It was Purple’s turn again. “It’s learning,” he muttered with grudging respect. “It’s going along with me, but diverting it. This may get complicated.”
“But the mother won’t have the nerve to kill anyone,” Brown said.
“Sure enough.” He faced the stage. “I address the mother. She did indeed have murder on her mind, to protect her daughter, but her encounter with the friend made her realize that she could hardly sneak in unobserved and poison the dates. Also, the closer she got to the storage room, the more appalling the notion of killing anyone became, especially the king, who was a good friend of her husband’s. She simply couldn’t do it. She would have to talk to her daughter, and persuade her not to do this thing, to save herself for some nice young man who was sure to come along eventually. So the mother set her vial of poison in a niche out of sight, and walked on by the storeroom, relieved that she had found a better way.”
Purple took a breath. “However, it occurred to her in a moment that the vial wasn’t safe there; a cleaning wench might find it. and ask awkward questions, and if they tested it on an animal they would soon know its nature. So she turned about and went to recover it, despite her nervousness about possibly getting caught with it. But to her surprise and dismay she discovered it gone. It had been only a few minutes, and there was no one else in the passage. She realized that only one person could have taken it: the young man she had encountered and walked with briefly. He must have watched her, and then gone to recover the vial the moment she was gone. Was he going to use it himself?”
Purple had turned it back on the Hectare. The mother was innocent, but the friend still had motive and opportunity—and poison now. The finale was approaching, and Purple’s situation was good.
But Tan had evidently been pondering ploys, and came up with a good one for the Hectare. “I address the daughter,” the Hectare squeaked. The daughter turned to face him, her proud breasts prominent above her tiny waist, the sparkle of her necklaces calling attention to her frontal assets. Her skirt bands matched the color of her jewelry, providing her an artistic unity that further enhanced her sex appeal. Even her bare toes showing beneath her skirt contributed, suggesting that her legs were similarly innocent of covering all the way up under the skirt. Brown found herself desiring the girl, despite everything; the humanoid robot had come alive in the play, and become for her the highborn daughter of a Cretan noble. Such a girl could readily be loved.
“This young woman has been misunderstood by all,” the translator continued. “The brother thought to persuade her to attract the notice of the king, and she seemed to be interested. Her father was glad for that prospect, while her mother was horrified. But in truth she had no intention of indulging with the king—or any man.”
Brown felt a chill of apprehension. Purple would keep her secret as long as she supported him, but she had to deal with Tan, who surely also knew her secret. Was he going to throw in lesbianism to mess her up, so that the Hectare could gain the advantage over Purple? If she lost her concentration now, the play might be done before she could regain it. She tried to steel herself.
“For you see, she distrusted men. It seemed to her that they inevitably took unfair advantage of women, and the king was the worst of all, because he had most power. Now her friend’s brother wanted her to distract the king, so that his sister could remain with her fiancé. But that fiancé was false, having secret affairs and no real respect for the woman he was to marry. If she were to distract the king, the fiancé would find another way to get rid of the fiancé. And her own father, instead of protesting the prospect of her liaison with the king, was in favor of it, because it would lend him additional status. Thus all the men were hopelessly corrupt. Only her mother supported her.” As the translator spoke, the named players animated and posed, the three men looking villainous, the mother looking noble.
But maybe he was going another route. Brown thought. Distrust of men was not the same as love of women. Brown herself did not hate men; she had great affection and respect for a number, beginning with the Adept Stile. She just didn’t care to have sex with them, any more than the men would care to have it with each other.
“So she, realizing that her mother lacked the gumption to do the job, and not trusting any man to do it, realized that she would probably have to do it herself. She hated the king and wanted him dead, because of his power over women and the possibility of his deciding to take her as a lover. Now was the time to kill him, because she had seen her friend’s fiancé go to the storerooms, and take the poison—“
“Objection!” Brown cried. “It has been established that only two people were in those halls at the time. There is no way a third could have been there.”
“Sustained,” the Game Computer said.
“She had seen him go there, and saw her mother emerge without the poison, so she knew he had taken it.”
“Objection! She couldn’t know that. He might have—“
“Sustained. A third sustained objection will terminate the turn.”
“Why are you objecting?” Purple inquired quietly. “The Hectare is framing his own character.”
“I don’t trust that,” she said. “Whatever he’s doing, I want to stop it.”
Purple shrugged. “Paranoia is good, in such a contest.”
Brown felt pleased, then condemned herself for it. She didn’t want Purple’s favor! She just had to win this game for him, and go her own way.
“She knew he could have taken it,” the Hectare said through the translator, after a pause for consultation. If it was annoyed, it didn’t show it. “Later she went herself to check, and found no poison, so she believed he had taken it. He was in a position to poison the dates.”
Now even Purple was perplexed. “The Hectare can’t be throwing the game! They play to win, always.”
“That meant that he could be framed,” the Hectare continued. Suddenly Brown appreciated the point: the buildup of the seeming guilt of a character determined to be innocent. Ouch! “So she could steal the poison from him, use it on the dates, and accuse him of the crime. In this manner she could get away with murdering the king, and another bad man would pay the penalty. It would be a double victory.”
“Brother,” Purple muttered. “This will be hard to refute. It’s him or her, and we don’t have room to show much more about him.” For the first time he looked uncomfortable; in fact downright nervous. Brown would have enjoyed the sight, if her own situation had not been on the line too.
She appreciated the problem. How could they explain away that motive, or put the young man into a situation that would make it obvious he was the guilty one? Any new wrinkle they might try could be turned around as another ploy in the frame: he looked guilty but wasn’t. The Hectare was playing with increasing competence and finesse, catching on rapidly to the nuances of the human condition.