Double doors opened automatically before them and the two stepped through, into the Madam's "boudoir." Here she did all her business. Here, surrounded by her bright silk wall-hangings, across the low black antique table that dominated the center of the richly decorated space, she had made her reputation as City Europe's leading matchmaker.
Showing the Marshal to a sturdy chair that had been imported specially for the occasion, she plumped herself down on a sofa facing him, her ample figure settling into the big silk cushions like a brightly colored bird into its nest.
"Well, Marshal," she began, her ancient and thickly powdered Han face grinning broadly—almost obscenely—as a servant approached bearing a tray of wine and sweetmeats, "how exactly can I help you?"
It was not unusual for an old man to want a young wife, especially as they came to realize that their grip on mortality was growing daily more tenuous, yet somehow she had never thought Tolonen the type. Still, she was prepared, and had spent an hour that morning selecting a handful of special girls that might well suit his profile.
Tolonen waved away the offer of a drink and leaned toward her, his gray eyes troubled.
"It is my daughter, Jelka. I ..." He looked at the servant, reluctant to say more. At once Madam Peng dismissed the man.
She sat up slightly, smiling reassuringly. "All that is said between us here is absolutely confidential, Marshal. But forgive me ... when you spoke to me yesterday, I thought . . . well, I thought you meant to take a bride yourself."
"A bride! Me?" Tolonen laughed, but his eyes seemed horrified by the notion. "Gods, no, Madam Peng! It is my daughter, Jelka, I'm worried about. She . . ." Again he seemed ill at ease broaching the subject. "Well, to be blunt with you, she has a crush on an awful little fellow—a Clayborn by the name of Ward. He—"
She put her hand out, her face all sympathy now. "You need not say another word, Marshal Tolonen. I quite understand. Why, even the thought of it is absurd, neh?"
Tolonen smiled weakly.
"No. You were absolutely right to come to me." She leaned forward, her fingers brushing a pad on the desk in front of her. At once a screen came up out of the surface, facing her. She tapped in a few words, then eased back, smiling at Tolonen once again. "It's true what they say, neh, Marshal? Clay is Clay. It cannot be raised."
He nodded, comforted, it seemed, by her understanding.
"Now, your daughter is"—she studied the details on the screen— "twenty-four, I see. So your principal worry is, I guess, that she will do something silly after her Coming-of-Age in three weeks' time."
Tolonen swallowed. "That is so."
"Then we must act quickly, neh? We must somehow find a way to break this former attraction. And what better way than by creating a new one?"
She leaned forward, tapping at the keys, the huge golden rings on her fingers glittering in the spotlights. She paused, watching the data come up, then, satisfied, sat back, the screen lowering into the table's surface once again.
Slowly the lights dimmed. At the center of the table was now a faint red glow, dull and misty.
"You know your daughter well, Marshal Tolonen?"
"Well enough," he answered from the darkness where he sat. "Her mother died giving birth to her. I raised her from a child."
"Ah . . ."
"If it helps, she was engaged once. To Hans Ebert."
"Ah yes, I recall that now. She was . . . reluctant, am I right?"
Tolonen sighed. "She hated him, if the truth be told. I tried to force her into the marriage. I ... Well, I do not want to make the same mistake again, Madam Peng, let me make that clear. She must choose her own mate. But not him. Not Ward!"
There was a vehemence to the last few words that made Madam Peng reassess the situation. If he was so worked up about it, then there was clearly a very red danger that his daugher would marry the Clayborn. That made her own task more difficult; made it essential that she knew everything there was to know about the matter, for to fail in this, her most prestigious case—well, it was unthinkable. As unthinkable as the Marshal's daughter marrying a Clayborn!
"This Clayborn . . ." she began, trying her best to be tactful. "This Ward. What is it, do you think, that attracts your daughter to him?"
The old man's laugh was sour. "The gods alone know. Oh, he's clever enough, there's no doubting that, and he has the T'ang's ear in matters scientific, but ... well, as to what attracts her physically . . •"
"1 see," she said, after a moment's awkward silence. "And yet there is an attraction? You're quite sure of that?"
"Oh, yes. She wanted to marry him! She defied me openly, in front of old friends who'd come to dinner! Why, I had to send her away to prevent it."
Madam Peng sighed silently. The more she heard, the less she liked this commission, but it was too late now—she had committed herself the moment she had invited the old man to come and visit her. If she turned him away now it would get about—for rumor had a vicious tongue in her circles—and her reputation would be damaged. Then again, it was far from certain she could do anything meaningful in the circumstances. If what she'd heard was true, the Marshal's daughter was a headstrong, independent young madam.
"Okay," she said, her voice betraying nothing of her thoughts. "Let us try to build up some kind of profile of what she finds attractive in a man. This Ward ... I assume he's the usual type ... big head, bulgy, staring eyes, stunted body?"
Tolonen grunted, his discomfort evident.
"So. My guess is that it's not actually something physical your daughter is responding to, but some . . . inner quality. You say he's very intelligent."
"Perhaps the most intelligent young man on the planet, Ben Shepherd aside."
She brightened, letting her voice grow more animated. "Then that's it! What we need to do is look for a young man who is not merely good looking, but bright with it!"
"Maybe," the old man said uncertainly. "And yet Ebert was bright."
"Yes, but look what a foul piece of work he turned out to be. Why, it wouldn't surprise me if something in his manner alerted your daughter!"
Tolonen laughed. "I'm beginning to understand just why you have such a good reputation, Madam Peng. It was as you say. But tell me, who do you have in mind?"
He heard the tap of her fingers on the keyboard. There was a brief delay and then the hazy red glow at the center of the table began to intensify and grow.
"I have programmed the Selector to search the files for eligible young men who fit the profile. It will come up with those four that best fit the parameters we've been discussing. Then . . . well, we'll take a look at them, neh, Marshal Tolonen? And then you can tell me which of them you'd like to pay your daughter a visit over the coming weeks."
THE SIGN flickered FITFULLY, sending a sweet burning scent into the air. Emily, standing at the rail of the balcony two floors up, looked down at it, seeing how the giant electronic mantis seemed to spring and trap its prey, its long tongue moving with an inhuman quickness.
Two guards, plainly dressed but carrying Security-issue automatics, stood by the door, moving the curious along. Inside Pasek waited for her.
She went down. At the door they searched her, then waved her through. She didn't recognize either of them, yet that was not unusual—the whole of the Hand could have assembled and she'd have known no more than eighty, maybe ninety, of them at most. Or would have, she thought, before yesterday.
What she had noticed, however, were the pendants about their necks, the same as that which hung about Pasek's—the cross within the circle.