“Indeed, one would think that. I certainly did.” Simon scratched his neck. “Although most people don’t realize how incredibly complicated and ill-documented it can get, under the Old Town. Old sewers. Abandoned utility tunnels. Freight access. Built-over foundations. A couple of outdated, bankrupted attempts at public transport, before the bubble-tube system was planned or even thought of. Streambeds, drainage. Assorted Vor mansions’ personal bolt-holes and escape hatches-and the same for some less savory prole venues. And a rat warren of other covert passages dating back mostly to the Occupation, but some to other wars. Several centuries of forgotten secrets, down there, dying with their possessors.”
Ivan glanced again at the six skewed floors and several subbasements of paranoia piled across the street. “Why aren’t they picking anything up? Of this, over there?”
“What would you guess?”
“I dunno…” He considered the odd stage-mark stick that he’d held in his hand. “Passive analog data collectors, I suppose, with nothing electronic about them?”
“I understand the color-gradient has a biological base that sensitively responds to vibrations, yes. Dancing microbes of some sort.”
Ivan wiped his hand on his trousers, nervously. “Oh. You’re in on this, then.” Whatever this is.
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.”
“What would you say, exactly?”
“At this juncture, not much.”
“Simon.” It took a bit of effort to make the name come out low and commanding, and not a reproachful wail.
It was effort wasted; Simon just twitched the damned deadly eyebrows at him, as if he’d heard the wail in his possibly-telepathic mind anyway and don’t even think about that, boy. “There is nothing illegal or even immoral about looking, Ivan. I’m sure I’ve even seen those old gentlemen with the metal detectors right here in this park, searching for ancient coins and the like. Retirement hobby or destitution, I was never quite sure.”
“Your guards ran them off, surely.”
“Not always. They might, after all, have found something interesting.”
“And have the Arquas found something interesting?
“We don’t, of course, know yet. Till Shiv and Udine analyze their measurements.”
“And what will you do then?”
“Flow-charts, Ivan. I’m sure I’ve heard you go on at length over some meal or another with your lady mother about the warm, fuzzy feelings you get from flow-charts. This is only the first bifurcation in the decision-tree, not the last.”
Whatever Ivan was feeling right now, warm and fuzzy wasn’t in it.
The sun was climbing toward noon, though not overhead, as high as it got this time of year. From the ImpSec gates there issued a gaggle of pallid men, officers and enlisted both, clutching lunch sacks and drinks of various sorts. They split up and spread out to take over the benches in a practiced-seeming way, with some of the enlisted ending up sharing their lunch picnics on rolled-out ground sheets. They all gazed in suspicion at the Jewels; some gazed in suspicion at the two civilian-clothed men on the last bench, especially the group displaced from their usual perch, till apprised by some of their older colleagues. Then they just stared.
Tej grinned across at Simon and at Ivan, almost the first his wife had acknowledged his existence since he’d sat down, and went into a brief huddle with the Jewels. Star opted out, looking mildly bored; she had collected all the stage markers back into a bundle, and seemed to be loading things up.
The group of Jewels split up again and took positions in a circle, or square, or imaginary four-pointed star. Tej bent and started the music once more, louder than heretofore; a very traditional Barrayaran mazurka, if with a livelier, updated beat and flourishes. The Jewels began to move, grandly leaping and kicking, in a version that recalled traditional Barrayaran men’s dances without in any way being one. It was by far the most athletic performance yet. Even Jet, usually the thrower, took his turn being thrown into the air-if by two of his sister-Jewels in cooperation-and somersaulting to daring landings. All the men around the perimeter of the park stopped eating to goggle. Tej watched as if hypnotized with pleasure.
When the dance finished in a whirl and a shout, all the Jewels were breathing heavily, sweating despite the chill. Quite spontaneously, the ImpSec men scattered around their impromptu stage broke into applause; the Jewels grinned and bowed back, in one cardinal direction after another, concluding with an especially low sweep toward Simon and Ivan.
Simon rose, with one of those my-back-hurts sounds made by the aging, whether sincerely or for audience effect. There had been a deal of audience effect running in several directions here this morning, Ivan was pretty sure. The Jewels and Tej finished packing up their scant props, or gear, hauling it to the ground-van parked on the far side of the grassy space.
“You talk to Guy Allegre about all this yet?” Ivan nodded toward the late outdoor stage. “Or was he one of your six men?”
“Not yet.”
“Or him to you?”
“I set it as a high probability that we’ll be talking to each other sometime.”
“Ah…Gregor?”
Simon’s eyebrows mocked him. “And what is Gregor’s favorite motto?”
“ Let’s see what happens,” Ivan recited glumly. “I always thought that was an appallingly irresponsible thing for an emperor to say.”
“There you go.”
Tej came over, to inquire rather breathlessly of Simon, but not Ivan, “Did you like the show, sir?”
“Yes. I did. Street theater of the highest order.”
“Complete with audience participation?” Ivan muttered. Wait, right-Simon hadn’t answered his last question. Or his first, for that matter.
“You should take your wife to lunch, Ivan,” Simon suggested genially. He asked Tej to convey his thanks to the Jewels for the show, excused himself, and walked off down the boulevard, just as though he had been some ordinary passer-by who’d stopped to watch the rehearsing dancers.
But Tej, still elusive, claimed chauffeuring duties, and fled in the opposite direction.
Ivan, feeling at default if not fault, sat back on the bench and stared at the blank landscape, trying to imagine how far was down.
Chapter Eighteen
Ivan woke the next morning to an empty bed, again, a depopulated flat, and a note on the coffeemaker: Gone driving. T. Which was better than no reassurance at all, but wouldn’t, Love, T. have been a better closing salutation? Not that he had ever ended any note to Tej with Love, I., so far, but then, he hadn’t ever gone out and left her with just some laconic, uninformative scrawl. She’d come in very late last night, too, after some family thing, and gone straight to sleep, with no talk and scarcely a cuddle.
He buttered his instant breakfast groats, which made him think back to the emergency impromptu wedding on Komarr, and wondered if the gelid grains would taste better with a shot of brandy poured over them instead. No. No drinking at dawn, that was a bad sign, not that this was dawn-merely midmorning. He tried Tej’s wristcom, without reply, and was dumped to her message bin. Dumped, that wasn’t a good word, either. Nor-memory intruded again, albeit not one of Tej-a good sign. When his would-be-breezy Hey, Tej, call me. Ivan, your husband, remember? produced no response by the time he had shaved and dressed, he steeled himself and walked down the street to the Arqua-occupied hotel.
Shiv himself admitted him when he buzzed the door of their suite. “Ah. Ivan.” He called over his shoulder, “Udine, Tej’s Barrayaran is here.” He gestured Ivan in and to one of the sitting room’s upholstered chairs, and fetched coffee from a credenza; Ivan accepted it gratefully.
The Baronne shut down her comconsole, joined her husband on the small sofa facing Ivan, and cast her provisional son-in-law a cool smile of welcome.