The Summer Queen (116 page)

“Moon—” He broke off, as another knock sounded at his door.
Moon let go of him, her eyes startled.

“Justice Gundhalinu!” a voice called, muffled but clearly
audible beyond the door.

“Capella Goodventure,” Moon said, her surprise deepening.

“Justice Gundhalinu!” The Goodventure elder’s voice reached
them again, louder and more demanding. “I know you’re in there.”

“There was another hunt today,” Moon said, her expression
turning distant and gray. “Wasn’t there? She’s come about the mers.”

“Yes.” He looked down, away from the grief in her eyes, toward
the door

“I think you should speak to her.”

He nodded, resigned, the burning need inside him suddenly
gone to ashes. He refastened his shirt; went to the door and opened it,
revealing Capella Goodventure’s startled, angry face. Her disbelief at seeing
him face to face would have been laughable, under other circumstances. “Come
in,” he said wearily, standing aside.

She pushed her way past him, as if he had tried to bar her
way; stopped dead, as she discovered Moon Dawntreader waiting in the hall
behind him. The Goodventure elder stared at the Summer Queen, at her clothing;
turned back to look at him, at his own disheveled clothes. “You—?” she said
softly, shaking her head.

Capella Goodventure hugged her arms against her chest, beneath
the loose folds of her cloak, as she moved toward Moon. “I thought I would find
him dallying with some foolish, empty-headed market girl. But you, and him—This
is why the hunts go on, why nothing we do is enough. You—and him!” Her head
jerked in his direction.

“No,” Moon said, swallowing her chagrin. “He is with us,
Capella. He wants to save the mers. He is doing all he can for them, just as he
has for our people.”

“He controls policy for the Hegemony. He controls what his
people here can or cannot do; or so he claims—” Capella Goodventure looked back
at him, her eyes like searchlights. “And today not only did they slaughter the
Lady’s sacred children, but they also sank the ships of our people who tried to
stop it. Three people drowned—one was my own grandchild! Is that how you
intended to help us, Justice?”

Moon murmured something under her breath, a prayer or a
curse.

“Three people dead?” BZ repeated. “No one gave them orders
to do that. They’ll be punished to the full—”

“No!” Capella Goodventure’s voice was shrill with hysteria. “No,
the punishment is the Lady’s, by right. It is my duty as Her hand, to deal it
out to those who are guilty—” She withdrew her hands from beneath her cloak.

BZ froze as he saw the gleam of metal in both her fists. He
threw himself forward, trying to knock her off balance as she lunged at Moon.
As he caught her, she swung around, bringing up one of the blades. He felt a
sickening pain lance through him as his own momentum drove the blade into his
side. He caught her other arm as it flailed wildly at his face; her eyes were
blind with frenzy, and her strength was incredible. Moon’s hands locked over
the older woman’s wrist, dragging her back away from him. She let go of the
knife handle, setting him free; he staggered two steps and fell to his knees,
as his body suddenly refused to obey him. He dragged himself up again, as Moon
cried out; he saw blood on the other blade, as the two women struggled against
the wall.

“Justice!” Abruptly there was a fourth person in the
hallway. He saw a blur of blue uniform, realized it was Kitaro who had somehow
appeared there. She pushed past him, her drawn stunner useless in the cramped
space. She caught Capella Goodventure from behind with an arm lock and dragged
her away from Moon, still screaming, still swinging the knife wildly. “Lady!
Get out of here! Out!” Kitaro gasped. “I called for help—”

“BZ—” Moon hesitated, turning back to him, clutching her
bloodsoaked sleeve. Her eyes filled with frantic concern.

“I’m all right,” he said roughly. “Go now, before somebody
comes.”

She nodded, ashen-faced, tight-lipped. He watched her go out
the door, disappearing from his sight. Kitaro turned, glancing at him. “Justice—”

“No!” He lurched forward as Capella Goodventure twisted
suddenly, with insane fury, blind to her own pain as she drove the remaining
knife into Kitaro’s chest, once, twice. Kitaro screamed, and fell. The
Goodventure woman turned back to him, and there was nothing human in her eyes.
She started toward him with the knife.

His hands tightened over the slippery hilt protruding from
his side; he jerked it free, cursing with agony. He held it ready in his fist,
pressed back against the wall.

“Freeze!”

The hall behind him suddenly filled with uniforms, patrolmen
answering Kitaro’s summons.

Capella Goodventure stared at them, her eyes wild and unreadable,
the knife still in her hand. They had their stunners out, trained on her as
they eased into the hallway, surrounding her. “Drop it,” someone said grimly. “Come
on, let it go—”

She looked back at Gundhalinu with something like despair,
her trembling hands tightening harder and harder around the knife she held, as
if it were a precious treasure. And then, suddenly, she drove the blade into
her own chest, into her heart, with a wail of anguish that made him shudder.
She dropped like a stone to the floor, and lay still.

They were all around him then, supporting him, seeing to his
wound, trying to staunch the river of blood that seemed to be welling out of
him, as if he contained an endless source of it. He watched it defy them,
watched it flow, watched blue figures working over the two motionless bodies
that lay at his feet. He heard the rushing of the river in his ears, as his
vision slowly became a tapestry of golden static, golden/blackness, until
blackness swallowed them all.

“Gods, how could this happen?”

Jerusha PalaThion glanced up from where she sat at Gundhalinu’s
bedside, as Vhanu murmured the question for the third or fourth time since he
had entered the hospital room. He turned away restlessly from the bed where
Gundhalinu lay, still unconscious.

“He is going to be all right—?” He asked that for the second
time, of the medtech who stood studying the displays on the monitor above the
bed.

The technician nodded. “He’ll be all right, Commander. He
lost a lot of blood, but we put it back. The knife didn’t hit anything
critical. In fact, he’s showing signs of increasing brain activity. He should
wake up any time now.”

“Thank the gods,” Vhanu said. “How could he have let that
woman into his home, armed with knives?” He faced Jerusha at last, finally
speaking the doubts she had read in his eyes. “Why didn’t his security system
warn him she was armed?”

“He’d just had another caller,” Jerusha said, glancing at BZ’s
face, seeing a random muscle twitch in his cheek. “He must have forgotten to
reset it.”

Vhanu grunted. “Was it Kitaro?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Looks like it.”

He shook his head again, and muttered a curse. “Gods, what a
pointless tragedy.” He swung around, staring at the closed door as if he could
see through walls. “What in the name of a thousand ancestors made that woman suddenly
go berserk and try to assassinate the Chief Justice?”

Jerusha shrugged. “It probably had something to do with the
mer hunts,” she said, carefully noncommittal. “The mers are considered sacred
by the Summers, you know.” He glanced at her, frowning, looking for criticism. “Capella
Goodventure was an extremely conservative woman,” she finished, keeping her
expression neutral. “Even fanatical.”

“These miserable dashtanu,” he muttered. “After all we’ve
done for them. Nothing makes any sense here, nothing seems to go right here!
What is it about this place—?” He broke off, as Gundhalinu stirred beside her.

She looked back at Gundhalinu’s face, saw his eyes flicker
open and stare blindly, as if he had been looking into the sun. He murmured
something; she could not make out the words. “BZ—” she said softly, and his
head turned toward her. Vhanu crossed the room in three strides, and stopped
beside her.

“Jerusha,” BZ whispered, half in surprise, and half in
relief. He tried to push himself up, getting nowhere; went limp again, with a
spasm of pain. “Moon ... is she all right? Is she safe, did she get away?”

Jerusha froze; nodded imperceptibly, before she glanced at
Vhanu, trying to carry BZ’s attention with her.

“What did he say?” Vhanu asked sharply. “He said ‘Moon.’”

“No, he didn’t,” she answered.

“Yes he did. He said ‘Moon.’ Is he talking about the Summer
Queen?”

“He’s disoriented,” she insisted. “I couldn’t tell what he
was saying. Justice—” She put a hand on Gundhalinu’s shoulder, in comfort, in
warning. “The Commander is here with me, sir.”

Gundhalinu blinked and grimaced. “You’re Commander now, ma’am,”
he whispered, almost inaudible. “No ... I mean I am ...”He shook his head, barely,
and made a sound that might have been a laugh. “Vhanu,” he said, with real recognition
this time. “You are.” He smiled; the smile disappeared as quickly as it had
formed. “Is she all right?”

“Who?” Vhanu said flatly.

BZ looked up at him, clear-eyed. “Kitaro,” he said. “Is she
all right—?”

Vhanu’s face changed. He looked down. “She’s dead, BZ.”

“No ...” Gundhalinu shut his eyes; she saw a tremor pass
through him. “Oh, |-no. Oh gods, no.”

“There was nothing they could do for her, Justice,” Jerusha
said, as gently as : could; resenting the fact that Vhanu called him by his
given name, as a friend ould, and would not permit her to do the same. “She
died instantly.”

“It was my fault ...”he said.

“No.”

“If we hadn’t been—” He broke off.

She glanced at Vhanu again, unable to tell what his
expression was.

“May I see him?” a voice asked unexpectedly, from the doorway.

Vhanu turned, startled by the sudden presence of someone
else behind him.

The Queen. Jerusha pushed to her feet, staring in surprise.

“Yes ... of course, Lady,” Vhanu murmured. He bowed formally;
Jerusha rose and did the same, as Moon entered the room.

“I came as soon as I heard,” she said, her attention already
abandoning them for the man lying in the bed.

“He just regained consciousness, Lady,” Vhanu said, intersecting
her course. “This isn’t the best time for you to speak to him—”

She stopped, glancing at him, and away again. Jerusha
noticed that one of her hands was clenched whitely at her side; the other hung
loose-fingered and oddly still against the folds of her cloak.

“I’m all right—” BZ’s own voice, thready but resolute, cut
off Vhanu’s attempt to stop her. He pushed himself up onto an elbow; Jerusha
saw in his eyes what the effort cost him.

“I am so glad to hear it, from your own lips, Justice Gundhalinu,”
Moon said softly. She bowed her head, in a gesture of relief, barely concealing
the other emotion that reddened her cheeks.

“You know that it was one of your own people who tried to
kill the Chief Justice?” Vhanu said. “And who murdered a Police inspector—?”

“Yes.” She lifted her head. “And killed herself, as well
.... Words are useless to express my sorrow that such a terrible thing has
happened here.” She looked toward Gundhalinu, turning away from Vhanu; the
anguish and helpless longing on her face were suddenly, perfectly clear from
where Jerusha sat. “I feel ... responsible.” Jerusha watched her one hand
tighten again. “Tell me if there is anything I can do to help—”

By the Boatman, Jerusha thought, with a sinking feeling. She
was there with him. Kitaro had not been having an affair with him, as she’d let
everyone on the force think she was. She’d been covering for him. It was Moon
he’d been seeing. Jerusha swore silently. She should have guessed it sooner;
she should have known But she rarely even saw BZ, lately. If she’d still been
working for the Queen she would have sensed it—even if she hadn’t been told,
she knew the woman too well, after so many years. She would have seen the truth
long before now. If only she’d known ...

“You can start by keeping your Summers out of our way when
we hunt the mere, instead of encouraging them,” Vhanu said, to Moon’s turned
back. “You set off _dangerous fanatics like that Goodventure woman—”

Moon faced him again. “What ‘set her off,’” she said, her
voice hard with pain,  “was that your hunters attacked Summer vessels. Three
people drowned, including her own grandchild.”

Jerusha stiffened, looking toward Vhanu. Gundhalinu pushed
himself up in the bed.

“Where did you hear that, Lady?” Vhanu asked, his eyes suddenly
as cold as the icebound peaks of the inland.

“From one of my people,” she said, her own eyes like ice. “Is
it true?”

His frown deepened.

“Is it, Vhanu?” Gundhalinu asked, supporting himself on one
elbow.

“For gods’ sakes,” Vhanu snapped, looking at the Queen. “This
is hardly the time or place to be making such accusations, with the Chief
Justice barely recovered from an attack on his life—”

“Vhanu—” Gundhalinu said, angrily. “Is it?”

Vhanu turned back, and Jerusha saw his eyes. “Summers interfered
with our hunt, as usual, sir. We warned them off. No casualties were recorded.”
He’s lying, she thought. Ye gods, he’s lying.

“Look into it,” BZ said.

“Yes, BZ,” Vhanu murmured. “But I doubt there’s any truth to—”

“Look into it immediately, Commander.”

Vhanu’s eyes flickered. “Yes, sir,” he said. He turned away,
abruptly colliding with the Queen. Moon made a small guttural sound, not of
surprise, but pain.

“Forgive me .... Did I hurt you, Lady?” Vhanu asked, with
just enough solicitude, just enough surprise. He laid a hand on her arm, as if
reaching out to support her. Jerusha saw her wince involuntarily. “Do you have
an injury?”

Moon moved away from his hand. “I strained my arm lifting
crates, Commander Vhanu.”