Brim peered over the top of the book into her brownish eyes and smiled. "And what if tonight I have evil intentions when I order?" he asked.
She laughed. "You ne'er know, Wilf Brim," she said, relaxing in her chair and crossing her long legs. "Perhaps I e'en share some o' those intentions. We shall ha' to see how the evenin' turns out."
And, at least to Brim's way of thinking, the evening rapidly became one of the most pleasant he could remember. They seemed to share a boundless set of interests and took time with their order, pausing to sip—and savor—the grand old Logish Meem Brim had selected after considerable study of the list. By the time they were ready for the main course, it seemed to Brim as if meeting the beautiful Carescrian was one of the most fortunate occurrences of his life. They even talked about Margot Effer'wyck, for Cartier was naturally curious about the woman she had risked crew, ship, and life to search for after Brim's battle at Zonga'ar.
"She really did try to save you, didn't she," Cartier said, pausing to look Brim directly in the eye.
"She maun love you very much to compromise her chield that way."
Brim frowned and returned her gaze. "I don't think I'll ever know if she loves me," he said presently. "Once, a long time ago, I believe she did. Now, it's anybody's guess. From what I gather, TimeWeed leaves little in one's brain but ardent yearnings for itself. But I think vestiges of our love clearly remain." He felt himself blush. "We met a few evenings in Fluvanna," he said. "And the old spark was there—or at least seemed to be, even though, to be truthful, something was missing."
"But did na' later she... er... try to hae you killed in an ambush?" Cartier asked.
"Yes," Brim admitted, "she did." He shook his head. "At least it certainly seemed to be the case.
Yet, why did she later save my life at Zonga'ar at the risk of her own?"
Cartier smiled. " 'Tis not my place to answer such questions," she said. "I don't know how the minds of Princesses work."
"I understand," Brim said with a grin, somehow anxious to drop the subject. "As you told me earlier, you're only a poor Carescrian maiden."
"I hae dropped the 'maiden' business," Cartier said, cocking her head to one side and smiling. "A maiden my age would na' be a very interestin' person."
"You've been married?" Brim asked.
"Once," she said with a faraway look in her eye. Then she winked and smiled with a feigned look of iniquity. "But I didn't wait for him to come along."
"Eve Cartier, I'm shocked," Brim chuckled as the Meem Steward emptied the bottle into their goblets.
"Another bottle?" the man asked.
Brim looked across the table at Cartier and raised his eyebrows.
She glanced demurely at the ceiling and thought for a moment. "Nae, Wilf," she said presently,
"I've had quite enough, thank you."
"You didn't like it?" he asked.
"Oh, on the contrary," she said, closing her eyes dreamily, "I luved it."
"Then?"
"I've had enough for tonight," she said quietly. "But if you'd like another, don't let me stop you."
Brim considered that. He'd chosen an especially rich, full-bodied Logish Meem to go with the braised game and berries they'd both ordered. Ultimately, however, he shook his head and thanked the busy Steward who bowed and quickly disappeared among the tables.
"If you change your mind..." he said.
"I do na' think I shall," she replied, smoothing her hair. "I ha' enjoyed the meem, but I hope there's mair to this evenin' than just a meal an' drinkin', Mr. Wilf Brim. I've spent the best part o' the last twa' weeks at the helm of a starship tryin' to kill people—and damn nearly gettin' killed myself a number of times. The fact is that I'm tired, my handsome countryman, an' I don't want onythin' to interfere wi' what' I think you hae on your mind."
Brim raised an eyebrow. "Universe, Eve," he said with no little concern. "Have I been staring at you that much?"
She smiled. "Eneugh," she said.
"I'm terribly sorry," Brim said—and meant it.
"Oh, please don't be sorry, Wilf," she insisted, placing her hand on his. "I luve to be stared at that way. Every woman does at the right time and place."
"Then I'll continue," Brim said softly.
"See that you do," she replied.
He did.
After a light dessert of fruit and cheese, she puffed one of her tiny camarge cigarettes to life and inhale deeply with her eyes half closed. Then twisting in her chair while she settled back, she crossed her legs once more and exposed a considerable stretch of thigh. " 'Tis been a wonderful evenin', so far, Wilf Brim," she said, looking him directly in the eye.
"Indeed it has," Brim agreed with a smile, then waited. They sat in silence for a long moment.
Clearly, the next step—whatever it was going to be—was up to him. "Er... where do you plan to stay this evening?" he asked tentatively.
She smiled. "I hae nowhere to stay, Wilf Brim," she answered, her eyes still glued to his. "Whar' are you stayin'?"
Brim leaned forward in his chair. "Nowhere yet," he said, his heart in his mouth. "Er... would you like me to find a place we could share?"
"Wilf Brim," she said, slowly stroking her wrist with two fingers, "was that a suggestion that we share a bed?"
He grinned. "More than just share a bed I hope, Eve," he said softly.
Smiling, she reached across the table and took his hand. "Wilf, you've been mentally taking my clothes off all day, haen't you?"
"Yeah," Brim admitted, "I guess I have."
"Then find us a private place where you don't hae to pretend," she replied with a little smile. "I love it when a man undresses me. After that, weel, we'll explore. All right?"
Brim nodded, his mind working furiously. Where? Then it came to him. Baxter Calhoun was part owner of a lovely little pension just off Vereker Square, and he had offered its use to Brim on a number of occasions. "I need to make a call from the lobby," he said. "You'll wait?"
"I see nobody else here who's offerin' to take my clothes off for me," she said. "I'll wait."
"Just sit still and don't tell anyone that's what you're looking for," Brim whispered in her ear.
"Otherwise, I'll have to fight every man in the place...."
Moments later, he was in the lobby, ringing up the personal HoIoPhone of his old mentor and shipmate, Rear Admiral Baxter Calhoun, Commander of the Imperial Defense Command, at his headquarters in Old Royce Abbey, a converted Gradygroat monastery in the outskirts of Avalon....
CHAPTER 8
If...
"Admiral Calhoun's Residence," drawled the pretentious voice at the other end of the connection.
The HoloScreen before Brim was blank, as he expected. "My name is Brim and I want to speak to the Admiral," he said.
'"'Who are you?" the lofty voice inquired. "And what is your business?"
"My name is Brim," he repeated, "as in Wilf Brim. I know the Admiral's in because I spoke to him this afternoon during the officers' meetings."
"And your business, Mr. Brim?"
"Captain Brim, Imperial Fleet."
"Your business Captain?" the voice repeated, clearly unimpressed by a mere Captain.
Brim fought his tempter to a draw, then laughed to himself. The man was only doing his job—and a damned good one at that. "Listen, mister," he said, "my business concerns Baxter Calhoun and myself.
Just go tell him that Wilf Brim needs the Vereker Square apartment—tonight. Got that?"
"The Vereker Square apartment?" the voice said with an immediate change in inflection. "One moment, please."
As he waited, Brim could imagine a very efficient servant scanning a list of personal contacts on an information outlet. "Ah, yes," the voice said presently, this time in almost friendly inflection. "Captain Brim, Imperial Fleet, lately of the IVG. Very good, Captain. I shall connect you with the Admiral directly."