Walter Williams - Conventions of War

Casimir suggested items from the menu, and the elderly waitron, whose stolid, disapproving old face suggested he had seen many like Casimir come and go, suggested others. Sula followed one of Casimir’s suggestions, and found her ostrich steak tender and full of savor; the krek-tubers, mashed with bits of truffle, were slightly oily but full of complex flavors that lingered long on her palate.

Casimir and Julien ordered elaborate drinks, a variety of starters, and a broad selection of desserts, and competed with each other for throwing money away. Half what they ordered was never eaten or drunk. Julien was exuberant and brash, and Casimir displayed sparks of sardonic wit. Veronika popped her wide eyes open like a perpetually astonished child and giggled a great deal.

From the restaurant they motored to a club, a place atop a tall building in Grandview, the neighborhood where Sula had once lived until she had to blow up her apartment with a group of Naxid police inside. The broad granite dome of the Great Refuge, the highest point of the High City, brooded down on them through the tall glass walls above the bar. Casimir and Julien flung more money away on drinks and tips to waitrons, bartenders, and musicians. If the Naxid occupation was hurting their business, it wasn’t showing.

Sula knew she was supposed to be impressed by this. But even years ago, when she was Lamey’s girl, she hadn’t been impressed by the money he and his crowd threw away. She knew too well where the money came from.

She was more impressed by Casimir once he took her onto the dance floor. His long-fingered hands embraced her gently, but behind the gentleness she sensed the solidity of muscle and bone and mass, the calculation of his mind. His attention in the dance was entirely on her, his somber dark eyes intense as they gazed into her face while his body reacted to her weight and motion.

This one thinks!she thought in surprise.

That might make things easy or make them hard. At any rate, it made the calculation more difficult.

“Where are you from?” he asked her after they’d sat down. “How come I haven’t seen you before?” Julien and Veronika were still on the dance floor, Veronika swirling with expert grace around Julien’s enthusiastic clumsiness.

“I lived on the ring,” Sula said. “Before they blew it up.”

“What did you do there?”

“I was a math teacher.”

His eyes widened.

“Give me a math problem and try me,” Sula urged, but he didn’t reply. She wondered if her phony occupation had shocked him.

“When I was in school,” he said, “I didn’t have math teachers like you.”

“You didn’t think teachers went to clubs?” she said.

A slow thought crossed his face. He leaned closer and his eyes narrowed. “What I don’t understand,” he said, “is why, when you’re from the ring, you talk like you’ve spent your life in Riverside.”

Sula’s nerves sang a warning. She laughed. “Did I say I’ve spent my whole life on the ring?” she asked. “I don’t think so.”

“I could check your documents,” his eyes hardening, “but of course you sell false documents, so that wouldn’t help.”

The tension between them was like a coiled serpent ready to strike. She raised an eyebrow. “You still think I’m a provocateur?” she asked. “I haven’t asked you to do a single illegal thing all night.”

One index finger tapped a slow rhythm on the matte surface of the table before them. “I think you’re dangerous,” he said.

Sula looked at him and held his gaze. “You’re right,” she said.

Casimir gave a huff of breath and drew back. Cushions of aesa leather received him. “Why don’t you drink?” he asked.

“I grew up around drunks,” she said. “I don’t want to be like that, not ever.”

Which was true, and perhaps Casimir sensed it, because he nodded. “And you lived in Riverside.”

“I lived in Zanshaa City till my parents were executed.”

His glance was sharp. “For what?”

She shrugged. “For lots of things, I guess. I was little, and I didn’t ask.”

He cast an uneasy look at the dancers. “My father was executed, too. Strangled.”

Sula nodded. “I thought you knew what I meant when I talked about derivoo.”

“I knew.” Eyes still scanning the dance floor. “But I still think derivoo’s depressing.”

She found a grin spreading across her face. “We should dance now.”

“Yes.” His grin answered hers. “We should.”

They danced till they were both breathless, and then Casimir moved the party to another club, in the Hotel of Many Blessings, where there was more dancing, more drinking, more money spread around. After which he said they should take a breather, and he took them into an elevator lined with what looked like mother-of-pearl and bade it rise to the penthouse.

The door opened to Casimir’s thumbprint. The room was swathed in shiny draperies, and the furniture was low and comfortable. A table was laid with a cold supper, meats and cheeses and flat wroncho bread, pickles, chutneys, elaborate tarts and cakes, and bottles lying in a tray of shaved ice. It had obviously been intended all along that the evening end here.

Sula put together an open-faced sandwich-nice Vigo plates, she noticed, a clean modern design-then began to rehearse her exit. Surely it was not coincidental that a pair of bedrooms were very handy.

I’ve got to work in the morning.It certainly sounded more plausible thanI’ve got to go organize a counterrebellion.

Casimir put his walking stick in a rack that had probably been made for it specially and reached for a pair of small packages, each with glossy wrapping and a brilliant scarlet ribbon. He presented one each to Sula and Veronika. “With thanks for a wonderful evening.”

The gift proved to be perfume, a crystal bottle containing Sengra, made with the musk of the rare and reclusive atauba tree-crawlers of Paycahp. The small vial in her hand might have set Casimir back twenty zeniths or more-probably more, since Sengra was exactly the sort of thing that wouldn’t be coming down from orbit for years, not with the ring gone.

Veronika opened her package and popped her eyes open wide-that gesture was going to look silly on her when she was fifty, Sula thought-and gave a squeal of delight. She opted for a more moderate response and kissed Casimir’s cheek.

There was the sting of stubble against her lips. He looked at her with calculation. There was a very male scent to him.

She was about to bring up the work she had to do in the morning when there was a chime from Casimir’s sleeve display. He gave a scowl of annoyance and answered.

“Casimir,” came a strange voice. “We’ve got a situation.”

“Wait,” he said, left the room and closed the door behind him. Sula munched a pickle while the others waited in silence.

Casimir returned with the scowl still firm on his face. Without a trace of apology, he looked at Sula and Veronika and said, “Sorry, but the evening’s over. Something’s come up.”

Veronika pouted and reached for her jacket. Casimir reached for Sula’s arm to draw her to the door. She looked at him. “What’s just happened?”

He gave her an impatient, insolent look-it was none of her business, after all-then thought better of it and shrugged. “Not what’s happened, but what’s going to happen in a few hours. The Naxids are declaring food rationing.”

“They’rewhat?” Sula’s first reaction was outrage. Casimir opened the door for her, and she hesitated there, thinking. He quivered with impatience.

“Congratulations,” she said finally. “The Naxids have just made you very rich.”

“I’ll call you,” he said.

“I’ll be rich too,” she said. “Ration cards will cost you a hundred apiece.”