“No danger,” said King Bester — Flammarion seemed ready to dive away into the crowd. “It’s quite harmless. I’ve seen things like that a hundred times.”
“What is it?” Flammarion flinched away as the creature turned its head toward him, opened a mouth full of jagged teeth, and offered him a spiky smile.
“No name, squire. Just an Artefact, something from the Needler labs.” Bester snapped his fingers. “Hey, like to visit one? I can arrange it easy.”
Flammarion shook his head, but Bester was too experienced a salesman to miss the sudden strong interest shown by Luther Brachis. He was interrupted before he could follow up on it. Running along the path, dodging in and out of the bustling courtiers, sped a young man. He was about twenty years old and carrying a garland of flowers. He was closely followed by a young girl. “Not fair, Chan,” she was crying. “No fair. That was cheating. Give it back.”
The man paused close to Mondrian, turning to shake the flower posy teasingly at her. She was slight, thin, and olive-skinned. Moderately attractive — but nothing compared with the man. He was an Adonis: golden haired and tall, with a loose, agile build and sculptured good looks. If the people he was running among were aristocrats, his face pronounced him their undisputed emperor. Both the man and the woman were dressed in the plain ivory tunics of commoners.
Unworried by the presence of the Security men in their dark uniforms, he dodged behind them to escape. Mondrian took one look, then moved forward to grab the man by the arm. The youth stared at him, mouth open. The woman moved to their side, and put her own hand in turn on Mondrian’s. The courtiers stopped their promenading to stare at what was happening.
“You.” Mondrian moved forward, tightening his grip as the woman tried to pull his hand free. “Both of you. Are you under contract to Bozzie?”
The man stared back impassively, but the woman thrust herself between him and Mondrian. “No business of yours! Let go!”
“No, listen for a moment. There might be a position for you — something good. If you’re contracted to Bozzie, I’ll make sure you get a good offer — ”
She batted Mondrian’s hand away from the youth’s arm, screamed “Chan! Follow me — right now!” and threw herself away into the crowd. The youth gave one wide-eyed glance at Mondrian and went after her. In a few seconds they were twenty yards away, heading for the shelter of a covered arcade.
“Those two,” cried Mondrian. “Stop them — there’s a reward for anyone who does.”
The courtiers did not even move. Flammarion began a half-hearted pursuit, but found they were running away at a speed that he had not even attempted in a quarter of a century. They were ducking into the arcade when Luther Brachis acted. He pulled a palm-sized cylinder from his pocket and pointed it at the pair.
“Don’t shoot!” cried King Bester.
He was too late. A green spiral of light flashed from the cylinder, corkscrewing a tight helical path that glowed in the air. It touched the escaping pair, first the man and then the woman. The backs of their jackets smoked, and threw off a shower of sparks. Then they were wriggling away out of sight behind a long curtain of golden beads.
“They’re not hurt,” said Brachis to King Bester. And then to Mondrian, “You’re going to lose your bet anyway, so I’ll give you a look at the monitor system you’ll never get.” He pulled a flat disk from his belt. “It’s never had a test before in a crowded environment like this. Let’s see how well it does.”
He held the disk horizontal. At its center a double arrow of light moved and turned. As they watched, it lengthened perceptibly and changed direction. A Tracker?”
Brachis nodded at Mondrian’s question. “But a lot fancier than usual. Direction and distance. Once anything’s tagged with the signature beam this can follow them for at least twenty-four hours. It’s also designed to be able to track five people at once. It must be confusing if they all go separate ways — five separate arrows to deal with — but with two it ought to be easy. And they’re keeping close together.” He handed it to Mondrian, who in turn held it out at once to Flammarion.
“Go follow them, bring them back here. I have to stay here and wait for Bozzie.”
Flammarion stared at him pop-eyed, then glanced in turn at the Tracker and the bewildering complexity of the chamber.
“Not by yourself, Captain,” went on Mondrian. “I realize you don’t know the place.” He gestured at King Bester, who was pointedly looking elsewhere. “He’ll help you — and he’ll be very well rewarded if he does.”
“Right you are, squire.” Bester slapped his hands together and grabbed the Tracker from Flammarion. “Now we’re cooking. The arrow’s not moving, they must have stopped. Come on, Captain. Well have ’em in a jiffy-o.”
With Flammarion trailing along behind he set out along the path defined by the arrow. Mondrian glanced mildly at Brachis, and actually came close to smiling. “Big mistake, Luther. You didn’t think when you set the Tracker on them. Now I’m going to win that bet — with those handsome two you were kind enough to tag for me. Want to concede right now?”
“The bet stands, Esro. Nothing good comes out of Earth.” His thought ran on: That irritates you mightily, doesn’t it, every time I say it?
And Mondrian was making his own useful observation. Nothing good comes out of Earth, you say. But some things on Earth certainly interest you. I caught that look, when King Bester was talking about visiting a Needler lab.
He had no time to pursue that thought. A blare of trumpets came from the direction opposite to the vanished Bester. The crowd was parting, pushed aside by a dozen hulking ruffians. Behind them came a flower-bedecked sedan chair carried by eight men, with Princess Tatiana walking at its side.
The Duke of Bosny, Viscount Roosevelt, Count Mellon, Baron Rockwell, Earl of Potomac — all five hundred and seventy pounds of him — was arriving to begin negotiation.
Twelve hours later, Tatty and Mondrian were at last alone. She was sitting by his side, reviewing a handwritten document.
“It looks all right, Essy,” she said, frowning in the dim light. “This transfers title, effective two hours ago. They’re all yours now.”
Mondrian nodded. He did not look up. In front of him on the table was an open flagon of ancient brandy. He was staring into the depths of a balloon glass holding half an inch of amber liquid.
“You have no idea how much effort it took to find that for you,” complained Tatty. “I started looking for it right after your last visit to Earth — and you haven’t even smelled it.”
Mondrian roused himself, brought the glass close to his nose, and gave it a dutiful sniff. “I’m sorry. You know me, Princess, most of the time I’d kill for a brandy like this.”
“So what’s wrong? Bozzie signed over the contracts, you’ve got your two candidates, and Captain Flammarion ought to have them away from Earth in a few more hours. Why aren’t you smiling?”
“I wish I knew. I can’t help feeling something’s wrong with the deal.”
“You think you paid too much?”
“No. Too little. Your friend Bozzie didn’t ask enough money for those two.”
“But you told me you had no idea how much it ought to cost to buy those contracts.”
“I didn’t. But King Bester knew, and I was watching his face when Bozzie accepted our first offer. Bester gawped and gasped.” Mondrian picked up the glass, breathed in the delicate centuries-old bouquet, and took a tiny sip. “Well, we’re committed now, even if I don’t feel comfortable with it. I told Flammarion to set them into the Link system and up as soon as he could, before Quarantine had a chance to change their mind. Now I wish I’d taken a look at them myself.”