She looked at me witheringly.
'Still/ I said. 'I'm not lying. I treated you badly. I'm still treating you badly. Someone like you doesn't deserve that.'
She tasted her pulpy juice drink. 'I won't argue with any of that. But… it's nice to hear you admit it.'
'It's the truth. So's the fact you're still lovely.'
She sighed. 'Juvenat programs are all easy to administer. I look this way thanks to Imperial science, not fruit juice.'
'I still believe in fruit juice.'
She grinned. You don't look so bad yourself, red meat and caffeine considered.'
The pan began to boil. 'I feel about a thousand years old next to you. Life has not treated me kindly'
'Oh, I don't know. There's a nobility about your scars. Something very masculine about the way you wear your age well.'
I started to look in cupboards for the ground beans.
'That canister there/ she said. 'The chicory blend you always used. I've never lost the taste for it.'
I took the tin canister and spooned out several measures into the pot. 'Crezia/ I said, 'you should have let go of me a long time ago. I was never any good for you. I was never any good for anyone, truth be told.'
'I know/ she said. 'But I can't. That's just the way of things/
I poured the boiling water into the pot and let it stand.
'How's Alizebeth?' she asked suddenly.
I had been sort of waiting for that. I had broken my long relationship with Crezia Berschilde in the end because of Bequin. Even though I knew Alizebeth and I could never be together in any way except friends, I knew I would never get past my love for her. It was too much in the way, and that could never be fair on Crezia.
Twenty-five years before, in that very house, I had told her as much. And walked away.
'She's dying/ I said.
Crezia put her glass down suddenly. 'Dying?'
'Or already dead/ I told her what had happened on Durer.
'Oh, God-Emperor/ she said. 'You should go to her/
'What could I do?'
'Be there/ she said firmly. 'Be there and tell her before it's too late/
'How do you know I haven't already told her?'
'Because I know you, Gregor. Too well/
'I… well…'
'The two of you never… I mean?'
'No. She's an untouchable. I'm a psyker. That's the way it works/
And you never told her?'
'She knows/
'Of course she knows! But you never told her?'
'No/
She embraced me. I pulled her close. I thought of all the things I had never done, or never started, or never finished. Then I remembered all the things I had done and could never undo.
The last thing you want is me, Crezia/ I whispered into her hair.
'I'll be the judge of that/
The kitchen door burst open and Aemos limped in. Crezia and I let each other go.
We could have been doing anything for all Aemos cared. You have to come and hear this, Gregor/ he said.
He had been listening to the Sub-sector Service on the vox, news from all around the Helican sub, some of it days or weeks old. By the time we were standing around the old set, the news had moved on to stock reports and shipping forecasts.
'Well?' I asked.
'A report from Messina, Gregor. The upper levels of spire eleven of Messina Prime were destroyed twenty-four hours ago by what was cited as a recidivist blast/
I went cold. Spire eleven, Messina Prime. That was the location of the residence I had leased for the use of the Distaff. Nayl and Begundi had taken Alizebeth and Kara there. For safety.
The report said that over ten thousand lives had been lost/ Aemos murmured. The Messina arbites are hunting for suspects, but it's been attributed to a radical free Messina outfit/
I sat down, trembling. Crezia crouched beside me, hugging me. The Distaff… gone? Bequin… Nayl… KaraSwole… Begundi?
It was too much.
I realised why Khanjar the Sharp had hired so many Vessorine janissaries. Multiple strikes, multiple worlds. What else had this Khanjar hit? What other pain had he already caused me?
Who else had he killed?
What's going on?' Eleena asked, coming in, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
I paced the house and the courtyard garden. Two or three times, I started up towards the box room, the autopistol in my hand. Damn the bond! I would have vengeance!
Each time, I turned back. I'd counselled Medea against vengeance, and so I should listen to my own good advice. Killing Tarl would be like breaking a sword. What was it Medea had said?
So what was it? I needed to get back in the game. I needed to round up my allies. I needed to discover who Khanjar the Sharp was.
And then, damn the advice I had given Medea, I needed to destroy him.
At nine sharp, Adept Cielo arrived with his clerk, having been summoned the day before. Both were hooded and cloaked, which I suppose was their idea of subtlety.
I met with them in the drawing room, with Crezia in attendance. She had dressed in a trouser suit of beige murray.
Adept Cielo was an elderly, experienced astropath, one of the best the Guild House in Ravello had to offer.
'I take it, sir, this is a private matter?'
'It is.'
'Are you purchasing my services in cash?'
'No, adept, by direct fund transfer. I have a confidential message service which I wish to use. I expect the utmost discretion.'
'You have the guarantee of the Guild, sir,' said Cielo. His clerk opened a data- slate and offered me the thumb-print scanner.
I pressed my thumb against it and then entered my code.
'Ah/ said Cielo, as the slate chimed and displayed a readout. /That's all sorted out. Your accounts have released the funds. Everything's in order, Mr Eising. Let us proceed.'
Of course, I wasn't using any accounts that were connected with the person of Gregor Eisenhom. I had good reason to suspect my finances were under observation, if not frozen. But I wasn't even going to try, because that would let my enemy know that someone with the authority to access Gregor Eisen-horn's accounts was still alive, and it would be comparatively simple to trace that access.
