David Weber - Worlds of Honor

Chou smiled. "I can see why Elizabeth chose you. You have an innate sense of protocol—very useful."

"I think," Justin said with complete honesty, "that she chose me because I met her and liked her without realizing that she was the Heir. In fairy tales, the commoner is always discovered to be a princess in disguise. Having been a princess all her life, I think that Beth found being taken for just anyone a relief."

"And soon you will be a prince," Chou said.

"By marriage." Justin turned to look at the old man. "I never wanted to be part of the aristocracy. They have too many responsibilities. Now, in order to marry the woman I love, I need to take on those responsibilities. Strange, isn't it?"

"One of life's little ironies," Chou agreed. "Since you aren't expected anywhere for a few hours, let's go look at the grav ski and then—if you don't mind—get some dinner. My treat. You can drop me off on your way to the Palace."

Justin nodded. "That sounds good."

They parked Justin's air car in a sheltered space near a small, nondescript, grey, rectangular building mingled in with other similar buildings. The place was not ugly; rooftop gardens spilled flowers down the walls. However, it did not register in the imagination.

"This place is constructed to be forgotten," Justin commented.

"That it is," Chou agreed. "A good thing. Come inside."

Justin got an indication of Chou's importance within whatever hierarchy he belonged to when his ID admitted them past checkpoint after checkpoint without need for query or confirmation. At last, Chou unlocked a door as plain and nondescript as the building itself.

"Here we are," he said. "All the materials from the crash were brought here. I've done some preliminary inspections, but I must admit that I haven't found anything significant. That's why I went back to the Indigo Salt Flats, to see if something might have been missed."

"Did you find anything?"

"No."

They inspected the shattered gear in companionable silence. Justin's area of expertise was tangential to grav technologies, but he had used grav units in the past, was familiar in theory with what made the compact device counter gravity. After a long, careful inspection he glanced at Chou.

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

An idea, faint and insubstantial as an evening shadow came to Justin as he stood studying pieces of the broken ski.

"Adderson said that the King had planned to use a different ski set."

"He said something about that to me, too."

"Do you know what happened to it?"

"It was brought back here. It's in that case over in the corner."

With a glance for permission, Justin picked up the case and swung it onto the counter.

"Can we run a diagnostic on this?"

"Sure."

Chou did not chatter, merely handed Justin the instruments he needed. Only after Justin had run the check three times did Chou finally speak.

"Very, very interesting."

"Yes."

"There's nothing at all wrong with this ski set."

Justin set down the diagnostic scanner. "I didn't think there would be. Beth gave it to her father for his birthday. New sets are rather carefully checked—especially when they're being sold to the Crown Princess."

"So that means that whoever directed the King away from using this set is in on the conspiracy," Chou said. "Or so we can hope. I'll do some checking on who was on duty that day, see if Adderson remembers specifics."

"Would there be security videos?" Justin asked hopefully.

"Not in the chalet. That was the Royal Family's private area. Now, what do you want for dinner?"

"I don't know if I have much of a stomach for eating right now," Justin answered. "I don't think I really believed that someone murdered the King until this moment."

"We don't have much evidence," Chou cautioned. "What we have is closer to the negative space in a sculpture—something that helps define what is there but is nothing in itself. A good defense council would laugh us right out of courts."

"What do we do next?"

"Dinner." Chou leaned and patted him on one arm. "You'll want it later. We'll plan while we eat."

Justin nodded. "Let's go then. I'll let you to pick a place where we won't attract attention."

"I know just the place," Chou promised.

"Some super spy hangout?" Justin tried to joke, but his voice sounded flat even to him.

"Something like that," Chou said. "I was thinking of my apartment. I'm not a bad cook."

"Let's go, then."

They put away both the pieces of the shattered grav ski and the undamaged ski before they left.

"We haven't found much," Chou said, looking into the room as he dimmed the light and closed the door. "But it's a beginning."

In a suite in a private hotel so committed to discretion that few people even knew it existed, Marvin Seltman and Jean Marrou watched the news service coverage of the first night of King Roger's wake.

"Look at them!" Seltman almost snarled. "Most of them actively opposed the King, many of them probably raised a private toast when the word of his death came, but to see them weeping you would assume they'd lost their dearest friend."

Jean Marrou turned her blind face toward the news screen. A small implant beneath one ear let her tune into special detailed commentary. The narration told her which august personages were paying their last respects to King Roger III of Manticore.

Tonight was reserved for the cream of the peerage. The new Queen and her family were present to greet them and accept their condolences. Tomorrow the lesser nobles and important commoners would be admitted—including the elected members of the House of Commons.

"I wonder if the Queen will be present when we attend tomorrow's viewing?" she said.

"Don't tell me you can't wait to meet her!" Seltman snapped.

"I have already met her," Marrou said. "She seemed like a nice child. No, I was not anticipating meeting a celebrity. I was wondering about her treecat."

"Her treecat ?" Seltman spoke the word as if he could not believe that he had heard aright.

"Yes, studies show that they have a marked telempathic sense. No doubt it's strongest with those humans they bond with, but I understand that they can `read' others as well."

"And?"

"And I was wondering if Queen Elizabeth's 'cat might be able to read us—what we've done."

"They're telempaths, not telepaths," Seltman corrected. "They read vague emotions, not thoughts. Any treecat attending the viewing is going to be so overwhelmed by strong emotions that any inadvertent hostility we let leak out will be part of the flood."

"I hope so."

"In any case," Seltman continued. "I feel no hostility at all towards our little Queen. I feel nothing but a great deal of affection. If our plan works, she is going to be our ticket to advancement."

"And to protecting the Kingdom from adverse out-system influence," Marrou said woodenly.

"Exactly, Jean, exactly," Seltman soothed. "The others should be here soon. I wonder what rumors they will have picked up? The Queen's nominee for Regent is going to be announced tomorrow, but Paderweski's savvy. She's going to have permitted some strategic leaks so that the Palace will have responses planned."

Marrou touched the implant. "We should know fairly soon. Earl Howell just departed. Paula should be on her way."

"She wasn't high enough ranking for tonight's little gathering," Seltman said, "but she was going to visit with some of the ambitious young turks. They'll have an entirely different line than Howell's."