"We are creating an atmosphere," Seltman reminded Gwinner, "which will help slow the Manticoran military build-up. A Progressive can do that as well as a Liberal. Remember, Jean rather desperately wants our system to remain a private little archipelago in the cosmos. That impulse will fuel her eloquence in our cause."
Poised to run, Jean Marrou realized how foolish that would be. If she didn't show for the meeting, then the others would become suspicious. She must make an entrance, stay, talk calmly about issues, and only then, when she was safe, consider what action to take next.
Could she confide in Howell? Hardly. He would panic and do something foolish that would get them both killed. Nor did she feel up to blackmailing the two Havenite sympathizers—even if her own loyalty to the Star Kingdom would have permitted her to do such a thing.
Chewing the inside of her lip, she reached behind her. Opening the door, she let it fall shut behind her.
"Anyone here?" she called.
Earl Howell had not been happy with Marrou's prediction that Duchess Winton-Henke would be named Regent, yet he no more doubted her than a primitive would have questioned a shaman. His dreams had been full of himself as Regent, directing the young Queen, becoming her favorite, his influence extending for centuries. A place on the Regency Council was not large enough for such dreams.
He had kept the three of them late, discussing options, tactics, plans to stop this nomination as well. Marrou had planned and plotted with the rest, aware that her safety rested on her being needed.
Then, when the hour grew late enough that even Howell's fervor had diminished, she left. First, in case someone was watching, she went to her hotel. After waiting a few hours, she went to Mount Royal Palace. Dawn was not far off when she arrived.
"I need to speak with Queen Elizabeth," she told the astonished duty guard.
"The Queen is getting her much-needed rest," the guard said. "You may leave a message and if her schedule can accommodate you . . ."
"Please!" Marrou interrupted. "I must speak with her."
"I don't have the authority to awaken the Queen for anything less than an act of war," the guard said stubbornly.
Marrou played her trump card. "Please! This has to do with what happened with Padraic Dover early today."
Her blindness felt smothering. She wished she could see the guard's expression, but she forged on. Remembering the young man hovering at the Queen's shoulder that evening, she pleaded:
"If I can't talk with the Queen, let me speak with Justin Zyrr."
This seemed to decide the guard. Putting her into a small, soundproofed waiting room, he placed a call. Sometime later, she was escorted to another room. The flatness of the noise around her told her that this room was also soundproofed.
The scent of the room held rich upholstery fabrics and some type of incense; the carpet underfoot was thick and plush. At least she was not in a holding cell. After a time, during which she was offered refreshments, she heard the door slide open.
Two people entered. One of them her computer identified as Justin Zyrr; the other was a stranger.
Zyrr spoke, "Ms. Marrou? I don't believe— Oh, yes! You're the member for South Shore, aren't you. You asked to speak with me?"
"Yes."
His words reminded her that she was a person of some small influence—nothing to a Queen or Prince Consort-to-be, but still someone. She held her head high.
"May I ask for an introduction to the person with you?"
A rasping voice, a slight chuckle underlying its notes, answered, "I'm Daniel Chou. I'm with PGS. Today I helped save Justin's life when he was attacked by Padraic Dover. I'd certainly like to know how you knew that something had happened to Dover. We've put a complete blackout on the incident."
"He didn't show up for a meeting," Marrou said firmly.
Chou's voice told her that he was at least as good at reading people as she was. She sincerely hoped that he would be able to tell that she was telling the truth.
"A meeting," Chou said. "Why don't you tell us more?"
And so she did, sparing nothing, not even her own part in the conspiracy. Apart from occasional gasps of surprise from Zyrr or a brief request that she clarify some point, they let her speak without interruption.
"When I overheard Gwinner and Seltman talking," she concluded, "I realized their motives and mine were not as closely linked as I had believed. Honestly, I feared for my own life if they came into power, but I also feared for the Star Kingdom."
"That's been your motive all along," Chou said, almost teasingly, "if we're to believe your story. You feared what King Roger would do to the Star Kingdom; then you feared your own allies. Do you have any proof of this rather extraordinary tale?"
"You can check the places and dates I mentioned," Marrou said. Her hand dropped to the computer at her waist and, feeling as if she were newly blinding herself, she detached it. "This contains a complete record of both our last meeting and the conversation I overheard between Gwinner and Seltman."
A hand accepted the device. Without the visual link, she had no idea who, but she imagined it was Zyrr.
"This could be falsified," Chou said.
"It isn't," Marrou interrupted, "but I have an idea how you can prove my good faith."
"How?" Zyrr asked.
"I know something about Sphinx treecats," she said. "I visited there some years ago. My sensors give me information enough to navigate, but I hoped that I would be adopted and that the 'cat's senses would augment my own."
Her shoulders drooped as she recalled the rejection. "None would have anything to do with me, but I did get a strong impression that they could read emotions. Perhaps the Queen's 'cat . . ."
"Ariel could," Zyrr answered, and Marrou wondered at his slight emphasis on the word "Ariel." "I'll talk to Beth."
"She needs to know this in any case," Chou agreed. "Go and find her. While you do so, I'll sit with Ms. Marrou here. We can listen to her recording. Then I'll copy it so she can have her device back."
Jean Marrou could almost hear his smile. "It's quite a remarkable device. It must be of inestimable value to you."
"It is," she said.
Then the long wait began.
There was nothing extraordinary about Willis Kemeny being summoned before the Queen. His new nomination to the Regent's council and almost certain confirmation made such a meeting inevitable.
It was rather more interesting that Baroness Gwinner and Mr. Marvin Seltman, MP, should also be summoned. Although their summons came quietly, through very discreet channels, they reached the ears of the Earl of North Hollow.
Sitting in his grav chair, his bulk billowing around him, he considered this bit of news, combined it with certain other information, and smiled greasily.
Calling his secretary, he handed her four invitations and directed that they be sent only after his spies reported that the four addressees had departed Mount Royal under their own power.
Then he returned to the work of the moment. Somehow, he suspected that Earl Howell would not be confirmed onto the Council of Regents. Sending out messages, he began to agitate for Baron High Ridge to take Howell's place. High Ridge's membership in the Conservative Association might make him less palatable to the new Queen than a Crown Loyalist, but with Howell out of the running, he might just squeak in. And North Hollow had some very interesting material on High Ridge in his files, material that might come in useful if the Regent's council needed a bit of directing.
Happily, the Earl of North Hollow went about his morning's work.
When Ariel had finished confirming Jean Marrou's essential honesty and Queen Elizabeth had heard the recordings, the Queen retired to her privy chamber and requested that Chou, Justin, and Duchess Winton-Henke meet with her there.
"I," she said pithily when all were gathered and Duchess Winton-Henke had heard the full story, "want their heads."
Ariel, bristling in her lap, telegraphed the intensity that Elizabeth would not permit herself to put in
to her voice. Monroe, lying on the chair next to Justin, raised his head and hissed.
Neither Chou nor Justin said anything, their gazes turning to the duchess.
"Then all of this must become public," Caitrin said.
"Yes," the Queen said. "What of it? They have conspired to assassinate the King—and succeeded. Two of them are Havenite minions. All are treasonous."
"They must be given a trial."
"Must they?" Elizabeth's dark eyes glinted angrily. "Did they give my father the benefit of the legal fashion in registering protests?"
"If you have them privately executed," Caitrin said evenly, "you are as much in violation of our Constitution as they are themselves. Would you like to give Haven's other allies an opportunity to bring action against you? If you are impeached, then Prince Michael takes over a kingdom in chaos. Haven will certainly strike then."
Justin Zyrr raised his hand in question. "What's wrong with a trial? Daniel and I have found some evidence, but Marrou's confession and her recordings make conviction a certainty."
"Perhaps." The duchess steepled her fingers and looked over them, her eyelids half-closed. "Before I continue, let me state that I agree with Elizabeth. I want these bastards' heads. You may forget, Beth, but Roger was my big brother, my buddy, my—"
Her voice broke. Sipping water, she steadied herself with admirable poise.
"I am only too aware of the consequences of a public trial," she continued. "First of all, Howell is one of the three or four most important Crown Loyalists. Public doubt placed on him will weaken the authority of the party—and, don't forget, they are Cromarty's most reliable allies outside of his own Centrists.
"Secondly," she continued, "publicly trying Havenite spies—both of whom are members of Parliament—will most certainly start a witch-hunt within our government. Members of the Lords hold their seats by inheritance, but those in the Commons are elected. And the Commons, if I may remind you, tend to support Crown policy. If incumbents can be challenged on their imagined Havenite leanings, the upset may lead to members being elected who will not tend to support the Crown."
Chou nodded, "And open a way for Haven to get more of its lackeys into Parliament."
"Exactly," the duchess agreed. "Who would accuse members elected on an anti-Haven platform of being spies themselves?"
Queen Elizabeth listened, her mahogany face stiff, but dark spots of color on either cheek making her anger readily apparent. Duchess Henke glanced at her, read her mood, but continued relentlessly.
"Thirdly, Marrou would almost certainly be let off with only minor penalties. Her testimony is needed to condemn the others. Although she has not once hinted that she would plea-bargain—"
Chou interrupted. "I hinted that the opportunity would be open to her and she simply looked affronted. She's ready to take her licks."
"No matter," Caitrin Winton-Henke said remorselessly. "Marrou's role in the trial cannot help but make her something of a hero in the public eye. Even if she is barred from holding office thereafter, as a private citizen she still will be in a position to influence others. Politically, her primary interests are domestic. She is actively opposed to our foreign policy. If we help to make a hero of her, we will be creating a powerful adversary."
The Queen opened her mouth, but her aunt's eyes locked on hers and her voice, cold with hard-held self-control, marched on across whatever she might have said.
"And finally, there are the foreign policy implications of making all this public. If we accuse the People's Republic of having ordered its paid agents to plan Roger's assassination and then convict those agents of that crime in open court, the very least that could happen would be severance of all diplomatic relations. And, yes, there's nothing I'd like better than to punch the bastards who paid for this right in the eye. But we're not ready yet, Beth. That's what Roger was doing, the reason they wanted him dead before he could get us ready. They don't want to hit us yet. We're too far away, and they've got too many problems closer to home. Besides, they probably figure they can use stooges like Seltman and Gwinner to keep undercutting our efforts to build up any effective opposition. But if it comes to a shooting war now, the odds are very, very good that we'd lose. If we avenge Roger's death, we risk losing the very thing he died to achieve."
Queen Elizabeth hit the flat of her palm against the table. Ariel's tail lashed back and forth.
"You make your points very well, Aunt Caitrin, but I cannot accept that these people will be permitted to go free. If a trial is unacceptable, I must take refuge in our Code Duello."
"Beth!" Justin gasped. "You couldn't!"
"Is the Queen not permitted the same recourse as a private citizen?" she responded angrily.
"Can you fire a pistol?" Chou asked, his tone one of idle curiosity, but his eyes burning.
"I can," Elizabeth said proudly. "My father made certain that both Michael and I had training."
"And how would you challenge them without making public the reasons for the challenge?" Duchess Henke said. "Remember, each one must accept your challenge. I do not believe Marvin Seltman could be so goaded. He knows that you have too much to lose if this becomes public."
"I will offer . . ." Elizabeth's voice faded, her eyes flooded with tears.
"And Marrou would have every reason to request a champion," Daniel Chou added. "And the opportunity for an enemy to offer her the use of a skilled specialist is too great to ignore."
Justin leaned across the table and took Elizabeth's hands in his, ignoring Ariel's growled threat.
"Beth, you'd be killed and for nothing. The end results of a duel would be sufficient to severely weaken the Star Kingdom."
Queen Elizabeth stayed silent for a long while, her downcast eyes studying the tabletop as if reviewing her options. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse with unshed tears.
"I most sincerely hope that I am never forced to refuse any of my subjects the choice you have taken from me today. I never realized that the Queen would be less protected by the law than the least of her subjects."
Caitrin Winton-Henke touched her arm. "Why do you think Roger so enjoyed dangerous sports? The monarch is given great power and privilege, but the cost is so high no sane person would pay it."
"Why should I then?" Elizabeth asked, her voice calm.
"Because you're a Winton," Caitrin answered, "and we all understand our duty."
"Give me your advice then," the Queen said, freeing one hand from Justin's grasp to blot the tears from her eyes, "on how we should handle this mess."
When the summons to Mount Royal came, Marvin Seltman considered taking advantage of one of the escape plans he had in place. Something about the little old man with the drooping mustaches who brought the invitation, rather than the more obvious threat of the two burly "bodyguards" who accompanied him, made him decide that such an attempt would be unlikely to succeed.
When they arrived at Mount Royal, the sight of his three co-conspirators quashed the vague hopes he had been nourishing that this was unrelated to his recent extra-legal activities. Swallowing a sigh, he permitted himself to be offered a seat and put his mind to salvaging what he could from the situation.
The group gathered in the council chamber did not offer a great deal of hope for a happy ending. There gathered were the Queen, Queen Mother Angelique, Crown Prince Michael, Dame Eliska, Duchess Winton-Henke, Justin Zyrr, and the little, wizened man who had brought him to the palace.
Queen Elizabeth's expression was cold as space, but the lashing tail of the treecat who crouched on the back of her chair gave lie to her calm.
"This meeting," the Queen began without further ceremony, "is to be regarded as a state secret, its minutes to be sealed until at least a century after my death. To speak of the proceedings will be considered treason—not that I expect that threat to trouble any of you greatly."
Her words were a beautiful bit of irony. They could be interpreted as meaning that she would not believe any here gathered capable of contemp
lating treason . . . or that she knew that several of them already were guilty of it. She continued:
"I am fully aware of—and possess incontrovertible, legally admissible proof of—the roles the four of you and the late Padraic Dover played in the death of King Roger the Third. In case you're curious, Padraic Dover met his death when he attempted to assault my promised husband. Through great good luck, my father's treecat was with Justin and saved his life."
Her words gave menace to the treecat growling at her own shoulder, but with a thrill of delight, Marvin Seltman realized that the 'cat was growling from frustration rather than because it intended to attack. His terrified fantasy that he would meet his death as had Dover vanished and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs with renewed confidence.
Queen Elizabeth's next words stole some of that confidence from him.
"Ms. Marrou and Earl Howell, from what I have learned, your crimes grew from a misplaced belief that our people were seriously threatened by King Roger's plans to expand the Star Kingdom's sphere of influence. That you turned to murder to right these wrongs rather than working within our established government was your folly. You are traitors, no doubt, but traitors who are, oddly enough, still loyal to the system you would circumvent.
"Mr. Seltman and Lady Gwinner, you have no such excuse for your actions. Not only are you murderous traitors, but we have undeniable proof that you are both in the pay of the People's Republic of Haven."
Gwinner made a small sound, as if she would, even at this late date, try to offer some excuse. The Queen's dark gaze silenced her:
"Don't try to tell us how you were led astray by Mr. Seltman. Your stock portfolio records reveal some very interesting additions that cannot be easily explained. You have had ample time to reconsider any `bad influence.' "
Earl Howell stared at his former allies, the expression on his aristocratic features an undisguised mixture of horror and revulsion. His mouth shaped words that protocol would never permit him to speak aloud:
"I never knew. I never even suspected."
Elizabeth might have pitied him, but the memory of her father's twisted body, her mother's anguished scream, kept her hard.