Roonoa bowed slightly and left without answering.
The Kalif wondered, as he walked to his apartment with a single guardsman, what would grow out of this. Nothing good, he felt sure of that. Meanwhile, tomorrow he'd have to find out who, in Siisru's family, he needed to meet with regarding reparations. To negotiate directly with the widow was out of the question.
Forty-three
The Kalif's physician had been at the party, too, but he'd been in the ballroom, dancing, and hadn't learned of the affair in the reception hall till after the principals had left. As soon as he'd heard, he'd hurried to his clinic to wait for a call.
He was there when his commset trilled, listened to the Kalif's description of his wound, then grabbed his emergency kit and left trotting, his night-duty assistant following with a folded emergency table. That damnable, bullheaded Kalif had refused to be brought to the clinic where he could be treated under proper conditions; he wanted to be at home when his wife arrived!
The physician had just finished prepping the arm when the kalifa came in with Alb Jilsomo. She was whiter than anyone he'd ever imagined, her blue eyes huge at the sight of the five-inch gash in her husband's arm. It wasn't deep though, just enough that tonus made it gape; no separate bonding of individual blood vessels was necessary. They stood watching, she and the exarch, as he injected bonding fluid into the anesthetized cut, cross-banded it, then sprayed a transparent wrapping on it, to support it till the sides of the cut cohered. Finally he put the arm in a sling, immobilized it against the patient's torso, and left.
The kalifa hadn't said a word, but she hadn't fainted, either, although she had sat down.
When the physician left, Jilsomo left, too. The Kalif opened his mouth to call him back and question him-ask what had happened and been said at the party, after Siisru and himself had left. But he changed his mind. He'd hear all he needed to in the morning, and it was more important now to talk with Tain, if she wanted.
She didn't, though. She seemed dazed, shocked, and he decided to leave her be for now. When she wanted to talk, she would.
Gromindh left the Sreegana with Lord Roonoa. His mind seeming turgid, too full for active thought. He supposed he should see to his cousin's wife, though he'd as soon she hung herself. With luck she would.
Honor indeed.
Then it occurred to him what needed to be done first, before something even more unfortunate happened; he went at once to a public comm in the Hall of the Estates, to call Siisru's son. They needed to get together man to man, right now, tonight, so Vilyamo could hear all that had happened, all of it, by other than second hand.
The Kalif awoke from a feverish dream, with an arm that hurt savagely. Hurt so badly, he rolled out of bed in a daze, thinking to call Neftha and find out what was wrong.
Instead of calling, though, he stumbled out, mostly naked, into the garden, holding his injured arm, grinding his teeth. He'd probably been lying on it, he told himself. He couldn't believe how badly it hurt.
The dream came back to him. He'd been emperor-not a Kalif, apparently, but simply emperor-and one of his staff, a trusted man, had confronted him in anger. About something in an earlier dream, he thought. Had drawn a crystal knife from inside his jacket, a knife that became a saw-toothed sword, and had swung it at him. He'd fended it with his arm. Then a guard had shot the man with a beam gun, cut him into pieces that writhed on the floor.
The blood had been red; he remembered that clearly. He seldom dreamed in color.
Remembering the dream brought chills to replace the fever; or was it the cooling night breeze on his sweaty body? At any rate the pain had receded a bit. He walked still clutching the arm, aware now that he'd come out without a repellent-field generator; some mosquitoes had found him. He turned to go back, and there was Tain, following, pale in the darkness.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
"My arm. Nightmares."
Her face reflected her concern.
"I'm going back in," he added, and chuckled thickly without humor. "The mosquitoes will take more blood from me than good Siisru's sword."
They walked back to the apartment together, her repellent field driving the mosquitoes from him. He remembered the dream again. It was as if he'd watched the attack from an external viewpoint, and he, the emperor in the dream, had been fat. Not as big as Jilsomo, but fat. Back in the apartment, and again without talking, he and Tain had a drink of brandy together, his a large one, before going again to bed. By then the pain was just a heavy ache, and after a bit he drifted into a sleep with no dreams that he'd remember afterward.
Forty-four
Coso Biilathkamoro had known, the evening b. efore, that ill would grow out of his duel with Siisru. The next morning he began to learn the specifics. The newsfacs had kept carefully to the witnessed facts, and from them, from the one he read, he learned that Siisru Parsavamaatu had been a popular member of the Industrialist Party in Kalasoor State, a delegate to the party caucus there. And ironically, a supporter of the Kalif and his proposed invasion.
On the other hand, the newsletters faxed by the offices of the noble delegates were unhappy with him, at best. He forced himself to read them, to know what was said.
From one of these he learned that Siisru had a son, Vilyamo-and that Vilyamo was the commander of the Kalifal Guard!
How, he wondered, had he missed the surname?
He owed blood reparations to Vilyamo. Grimly he turned to his commset. The colonel's yeoman answered: The colonel was inspecting B Company's quarters; he'd send someone to find him right away. The Kalif left a message: he wanted to talk with the colonel at 1100 hours, in the private garden.
That left thirty-five minutes, allowing Vilyamo time to complete his inspection and arrive; given the circumstances, he would not rush the man.
It left him thirty-five minutes, too, half an hour he didn't know what to do with. It seemed doubtful he could concentrate. He opened a drawer, intending to take a stunner from it and clip it on his belt, for he would allow no bodyguard to overhear their conversation, and who could say what might happen?
Then slowly he closed the drawer without taking anything from it. This was something he would not go into armed, even with a stunner. Instead he picked up a report on Maolaaru fisheries and went into the garden to wait.
He'd overlooked the possibility that the kalifa might be there. She was sitting at one of the marble tables, beneath a large, colorful umbrella, with a folding library reader before her. He went to her.
"Good morning, darling," he said gravely. "I'm to meet someone here in half an hour. Would you leave before then? It must be just he and I; it's a very sensitive matter."
She looked questioningly at him, so he went on. "It's Lord Siisru's son. I've-taken his father from him, and need to discuss blood reparations."
She nodded, worry furrowing her forehead. Then her eyes moved to her husband's belt.
"Will there be no guard? You wear no weapon."
"Either would be inappropriate."
"But he might…"
He shook his head. "I think not. If he wishes to challenge me, of course, he may." And that would truly be a tragedy, he thought, for if he does, to deny him would be unthinkable, and I'll have to kill him. If I'm able.
The look Tain gave him was bleak, as if she'd read his mind. She folded her reader and went into the apartment, and he sat down where she had been. Unexpectedly the report he'd brought with him proved interesting. Commonly he merely scanned the lead abstracts of reports like this one. In this case, though, when he'd finished that, his quick eyes moved on through the pages, slowing here and there to digest a paragraph or table. If the empire was managed by the Maolaari , he told himself, we'd all be better off. Presumably they made more use of their SUMBAA, or better use, but that was obviously only a small part of it. They cooperated more, politicked less, and put far less value on prerogatives of class, family, and wealth.