Appointment At Bloodstar, page 5
Yvette had never felt quite as out of place anywhere as she did here, but she resolved not to show it. Her strong social upbringing in a noble family enabled her to ignore the slights as though they were not there. Still, the knowledge that Pias's family was rejecting her hurt considerably. She could only begin to imagine what it was doing to Pias.
They were almost finished with the meal when a beautiful dark woman seated down near the end of the, table stood up and glared at Yvette. "I challenge the presence of this gadji in our midst," she said.
There was a muffled gasp down the long table as the various diners reacted to the statement. Beside her, Yvette could see Pias struggling to remain calm as he said, "Gitana, stop making a fool of yourself."
Gitana now looked at him. "I claim you, Pias. I claim you by the oaths you took many years ago and by the fact that you were my sister's fiancee."
She then looked straight back at Yvette. "Is there any real woman who would dispute my claim?"
Yvette refused to be daunted. With an expression of supreme calm, she said softly, "Pias is a free human being. He chooses his own consorts. No one has the right to claim him for anything."
"Stay out of this, Eve," Pias whispered. "Traditions are different here. You'll only make things worse." Yvette's words had already inflamed Gitana beyond the point of reason. "Who is this gadii who seeks to instruct me? Am I not daughter of Stiggur, of a noble line and lineage? Am I not of the chosen family for Pias Bavol's mate? Would she deny me my rights by all our ancient customs?"
With a quick flick of her wrist, Gitana sent a dagger hurtling through the air at Yvette. The female SOTS agent gauged its flight path with an experienced aerialist's eye, and did not twitch a muscle as the dagger landed mere centimeters from her hand and sheathed itself in the tabletop.
"If she insults me thus, let her back up her words with actions," Gitana raged. She had another blade in her hand, and was in a fighter's crouch.
Yvette was taken aback by this sudden turn of events. She didn't know much about who this Gitana was, but she was being placed in the position of having to fight for the_ man she wanted. From Gitana's pose, she was obviously skilled at fighting with knives-and she was deadly serious about this duel.
Chapter 4
The Duke of Melenaria
After leaving headquarters, Jules raced his car as fast as the laws would permit to the Canaveral Spaceport to meet his darling Vonnie. Even so he was ten minutes late for the appointed time; fortunately, the ship's arrival was even later, and she was not left standing around to wait for him.
When finally she did emerge from the customs checkpoint, he ran over to her and they embraced like any ordinary pair of long-separated lovers. They had not seen each other since their assignment together protecting Princess Edna on Ansegria nearly eight months before. They had each stored up a great deal of emotion during that interval and, in the first few minutes, they almost completely forgot they were in a public place.
After a while, however, sanity returned, and Jules pulled back a step to look her over once more. Yvonne Roumenier was the same height as himself, with brown hair, almond-shaped eyes, an exquisitely beautiful face, and a figure that matched it. Like him, she was also a DesPlainian, and the child of a noble family. Her father, Ebert Roumenier, was the baron of Nouveau Calais, one of the most important cities on DesPlaines.
As the oldest child, she stood to inherit his title one day.
But it was neither her lineage nor her beauty nor the fact that she was engaged to Jules d'Alembert that had led the Head to choose her for this assignment. Yvonne Roumenier had scored 989 on the thousand point test, making her one of the most capable agents at his disposal. The fact that she and Jules made such a compatible team was at most a secondary consideration.
"I could stand here looking at you all day," Jules said at last, "but we've got an assignment that we should be on as soon as possible-meaning ten minutes ago."
"Before I even get a chance to unpack?" Vonnie asked. She was still a little breathless from Jules's kisses, and was unprepared for such a rush.
"Relax, that's part of the assignment. We're live-in bodyguards for Duke Hanforth of Melenaria, so we go straight to our assignment and check in there. I've already got a uniform for you; you can change in back while I'm driving."
Jules took her suitcases out to his car and packed them neatly in the back. As they drove to the outskirts of town, Jules explained as much of the Head's theories as Vonnie needed to know-that someone seemed to be in the assassination business, and that Duke Hanforth appeared to be the next prime target. The two of them were being assigned as personal servants to the duke in addition to a regular SOTE team of security agents; the regulars would not know Jules and Vonnie were on their side, for the security of all concerned.
Once out in the open countryside, Jules converted his car once more into an aircraft, and the two of them began zooming through the uppermost reaches of the atmosphere toward the Angeles-Diego complex where Duke Hanforth would be staying. The journey took them all night, but they hardly minded that; they had a lot of news to catch up on, and a lot of stored-up love to express, now that they were alone. In those spare moments between kisses, Jules told Vonnie about Yvette's new fiancee and Vonnie was delighted at the news. "Maybe we can have a double wedding ceremony," she exclaimed.
They arrived in Angeles-Diego just after sunrise the next day. Jules drove to the Luxoria Hotel, where the duke was supposed to be registered, but he was in for a bit of a surprise when he inquired at the front desk.
"No, that old windsucker isn't here," the clerk snorted, "and I'm just as glad. He called our hotel a chrome-plated rubbish heap."
"Why did he do that?" Vonnie asked.
"Because we didn't have any accommodations for him on the ground floor, and he hates elevator tubes, that's why. Said it was bad enough he had to travel in a metal boxcar all the way from Melenaria and a flying lawn mower from-the spaceport to here; he didn't want to have to ride on magic carpets just to get to and from his room." The clerk sniffed as though his personal honor had been assaulted.
"Do you know where he is staying, then?" Jules asked, becoming a little concerned about finding the man he was supposed to guard before anything could happen to him.
"Someplace without an elevator tube, obviously. Probably without even running water, if he has his way. It's crazy old blots like him that make you question the rationale for hereditary aristocracy." The clerk turned away and refused to say any more to them.
Jules and Vonnie spent the next two and a half hours calling all around Angeles-Diego trying to locate their wayward duke. Finally Vonnie contacted a rental agent who had leased the duke a private villa near the ocean at Malibu-a sprawling one-story estate surrounded by lush gardens, and probably costing five times what the duke would have spent for the most elegant suite at the Luxoria.
"Well," Jules shrugged, "the Head warned me' our duke was an eccentric sort; I guess we're finding out just how eccentric he is."
They drove to the address the rental agent had given them and were challenged at the gate by the regular SOTS people, who had already managed to find and attach themselves to the man they were protecting. Jules showed the phony ID cards he'd been given, establishing himself and Vonnie as Fedor and Karolina Khermikov from the Star Lane Temporary Employment Agency. Fedor was hired to be the duke's valet while the old man was visiting Earth; Karolina was to be his personal secretary. Both of them were given a thorough screening before they were allowed to pass through the gate and go to the house itself.
The beautiful exterior of the house-well worth every cent the duke was paying for it-gave no indication of the chaos the two agents found as they entered. Suitcases and trunks lay scattered about the floor throughout the hallways, making walking difficult. Some had been opened, their contents thrown randomly about as though by a hasty burglar. Articles of clothing lay where they'd been thrown, either on the floor or draped at cockeyed angles across pieces of expensive furniture. Jules and Vonnie exchanged curious glances. Had the house already been broken into, without the knowledge of the guards at the gate?
Just then a figure burst energetically out of one room. He seemed like a scarecrow parody of a man, tall and gangly and constructed of odd-lot pieces. His hair was silvery white and straggled in wisps over the top of his partially bald head. His clothing looked as though he'd dressed in the middle of a rummage sale the tight pants sported a codpiece more appropriate for a teenager; the sweater was thirty years out of date and trimmed with moldering fur; the shoes were ballet slippers, two sizes too large for the feet they were on. The man moved at a swift pace, though, that belied the look of age about his features.
"Pirates and thieves," the man ranted. "I'm surrounded by pirates and thieves." Then, catching sight of Jules and Vonnie, he confronted them. "Are you here to rob me, too?"
"No," Jules said, his voice showing the sudden concern he felt. "Has somebody robbed you?"
"Everybody has robbed me! Hotel clerks, restaurant owners, rental agents, cab drivers, porters, bell captains. The entire population of the Earth divides itself into two classes: the pirates and thieves in one class, the fools and incompetents in the other. If you're not pirates and thieves, you must be fools and incompetents." He gave a brisk nod of his head, as though having just proved an abstruse point of law before a jury.
"I should hope not!" Vonnie exclaimed, to which Jules added, "You are, I trust, Duke Hanforth?"
"If you trust, young man, you're bound to go astray on this sorry planet." He moved off quickly to another room, and Vonnie and Jules had to hurry to keep pace with him. "Yes, I'm Duke Hanforth, for whatever that's worth, and it seems to be worth less every hour I'm alive. Who are you, and how much of my money are you laying claim to?"
The two agents were taken slightly aback by the duke's brusque manner, but were resolved not to be outdone. "I'm Fedor Khermikov," said Jules, equally crisply, "and this is my wife Karolina. We're here as..."
"I know, I know. Valet and secretary. As if I'd know what to do with them."
Jules cleared his throat. "May I speak confidentially, Your Grace?"
"And how much will that cost me?" the Duke harrumphed. "I've learned that whenever anyone asks to speak to you confidentially, he's out to swindle you." "No money involved, Your Grace," Vonnie said, struggling hard to maintain her temper in the face of this old man's continuing accusations. "It's about who we really are. We're..."
"You're special bodyguards from SOTS," the duke said contemptuously. "Young lady, do me the favor of not belaboring the obvious. I was a veteran of political intrigues before your grandparents even tied the knot-if they ever did. I spent five years as Prime Councilor to Stanley IX, and I was one of the four people to survive that so-called accident of his."
Jules was impressed with the duke's credentials. The accident he referred to was the famous one in which the previous emperor had been killed. He'd been on his way back to Earth after observing some naval training maneuvers, and his private superdreadnaught had materialized from subspace in the exact path of a drifting derelict ship. Before the deflector screens could be activated, the ship was destroyed, and only four people managed to escape alive-Duke Hanforth among them, apparently. It was a billions-to-one encounter, but SOTE's intensive investigations had proved it was an accident, not an assassination; there was simply no way all the possible factors could have been calculated beforehand.
"'So-called'?" Vonnie said. "Then you don't believe it really was an accident?"
The duke snorted. "Nothing is ever an accident, especially where the Stanley family is concerned. I've lived under three Emperors and known most of their relatives, and, with the exception of this current chap, they're the most underhanded crew I've ever seen."
"Yet you served as Prime Councilor for five years?" Vonnie was incredulous. "Why did you do that, if you disliked them so much?"
"Because he was my Emperor." The duke drew himself up straight, like an old soldier coming to attention. "I'd serve a dung beetle if it were my true Emperor, and believe me, Stanley IX came close. Hardly a year went by without at least six assassination plots, some barely foiled in time. I don't know who finally did it or how they worked the trick, but there are no accidents around the Stanley family--you mark my words on that."
He gave another snort and looked at the two of them as though they were paramecia under a microscope. "And you two DesPlainians are going to keep me safe from this gang that's been murdering nobility, eh?"
"You know about them, then?" Jules asked. As angry as the crusty old man made him, he could not help but be impressed with his intelligence.
"Of course I do. I can read the newsrolls; my eyes haven't gone out on me yet. I can add facts well enough. I may be old, young man, but I'm not stupid. Stupidity's for the young, though I admit they don't hold the monopoly yet. They're working awfully hard at it, though......
His voice trailed off and, for a moment, he stared into space at a point somewhere between Jules and Vonnie. Then his mind snapped abruptly back to the present. "Khorosho, you're supposed to be my valet. Do something to prove it. Groom me into a nobleman of leisure if you can-or don't they teach you anything at the Academy but muscle stuff?"
Jules rose to the challenge. "Your hair's the first thing needing attention," he said in a businesslike tone, completely ignoring the dare the other had thrown him. "It wouldn't look too bad if it were neatly arranged. Your clothing, however, is another matter entirely. You may have been an imperial advisor, but you have no sartorial taste whatsoever. I expect your entire wardrobe will have to be revised."
"You would speak that way to a duke, with no trace of respect?"
"No, I would not speak that way to a duke. I would, however, talk to a cantankerous old curmudgeon like that, because I have a feeling that's the only way you'll listen. And as for respect, I trade it in equal quantities only."
"You." The duke turned to Vonnie and poked her in the ribs with one long, bony finger. "Are you merely a pleasant conglomeration of curves or do you actually have some secretarial skills?"
"Try me, Your Grace."
"Khorosho, I will. Make a memo to fire my valet after he saves my life, and not a moment before. Now, are you really married to him, or are you free to fool around?"
"At the moment, Your Grace," Vonnie said coldly, "neither."
"Good. At least you're honest. Let's go." Duke Hanforth started toward the door.
"Where?" Jules asked.
"You said I needed a new wardrobe. We're going out to buy one. We'll see if your taste is any better than mine."
He led them at a brisk pace out the front door to the large gray limousine that SOTS had put at his disposal. The driver and bodyguard-both skilled SOTE agents-were lounging about, but snapped to attention the moment the duke appeared. "Do you know of any good clothing stores in the area?" he asked the driver.
"The best is Haversham's," she replied. "It's about an hour's drive."
"The whole thing's one big damned conspiracy," the old man grumbled. "All of Earth is ruled by the transportation industry. You can't walk anywhere; you can't even get a horse drawn vehicle if you want one. Nothing but those damned machines. They're starting to take over. I tell you, nothing good will ever come of giving machines too much power." But despite his objections he climbed into the back seat of the limo, and Jules and Vonnie got in on either side of him.
Duke Hanforth kept up a steady tirade as they drove, enumerating his complaints, real or imagined, against the conspiracies that ran the Earth. When they reached the shop and Jules started picking out a new wardrobe befitting a man of Duke Hanforth's age and station, the duke found something wrong with every selection. Either he didn't like the color or it didn't feel comfortable or the line was all wrong for him or the material was sleazy or the price was too ludicrous. That last complaint was the one most frequently used, and Jules several times was tempted to say he'd pay the difference out of his own pocket just to get the duke outfitted properly. He could see now why the duke's wardrobe was so outrageous; he must have driven all his tailors crazy with his impossible demands.
Finally a compromise was reached that was neither too unacceptable to the duke nor too outre for Jules's sense of fashion: a set of stylish caftans with fancy embroidery on the sleeves and down the front. The head salesman, with great relief, promised to have the clothes made up to the duke's measurements and delivered to the villa within two days. That matter settled, the duke's party left the shop and started the drive back to their villa.
They found, though, that they would have to take a detour because a broken water main had temporarily closed a number of streets. Jules and Vonnie were instantly suspicious of the circumstance and kept extra alert as they drove.
The car ended up traveling through some of the poorer sections of the city. Buildings were rundown, people wore rags, drunks and drug addicts slept in the gutters. It was not a pretty sight.
Duke Hanforth was oddly silent as they drove through, though his eyes darted back and forth, missing no details. As they drove out of the slum into a more presentable section, Jules and Vonnie relaxed their guard slightly. Then Duke Hanforth spoke up. "How can they tolerate conditions like that?"
"Most of the people were born there and have lived there all their lives," Vonnie began.
"I don't mean them. People can live almost anywhere if they have to. I mean the authorities-the baron, count, earl and so forth, all the way up to the Emperor himself. How can they dare to let people under their protection live that way?"
"Earth has a population now of nine billion," Jules said quietly. "There is chronic underemployment, starvation, crime. There are relief organizations of various kinds, but the job is so vast and their funds are so limited...." He shuddered. "I've seen worse. The planet Chandakha makes what we just saw look like heaven itself."
