“Wait a minute—” he choked out.
“Terror of the plucking of the eyes—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
There was a pause, and the voice said, like a shopkeeper, “What is it you want, then?”
He swallowed. “I have a question. Do—ah—do I have to tell you what it is, or can you answer without knowing.
“I’m a tool of the Most High. Of course I can answer without knowing. I won’t, though. I’m nosy.”
“Well … and I’d prefer you didn’t answer this in blank verse or anything … will the business venture I’m planning be successful?”
“Yes.”
He blinked. “Just yes?”
“You said you didn’t want a confusing answer. Was that all you wanted to know?”
“Well, ah—”
“No. She doesn’t.”
“Oh,” he said humbly.
“She respects and esteems you as a friend.”
“Oh. All right, then—”
“And she’s not going to change her mind in a million years.”
“I said all right!” He took a deep breath. “I don’t have any more questions.”
“Sure you do, and I’ll be happy to answer them. But tell me, first, is it true? My thumbs tell me that you’re a friend of ghosts and demons.”
“Uh, what makes you say that?” There was a rather disturbing silence at the other end. Spider said hastily, “Just one demon, so far as I know.”
“Thought so. I see him in my hand; his heart’s an inland sea, it touches no other continents.”
“That would be him,” Spider agreed.
“Well, you’re the first I’ve ever met to have such popularity,” said the old-lady voice, “and I’ve been around a long time. You must have good stories to tell.”
Spider thought of the uncountable nights he’d woken up and had to change his sheets. “To somebody else, they might be good stories.”
“Good enough, I’ll bet, little bug. If ever you come to the Pearl, ask to see Granny Tate. I’ll show you around.”
“All right.” Spider was raised to be polite. Nobody ever went to the Pearl to visit, and he had no intention of starting a trend.
“You have our blessing.”
“I do? Does this mean—”
“And as long as we’re talking, no, your mother’s not going to die anytime soon. And she always knew about that escapade when you were fourteen.” Spider blanched and reached up to deactivate the link. “Don’t be so hasty! Don’t you want to hear about Nicol—”
It broke on the name. He grabbed frantically for the button to reactivate, but she was gone.
He started counting out money, pushing his coins out over the surface of the desk with a desperate air—maybe he could get her back—and the door slid open. He jumped.
“Where the hell have you been?” asked Keylinn.
“Oh, it’s you.” He took a deep breath, then frowned. “Must you say ‘hell’?” He began scooping up money pieces and putting them back in his catchbag.
“Everybody else says it.”
“But not ladies, sweetheart.”
“You know, I had noticed that. One of the things I love about the Three Cities is the archaic speech patterns—of course, profanity and proverbs hang on longest all over the universe, but the Cities are special.” She threw herself onto the couch. “And they won’t let me participate! All this colorful talk, and I can only press my nose against the window.”
This was a saying that made no sense to Spider. “Press your nose?”
“The thing I don’t grasp is, there’s an emotional effect in actually using the words that goes beyond the knowledge of their use. You see? I mean, I can refer obliquely to certain terms, or say that somebody else—or even myself—‘swore like a soldier.’ And people are amused. But when I open my mouth and say ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ or ‘cocks—’ ”
“Keylinn!” Spider put his hands over his ears. She saw that he was genuinely upset.
“I’m sorry, Spider, I’ll try not to say it again. But we curse at home all the time, in the Old Tongue, and it really seems most unfair that I can’t curse here.”
“You’re a lady” said Spider.
“If you ask me, the female contingent of the Diamond has more need of tension release than anybody.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
Spider put a hand to his forehead. At this moment he didn’t know the point. He felt around on the desktop and his hand touched an envelope. “Here,” he said with relief. “This is for you.”
It was a stiff, square envelope, with Keylinn Gray in beautiful gold script on the outside. She opened it. A large buff-colored card proclaimed,
Adrian Mercati
The Diamond Protector
requests the honor
of the presence of
Keylinn Gray
for a hunt in Helium Park
Sunday, May 5
9:00 am
Refreshments to be served afterward.
A smaller, ivory-colored card dropped out. Spider picked it up and read aloud from a large, slanting hand: “The honor of your presence is also requested for a walk through the kennels beforehand, at 8:30.”
They looked at each other. Why her? That blank space below her name seemed to call out for a title she did not possess. Clearly she was not the usual class of recipient for this sort of thing.
She said, “This came here?”
“A messenger brought it.”
“Wearing court livery?”
“Wearing a messenger’s uniform.”
Her eyes grew distant, running through the possibilities. ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday the fifth. If we assume the invitation is genuine, it could be Adrian’s little message to Tal that he keeps close tabs on us all … but then maybe Tal arranged it for me on his own … but why, what does he want me to do? And Tal would send it to my quarters.” She was too preoccupied to notice Spider jump again. A voice had just spoken to him, a little too loudly for comfort given the setting of his riccardi.
It said, Spider, I won’t be coming down there tonight, but I need some papers. They’re the ones marked “Official Schedule for Opal Visitors. I’ll send a messenger, so have them gathered together
