public tour? That would seem more like an attempt to humiliate her.”
Will took in a deep breath, remembering abruptly how quick Hart could be. Unless— He took hold of his collar again. “Did you arrange it?”
Hartley made no attempt to loosen Will’s grip. “No, Will, I did not.” He said it quietly, with none of the heat a person being pushed against the wall ought to have.
Will let go, suddenly feeling silly. He hadn’t thought ahead of physical violence, and now the impulse to fight was ebbing, robbing him of that sense of invulnerability, leaving him feeling smaller, more open, less sure of himself.
“How did you know where I was?” asked Hartley.
Will paused. He’d had at least one of his group of four keeping tabs on Hartley at all times, but that was not the kind of thing one said to an Opal superior. Hart grinned. “Come on, there are some chairs in the next room.”
They entered a small drawing room directly across from Harry’s door. The walls were
