Safe. Her boots found the security of the far rim. She controlled the overwhelming desire to let her legs melt out from under her and sit down. Gundhalinu’s sweating face grinned at her gamely. She wondered whether he was trying not to think about the return trip, too. Looking ahead again, she read triumph in the Elder Way — aways’ walk as they followed him on into the audience hall.
Even here, so near the pinnacle of Carbuncle, the hall was overpowering in its vastness; she imagined it could hold an entire villa from Newhaven, her homeworld. Fiber hangings in chilly pastels drifted down from the geometric arches of the pillared ceiling, winking and chiming with the exotic song of a thousand tiny handmade silver bells.
And across the expanse of white carpet — an off world import — the Snow Queen sat back on her throne, a goddess incarnate, a taloned snow hawk in an ice-bound aerie. Unconsciously Jerusha drew her cloak closer around her. “Colder than the Karoo ,” Gundhalinu muttered, and rubbed his arms. The Elder Wayaways motioned them to wait where they were, went ahead to announce their presence. Jerusha was sure that the dark, distant eyes beneath the crown of pale hair were already more than aware of them, although Arienrhod did not acknowledge them, but gazed out across the hall. As usual Arienrhod had struck Jerusha’s eye first; but now, as she followed the Queen’s gaze into the nearer distance, a searing line of light, the hum-snap of an energy beam striking home, wrenched her attention away.
“Schact!” Gundhalinu hissed, as voices cried out and they saw the knot of nobles split open as the bolt knocked one sprawling onto the rug. “Dueling—?” His voice was incredulous. Jerusha’s hand tightened on the empire-cross of her belt buckle, barely controlling her sudden outrage. Did the Queen mock police authority to the degree of staging murder in her presence? Her mouth was open to protest, to demand — but before she could find words, the victim rolled over and sat up, not blistered or charred, with no blood staining the snow-field purity of the rug. A woman, Jerusha saw; the fads in clothing affected by the nobility sometimes made it hard to tell. There was a faint distortion of air as she moved; she had been wearing a repeller field. She climbed gracefully to her feet with an elaborate bow toward the Queen, the rest clapping and laughing their amusement. Gundhalinu swore again, more softly, in disgust. As the nobles shifted, Jerusha caught sight of the black figure, the cold gleam of metal, and realized that the one who had playacted the murderer had been Starbuck.
Gods! What sort of jaded half wits would try to burn each other down for laughs? They treated a weapon that could maim and kill like a toy — they no more understood the real function or significance of technology than a pampered pet understood a jewelled collar. Yes — but whose fault is that, if not ours? Arienrhod’s gaze caught her suddenly in mid-expression. The strangely colored eyes stayed on her; the Queen smiled. It was not a pleasant expression. Who says the pet doesn’t understand its collar? Jerusha held the gaze stubbornly. Or that the savage doesn’t see through the lie that makes him less than human?
The Elder Wayaways had announced them and was backing from the Queen’s presence as Starbuck came to stand beside her throne. His hidden face also turned toward them, as if he were curious about the effect of his playacting. We’re all savages at heart.
“You may approach, Inspector PalaThion.” The Queen lifted a desultory hand.
Jerusha removed her helmet and walked forward, Gundhalinu treading close behind her. She was certain that no more than the bare minimum of respect showed on either his face or her own. The nobles stood off to one side, striking poses like so many hologrammic traders’ dummies, watching with sincere disinterest as she made her salute. She wondered briefly why they found playing at and with death so amusing. They were all favorites, young-faced — the gods only knew how old in reality. She had always heard that users of the water of life became pathologically protective of their extended youth. Could it be that there really came a time when you had experienced everything you could possibly desire? No, not even in a century and a half. Or could it be that they simply didn’t know, that Starbuck hadn’t warned them of the danger?
“Your Majesty—” She glanced up, half at Starbuck, then back at Arienrhod enthroned on the dais. The sweet girlish face was made into a mockery, a mask like Starbuck’s, by the too-knowing wisdom of her eyes.
Arienrhod raised a finger, the slight motion cutting off her words. “I have decided that from now on you will kneel when you come before me, Inspector.”
Jerusha’s mouth snapped shut. She took a moment, and a long breath. “I’m an officer of the Hegemonic Police, Your Majesty. I have sworn an oath of allegiance to the Hegemony.” She gazed deliberately at the rising back of the Queen’s throne, through her, around her. The blown-and-welded surfaces of glass, the shining spirals and shadowed crevices dazzled her eyes with the hypnotic spell of the Maze; the bizarre artistry that catalyzed out of Carbuncle’s volatile mix of cultures.
“But the Hegemony stationed your unit here to serve me, Inspector.” Arienrhod’s voice startled her attention back. “I ask only the homage due any independent ruler,” putting a slight emphasis on independent, “from the representatives of another.”
“Ask and be damned!” Jerusha heard Gundhalinu breathe the words almost inaudibly behind her; saw the Queen’s eyes flash to his face, marking him in her memory. Starbuck moved down one step from the throne, almost lazily, the gun still swinging from a black gloved hand. But the Queen lifted her own hand again and he stopped, waiting wordlessly.
Jerusha hesitated, too, feeling the stunner that weighed heavily at her side, and Gundhalinu’s quivering indignation behind her. My duty is to keep the peace. She turned slightly, toward Starbuck, toward Gundhalinu. “All right, BZ,” as softly as he had spoken; not softly enough. “We’ll kneel. It’s not such an unreasonable request.”
Gundhalinu said something in a language she didn’t know, his pupils blackening. On the dais Starbuck’s fist went tight over his weapon.
Jerusha turned back to the Queen, felt the eyes of the onlookers, no longer indifferent now, pressing hard on her shoulders as she dropped to one knee and bowed her head. After a second there was a rustle and a creak of leather as Gundhalinu dropped down heavily behind her. “Your Majesty.”
“You may rise, Inspector.”
Jerusha pushed herself to her feet. “Not you!” The Queen’s voice struck past her as Gundhalinu began to get up. “You kneel until I give you permission to rise, off worlder As she spoke, Starbuck moved like an extension of her will to his side, the heavy arm in fluid black closing over Gundhalinu’s shoulder, forcing him back to his knees. Starbuck muttered something in the unknown language. Jerusha’s hands fisted beneath her cloak, slowly opened again. She said brittlely, “Take your hands off him, Starbuck, before I run you in for assaulting an officer.”
Starbuck smiled — she saw his eyes crinkle, insolently, the face alter beneath the smooth surface of his mask. He did not move until the Queen gestured him away.
“Get up, BZ,” Jerusha said it gently, keeping her voice together with an effort. She put out her hand to help him to his feet, felt him trembling with fury. He didn’t look at her; the freckles stood out blood red against the darkness of his skin.
“If he were my man, I would discipline him for such arrogance.” Arienrhod watched them, expressionless now.