"You did say tonight, didn't you?" Brim asked, hardly willing to believe his ears.
"Well, I am free."
"Would you. . .?"
"Wilf, I swear I thought you'd never ask."
"Universe."
"Pick you up right after the third watch—does that sound all right?" she asked.
"Rebuild pool 581," Brim answered, regaining some control of himself.
"I know," she said. "Bring an appetite." Then she was gone.
Grinning to himself, Brim shook his head happily. Whatever else she might turn out to be, Margot Effer'wyck was also a whole new set of rules. He looked forward to learning as many as he could.
By precisely the end of the third watch, Brim had carefully picked his way over the icy surface of the repair pool's monster brow and now stood impatiently on a platform before the mail gate. Light snow was falling, and for the first time he could recall, the wind was still. Even Gimmas Haefdon had its peaceful moments—but not many.
She arrived only slightly late—Brim was checking his timepiece for the ten-thousandth time when headlights glowed softly down the road. Moments later, her well-used little skimmer was hovering at the platform.
"Hungry?" she asked when he settled into the seat beside her.
He nodded. With the hood of her cape back over her shoulders, she looked tired, relaxed, and ravishing. Brim felt his breath quicken. "Where are you taking me?" he asked in mock-frightened innocence.
She looked his way for a moment. "A favorite place of mine," she answered. "I think you'll like it, too—and it's not too far, either." They were soon off the main highway and climbing a gentle grade over what Brim guessed was once a country road, now buried irals deep in Gimmas Haefdon's everlasting snow. On either side, tall, tangled forms of ancient trees wound themselves into a sinuous wall of bare branches draped by garlands of snow-mute reminders of summers now lost forever as the dimming star Gimmas continued its long march toward ultimate death. Ahead, at the summit, soft lights shone in glittering circles through the gentle snowfall.
"It must have been beautiful once," Brim pronounced, looking out at the dark landscape.
"It still has its beauty, Wilf," she said quietly. "You've got to look for it, though." She smiled. "' Spirit who sweepest the wild Harp of time/it is most hard, with an untroubled ear/Thy dark inwoven harmonies to hear!'" They glided through an ornate metal gate set in a high stone arch—a huge lantern at its center illuminated the swept cobblestones of a spacious courtyard. She brought the skimmer to a halt before a mossy stone building with a great vaulted entrance whose dark wooden doors were covered by intricate carvings. Over these, a ponderous sign hung from stout chains below an age-bleached yardarm set into the stone. "MERMAID TAVERN," it read, "ESTABLISHED 51690"—nearly three hundred of Gimmas Haefdon's long years in the past.
"Universe," Brim whispered in a hushed voice as he peered up at the snow-covered jumble of steep peaked roofs and tall stone chimneys. Huge wooden beams appeared everywhere, in every architectural capacity imaginable, each carved in bas-relief with shapes of strange animals and birds. Translucent first-floor windows glowed warmly in the darkness; here and there, a softer light emanated from the upper floors.
"Like it?" Margot asked softly, her voice soft in the stillness of the tiny passenger compartment.
Brim could only nod emotionally.
"Wait till you see the inside," she said, smiling.
Still shaking his head, Brim opened the door and stepped into cold air scented with the sharp spice of wood smoke. Snow tingling on his nose and cheeks, he held the opposite door—while she stepped out, a long, shapely leg escaping from her slit skirt in a giddy flash of white. Brim felt himself blush as his breath caught in his throat. Then all too soon she was on her feet, Fleet cape wrapped demurely around her.
She smiled impishly. "Did that pass inspection?" she asked, eyes sparkling with good humor.
Brim felt his face flush anew—thanking providence for the darkness. "I suppose I'm sorry I stared," he stammered in embarrassment. "I'd forgotten the uniform included anything like a dress gown." Then he chuckled. "And, yes," he admitted, "you certainly pass any inspection I'll ever give."
"In that case, I shall take it as a compliment," she said, wrinkling her nose and smiling. "I always did have great legs." Then she started for the entrance, Brim trailing in utter disarray.
He opened one of the huge wooden doors—it moved silently on massive hinges so perfectly balanced he thought for a moment it might be servo-activated. Then he smiled to himself as he helped her over the high stone stoop. No automatics here. In a place like the Mermaid Tavern, servomechanisms would be an intrusion.
Inside, with the doors closed, the spicy odor of burning wood was much stronger—an impossible luxury here on Gimmas Haefdon, where the last tree must have died a hundred years in the past. They were standing in a dark room with a low, beamed ceiling and rough-textured walls decorated with ancient landscapes mounted in massive frames. Flickering candelabra softly illuminated stout wooden furniture, richly patterned carpets, and a gleaming stone floor. Liveried domestics in long, ornate coats with oversized golden cuffs and collars materialized from nowhere and quietly helped them from their Fleet capes, then disappeared into one of many doorways leading from the room in all directions.
"Good evening, Princess Effer'wyck, Lieutenant Brim," a voice' said softly from beside a high wooden desk half hidden in the darkness. "We are most gratified you have chosen the Mermaid Tavern." Brim frowned as he turned to face the speaker.
Like the domestics of his employ, the steward of the Mermaid Tavern wore a long red coat with oversized cuffs and collar. There however, resemblance ended. If by no other means, he was utterly distinguished by an explosion of curly white hair that reached all the way to his shoulders. A veritable landslide of ruffled lace separated lavishly embroidered lapels, and his silken breeches were white as his hair. Huge golden buckles decorated his gleaming shoes. He spoke with the guarded, inexpressive mien of those used to dealing with wealth and power—no trace of subservience, only a practiced grace and an unerring precognition of what people expected.
Brim nodded silently when the man offered his arm to Margot. The place made him remotely uncomfortable—though he couldn't pinpoint the reason why. He had the feeling it had more to do with his Carescrian background than anything else. He followed them through another of the many doors into a second candle-lit room with a low ceiling and exquisitely carved beams. The tables were placed on islands of rich-looking carpet where shadowed couples sat close by each other in the soft warmth—here and there, he glimpsed badges of unimaginable rank. Eight formal musicians in black ruffles played quietly from a raised dais in the center of the room. They made a sound of such exquisite elegance Brim was reminded of his visits to Collingswood's cabin. Perhaps the same music—or composer? He listened, enraptured. Another kind of poetry, he guessed. It would bear study someday—if he survived the war.
The shadow of Valentin's face suddenly intruded in his mind, and his skin prickled with remembered agony. .He gritted his teeth. Before he might involve himself in anything so beautiful as music, he would first have to deal with that evil zukeed and a lot more like him. Then he grimaced to himself and forced the anger from his mind. Tonight... Tonight, there was Margot. And he didn't intend to share her with anyone in any way—especially Leaguers!
The quiet music blended with the murmur of intimate conversation and the gentle, ringing assonance of goblets. At the far end of the room, huge growing logs blazed in a high stone fireplace. Delicate odors of spice and rich perfume blended with the smooth effervescence of meem, hogge'poa, and burning wood, the whole muzzy atmosphere creating an aura of absolute luxury Brim found difficult to believe.