House of Shards by Walter Jon Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

in a row of twelve.
    Roman was lacing Maijstral into a pair of trousers. The trousers were soft black; the laces were yellow. Roman’s fingers moved deftly.
    “I spoke briefly with Dolfuss,” Maijstral said. He spoke Khosali Standard. “He's enjoying himself.”
    “I spent the voyage with him, in second class,” Roman said, “and he never broke character once.”
    “I only hope no one recognizes him.”
    “It’s been years since Fin de Siecle. He was a young man then; he's changed a great deal since. And the play toured only in the Empire.”
    “Until it was banned.” Gregor, still bent over his equipment, spoke without looking up.
    “Dolfuss shouldn’t have been quite so ambiguous about the Emperor Principle. If the Empire had won the Rebellion the play might have been taken as constructive social criticism. But the Empire was touchy about the defeat, and the play merely rubbed salt in the wound.” Maijstral stretched a leg, tried a tentative dance step. “A little tight over the left hip, Roman,” he said.
    “Yes, sir.” Roman began to rethread.
    “Dolfuss has learned to make his points more subtly since, but still no one performs his work. A pity. I think this venture will enable him to mount his own production.'
    Maijstral looked up at the holographic waterfall. The liquid was unwaterlike, a quicksilver thing, falling like a slow, magic fantasy. “I wonder what Fu George is planning,” he said.
    Gregor, still wearing his goggles, seemed a particularly disreputable insect as he looked up. “He'll have to go for the Shard, won’t he?” he said. “I mean, Ralph Adverse died for it years ago, and so did Sinn Junior, and that made it priceless. Fu George’s name would live forever if he got it. And no one's stolen it for forty years..”
    “And survived,” said Roman.
    Maijstral watched insubstantial liquid tumbling over an insubstantial rim. “If it were me, I'd try for it,” he said.
    Gregor grinned. “It is you, boss.”
    Maijstral’s head tilted as he considered this. The waterfall spilled in slow accompaniment to the Snail. “So it is,” he decided. He tested his trousers again. “Good. Thank you, Roman.”
    Roman brought a jacket out. Maijstral put his arms in it. Roman began working with laces again.
    Maijstral reached into the jacket pocket, took out a deck of cards with his right hand. He fanned them one-handed. The deuce of crowns jumped from the fan to his left hand. Then the throne of bells. Duchess of hearts.
    “Vanessa Runciter is here,” he said.
    “So I understand, sir.”
    “It’s a small world.”
    “Could you raise your left arm, please? I’m having trouble fitting the holster.”
    Maijstral lifted his arm. Cards spilled upward from right hand to left, defying gravity.
    “I wonder,” he said, “if Zoot's jacket would be worth a try?”
    “I think not, sir. Our own darksuits are doubtless more advanced.”
    Maijstral sighed. “I suppose you're right. He'll probably be wearing it, anyway.”
    Another display lit on Gregor’s machine. Two blinked off. “Two burrowers,” he reported, “still in their holes.”
    *
    “It was awful. Pearl. Just awful.”
    Pearl Woman gazed at a rotating hologram of herself. She had one of Advert's cloche hats pulled down over her ears, and the effect was hideous. She pulled the hat off and snarled.
    “She asked me about the Diadem.” Advert rattling on. “I don’t know what I said. I just babbled on. I know I’m going to embarrass everyone.”
    “I’ll have to plead illness for tonight,” Pearl Woman said. “It’s going to cause comment, but I’ll have to do it.”
    “She asked me about your duel with Etienne. I didn’t even know you then. But I did say I thought his eyeglass looked silly. And that the Diadem already had a duel that year, and that his timing lacked finesse.” Advert laughed. “And then Isaid that Nichole's new play was unsuitable for her, that a Diadem role should have more grandeur. So maybe