Justin hesitated. "She suspects her father was killed. I don't know what else she suspects. Beth . . . has a temper. I don't want to tell her something that might affect her judgement."
"Yet, if we do find proof of murder, she will need to be told."
"I know. Let's just wait until then. Tonight the wake begins. In two days she must officiate at her father's funeral. That's enough."
"As long as I know that you won't try to keep me from doing my job, I'm willing to wait." Chou grinned, impish once more. "I would have anyhow."
Justin shook his head in disbelief. One moment coolly paranoid, spinning theories that encompassed not only murder but grand treason, the next like a creature from a child's pretend, Daniel Chou was not an easy man to understand. Fortunately, he was an easy man to trust.
After departing the council, Elizabeth made her way through the convolutions of Mount Royal Palace until she came to her father's private office. Motioning to her guard to remain outside, she pressed the call button, thereby warning the occupant that she was there.
If one member of the family had been more deeply hurt by her father's death than even the Queen, it was her father's treecat, Monroe. The 'cat had been in the chalet at the moment of Roger's death and his eerie keening had forewarned the security staff that the accident had been fatal.
Monroe had returned to Mount Royal with King Roger's body but, unlike a human in a similar circumstance, he had shown no desire to sit with the body. Perhaps his carnivore's direct view of the universe accepted more immediately that a body without a spirit was just so much dead meat. Perhaps he could not bear to see his best friend's form still, cold, and bereft of his animating spirit.
Since his return to Mount Royal, Monroe had hunched, keening and ragged, on his perch in the King's office. Not even Ariel had been able to coax him to eat, but Elizabeth visited whenever she could. Treecat experts, mostly members of the Sphinx Forestry Service, had warned her that Monroe could do any number of things at this point.
Most 'cats who lost their humans (a frequent occurrence pre-prolong, as a 'cat's natural life-span was around two hundred years) suicided. That had always been the great tragedy of the human-treecat bond, yet the 'cats had always made it clear that they accepted the price they paid to adopt their human companions. Now, of course, prolong promised to reverse the age differential, and no one was certain how that would affect relations between the two species.
Normally, in a case where the 'cat did not suicide, it simply returned to Sphinx and rejoined its clan, although in very rare cases, a "widowed" 'cat would adopt another human. So far, Monroe had not indicated any desire to return to Sphinx, and his palpable grief made Elizabeth fear that she would return to her father's office to find the 'cat dead.
She slid open the office door to find Monroe sitting alone. Several members of her father's staff had offered to keep watch with Monroe, but the 'cat had become agitated, as if proximity to another's grief heightened his own.
Ariel bleeked a welcome and leapt from Elizabeth's arms to sit by Monroe. Sitting back on his true-feet, Ariel used his true-hands to groom the other 'cat. Monroe didn't move, but Elizabeth imagined hopefully that his green-gold eyes brightened in response.
"Want something to eat, Monroe?" she asked, extending a piece of celery, fresh from the crisper.
Monroe didn't even as much as curl his whiskers. Ariel grabbed the dainty from Elizabeth's hand and began chomping on it himself, bleeking and chirping what could only be encouragement.
Deciding that her interference could not help, Elizabeth sat in her father's chair and studied the clutter on his desk. Its very disorder vividly reminded her that he had only planned to be away for a day or two.
"Dad . . ." she whispered. "I wish . . ."
Her soliloquy was interrupted by the beep of her pocket com. She took it out and glanced at it, and the caller ID told her that Michael was looking for her.
"Yes, Michael?"
"Our cousins are here—Mike and Calvin. Can we come up?"
"You know where I am?"
"I asked Dover. You're in Dad's office again."
"That's right. Sure, bring them up. Did Uncle Anson come, too?"
"He's with Aunt Caitrin and Mom."
"Then come up. We have some time before the viewing."
Switching off the intercom, Elizabeth swiveled her father's chair so that she could look out the window. Below she could just see the edges of the Blue Hall where preparations were being made for her father's final public duty.
" `Viewing.' It sounds so cold," she mused aloud.
She hadn't expected any response so when a furious snarl greeted her words she leapt up and turned. On his perch, Monroe had risen on all six feet, arched his back, and was hissing at the group clustered in the doorway.
"I guess we should have knocked," Michael managed to say, his eyes wide.
"Don't worry," Elizabeth said, motioning them into the room. "Monroe hasn't been himself since Dad died."
Her words were comforting, but she did not dismiss the 'cat's response lightly. Ariel reinforced her own impression that Monroe had been reacting to something—or someone—specific.
Who or what? Certainly the 'cat had not been responding to any of the small group now clustered in the office. The Henke cousins had been in and out of the Palace all of Elizabeth's life. It couldn't have been Mike or Cal that Monroe had spat at.
Who though? Not for the first time, Elizabeth wished that her ability to communicate with Ariel extended beyond their empathic bond. Ariel certainly knew more than he could tell, but they were trapped by an unbreachable language barrier.
Even if Monroe had caught a stray thought or emotion from someone passing by, there had been the usual corridor traffic in addition to the guards escorting Michael and the Henkes, far too many people in the area to make guessing easy.
Impulse passed, Monroe was now slouched in his earlier apathy.
Shaking her head, Elizabeth filed the mystery for later consideration and turned her attention to her cousins. Both were darker skinned than Michael or Beth and both wore their curly hair close-cropped, but there was no doubt which of the two was the girl.
Michelle Henke—firmly established as "Mike," much to Prince Michael's disgruntlement—possessed definite femininity that not even the uniform of a Navy lieutenant could disguise. Her brother, Calvin, had taken his degree on Manticore and was already firmly in place as the Earl of Gold Peak's right-hand man.
Mike was the first to bridge the silence. She crossed to Elizabeth and embraced her. The Queen was touched to realize that despite her own deep and very real grief, Mike's dominant emotion was concern for her.
"I can't say how sorry I am about Uncle Roger, Beth." Mike shrugged. "There just aren't words."
"No, there aren't," Calvin agreed. "How are you holding up, Beth?"
"They've kept me so busy I haven't really had time to accept that he won't be coming back," Elizabeth answered honestly.
"I wish they'd keep me that busy," Michael said forlornly. "I've had too much time to think. Mike, what can you tell me about the Navy?"
"That's a big question, Michael. What is it you want to know?"
"I guess I want to know whether I should . . ." He choked back a sob. "Should I . . ."
"Join like your dad wanted you to?"
Crown Prince Michael nodded.
Lord Calvin Henke dropped into a chair.
"Maybe you should think about it from the other point of view, Mikey," he said. "What would you do if you don't join the Navy? There aren't many jobs out there for heirs apparent—even if all they're in line for is an earldom, like me. And unlike me, you can't depend on inheriting the title."
"Depend on?" Michael looked puzzled.
"Unless I die first," Calvin clarified, "I will someday inherit my father's title and responsibilities. In your case, as soon as Beth and Justin start churning out more Wintons you get shoved back a step or two in the succession. You have a lot more
freedom than Beth or I do. What do you want to do with it?"
Michael frowned. "I never really thought of it that way. Dad was so careful to tell me how important a duty I had. The way you put it, I'm just so many spare parts."
Mike Henke laughed, a rich contralto that warmed the room.
"Welcome to the club, cousin. I, for one, want to stay spare parts. Cal can be Earl. I'm going to be an Admiral. How about you?"
When the thirteen year-old didn't answer, Calvin picked up the discussion.
"Honestly, Michael, you could get away without doing much of anything. There's always a demand for royals to officiate at ceremonies. Or you could get into politics. One of the advantages of being a Winton is you have a seat in the Lords waiting for you. As long as you don't break too openly with Beth, you could have a vigorous career. The Crown Loyalists would just drool if you were at their meetings. Then there's the ambitious younger set. You could join them."
Michael's eyes widened. "I don't want to make a career of meetings! Dad always made Beth and me go to some of the open sessions of Parliament. I've never been so bored!"
"Think about it," Calvin said, refusing to relent. "There is power there, power and influence. Not all of it would be because your sister is the Queen."
Beth hid her smile in Ariel's fur as Mike took over where her brother had left off. King Roger should have let the Henkes double-team Mikey years ago!
"In the Navy," Mike said, "the question of privilege is less important. Oh, sure, there are those who rise due to family connections—I'm not going to even pretend otherwise. But after a point the jerks get bumped out on half-pay and the better officers rise to the plum commands. There's also prize money to consider. I have an inheritance coming to me and a good allowance, but I love the idea of making my own fortune."
This last caught Michael's attention. Neither Queen Angelique nor King Roger had believed that their children should be spoiled. He was still young enough that the idea of a fortune of his own, for which he would not have to answer to anyone, was quite enticing. Still, he hesitated.
"I'd hate to be one of those who fail," he said, "one of those who end up out on half-pay. What if I flunk out? My grades haven't been the best lately."
"You won't know unless you try," Mike said practically. "My Academy roommate was a dunce at math. Her astrogation was more intuitive than logical, but since she had promise in other areas, her instructors worked with her, and she graduated near the top of our class anyway. You're a prince of the House of Winton. They're going to have real incentive to work with you."
The intercom chimed, warning them that they would be expected at dinner within the quarter hour.
"Can we talk more about this?" Michael asked. He glanced at his father's desk as if he expected to see him sitting there. "I want to do the right thing—and not just try to make Dad happy."
"You bet," Mike draped a hand around his shoulder. "Would Your Royal Highness care to escort the Honorable Michelle to dinner?"
Michael laughed and took her arm with grace.
"In the absence of your fiancé," Calvin said, offering his arm to Elizabeth, "may I escort Your Majesty?"
The playful fashion in which he used her new title reassured Elizabeth that her cousins were determined to treat her with respect—and not to let her get too far above herself. Happily, she lightly stroked Monroe good-bye, gathered Ariel, and accepted Calvin's arm.
When the door opened, Monroe raised his head as if listening for something. His head remained raised, his ears perked, long after the door had closed behind them.
"When do you need to be anywhere?" Daniel Chou asked Justin.
"I need to be at the Palace for the viewing later tonight. I bowed out of a dinner invitation though," Justin said. "The Henkes—King Roger's sister's family—are coming in."
"Don't you like them?"
"I do, quite a bit, but I thought that the families might relax more if I wasn't present. They need the space to weep and, even if I am special to Elizabeth, to most of them I'm still something of a stranger."
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.