Conventions of War (46 page)

At last there came a moment when the last message had been sent, the last weapon readied, the last plan made, revised, and remade. Then, as the sun touched the horizon, Sula walked into the safe house she shared with Casimir and found him dressed in his long Chesko coat with the triangular mirrors, the shining boots, the long walking stick with its glittering globe of rock crystal.

The room had a strange scent of lavender, and she paused in the door in astonishment. He turned to her, the skirts of his coat swirling, and made an elaborate bow.

“Welcome, Lady Sula,” he said. “We're going out tonight.”

“You're mad,” Sula said. “Do you realize how much—”

“Everything's taken care of,” Casimir said. “The soldiers are doing all the work, and the general can relax.” He took a step to one side and revealed the green moiré gown that he'd draped on the bed. “I've provided more suitable clothing for an evening out.”

Sula closed the door behind her and took a few dazed steps into the room. “Casimir,” she said, “I'm a complete
wreck
. I haven't slept in days. I'm keeping myself going on coffee and sugar. I can't do
anything
like this.”

“I have drawn a relaxing bath,” he said. He made an elaborate show of looking at his sleeve display. “Our car will pick us up in half an hour.”

Wondering, Sula walked into the bathroom, shed her clothing, and stepped into the lavender-scented bath. She lay back in the lukewarm water and commanded the hot water tap to open. She added hot water until steam was rising from the surface of the water, then lay back and closed her eyes. It was only an instant before she jerked awake to Casimir's knock.

“The car will be here in ten minutes,” he said.

She busied herself quickly with the soap, then dried, brushed her hair, applied cosmetic and scent. She stepped naked into the front room to put on the gown, and Casimir watched from a corner chair, a connoisseur's smile on his face. The gown fit perfectly. He rose from his chair and bent to kiss one of her bare shoulders, a brush of lips on her clavicle that sent a shimmer of pleasure along her nerves.

The car was a long sedan, driven by Casimir's two Torminel bodyguards. It was the first time she had seen the guards since Casimir went underground, when their conspicuousness necessitated shifting them to other duties.

The car eased its way through the growing shadows and delivered them to the side entrance of a club on the Petty Mount. The place was dark, with a few spotlights here and there, on a table beneath an immaculate crisp white tablecloth, on the gleaming dance floor, on the empty bandstand. A tall Lai-own waitron stood in reflected light by the table.

“Sir,” he said. “Madam.”

The Lai-own poured champagne for Casimir and sparkling water for Sula, then vanished into the darkness. Sula turned to Casimir.

“You've done this just for us?” she asked.

“Not entirely for us alone,” he said, and then she heard Veronika's laugh.

She came in with Julien, both dressed well and expensively, if not with Casimir's flair for style. Veronika wore her glittering anklet. Sula hadn't seen her since her exit from jail. Veronika looked at her as she approached, and her eyes went wide.

“They tell me you're a Peer!” she said. “They say you're the White Ghost, in command of the secret army!” She waved a hand dismissively. “I tell everyone that I knew you when you were just a math teacher!”

The waitron brought more drinks and their meal. When they finished eating and were served coffee, a four-piece Cree band came in and began setting up their instruments. A shiver of apprehension wafted up Sula's spine as she remembered the Cree in the haberdashery, the one who had first addressed her as the White Ghost.
You are she,
he had said.

The Cree with his wonderfully acute hearing must have recognized her voice from the brief video clips in
Resistance
. Now she wondered if she dared speak in front of the band.

She touched Casimir's thigh and leaned next to him.

“Are you sure we're safe here?” she asked.

He grinned. “I have two extraction teams waiting outside,” he said. “Anybody comes, they're in for a fight.” He nuzzled close to drop a kiss on her earlobe. “And I've got the escape route planned. Just like you taught me.”

“After the war,” she said, “the Riverside Clique will be found to have acquired a very dangerous collection of skill sets.”

The band began to play. The two couples stepped onto the dance floor and Sula's nervousness faded. In the slow dances, she clung to Casimir, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed, existing happily in a world of sensation: the music that beat in time to her heart, the sway of Casimir's weight against hers, the deep musky scent of his warm body. In the faster dances, she was content to let him guide her, as he had all evening, a responsibility he accepted with silent gravity. He was focused entirely on her, his face composed in an expression of solemn regard, his dark eyes rarely leaving her face.

The band fell silent. The dancers' applause was swallowed in the huge empty room. Casimir took her hand and led her to the table.

“This next act is just for you,” he said.

A Terran woman stepped onto the stage in a rustling flounce of skirts, her face and hands powdered white except for round rouged spots high on each cheek. She carried herself like a warrior, her chin high, imperious pride glittering from her eyes.

A derivoo. Sula's heart surged, and she pressed Casimir's hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Julien raised an eyebrow. “I hope you realize what a sacrifice the rest of us are making,” he said.

The derivoo stood in a spotlight, one of the Cree played a single chord, and the derivoo began to sing. The single strong voice rang in the air, proclaiming a passionate love fated to become anguish, a lover once adoring now turned to stone. Each syllable raked Sula's nerves; each word seared. The singer proclaimed the confrontation of one lone heart with the Void, pure in the knowledge that the victory of the Void was foreordained.

For the next half hour the lone brave voice faced every horror: sadness, isolation, death, lost love, violence, terror. There was no pity in the world of the derivoo, but neither was there surrender. The derivoo walked proudly into the realm of death, and died with scorn and defiance on her tongue.

The performance was brilliant. Sula stared in silent rapture throughout, except for the moments when she burned her hands with furious applause.

It was the most perfect thing she could imagine, to hear these songs just before making a desperate gamble with her own life. It was good to be reminded that her own existence was just a spark in the darkness, so brief that it scarcely mattered whether it ended now or later.

At the end of her performance, the derivoo held for a moment a pose of pure defiance, then turned and vanished into the darkness. Sula applauded and shouted, but the singer scorned the very idea of an encore.

Sula turned to Casimir. “That was wonderful,” she breathed.

“Yes, it was.” He took her hand. “I watched you the whole time. I've never seen an expression like that on your face.”

“Sing like that,” she said, “and you'll see it again.” She turned to Julien and Veronika. “What did you think?” she asked.

Veronika's eyes were wide. “I had no
idea,
” she said. “I've never seen derivoo live before.”

Julien loosened his collar. “For me, it was a little intense,” he said, “but she's a terrific performer, I'll hand you that.”

The two couples parted. Casimir and Sula returned to the long car with the Torminel bodyguards and followed the vehicles of the extraction team out of the area. When they were alone in the apartment, which still smelled of the lavender bath oil, Sula put her arms around Casimir and gave him a long, grateful kiss.

“That was the most perfect evening I can imagine,” she said.

His body was warm against hers. “I wanted to give you one special night to remember,” he said, “before our time together ends.”

Her nerves gave a leap at his words. She looked at him.

“What do you mean?”

There seemed an extra measure of gravel in Casimir's deep voice, as if there were an obstruction in his throat, but there was perfect logic in his words.

“Project Daliang will either succeed or not,” he said. “If it fails, we won't have much to worry about, because it's likely one or both of us will be dead. But if it succeeds, then you become Lady Sula again, and I stay who I am. Lady Sula lives in a whole different world from me.” He attempted a defiant grin. “But that's all right. It's as it should be. I have no right to complain, being what I am.”

Her mind whirled, but she managed to assemble a protest. “That doesn't have to be true.”

Casimir laughed. “What are you going to do?” he said. “Introduce me to your Peer friends? And what will I be to
them
? An exotic pet.”

Sula took a step away from him. She felt her face harden into anger. “That is simply not true,” she said.

There was a touch of scorn in his voice. “Of course it is. I'm a cliqueman. The only way I can get into the High City is to fight my way in with an army.”

Angry words boiled up from her heart, but she caught them at the last minute.
Don't destroy this,
she thought. She had smashed perfect evenings in the past, and she would smash this one if she wasn't careful.

“I'm fighting my way in too,” she said.

“Yes. And I know how much it must have cost you to get where you are now.”

Her mind staggered under the certainty that Casimir somehow knew about Caro Sula. How
could
he? she thought wildly.

“What do you mean?” she said in a whisper.

“The night that Julien was arrested,” Casimir said. “That performance you put on in my office, showing up naked under your coat. I was completely boggled by what you did that night.” He reached out a cool hand and drew a long finger along her bare shoulder. “You haven't acted like that since, but then you haven't had to. You got what you wanted—me clear of Julien's arrest, which you'd arranged so you could get old Sergius on your side in the war.”

Her nerves turned to ice. “Who else knows?” she said.

“I figured it out, but that's because I was there to see that very impressive show you put on for my benefit. Julien will never guess, but I wouldn't put it past Sergius to work it out eventually.”

Sula let out a long breath. Her head swam.

“Yes,” she said. “I manipulated you at first.” A nervous laugh rasped past her throat. “Why not? I didn't know you.” She looked at him. “But I know you now. You're not someone I can simply use any longer.”

His brows came together. “What accent is that?”

She could only stare. “What?”

“You're speaking in a different accent now. Not Riverside, not High City.”

Sula cast her thoughts back and reformed the words in her mind. “Spannan,” she said. “The Fabs. Where I was b—I mean, where I grew up.”

“You were on Spannan long enough to pick up the voice, but you left and became Lady Sula, with the swank accent. And that's what you'll do again, once we win the war.” He turned away, his fingers pressed to his forehead. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I've upset you. I shouldn't have brought this up tonight, not before we make our move on the High City. You need to be focused on that, not on anything I say.”

She watched him, despair rising like a flood to drown her heart. “Look,” she said, “I'm dreadful at being Lady Sula. I'm an absolutely awful Peer.” She followed him, touched his arm. “I'm much better at being Gredel. At being the White Ghost.”

Casimir looked at her hand on his arm. A bitter smile twisted his lips. “You may hate being Lady Sula, but that's who you are. That's who you'll have to be, if we win. And I'll still be Casimir Massoud, the cliqueman from Riverside. Where does that leave me, when all the Peers come back to run things?”

I am
not
Lady Sula!
she thought desperately. But it wasn't something she could say aloud, and even if she did, it wouldn't make any difference.

Sula dropped her hand and straightened, as defiant in her despair as any derivoo.

“It leaves you Lord Sula,” she said, “if you want to be.”

His jaw dropped in astonishment and he turned to face her. “You can't mean it.”

“Why not?” she said. “You couldn't be any worse a Peer than I am.”

A trace of scorn crossed his face. “They'll laugh,” he said. “I'll be a freak—a cliqueman in a High City palace. Until someone finds out some of the things I've done, and then I'll be tried and strangled.”

“Wrong.” Urgency sent the words spilling in a cascade from her lips. “You don't remember that I've promised amnesties. Once you get your amnesty, you don't have to go back to your old life. You're an honored businessman, probably with a medal and the thanks of the empire.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “And what happens then? I sit in a palace and rot?”

“No. You make money.” A hysterical laugh bubbled from deep within her. “You don't get it, do you? How the Peers made their money? They
stole
it.” She laughed again. “Only they did it legally! If you have the right connections, if you have the right name, you can wedge yourself into legitimate business and collect your dues forever. It's not called protection, it's not called extortion, it's a
patron-client relationship
! You just need to learn the right
vocabulary
!”

Sula couldn't stand still any longer. She walked the two paces to the outside wall, then walked back again, then repeated the circuit. “There are two ways to take the High City,” she said as she walked. “One is with guns, and we'll do that in two days. The other way is with the right name, and Sula is one of the right names. You have
no idea
how ripe the empire is for plunder. The whole place is tottering, and not just because the Naxids have got greedy. I say we turn pirate and leave the place in smoking ruins. What do
you
say?”