I winced.
'At once! At once!' Macheles yelped, shushing the servitors out of the room.
I stepped forward and put down my cup. I'll be straight with you, sir. I represent grain merchants on Hesperus, a significant cartel of grain merchants.'
I handed him my holo-dent. It was fake, of course. Betancore and Aemos had run it up, using Aemos's profound knowledge in general and his knowledge of Hesperus – gleaned from interviews with Maxilla – in particular.
Macheles seemed impressed enough by my identification.
'What sort of… size cartel are we talking about, sire?'
'The entire western continent.'
'And you offer?'
I produced a sample tube from my pocket. A gene-fixed strain of cereal that could be easily managed by many of your landowners now that their workforce is depleted. It is indeed a wonder.'
The servitors reappeared, delivering Bequin's delicacies.
As she munched the soft-fleshed birri, she said, The other guilds are bidding for this product, mister. I do hope Guild Sinesias won't miss out.'
Macheles shook the sample tube and looked at it.
'Is this/ he said, his voice dropping, 'xenos cultured?'
'Would that be a problem?' I asked.
'No, sire! Not officially. The Inquisition is of course very tight about such things. But that is precisely why we offer these discreet interviews. The entire guild buildings are buffered against trackers, intercept beams and vox-thieves.'
'I am pleased to hear it. So a xenos-cultured cereal strain would not be hard to market?'
'Naturally not. There are collective enterprises eager for assured crop yields. Especially those hot-housed by alien technology/
'Good/ I lied. 'But I want the best return. Saemon told me that House Glaw should be the first to approach/
'Saemon?'
'Saemon Crotes. The Guild Sinesias envoy I dealt with on Hesperus/
'Quite so! You wish me to arrange a trade meeting with House Glaw?'
'I think that's what I said, didn't I?'
We left the Guild Sinesias dock twenty minutes later. Bequin was still licking her lips from the birri.
As soon as our skiff was clear of the building, the vox-ceiver woven into my cuff began to twitch.
'Eisenhorn/
It was Lowink. 'I've just accepted a message from Tobius Maxilla. Do you want me to relive it?'
'Just a summary, Lowink/
'He says the ship that took Eyclone's Gudrun-Hubris run is at anchor here. Says he's done some probing. The Rogue Trader Scaveleur. The master, one Effries Tanokbrey, is already planetside/
'Signal Maxilla and thank him for his work, Lowink/1 said.
The identity of Eyclone's mysterious starship was now known to me.
We were taking lunch at a commercial tavern overlooking the Bridge of Carnodons when Macheles sent Sire Farchaval a private text message by vox-drone.
The drone, an oblate metal unit roughly the size of a small citrus fruit, came buzzing into the dining terrace like a pollen-insect, scudding from table to table at head-height on its tiny repeller motors until it found me. Then it hovered, chimed, and beamed its holographic cargo against the side of my crystal tumbler: the crest of Guild Sinesias, followed by a formal and obsequious text inviting Sire Farchaval and his entourage to a meeting at the Glaw estate the following afternoon. We were to meet Macheles at the guild building at four, where transport would be waiting.
The drone continued to project the message until I broke the beam with a wave of my hand and made a quick verbal assent, which it recorded. Dismissed, it bumbled away with its answer.
'How did it find us?' asked Bequin.
A pheromonal trace/ Aemos replied. The guild building's master systems will have sampled you both during your visit and then it would have come searching until it matched the record in its sensors/
Vox-drone messaging was common practice on higher tech Imperial worlds like this. It gave me an idea.
'You say the guild seemed comfortable dealing with xenos material?' Betancore was saying, raising his wine glass to sip.
I nodded. 'We'll concentrate on House Glaw for now. That's where our primary interest lies. But I'm not going to forget Sinesias. When we're done, the full weight of the Inquisition will come to bear on their dealings/
Bequin was looking out at the fine ornamental bridge that arched over the Drunner below. 'What are those creatures?' she asked. The stone effigies of great quadruped predators decorated each span of the old crossing. The beasts were huge, with powerful, mastiff-like builds, brush tails and long snouts bristling with tusks.
'Carnodons/ Aemos said, once again delighted to be able to share his considerable knowledge. 'The heraldic animal of Gudran. They feature in
many crests and emblems hereabouts, symbolising the noble authority of the world. Rare now, of course. Hunted to near extinction. I believe only a few live wild now in the northern tundra.'
'We have a day at our disposal,' I told them, cutting through the idle talk. 'Let's use it well. Let's find this ship master, Tanokbrey.'
Betancore raised his eyebrows and was about to tell me how difficult that was going to be, until 1 explained my idea to him.
We used a clerical bureau on a water-street off the Ooskin Canal, and paid for a vox-drone message. I kept it simple, a brief enquiry to the master of the Rogue Trader Scaveleur concerning the possibility of off-planet passage. The cleric serving me took my text and payment without comment, and loaded the message into one of the three-dozen vox-drones that lay inert in a rack behind his seat. Then he accessed his data-files, retrieved the pheromone trace for Tanokbrey that the ship master had logged with the city administration at immigration, and installed that too.
The selected drone rose, buzzed, and floated away out of the office.
On the street outside, Betancore fired up the motor of the air-bike he had rented and made off after it.
Chances were it would lead us to our quarry. If it gave Betancore the slip, there was every reason to hope Tanokbrey would come to us. He was a commercial merchant looking for business after all.
Aemos, Bequin and I followed in a public grav-skiff, staying in vox-contact with Betancore. The canal traffic was thicker than ever, and local Arbites, as well as naval security details, were out in force. There was to be a major ceremonial cavalcade later that afternoon, and the route was being prepared. Already, crowds of spectators were gathering on the bridges and the walkways. Banners and well-wishing garlands were on display all around.
Betancore was waiting for us on a walkway in the Tersegold Quarter, a part of Dorsay famous for its taverns and clubs. I left Aemos and Bequin in the skiff.
