Artemisia felt angry. Not at her father, of course, but at the stupid young man. He was so young. Practically a child, she decided, scarcely older than herself, if that.
The communicator sounded and she said sharply, "Please wait a minute and we'll go."
It was Gillbret's voice, sounding faintly. "Arta? All right at your end?"
"He's here," she whispered back.
"All right. Don't say anything. Just listen. Don't leave your room. Keep him there. There's going to be a search of the Palace, which there's no way of stopping. I'll try to think of something, but, meanwhile, don't move." He waited for no reply. Contact was broken.
"So that's that," said Biron. He had heard also. "Shall I stay and get you into trouble, or shall I go out and give myself up? There's no reason to expect Sanctuary anywhere On Rhodia, I suppose."
She faced him in a rage, crying in a choked whisper, "Oh, shut up, you big, ugly fool."
They glared at each other. Biron's feelings were hurt. In a way, he was trying to help her too. There was no reason for her to be insulting.
She said, "I'm sorry," and looked away.
"That's all right," he said coldly, without meaning it. "You're entitled to your opinion."
"You don't have to say the things you do about my father. You don't know what being Director is like. He's working for his people, whatever you may think."
"Oh, sure. He has to sell me to the Tyranni for the sake of the people. That makes sense."
"In a way, it does. He has to show them he's loyal. Otherwise, they might depose him and take over the direct rule of Rhodia. Would that be better?"
"If a nobleman can't find Sanctuary-"
"Oh, you think only of yourself. That's what's wrong with you."
"I don't think it's particularly selfish not to want to die. At least for nothing. I've got some fighting to do before I go. My father fought them." He knew he was beginning to sound melodramatic, but she affected him that way.
She said, "And what good did it do your father?"
"None, I suppose. He was killed."
Artemisia felt unhappy. "I keep saying I'm sorry, and this time I really mean it. I'm all upset." Then, in defense, "I'm in trouble, too, you know."
Biron remembered. "I know. All right, let's start all over." He tried to smile. His foot was feeling better anyway.
She said, in an attempt at lightness, "You're not really ugly."
Biron felt foolish. "Oh well-"
Then he stopped, and Artemisia's hand flew to her mouth. Abruptly, their heads turned to the door.
There was the sudden, soft sound of many ordered feet on the semi-elastic plastic mosaic that floored the corridor outside. Most passed by, but there was a faint, disciplined heel-clicking just outside the door, and the night signal purred.
Gillbret had to work quickly. First, he had to hide his visisonor. For the first time he wished he had a better hiding place. Damn Hinrik for making up his mind so quickly this once, for not waiting till morning. He had to get away; he might never have another chance.
Then he called the captain of the guard. He couldn't very well neglect a little matter of two unconscious guards and an escaped prisoner.
The captain of the guard was grim about it. He had the two unconscious men cleared out, and then faced Gillbret.
"My lord, I am not quite clear from your message exactly what happened," he said.
"Just what you see," said Gillbret. 'They came to make their arrest, and the young man did not submit. He is gone, Space knows where."
"That is of little moment, my lord," said the captain. "The Palace is honored tonight with the presence of a personage, so it is well guarded despite the hour. He cannot get out and we will draw the net through the interior. But how did he escape? My men were armed. He was not."
"He fought like a tiger. From that chair, behind which I hid-"
"I am sorry, my lord, that you did not think to aid my men against an accused traitor."
Gillbret looked scornful. "What an amusing thought, Captain. When your men, wit{l doubled advantage in numbers and weapons, need help from myself, it is time you recruited yourself other men."
"Very well! We will search the Palace, find him, and see if he can repeat the performance."
"I shall accompany you, Captain."
It was the captain 's turn to raise his eyebrows. He said, "I would not advise it, my lord. There would be some danger."
It was the kind of remark that one did not make to a Hinriad. Gillbret knew that, but he only smiled and let the wrinkles fill his lean face. "I know that," he said, "but occasionally I find even danger amusing."
It took five minutes for the company of guards to assemble. Gillbret, alone in his room during that time, called Artemisia.
Biron and Artemisia had frozen at the purring of the little signal. It sounded a second time and then there was the cautious rap upon the door, and Gillbret's voice was heard.
"Do let me try, Captain," it said. Then, more loudly, "Artemisia!"
Biron grinned his relief and took a step forward, but the girl put a sudden hand upon his mouth. She called out, "One moment, Uncle Oil," and pointed desperately toward the wall.
Biron could only stare stupidly. The wall was quite blank. Artemisia made a face and stepped quickly past him. Her hand on the wall caused a portion of it to slide noiselessly aside, revealing a dressing room. Her lips motioned a "Get inside!" and her hands were fumbling at the ornamental pin at her right shoulder. The unclasping of that pin broke the tiny force field that held an invisible seam tightly closed down the length of the dress. She stepped out of it.
Biron turned around after stepping across what had been the wall, and its closing endured just long enough for him to see her throwing a white-furred dressing gown across her shoulders. The scarlet dress lay crumpled upon the chair.
He looked about him and wondered if they would search Artemisia's room. He would be quite helpless if a search took place. There was no way out of the dressing room but the way he had entered, and there was nothing in it that could serve as a still more confined hiding place.
Along one wall there hung a row of gowns, and the air shimmered very faintly before it. His hand passed easily through the shimmer, with only a faint tingling where it crossed his wrist, but then it was meant to repel only dust so that the space behind it could be kept aseptically clean.
He might hide behind the skirts. It was what he was doing, really. He had manhandled two guards, with Gillbret's help, to get here, but, now that he was here, he was hiding behind a lady's skirts. A lady's skirts, in fact.
Incongruously, he found himself wishing he had turned a bit sooner before the wall had closed behind him. She had quite a remarkable figure. It was ridiculous of him to have been so childishly nasty awhile back. Of course she was not to blame for the faults of her father.
And now he could only wait, staring at the blank wall; waiting for the sound of feet within the room, for the wall to pull back once more, for the muzzles facing him again, this time without a visisonor to help him.
He waited, holding a neuronic whip in each hand.
Nine: And an Overlord's Trousers
"What's the matter?" Artemisia did not have to feign uneasiness. She spoke to Gillbret, who, with the captain of the guard, was at the door. Half a dozen uniformed men hovered discreetly in the background. Then, quickly, "Has anything happened to Father?"
"No, no," Gillbret reassured her, "nothing has happened that need concern you at all. Were you asleep?"
"Just about," she replied, "and my girls have been about their own affairs for hours. There was no one to answer but myself and you nearly frightened me to death."
She turned to the captain suddenly, with a stiffening attitude. "What is wanted of me, Captain? Quickly, please. This is not the time of day for a proper audience."