When you‘ve your own realm, you can afford to mock pretension—

  ‘There’s an interesting route I was looking at yesterday, while I was walking around.’ Tom looked at Elva and shrugged. ‘If you’re interested...’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘After lunch we can—’

  ‘Why wait for lunch?’

  Elva said: ‘I’ll see to that. This evening, we’ll probably have formal dinners to attend.’

  ‘Wonderful.’ Renata made a face, then brightened up. ‘All right, let’s get organized.’

  Then a look passed between the two women which Tom pretended not to notice.

  A conspiracy, to cheer me up.

  ‘This way,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the Palace to put you in the guest suite next to ours.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  Servitors bustled out of the nearest entranceway, formed neat ranks, then bowed as the three nobles walked past. The servitors, without a word, followed.

  ~ * ~

  15

  NULAPEIRON AD 3423

  Two hours later, the Lady Renata was dangling one-handed off a narrow rib of stone, and calling down: ‘You all right, Tom? There’s a handhold to your left— Chaos. Sorry.’

  ‘Got it.’ Tom’s voice was grim: the position was awkward. ‘Don’t worry.’

  Renata had not fully adapted to Tom’s three-limbed climbing style; but Tom had not excelled either, when it had been his turn to lead. He was too used to solo work.

  Below them, the smooth pinkish rock descended two hundred metres to the broken cavern floor. Tom cast a glance down, then up, and continued his climb.

  As soon as Tom touched the ledge Renata was on, she was already ascending the next pitch, small and strong and agile, with a direct, levelheaded approach to solving problems. Her climbing revealed a lot about her personality.

  Then she had reached the top of the pitch and was calling down: ‘On belay, Tom.’

  ‘Coming right up.’

  On the final pitch, Renata let Tom lead since it was ‘his’ route. Chest heaving, he dragged himself over the top onto a wide, flat table of rock. It led back towards a tunnel entrance where Elva was already sitting on a cushion, beside a neat picnic spread.

  ‘Just a ... moment,’ he gasped.

  Then he turned and steadied the line until Renata had clambered up beside him.

  ‘Good.’ Renata pulled herself to a kneeling position and clapped her hands together. ‘I’m absolutely famished. What about you, Tom?’

  ‘Right,’ Tom said. ‘Famished. Of course.’

  He coiled up the line, while Renata and Elva scooped things onto plates and poured drinks into ceramic beakers, and compared notes on makes of lev-car which Tom had never heard of.

  But he remembered the first lev-car he had ever owned, presented to him as a gift when he was upraised to Lordship. Avernon had given it to him.

  ‘You know who gave me my first—?’ he began, sitting down.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ said Elva. ‘Renata told me.’

  For a while, they busied themselves with minrasta cakes and the inevitable daistral. Then Tom asked: ‘How is Lord Shinkenar? I don’t really know him, but he was ... kind to me.’

  When Tom was a young servitor, he had seen the equally young Avernon collapse in a deserted Palace corridor. Tom’s quick reaction had saved Avernon’s life, and when Tom became a Lord, it was Avernon’s father, Lord Shinkenar, who had split off a portion of his large realm in order to provide Tom with a demesne of his own.

  ‘Father travels around,’ said Renata, ‘and spends time talking with old friends, or immersed in old crystal-tales. He’s quite content. Officially, he’s still the ruler.’

  ‘But unofficially ... ?’ asked Elva.

  ‘I didn’t want the responsibility.’ Renata shrugged. ‘But we can’t all be as outstanding as my brother. I still have my own research interests.’ Then she frowned at Tom. ‘You weren’t going to ask for your old demesne back, were you?’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I hadn’t intended to raise the subject, but—’

  ‘That’s good.’ Renata looked down at the ground. ‘We’re a large realm, but what with the war’s disruption ... There’s a lot of folk to feed, you see. Always the priority.’

  In some realms, at least.

  Elva busied herself with refilling daistral, not meeting Tom’s gaze. She had no desire to rule a demesne, but she was eminently practical: they had to find some position in life.

  Then Elva cleared her throat and said to Tom: ‘I asked Renata to check into Jak’s history, to see if she could find out what happened to him.’

  ‘The Jack? Oh ...’ Tom realized who she meant. ‘Jak. Someone else I owe a debt to.’

  When Tom fled his realm (and his fellow revolutionaries) he had left his senior officials in an awkward position. Elva was a shrewd tactician and had known how to convince investigators of her innocence. She had no idea how Tom’s majordomo, Jak, had fared. Elva herself had left the realm quickly, under orders from the secret organization known as the Grey Shadows, to which her whole family had belonged for generations.

  Another servitor from Darinia Demesne - Tat, who had served alongside Tom - had said that Jak was in prison somewhere. But that was five Standard Years ago.

  ‘I tried,’ Renata said now. ‘And I’ve had word back. There is no record in Realm Shinkenar that such a person ever existed.’

  ‘Impossible.’

  ‘For a record to be lost by accident, yes.’ Renata took a bite of minrasta. ‘But to investigators of the Enquisio Scelesto, “disappear” is a transitive verb.’

  ‘You mean,’ said Elva, ‘that they disappeared Jak.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Fate damn it.’

  Later the talk turned to less painful matters, and Renata told how Avernon, while still young, had taken her to a deserted magma pool and shown her thermidors rising to mate.

  ‘The world’s original lifeforms,’ Renata said, ‘became my life’s study. Both native prokaryotes and Terran bacteria are threaded all the way through Nulapeiron, even deep inside the rock. Did you know that there are symbioses between the two lineages?’

  ‘Is that possible?’ asked Tom. ‘They’re not even based on the same replicators.’

  ‘The bacterial components carry DNA, the native components carry speculuzene chains, and they divide at the same time. Isn’t that wonderful?’

  Both Tom and Elva smiled at the delight on Renata’s face.

  ‘Yes, ’said Tom. ‘It is.’

  And he thought, You‘re Avernon’s sister, for sure.

  Renata was here for the same reason as all the other nobility descending on Palace V’Delikona: to attend the funeral of Brigadier-General Lord Corduven d’Ovraison. As the arachnargoi and lev-cars continued to arrive, they hung in long queues in the caverns, while servitors rushed to get Lords and Ladies installed as quickly as possible without breaking the rules of decorum.

  So many were expected to attend that, according to a message placed in every guest apartment, a full Convocation would be held here. It meant that Tom could apply for some kind of posting, as soon as he found out what was available.

  In the meantime, he spent the afternoon relaxing by reading poetry from Zelakrin’s two classic collections, Twisted Cat and Gone Up In Smoke, while Elva serviced her graser pistols, tuning and re-tuning the resonance cavities until they performed to her satisfaction.

  ‘Renata invited us to dinner next door,’ said Elva, just as Tom shut down his holodisplay. ‘Want to go?’

  Though he liked Renata, Tom would rather see Lady V’Delikona; but he would not dream of disturbing her at this time. The droves of noble guests must be a logistical catastrophe. Down in the kitchens and the maintenance tunnels, senior servitors would be feeling the stress, and snapping at their juniors who were doubtless working long, sleepless shifts to provide the appearance of luxurious serenity to the arriving Lords and Ladies. The one good thing about the controlled pandemonium was that all formal dinners were postponed until the following evening; tonight, visitors were welcome to dine in their quarters or make arrangements with friends.

  ‘All right,’ said Tom. ‘I’m ready.’

  Elva fluffed up her hair, tagged a shining graser pistol to the small of her back, and covered it by pulling on a short half-cape.

  ‘Me, too.’

  The main door-membrane liquefied at their approach. As soon as they stepped through, they saw servitors coming to attention.

  ‘Relax,’ said Elva. ‘We’re just going into the next suite.’

  A gangling beta-class servitor opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it, gave a deep bow, and backed away.

  ‘I’m hungry now,’ said Tom.

  But the person who rose from a deep chair in the suite’s outer lounge bore little resemblance to the Lady Renata. He was old, straight-backed with long white hair pulled back by a platinum clasp. His cane, too, was of platinum, and he looked exactly the part for his rank: Primus Maximus, first choice in this or neighbouring sectors to oversee a noble Convocation, and the leading spirit behind the reactionary and influential think-tank known as the Circulus Fidus.

  His name was Lord A’Dekal, and his presence here caused Tom’s every nerve to tighten.

  ‘My good Lord Corcorigan. How very nice to see you.’

  ‘It’s a surprise to see you, A’Dekal.’

  ‘But not a pleasant one? Oh, dear. We’d hoped you had matured beyond old resentments. We were all so young once, weren’t we?’

  I don’t think you ever were, thought Tom.

  ‘What do you mean,’ he asked, ‘by we? Have you brought the whole Circulus with you?’

  The answer came from a lean man standing beneath an inner archway, clothed in dark velvet, with a long silver poignard on each sleeve, sheathed along the forearm. They looked like decorations, but Tom knew Viscount Trevalkin: the weapons would be real, and he was deadly with blades.

  ‘Not exactly, Corcorigan.’

  ‘Trevalkin. You’re looking better than the last time I saw you.’

  Then, Trevalkin had been in an autodoc, bloodied and battered at Tom’s hand. It had been a formal duel, with Trevalkin and his cronies expecting a very different outcome, for Trevalkin was a master swordsman and there were some weapons that the common-born, like Tom, had no chance to learn.

  ‘And you’re a trifle more civilized.’ Trevalkin’s cold gaze tracked Elva as she stepped to one side, hand hovering near the small of her back. ‘But that’s saying little, isn’t it?’

  ‘Viscount...’ A’Dekal raised a warning hand, but it shook slightly: some kind of palsy.

  ‘Corcorigan and I are old friends, don’t worry. Brothers under the skin, eh, my Lord?’

  It was the second time he had used that phrase with Tom. This sentiment came from a man who had skinned his enemy’s vassals alive, using femtotech to keep them suffering for days before allowing death to claim them. ‘They screamed so beautifully,’ he had told Tom, that day in the med-centre.

  ‘Are you seriously,’ Tom said, ‘trying to recruit me to your cause?’

  A’Dekal’s face hardened. Trevalkin merely crossed his arms, tucking in his hands very lightly. From that position, he could cross-draw the twin poignards in an instant.

  It was no coincidence that Renata met up with Elva. Tom looked at Elva, and she nodded: she read the situation as he did.

  ‘My friend Surtalvan,’ murmured Trevalkin, ‘came back with some preposterous tale about your paranoid beliefs. I can’t credit—’

  Then the main doorshimmers sparkled and evaporated, and Renata stepped through, followed by a platoon of Palace Halberdiers.

  ‘I set up this meeting, as you asked,’ she said to Lord A’Dekal. ‘It doesn’t seem quite as amicable as you implied.’

  ‘My dear, antagonism can be negotiated away, if one is only reasonable.’

  ‘Then perhaps’ - Tom gestured in Trevalkin’s direction - ‘you should have chosen more reasonable company. He hardly makes your case, does he?’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  Renata’s voice cut in: ‘Please leave my quarters, Lord A’Dekal. Viscount Trevalkin. If you would.’

  Behind her, the Halberdiers stood ready. Everyone in the chamber knew that their loyalty was to Lady V’Delikona, and she had never favoured the Circulus Fidus. If they had been told to obey Lady Renata’s orders, then that was what they would do, even in the face of opposing high nobility.

  A’Dekal looked about to protest, but Trevalkin seemed merely amused as he pushed himself away from the inner doorway and sauntered over to Tom. ‘Nice to see you again, my nearly-brother.’ And then he performed a deep bow towards Elva, ironic in its exactitude. ‘My Lady.’

  Tom and Elva drew to either side as Trevalkin and then A’Dekal left. After the doorshimmer had solidified, Renata stationed the Halberdiers just inside it, then beckoned Tom and Elva to an inner chamber.

  But before she could speak, Tom said: ‘I apologize, my Lady. I’ve brought trouble upon you.’

  ‘No, Tom.’ Renata bit her lip, then stared back towards the door. ‘I’d been trying to decide on my own allegiance. They do favour rebuilding demesnes’ economies ... But I’ve just made my decision, haven’t I?’

  ‘You can always go back to them and—’

  Renata held up a hand to stop him.

  ‘Everyone thinks my brother Avernon is a dreamer, which he is, but he’s also the best judge of character I’ve ever met, and you’re his friend. It isn’t a complicated problem.’

  ‘You can’t risk—’

  But this time it was Elva who interrupted. ‘Shut up, Tom.’ And, to Renata: ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Do you think we should have dinner now? I’m starving.’

  ~ * ~

  16

  TERRA AD 2162

  <>

  [4]

  The twins’ shared study-bedroom was alight with holodisplays, images and FourSpeak writing suspended over black glass desktops.

  ‘Did the person who invented the word neologism’ - Dirk pushed back his chair - ‘realize he was creating one?’

  ‘Definitely. Nice one, bro. Put it in the essay.’

  A soft chime sounded.

  ‘Later. That’ll be the girls.’

  Kian, nearer to the window, peered out into darkness. An aircar floated above the forecourt, Frau Volk at the controls.

  ‘Time—’

  ‘—to party.’

  Frau Volk chatted non-stop with Frau Schönherr as they flew through the Alpine night, while the onboard AI did all the work. Behind them, their respective daughters, Hilde and Anna, sat with Dirk and Kian in near silence.

  Hilde reached out and touched Dirk’s hand.

  ‘Allons-y,’ said Frau Schönherr as they touched down and the gull-door rose. ‘So, gehen wir. La noce es bellissima.’

  Her linguistic mix was kaleidoscopic even for this country, to Anna’s mortification and the twins’ amusement. Frau Schönherr herself seemed unaware of the effect on others.

  The four teenagers carried skate-blades as they walked up a winding holo-lit alleyway, its cobbles slick with frost - ‘Slowly, dears,’ called Frau Volk - and passed beneath a Gothic arch from which elongated icicles hung like spun sugar.

  Fireworks cracked overhead.

  Sounds of the Blue Danube waltz grew louder as they neared the fair. The two mothers headed for an enclosed café, passing through the crowd, trusting that their daughters were safe beneath bright lights which rendered the black sky featureless.

  Dirk and Hilde, followed by Kian and Anna, stopped at the barrier which surrounded the outdoor rink, and snapped on their skate-blades.

  ‘I’m ready,’ said Dirk. ‘Hilde?’

  ‘Ready to show you how it’s done.’

  ‘Let’s do it.’

  Holding hands, they launched themselves onto the ice and skated backwards through the swirling crowd until they reached a clear space near the centre of the rink.

  ‘Show-offs,’ muttered Anna.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Kian. ‘You want to hold onto me?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Anna held on tight, and stumbled against him often. Kian wondered whether she was unusually inept at skating, or unusually fond of making physical contact with him.