“Tell you what,” she said. “After we finish this mission, you might ask Lady Cecelia if she’d let you come along on a voyage or two. That’s if you’ve been working on the things I’ll list.”
“Yes!” Brun grinned broadly. “I will—and thanks.”
And what did I just get myself into? Heris asked herself. The girl’s father had asked her to give advice—it wasn’t as if she was going behind anyone’s back—but she still felt odd about it. She made a note to herself to come up with that list of skills and resources before they left.
Their final head count came to forty-nine. Heris had had to accept a couple of Bunny’s militia, and two crew from his personal yacht, to satisfy the Crown Minister that the prince would be travelling safely. When the Sweet Delight eased away from the peculiar eye-twisting space station, it had its holds stuffed with supplies enough for a year-long voyage. Heris had had plenty of time to complete her list for Brun while waiting for the last luxuries to be ferried up from Sirialis.
Once the ship was on its way out of the system, Heris released the prince from his suite. She expected a tantrum, but the young man smiled at her, and asked the way to the gym. Heris wondered why he hadn’t looked it up on his deskcomp, but perhaps princes didn’t ever look things up for themselves.
Dinner that first night surpassed anything Lady Cecelia’s cook had produced on the voyage out. Cecelia wore her amber and ivory lace; Ronnie and the prince both appeared in semiformal dress. Heris had to admit they were handsome, as decorative as young roosters. She preferred Ronnie, whose recent adventures seemed to have settled him a bit. At least he never rose to the prince’s obvious attempts to tease. The prince . . . she had not really been around him in the days of his captivity, and his brief appearance at the Hunt Dinner had given her no feel for his real personality. Now, at the dinner table, he looked the very picture of a prince, and yet she felt something missing. Not quite the same as Ronnie and George, who had been so difficult on the voyage out, but whose spoilt manners clearly overlay interesting minds. The prince, aside from a hectic energy that emerged as one stale joke after another, was . . . to put it plainly . . . boring. Heris, imagining him as a king in the future, could form only a blurry vision of someone dull and stolid, with an eye for the girls and a taste for wine and game, a stout middle-aged fellow who elbowed his cronies in the ribs but never quite got the point of stories.
Four days into the voyage back to Rockhouse, Ronnie brought up the prince’s intellectual gaps in a private conversation with Heris and Cecelia. He looked earnest and worried. “Did you know the prince was stupid?”
Heris nearly choked, and Cecelia let out an unladylike snort before she controlled herself and glared at her nephew.
“You are not going to start quarrelling with him. I forbid it.”
Ronnie waved that away. “I’m not quarrelling. It’s not like that. But I just realized—he’s really stupid.”
“Perhaps,” his aunt said, looking down her longish nose, “you would care to explain that discourteous comment.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Ronnie settled into his chair, leaning forward, hands clasped tensely. “I think something’s wrong. We have to do something.”
“That is not an explanation,” Cecelia said crisply. “Please get to it.”
“Yes. All right.” He took a deep breath, and began. “We haven’t been in the same classes or anything for years, or I’m sure I’d have noticed. He’s just not very smart.”
Heris repressed a smile. She had never expected royalty to be overburdened with brains. “Probably he never was very smart. Children can’t really tell about each other—” But a memory lifted through her mind like a bubble . . . that boy who had been so brilliant in primary: she had known that, and so had all the other kids. She herself had been smart, but he had been something far more.
“He was,” Ronnie said, with a return of his old sullenly stubborn expression. “He was, and now he’s not. If I didn’t know it was Gerel, I wouldn’t believe it was the same person.”
Cecelia sat up suddenly. “If you didn’t know—how do you know it’s the same person?”
Ronnie looked at her blankly. “Well, of course it is—how could it be anyone else? He’s too well known.”
“Now he is. But a child?”
“Gene types,” Heris said, cutting off that wild idea. “It would be impossible to switch someone else; surely he has annual physicals. And it could be checked so easily . . .”
“That’s right. He’s a Registered Embryo.” Ronnie wrinkled his nose. “And that’s odd, too. Registered Embryos are at least one sig above average IQ.” Heris looked at him; he turned red. “All right, we don’t all act it, but we have the brains, if we learn to use them. Gerel wasn’t stupid in childhood, and he’s near that now. Something’s happened to him.”
Heris had an unpleasant crawling sensation in her midsection; she recognized fear of the unknown in the ancient form. Her forebrain didn’t like it, either. Something to make princes stupid: it had been done before, and never with good intent.
“Someone must have noticed,” she said slowly, wanting it to be false. But already she believed. Despite the physical beauty, the athletic body, the energy, the prince was dull.
“Some people wouldn’t notice on principle,” Cecelia said. “But his parents, surely . . . Kemtre wasn’t that dim the last time I chatted with him. Admittedly that was ten years or so ago; I hate social functions where people expect me to be up on the latest Court gossip and I feel like a fool fresh off the farm. But we had a nice talk about the expansion of agricultural trade into the Loess Sector, and he seemed quite knowledgeable. Velosia, of course, was immersed in the gossip and wondered why I didn’t spend more time with my sisters. I could believe this meant she was a dullard, except that she and Monica played dual-triligo and were ranked in the top ten. I never could understand the rules beyond primary level, so if they’re stupid, I’m worse.”
“Ten or twelve years ago, Gerel was just starting school outside the home for the first time,” Ronnie pointed out. “What if something happened there, something that took a while to show up? We were only together for three or four years, then they shifted him to Snowbay and I stayed at Fallowhill.” The names meant nothing to Heris, but Cecelia nodded.
“Or it could’ve started at Snowbay. I remember there was some concern about sending him so far away, to such a strict headmaster. But Nadrel had gotten in all that trouble—” Heris blinked again. She knew—it had been her business to know—the names of the various members of the Royal Family, but she wasn’t used to anyone calling them by first names. Nadrel, the second son, had died when he eluded his Security protection and got himself into a brawl with someone who didn’t worry about the niceties of aristocratic duelling. Before that, he had been considerably wilder than the current prince.
“I hadn’t realized,” Ronnie said, looking at his hands. “I feel . . . bad about it. It’s sort of indecent, I mean—our quarrel, when he’s not—not like he was. Like the time George had that virus or whatever, and nearly flunked everything for a month; we started out teasing him, but it wasn’t funny.”
“It’s indecent that it happened, if you’re right. The quarrel’s beside the point, although I expect it influenced him.” Heris fought her way through Cecelia’s logic in that and by the time she had it figured out both aunt and nephew were off on another tangent. Whom to tell, and how, and when.
“Better not tell anyone,” she said, interrupting them. “It’s dangerous knowledge.” They stared back at her.
“But I must,” Cecelia said. “He’s the only surviving prince. If his father doesn’t know—”