“When a businessman wants to do you a favor,” MacKinnie said, “I’ve found it a good policy to watch your pocketbook.” They arrived at the door to his suite, and Dougal waited outside.
MacKinnie found a dress kilt, doublet laced with gold and silver piping, and jewelry in the style of the great merchant princes of Haven. When he lifted the clothing, he found cartridges for his pistol had been laid discreetly on the bed. With something approaching relief, Nathan loaded the large-calibre revolver and buckled it on before he realized how out of keeping it was with the rest of his clothing. A quick search of the small leather case he found on the bed with the clothing revealed a smaller dress pistol, its dragonwood handles inlaid with pearl and jade and thin copper strands. He unloaded it and squeezed the trigger several times, pleased with the smoothness of its action. The proofmarks showed it to have been made by the Brothers of St. Andrew, reputedly the best gunsmiths on Samual and certainly the most expensive. Although he hesitated to carry a weapon he had never fired, MacKinnie buckled it outside his doublet, sadly leaving the big service pistol hanging in the closet.
Two sets of guards were on watch at Empire House. Outside the large, walled courtyard, soldiers of King David’s personal guard stood rigidly at attention. A junior officer in a tiny office inside the gates examined their passes, collected their weapons apologetically, and directed them across the lava stone courtyard to the building itself.
Two huge doors swung open as they arrived. The Imperial Marines inside the entryway wore full dress, scarlet and blue uniforms with gold trim, a blaze of color; but the weapons the sentries carried were incomprehensible to MacKinnie. Their rifles looked very functional, but the knobs and dials along the stocks were meaningless — and there were no visible openings in the barrel ends.
MacKinnie expected to be searched again, but instead the Marine noncom looked at a panel of lights and meters and a screen that showed shadowy figures; MacKinnie got only a glance at it, but he thought he saw the outline of his cigar lighter on the screen. In some way the Marines could see through the leather of his pouch …
They waited in silence while the noncom spoke into a handset.
Very efficient, MacKinnie thought. It would be difficult to penetrate this place. Not that it would do any good to take Empire House. The fortress would still remain, and so would that ship in orbit above Prince Samual’s World. No. Dougal’s way was best — except that Dougal’s way doomed Orleans to rule by Haven …
An inner door opened and a young naval officer came in. He had small badges made of a curious substance, not metal but not anything else MacKinnie had ever seen. He gave one to MacKinnie.
“You are to wear these at all times inside Empire House, “the officer said. “My name is Lieutenant Akelian, and I will take you to your appointment.”
“This has my picture,” MacKinnie said.
Lieutenant Akelian looked up in surprise. “Of course. We take photographs of everyone who visits Empire House. This way, please.”
MacKinnie glanced at Dougal. The policeman’s lips were set in a tight line. And no wonder, MacKinnie thought. Akelian was one of the three who had been at the party in the Blue Bottle. But he doesn’t seem to recognize us. Given the amount he drank that night, it’s no wonder …
Akelian led them through brightly lit hallways. MacKinnie had never seen an inside room so well lighted. Electricity, someone had told him. Electric lights. But not from a carbon arc like a military searchlight. The professors at Prince Samual University were experimenting with a new kind of light, as they had experimented with long-distance communications using electricity, but electrical equipment took miles of wire, too expensive to be very practical on copper-poor Samual. They were ushered onto a moving stairway, then at the top led to another door. Akelian opened it to show them a large room.
Two fat men in plain clothing, wearing trousers rather than kilts, undecorated coats, and only a few jewels, their almost drab appearance contrasting strongly with MacKinnie and Dougal, rose languidly as they entered a large, plainly decorated room. Akelian waved MacKinnie and Dougal in, looked sternly at the civilians for a moment, and left without speaking.
As soon as he had left the room, one of the Imperials laughed. “God bless the Navy,” he chuckled. “But may He grant that their lieutenants come of age soon. Good evening, gentlemen.”
Dougal returned the greeting, then said formally, “Imperial Trader Soliman, I have the honor to present Trader Magnate MacKinnie, His Majesty’s servant and manager for this expedition. Trader MacKinnie, Imperial Trader Soliman of the Imperial Capital, and as I understand it an officer of the Imperial Traders Association.”
MacKinnie watched them narrowly and noted that the fat man made no movement to offer his hand. MacKinnie bowed slightly, was rewarded with an even smaller bow, and turned to the next man.
“Imperial Trader Renaldi, I present Trader Magnate MacKinnie,” Dougal purred.
“My honor,” Renaldi said. When Nathan began his bow, Renaldi matched him, bending to within a degree of MacKinnie but not quite as deep. The difference might have been measured with calipers.
“Gentlemen,” Soliman said, “this room is at our disposal for the time. Let us sit and enjoy ourselves like civilized beings.” He indicated couches drawn up in front of an open fire. As they sat, he continued, “Remarkable how peaceful it is to have a fire in the room with you. We haven’t used them in the capital for a long time now. There are very few houses with fireplaces, and I can’t remember when I last saw one lighted. I will have to have one installed on my return, a great aid to contemplation. Right, Chasar?”
“It would be pleasant,” Renaldi said.
“They are not quite so pleasant when they are your only source of heat,” Dougal said.
“No, I suppose not,” Soliman said. He looked thoughtful. “When the Navy permits trade in such things, Imperial Autonetics will bring factories to make better heating systems. I expect we could sell many of them. “He sighed. “But the military departments never act quickly. It will probably be some time yet.”
MacKinnie noted that both men spoke the language of North Continent almost perfectly, but with the careful pronunciations that indicated that it was a recently learned foreign tongue. Having never heard the Imperial language, he was not sure how close it would be to that used on Samual, although it would obviously be similar if Dougal were able to read the book his agents had stolen. Still, it must require some study, he thought, and therefore it followed that the Imperials either had some method of learning languages quickly, or that the Traders thought it important enough to spend the time and effort learning the local tongue. Either alternative seemed interesting.
Soliman hovered around them, offering refreshments which he poured himself at a small stand at one side of the room before finally joining them before the fire. They sipped chilled wine from one of the islands of the Archipelago, and Soliman praised it highly. “I hope it travels well,” he told them. “This will be worth a fortune on the capital. It is as good as real Earth wines, or nearly so, and they command a price you would never believe. This is a very fortunate world, gentlemen, your wines and brandies can make you rich. And your grua — do you think the peach plant would grow elsewhere? Ah, but it would never thrive as it does here. If only Earth had not been so devastated in the Secession Wars.”
He lowered his voice confidentially. “That is why the Navy is so stern, you know. Their academy is there, and they grow up with the results of the wars. They are determined that it will never happen again, even if they must enslave the entire galaxy to see to it. And now that it is traditional for the Emperor to send the heir apparent to New Annapolis, the whole government is infected with their dedication.” He sighed deeply.