“It’s not a kidnapping. It’s his idea.”
“Then you don’t know Thistlewaite. He may be the emperor, but ‘custom is king of all.’”
“Donovan, listen to me. He may be subject to custom—that’s what he wants to escape—but he’s certainly capable of keeping the two of us here under lock and key and demanding I play escapist music for him every afternoon for the rest of my freaking life! And then how would I find my mother?”
“Uncle Zorba told me to keep you out of trouble. I guess he didn’t think you’d be the one starting it.”
“The emperor would let you go. You have no songs for him.”
A part of the scarred man’s mind flashed with anger and Donovan chuckled. Was that you, Fudir? Insulted that she expects you to abandon her? I’m shocked.
The Fudir told him what he could do with his shock.
«This is dangerous,» said Inner Child. «Kidnapping the emperor, even with his consent.»
We needn’t smuggle Jimmy off-world, the Silky Voice suggested. We need only spirit Méarana from the emperor’s clutches.
Ah, said the Brute. You take the fun outta everything, sweetie.
It would not need much, whispered another voice. A slight tap on the temple and she’ll wake up on the shuttle halfway to Harpaloon.
«The emperor wouldn’t like that,» Inner Child pointed out.
Donovan said nothing aloud. Brute, do you think you can do it without injuring her?
No problemo.
Yeah? Do you want to tell Uncle Zorba about it, or should I? said the Fudir. If we stiff the emperor, he’ll seal the borders. And even if we make it across somehow, Snowy Mountain would be happy to hand us back.
Somehow? said Donovan. Where was there ever a border you or I found un-crossable?
Alone, and not with a naïf of a harper in tow.
And not, said the Sleuth, who had been silent until then, with a pause for debate at every juncture.
Méarana shook his shoulder. “Fudir. We’re there.”
The scarred man gathered his thoughts and looked around the service alleyway. The paving here was not magnetized and Méarana had switched over to ground effect, which blew the litter about in swirls. Cans clattered; paper whipped. The narrow lane was unlit, and what illumination spilled across the roofs from Gayway Street did little to lift the shadows. On the right, dustbins stood by each door along the back walls of the Gayway shops. On the left, a stone wall enclosed the residential lots. The emperor had made a good choice for his abduction. Except for the Garden, the other shops were closed up for the night. Blocked from the Garden, his entourage would be forced to run to the far ends of the block to reach the alley, by which time the flivver would be long gone.
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” said Donovan.
“Of course, I am,” said Méarana. “It’s our only way to get off this planet.” Then, realizing that the question was not meant for her, she favored him with a searching look. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Don’t worry about me,” said the Fudir. “I promised Zorba that I’d watch out for you.”
“I’m not without resources. Mother taught me a trick or two.”
“Actually, he said he’d hunt me down and kill me if anything happened to you.”
Méarana laughed. “Uncle Zorba is a great kidder.”
The Fudir said nothing. Zorba was not that great a kidder. He raised the flivver’s gull-wing, and hopped into the alley. The ground effect was just enough to keep the chassis above the paving. “Keep the turbines at hover.” Then he crossed to the utility door of the Garden of Seven Delights, ready to hustle the emperor into the waiting vehicle.
Where do you think they’ll be? asked the Sleuth.
“Shut up,” Donovan explained.
He heard the distant blast of the trumpets from the palace walls, and pole-speakers about the city carried the Voice of the Sheen’s announcement of Domestic Entertainment Hour. Clever timing, thought the Fudir. Most of Jenlùshy would be indoors with their visors active, watching the evening installments of their favorite shows.
Shortly after, he heard the whine of flivvers pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot on the Gayway side of the building, followed by the hiss and chunk of doors rising and closing. “Get ready,” he told Méarana.
He heard the front door slam, rapid footfalls approaching, then the utility door flew open and Jimmy Barcelona rushed out into the alley. The Fudir pushed a large dustbin in front of the door to impede pursuit and took the emperor by the elbow and hurried him toward the car.
At which point, a dozen men dressed in black rose from the surrounding shadows and leveled hand stingers at them.
Yes, said the Sleuth, that’s where I thought they’d be, too.
The Fudir cast about for an escape route, torn between Inner Child’s impulse to run and the Brute’s impulse to fight. Donovan, who had been stung more than once in his career, raised the scarred man’s hands. The Silky Voice wept over their failure. Pulled thus in half a dozen directions, the scarred man remained motionless at their average.
Inside the flivver, the harper sat with her hands clenched on the control yoke. Rage dueled with sudden relief in her features. Her hands moved a fraction and the turbine’s pitch subtly increased. Donovan, who knew the capabilities of man and machine, thought it a desperate ploy, but one with a hairsbreadth chance of success. Cut losses, abandon allies.
It’s what he would have done.
But the flivver’s whine dropped into silence. Méarana turned open-faced to the Fudir and the scarred man read her fears writ there.
Flivvers approached from either end of the alley and came to a rest, neatly boxing them in. The doors of the one facing them arched open and Morgan Cheng-li stepped forth, followed by White Rod bearing the Yellow Cope.
“Ah, Majesty,” said the Grand Secretary. “This worm abases himself for interruption of such clever evening entertainment, but Monthly Tattoo waits August Presence on parade ground.” He showed leg and, with a sweep of the arm, invited Resilient Services to enter the flivver.
Jimmy Barcelona slumped and he looked at Donovan, and then at Méarana. “What I say? This Thistlewaite. All plans fail.”
Two of the Shadows led Resilient Services to the flivver where White Rod waited.
By this time, the harper had come to stand beside the scarred man. “Are you all right?” she asked him in a whisper.
The Fudir did not know what to tell her. That he had frozen when fast and decisive action might have been most necessary? That it was just as well that they had not escaped because he would not be reliable in a pinch? The sum of his parts was less than the whole he had once been. Donovan answered for him. “No worries,” he said. “Hush, here comes Jingly.”
The Grand Secretary bestowed a slight nod and sweep of the arm. “You should not have indulged him,” he said in Gaelactic. “He is needed too much here.”
“He threatened to hold me captive if I didn’t,” the harper said.
A wave of a jeweled hand. “That contrary to Treaty of Amity and Common Purpose. Fourteen States all signatories to League Treaty. You think we want Hounds come here, tear down prison to free you?”
Donovan did not know if The Particular Service would go that far; at least not for his sake. Though they might for Bridget ban’s daughter.