Read The Third Claw of God Online

Authors: Adam-Troy Castro

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Fantasy, #Mystery

The Third Claw of God (9 page)

5

THE BIG LIE

The chime alerting us to the dinner party in the parlor was as affected as everything else in the Bettelhine Royal Carriage. It was a sylvan tinkle, the kind of sound that could only have been tolerated by people who frown with fey disdain whenever reminded of their social obligations. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe the moment I’d found myself thinking I’d had enough of the Bettelhine lifestyle came when the Porrinyards and I rose from the bed and found ourselves transfixed by an amenity that began with our old linens rolling into the bulkhead, continued with mechanisms in the bedframe unscrolling their replacement, and ended with puffs of mist wrapping everything in a nice, rueful emphasis onnice, floral scent to keep things embossed with perfection until our return.

I moaned. “Oh, comeon !”

The Porrinyards grinned. “Must make it convenient for any murderer who wants to dispose of forensic evidence.”

I remembered the Claw of God and did not think the comment funny. “Must.”

It didn’t take us long to get ready. I don’t own any formal clothing. But my usual severe black suit would do, as would the Porrinyards’ matching white, especially if they wore the buttonless slipon jackets they donned whenever they wished to stress their status as a matching set. I don’t wear makeup either, though both Porrinyards have been known to, depending on local custom. There was little to be done with our hair either, thanks to their skull bristle and my own longstanding habit of keeping mine short with but a single, defiant shoulder-length lock along my right cheek. This might or might not be acceptable by Xana’s standards, but to hell with the other attendees if they thought otherwise. We weren’t here to dazzle anybody.

We emerged to find the parlor inhabited by assorted Bettelhines and associates already deep in the tiresome mill-around-and-chat that always makes me want to leap off the nearest balcony. I caught a glimpse of a tall, elegant redhead in a silvery gown that left much of her back bare, disappearing through the doorway into one of the suites. Her movements looked familiar, but I didn’t see enough to place her.

I saw a nervous couple in their late fifties, the man all high sweaty forehead bald but for a spiral spit curl, the woman beaming with a desperate contact-high that did not translate to leaving the protection of the alcove where she and her husband huddled like frightened cats. When her eyes met mine she looked away in a hurry, as if afraid that even that moment of contact would be seen as impudent. Jason Bettelhine was across the room, in discussion with two men I didn’t recognize, both dressed in black suits of identical design. The taller of the two glanced our way, revealing Bettelhine features beneath a helmet of premature silver. Probably the brother Jason had mentioned. Unlike Jason, he was not smiling. The third man was balding, shiny-faced, shorter than either Bettelhine and pale in ways that went beyond mere complexion. He could stay in the sun and tan himself to a crisp, and he’d still be pale beneath the skin, all the way to the bones. He glanced my way too, and nodded in recognition. Jelaine Bettelhine was closer to us, sipping something vaporous as she chatted with the Khaajiir and a tall thin man whose face was all sharp lines. She’d changed gowns and put her hair up into a fractal swirl of the sort designed to reveal new flourishes and embellishments with every casual flip of her head. It would have looked fussy or pretentious on anybody else, but she wore it like a jeweled crown. I’ve never given a flying crap about hairstyles and I still envied her ability to pull it off, let alone her ability to put it together in the three hours since I’d last seen her. It was, I supposed, one of the inherited skills of royalty; certainly, I certainly knew few women who would have attempted that gown, a silvery bejeweled monstrosity that seemed determined to compete with the overhead lights for luminosity. She happened to spot us as we left the suite, and flashed a smile rich with either genuine warmth or a simulation too cunning to be distinguished from the real thing. “Counselor. You look radiant.”

I had two conflicting thoughts, the first beingbullshit and the second an amazed, mortifyingI do? Against my will, the latter won out, and I felt a flush come to my cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Nonsense. It’s the simple truth.” She turned to the Porrinyards. “And you too, dears. I’m afraid I don’t know the proper etiquette for addressing linked pairs, and therefore don’t know whether to say handsome or pretty, let alone when to refer to both of you and when to address you as individuals, but if you show me some indulgence I promise to learn. I look forward to setting aside any awkwardness I might have in favor of friendship.”

There wasn’t a single awkward, or less than charming, cell in her body. Damned if the Porrinyards, who could normally give as good as they got, weren’t blushing too. “You’re doing fine. I like your hair.”

“Thank you. I know you’ve already been introduced to the Khaajiir,” she said, a reference the Bocaian academic acknowledged with a nod, “but I believe this is your first encounter with one of my father’s closest associates, Mr. Monday Brown.”

The man with the sharp face blinked at me. His smile, unlike Jelaine’s, never reached his eyes. He might have been determining the profit potential in selling the Porrinyards and me for component parts.

“Counselor. How have you enjoyed your visit so far?”

I couldn’t believe he’d said that. “It’s been a little over-populated with assassins.”

His teeth were very small and very white. “I spoke with Antresc just a few minutes ago. He told me that both criminals remain unresponsive. But as his people were able to remove the microteemers implanted in their tear ducts, there’s little chance of them waking up and continuing to evade interrogation with further flashes.”

“That’s progress. I don’t suppose he’s found their confederate?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Nor has he been able to trace their travels any farther back than their embarkation on the Bursteeni homeworld. But he’s a good man. I’m certain that the second the teeming wears off, he’ll be able to get the answers from them in short order.”

The Khaajiir shifted his weight against his staff, the strain manifesting as a tremor in his upper arms. “And how will he do that, sir? Torture?”

“This is a civilized world, sir.”

“Alas,” the Khaajiir replied, “the definition of that word has always been fluid. We both know of worlds where civilization meant that slow torture only took place in soundproofed rooms. We also know, unfortunately, just what species of commerce provided our dear hosts with their riches, and therefore just what agonizing capabilities this society must be equipped to exercise at times of crisis.” He then seemed to remember his hostess. “No offense, dear.”

“None taken,” said Jelaine. “It happens to be a legitimate concern.”

“Still,” the Khaajiir continued, returning his attention to Brown, “if the preferences of the apparent target have any weight here, I would prefer to make sure that any questioning remained in the realm of the humane.”

Brown’s face flickered with something that was not politic and was not friendly. “What about Counselor Cort? She was a target too.”

My smile met Brown’s irritation head on. “I’m afraid I’m not quite so principled about the treatment of people who have tried to kill me. But I see no reason to oppose the Khaajiir here.”

Brown might have shown more resentment toward the Khaajiir and myself had we spoken for ourselves alone, but Jelaine had indicated agreement, too, and that changed everything. “If you wish. I’ll arrange for the two of you to speak with Mr. Pescziuwicz, so you can share your concerns.”

“Please,” the Khaajiir said.

As Brown wandered off, trailing an invisible cloud of resentment behind him, Jelaine’s expression turned pitying, like someone observing a wounded bird. “I must apologize for Monday. He’s never charming, but he’s at his best in my father’s presence. Any place other than with my father is, shall we say, not his habitat.”

I asked, “That doesn’t extend to being with you or Jason?”

“Oh, we can give him orders, if that’s what you mean. Father’s made it clear to him that any directives coming from us are to be considered as coming from him. But there are always about three hundred relatives within the Inner Family, with all the politics and personal competition that implies. Aides like Monday learn to back the ones they work for, clinging to them with a sort of determined possessiveness that leaves very little leeway for loyalty to any of the others. It’s a lot, I suppose, like having a pet. From their personal point of view,they ownyou . Monday’s a rather extreme example of that syndrome. My father’s his entire world.”

“He doesn’t have a family? Or friends?”

“No, he maintains quarters in my father’s house, and except for trips like this remains at my father’s beck and call from the moment my father gets up in the morning to the moment my father goes to sleep at night, taking time off only when he’s ordered to.”

The Khaajiir shifted his weight against his staff. “It’s true. I’ve seen that happen. Monday takes it like he’s being punished.”

“That’s pretty sad. Has he always been that way?”

“At least as long as he’s been working for my father.”

“What about you?” I asked her. “Do you and Jason have people like that working for you?”

“Oh, please. Subservience on his scale makes us uncomfortable. We can’t escape it, not entirely, but we prefer our loyalties earned, not imposed. So we hire out of the staff pool, as needed.” She smiled. “In any event, Andrea, is everything in your suite is to your liking?”

“I’ll feel more comfortable when I find out what this is allabout .”

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps this doesn’t all have to wait for my father. I’d love to be able to move past the ‘necessary business’ part of this relationship and proceed to what I hope shall be a warmer connection, maybe even one with that earned loyalty I talked about. Let us get you a drink first, and we’ll have a private chat. If the others will excuse us…?”

The Porrinyards took the Khaajiir with them, professing deep fascination with the sudden end of K’cenhowten’s great Dark Age.

Jelaine escorted me to the bar, which was being tended by a petite young woman with a fresh face, scarlet hair composed of artificial fibers wired to strobe with bars of orange light, and eyes like cut emeralds—which is to say, not just possessed of green irises but actually faceted, and translucent, sans any obvious whites. I’d seen stranger body-mod combinations, but could not help wondering to what degree it affected her vision. Introducing herself as Colette Wilson, and declaring herself honored to serve me, the young lady with the bejeweled eyes and the neon hair flashed the kind of smile that confirmed the opportunity to pour drinks for me a sensation somewhere between the best sex she’d ever had and direct electrical stimulation to the pleasure center of her brain. I didn’t want anything in particular, but bowed to Colette’s superior knowledge of the stock, and asked for something sweet but light, intoxicating without any euphoric or hallucinogenic aftereffects. Whatever it was also turned out to be electric blue, in a tall glass. It was sweet, as I’d requested, but one sip and I felt tingles in my fingers and toes. Light, my ass. I was going to have to nurse it. By the time Jelaine led me to a quiet spot beside the tank with the Bettelhine fish, the scattering of guests had changed configuration. The nervous couple was still hiding in the alcove, but were now talking to the redhead in the gown, whose face I could still not see. Oscin and the Khaajir had moved to a set of plush couches so the frail Bocaian could sit; he was holding forth on something which made Oscin nod with unfeigned fascination. Skye had left them to join Jason Bettelhine and his companions, her very presence seeming to lift the mood on that side of the room. The Bettelhine brothers grinned at her, delighted by whatever witty thing she’d just said. Even the pale man with them seemed impressed. I was equally certain that her bon mot had been brilliant and that the men would have reacted with just as much glee to something banal. There’s a reason why I defer to the Porrinyards on matters requiring interaction with other human beings. They’re as good at being liked as I am at not.

Jelaine saw me watching Skye. “Fascinating. The way you use them.”

I stiffened. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please, Counselor. I’m not belittling your friends—or friend, if you prefer the singular. How troublesome, referring to them can be! I can see that they’re not just assistants to you. But you’re using them as a resource right now, aren’t you? You’re using their shared perspective to gather as much intelligence as possible.” She sipped her own drink, a golden concoction in a flute. “Forgive me my sense of wonder. They’re the first linked pair I’ve ever met.”

Cylinked pairs may be rare, since the AIsource procedure that creates them is illegal on most human worlds, but I found a Bettelhine’s protestations of sheltered naïveté hard to believe. “Jason told me he had a crush on a pair of cylinked women who worked for an uncle. He said they visited the main estate on a regular basis.”

She placed a placatory hand on my wrist. “Yes, I know. I was there when he told you, remember? But you won’t find a contradiction here. I do know who he’s talking about, but I was a very naïve young girl at the time and thought they were just close in the usual way young ladies can be close. I’m afraid I never watched them at length and never registered how they functioned as a unit. I never even heard them speak at the same time, the way your lovely Oscin and Skye do. Is it really so terrible for me to be dazzled, a little? Even a little envious?”

“No,” I said, watching Skye chuckle as the Bettelhine men glanced my way. I supposed I’d become a subject of conversation. “I suppose not.”

“How did you ever meet them?”

I almost launched into a summary of my posting to the cylinder world known as One One One, but stopped myself and appraised Jelaine anew. “You know, you’re very good.”

She went wide-eyed. “At what?”

“The way you pulled me aside with hints of explanation, delayed me with a drink, and now change the subject to something safe. The way you give the impression you’ve opened up without telling me a damn thing. The way you take a wary and unpleasant person who has no intention of making friends and make her relax in her presence. Whatever else you are, you’re a born politician. But I’m not fooled, and I’m losing my patience.What is this all about? ”

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