Michael Flynn - The January Dancer

Lady Cargo pointed at Greystroke. “You, sir, are a Krinthic merchant-trader—my people have checked your bona fides with House Kellenikos—but this man…” And now the bony finger was aimed at Hugh. “This man, you hired elsewhere. On Die Bold? Let me suggest to you that it was Ringbao della Costa who presented you with the artifact.”

Greystroke bowed, extending his arm gracefully. “You are wise beyond your years, lady.” Hugh, thinking furiously, wondered what was going on. The Pup was improvising over this unexpected development.

“You took it from Gronvius, didn’t you, Ringbao? No need to prevaricate. Gronvius was a traitor, and deserved to die. But what you took from him—or what he sold you—was my property.”

Hugh thought, Gronvius? Aloud, he followed Greystroke’s lead. “I did not know him by that name.”

“It doesn’t matter what Todor Captain Gronvius called himself. He was a renegade. You see, when I said prehuman artifacts are priceless I didn’t mean you couldn’t sell them. Oh, no. They can command stiff prices in the right places. This temptation proved too much for Captain Gronvius and others in the squadron escorting the artifact. He mutinied, and fled with the statue. He tried to hide on Die Bold, but our detectives tracked him down. Witnesses described his two companions. One of them was you.” She produced a printout of the Die Bold police sketches.

“Hardly a companion, lady. Chance-met drinkers in a bar.”

“No, his quarters were thoroughly searched. His movements were carefully backtracked. There is no hiding hole; no safe-deposit box. He must have had the Twisting Stone on his person; and you took it from him when he was executed.”

Hugh did not think “executed” was the proper word. The assassins had also tried to kill him; but he did not bring it up. “And how do you know that this…Gronvius, you said? How do you know that Gronvius had your artifact?”

“Bakhtiyar Commodore Saukkonen was in command of the squadron. He escaped the mutiny and told us what had happened.”

“Ah,” said Greystroke, his head bobbing. “Yes. Certain matters now become clear. Ringbao, you were less than forthcoming with me about that odd little brick, and you’ve put me in an embarrassing position respecting our hostess; perhaps even damaging the compact we recently entered into. We’ll speak about this tonight. ’Spozhá,” he added, “you have but to name a fair price and we will bring the artifact to you tomorrow. I will accept a draught for the finder’s fee in Gladiola Bills or in Krinthic ‘owls.’ If your people could have that ready by seven tomorrow, I will provide you with an affidavit showing provenance, sworn and notarized. And the unsavory business on Die Bold should only add to its allure.”

“Yes,” said Lady Cargo distantly, “art loves a scandal.”

In their ground car, after leaving the estate, Hugh took a deep breath. “I hadn’t expected that.”

“That Radha doesn’t have the Dancer, after all?”

“That, too. I meant that we would leave the estate alive.”

“Ah. Well, I wouldn’t worry too much. It was easier for them to let us fetch the Dancer than to torture its location out of us.”

“As long as it was easier…”

“By the way, just so you know. I have a little appliance here that neutralizes listening devices like the one they planted behind the sun-shield.”

Hugh blinked, turned down the sun-shield, and saw a small scorch mark the size of a pinpoint. He flipped it back up. “Neutralized, alright. They’ll probably follow us.”

Greystroke looked in his mirror. “Yes, I expect so. Old habits. They think we’ll lead them to the Dancer and save them the cost of a finder’s fee. Not worth the effort. Once she has the Dancer in her hands, she can simply tell us we’ve already been paid—or that no payment was promised—and we’d believe her. But there’s the slight chance that we may abscond with the statue. She doesn’t think we know what it is; but she’s certain we can get a better deal from any other collector in the Spiral Arm. Greed and power make people stupid.”

“I’ll try to remember that, if and when.”

The Pup snorted. “Yes. She should have offered us payment enough that we’d be sure to bring it. Well, when we check the car back into the agency, it shouldn’t be beyond the skills of the Ghost of Ardow to blend into the crowds and disappear. Buy a disposable handy, call the others, and tell them to abandon our rooms, and fall back on the secondary reservations. Lady Cargo knows the names we rented under, and it doesn’t take much for the ICC to call in a favor or two from the government of ’Saken. You know the code word?”

“The Fudir told me it was ‘skedaddle.’”

Greystroke shook his head. “Terrans.”

“You know, Pup, unless Todor was lying in the Mild Beast…”

“Yes. This Commodore Saukkonen must have the Dancer. Once the officers in the fleet learned what it was, the temptation proved too great. Why turn it over to the chairman when you can keep it for yourself?”

“Some tried to stop him.”

“The ones who had no chance of gaining it for themselves, excuse my cynicism. But it no longer matters one way or the other. Saukkonen knows logistics, and has probably been making preparations for his coup. But I noticed something interesting in the tangle of the tale. The Dancer’s powers have limits…”

“…Or else Lady Cargo wouldn’t still be so eager to obtain it. I saw that. Saukkonen could have told her to forget the whole thing—stone, legend, everything. I wonder if she does remember the Stone’s powers, or only that she wanted desperately to obtain it.”

“In either case, there are some things—deep desires, perhaps—that the Dancer cannot edit.”

“There’s your answer, then.”

Greystroke turned a questioning look on him.

“We have to make sure that recovering the Dancer is our deepest desire.”

The Pup shook his head. “I don’t think it works that way.”

Hugh had purchased new clothing, discarded his identifications, and was walking through a narrow alley between two warehouses on his way to their fallback hotel in a run-down part of the City when he sensed another man walking close behind him. He began to consider his options. He hadn’t been such a fool as to take a weapon to the Dalhousie Estate, and that meant the only weapons he now had were those he could improvise from the materials in the alley. Of course, the Glens of Ardow had taught him improvisation.

“Rest easy, friend,” he heard a voice say. “I followed you because no one can follow him .”

Hugh danced a few paces ahead and spun around. The man who had accosted him was unshaven and wore stinking rags. His fingernails were black with dirt and grime. But most of all, he was large. Hugh, not a small man, came only to his shoulder. He looked up.

“Hello, Grimpen.”

When he reached the hotel, the others were already waiting. Hugh stepped inside, leading Grimpen. He looked at Bridget ban. “He followed me home. Can we keep him?”

“I cannot tell you,” Grimpen said later, “how much a hot bath and a change of clothes mean to me. There is no greater pleasure in life. Well, perhaps one.” He had but lately emerged from Bridget ban’s refreshing room, now groomed, shaven, cleaned, and wearing a nondescript “shiki” favored by residents of the Fourteenth District. He stretched, and the space he occupied doubled. Then he looked about the dayroom of the apartment.

“You, I know,” he said to Bridget ban. And to Greystroke, “You, I know of. And you—Hugh, is it?—have been traveling with Greystroke; but I don’t know you and I don’t know your friend.”