Michael Flynn - The January Dancer

The others turned to the screen on the wall. Bridget ban said, “Do you think anyone saw you?”

Hugh raised his brows. “A deserted street, late at night? Of course, someone saw us. There were a lot of window—Hush. That’s Alkorry Street.”

Another Killing in Crossford District, the newsreader told them. Three dead, all outlanders. Rifle duel in Alkorry Street leaves both dead. Bystander killed while leaving local. Bad timing, eh what? Your comments on our site. Does allowing outlanders to come and go freely put our citizens at risk? We Want to Know. Robert seeking two witnesses. Sketches from residents. Call Robert with information.

“Ravn was a lot thinner,” Hugh said of one of the police sketches, “and her hair was bright yellow. They might identify us from those reconstructions, but…”

“Wisht!” said Bridget ban, and she pointed to the screen.

A pale, fleshy dough face was displayed there, one with an ingratiating smile, shown among a festive crowd.

Rough Love Tryst Gone Awry. Go-Hidei Kutezov, ICC factor on Die Bold dies in S-M bondage ritual. Kinky secret life. Neighbor says, “We had no idea he was like that.” A lesson for all. Robert finds secret cache of pain-love instruments. See here, go-Hidei at Klabarra Day party, Regent’s Palace. Actress Jo-wan Venable on arm. Is she rough-sex partner? She says no. Robert seeking information. Your comments on our site. Is Jo-wan telling truth? We Want to Know!

The news then shifted to sports and Bridget ban said, “Off,” to the screen. In the short silence that followed, Hugh said, “Who’s Robert?”

“It’s their name for the metropolitan police department,” said Bridget ban. “The found er, I suppose. It’s why the agents are called bobbers.”

Greystroke turned to Bridget ban. “You never mentioned you killed him, Cu. But I can’t say I blame you, if he was like that. Duty, and all that; but there are limits.”

“Fash it! I did nae sich thing! Believe me, Pup, I’d hae known were he that sort o’ man! An’ he was nae.”

“Ravn was a busy little girl last night,” said Hugh.

Greystroke looked at him. “You think it was her?”

The Ghost of Ardow shrugged. “Call it a hunch. If she was curious what Qing was up to, she had to be even more curious what the Hound following Qing was up to. She may realize by now that you’re working with her.”

The Fudir cackled. “‘In cahoots,’ we say.”

Hugh made a long face. “Treason, she’d say. Excuse me. The tea is ready. I’m thinking to do a systemic risk analysis on our next move.”

“We know what the bleeding risks are,” the Fudir called after him.

Hugh stuck his head back into the room. “It isn’t the risk categories,” he said. “It’s how they impact one another. There’s a portfolio of risks to consider, and their causal chains. It may be more important to manage the causality of the relationships than to manage the risks themselves.”

When he had disappeared again into the kitchen, Greystroke said, “Is he serious? We’re about to stick our heads into the mouth of a Sable Tiger, and he thinks we need to enumerate the teeth in its jaws?”

The Fudir pursed his lips. “Well,” he said. “Something could go wrong.”

Later that morning, as the posse checked out of the hotel, the Fudir contrived to be in the same ground car as Little Hugh. When they stepped from the colonnade to the line of spaceport shuttles, the Fudir carefully scanned the windows of the hotels bordering the other three sides of the Place of the Chooser. As these were also for the most part hotels of many stories, that meant a lot of windows to study.

“Don’t worry,” Hugh told him. “She’s gone on ahead to Old ’Saken. The best way to follow someone is to learn where he’s going, and then get there first. She’s not ready to kill you or Greystroke yet. Not until she’s certain that ‘Qing’ is derelict in his duty or has joined forces with the enemy. Besides, it’s Donovan she wants—to give him his assignment. You she’ll only torture until you tell her what she needs to know.”

“That’s a relief. How do you know she’s gone to ’Saken?”

“It’s what I’d do.”

“Uh-hunh.”

“Well, we both think like assassins.”

“Usually, when I get ‘two,’ I have a couple ones around somewhere.”

“So. She must know by now that we’re tracking the phantom fleet. If she didn’t learn it from the ’Cockers, she learned it from our attempt to contact Todor. So, that’s one. And then because your buddy Greystroke was palling with a known Hound, she tracked Bridget ban to the factor’s home and then…One beautiful woman seduces him, and right after she leaves, a second one comes to his door. He must have thought he had died and gone to heaven.”

The Fudir grunted. “Well, he was half right. Okay. ‘Qing is following the phantom fleet’ plus ‘the fleet is from the ICC’ equals ‘next stop Old ’Saken.’ Where’d you pick up Terran words like ‘buddy’ and ‘pal’?”

“Where do you think? Give me a couple months more, and I could pass for Terran.”

The Fudir showed what he thought of that possibility. When they reached the cab line, the Fudir told the luggage cart to stop and he loaded the coffers into the lorry’s boot while the driver held the door open for Hugh. The shuttle was large on the inside, with plenty of headroom and legroom. The Fudir climbed in beside him, noticed the driver had gone back to his seat, and reached out to swing the door closed. Hugh stretched his legs out straight. “This is so much better than those auto-rickshaws on Jehovah. You’d think nobody there grew to nineteen hands.”

The Fudir told the driver to take them to the number two beanstalk. The driver blinked and looked to Hugh for confirmation. “You heard him,” he said in his manager’s voice. The Fudir shut the partition with more force than required, but Hugh said nothing about the driver’s snub. That would only further irritate the Terran.

“Now what’s all this about risks?” the Fudir asked. “I know what we can do about Lady Cargo and her irresistible commands. There’s an old Terran story that covers it. But what else were you thinking of?”

“You want the Risk Management Lecture?”

“No.”

“Pity. It’s one of my better ones. All right. We know what failure is. Lady Cargo imposes her iron whims on Old ’Saken. More so than she already has, I suppose. And maybe on Die Bold and Friesing’s World, since they’re only one day’s streaming from one another. That’s not really as bad as the Cynthians, when you stop to think about it. The Molnar would have carried it with himself on every raid and induced surrender from every planet he attacked. I can’t see old Lady Cargo riding a circuit. But now there’s a chance the Confederates will try to get hold of it. If Those of Name…”

“I thought about that when I thought Greystroke was Olafsson Qing. They make the Cynthians look like fluffy bunnies.”

“Agreed. But there’s another problem. What is success?”

The Fudir did not answer for a space. Hugh watched him stare out the cab’s window at the rows of stores along Èlfiuji’s main business street. “Success?” he said finally. “Success is making all that not happen.”

“Aye, but who gets the Dancer afterward, Fudir?” Hugh asked softly.

“You still planning to rule New Eireann with it?”

“No, and I’m not too worried about Bridget ban. She thinks the Ardry should have it, and I suppose that’s harmless enough as long as I stay away from High Tara and Tully King O’Connor doesn’t. But Greystroke…”