The Shining Ones (22 page)

We must candidly admit that Melidere was no innocent. Few members of any court really are. An innocent girl has only one option in her dealings with the opposite sex. A more worldly girl has two, and this was the crux of Melidere’s dilemma. Stragen, of course, would make a perfectly acceptable paramour. He was presentable, interesting, and he had exquisite manners. Melidere’s reputation at court would not be tarnished by a liaison with him; quite the reverse, actually. That had originally been her intention, and the time had come for her to take the final step and to invite him to her bedchamber and have done with it. The liaison could be brief, or it could be extended – renewed each time Stragen visited Cimmura. That would give the affair a certain status, while at the same time leaving them both free to pursue other amusements, as was normal in such situations. Melidere, however, was not sure if that was all she wanted. More and more, of late, she had found herself thinking of a more permanent arrangement, and therein lay the dilemma.

There is a rhythm, almost a tide, in the affairs of the heart. When that tide reaches its high point, a lady must
give certain signals to her quarry. One set of signals points toward the bedchamber; the other, toward the altar. Melidere could no longer put it off. She had to decide which set of signal flags to hoist.

Stragen intrigued her. There was a sense of dangerous excitement about him, and Melidere, a creature of the court, was attracted by that. It could be intoxicating, addictive, but she was not entirely sure that the excitement would not begin to pall as the years went by.

There was, moreover, the problem of Stragen himself. His irregular origins and lack of any official status had made him overly sensitive, and he continually imagined slights where none had been intended. He hovered around the edges of Ehlana’s court like an uninvited guest at a banquet, always fearful that he might be summarily ejected. He had the outsider’s awe of the nobility, seeming at times to view aristocrats almost as members of another species. Melidere knew that if she decided to marry him, she would have to attack that first. She personally knew that titles were a sham and that legitimacy could be purchased, but how was she going to persuade Stragen of that? She could easily buy him out of bastardy and into the aristocracy, but that would mean that she would have to reveal the secret she had kept locked in her heart since childhood. Melidere had always concealed the fact that she was one of the wealthiest people at court, largely because her fabulous wealth had not been legally obtained.

And there it was! She almost laughed when she realized how simple it was. If she really wanted to marry Stragen, all she’d have to do would be to share her secret with him. That would put them on equal footing and tear down the largely imaginary barrier.

Melidere was a baroness, but her title had not been in her family for very long. Her father, a man with huge shoulders and a mop of curly blond hair, had begun life
as a blacksmith in Cardos, and he had amassed a fortune with a simple invention which he had crafted in his forge. Most people look upon gold coins as money – something with intrinsic and unalterable value. There are some, however, who realize that the value of a coin lies in the social agreement saying that it is worth what the words stamped on its face say that it’s worth. The words do not change, even if the edge of the coin has been lightly brushed with a file or a sharp knife a few times. The tiny fragments of pure gold thus obtained do not amount to very much if one files or carves the edge of
one
coin. If one tampers with a thousand coins, however, that’s quite another matter. Governments try to discourage the practice by milling the edges of coins during the stamping process. A milled coin has a series of indentations around its edge, and if the edge has been filed or carved, it is immediately apparent. Melidere’s father had contrived a way to get around that. He had carefully crafted a set of re-milling dies, one die for each size coin. A blacksmith will not handle enough coins in his entire life to make enough to pay for the effort of hammering out such equipment. Melidere’s father was a genius, however. He did not make the dies for his own use, nor did he sell them. Instead, he rented them, along with the services of highly trained operators, taking a small percentage as his fee.

Melidere smiled. She was positive that very few gold coins in the whole of Eosia were of true weight, and she also knew that five percent of the difference between face value and true value was stacked in ingots in the hidden vault in the basement of her own manor house near Cardos. Once she had made Stragen aware of the fact that she was a bigger and more successful thief than he was, the rest would be easy. His illusions about her nobility would fall away to be replaced with an almost reverential respect for her consummate dishonesty. She
could even show him the source of her wealth, for she always carried the most prized memento of her childhood, her father’s original dies. Even now, they nestled in velvet in the ornately carved rosewood case on her dressing table, polished steel jewels more valuable than diamonds.

Even as she realized that the means to marry Stragen were at hand, she also realized that she had already made her decision. She
would
marry him. She would, the very next time she saw him, hoist
those
signal flags rather than the others.

Then she thought of something else. Her father’s activities had been confined to the Eosian Continent. All of Tamuli was literally awash with virgin coins unviolated by file or knife-edge. Once he realized that, Stragen would not
walk
to the altar, he would
run.

Melidere smiled and picked up her hairbrush. She hummed softly to herself as she brushed her long, honey-blonde hair. Like any good Elene girl, she had attacked the problem logically, and, as it almost always did, logic had won out. Logic was a friendly and comforting thing to have around, particularly if morality didn’t interfere.

‘Hold it,’ Stragen whispered as the three of them started down the broad staircase descending to the third floor. ‘There’s still somebody down there.’

‘What’s he doing this late?’ Mirtai asked. ‘They all went home hours ago.’

‘We could go ask him,’ Caalador said.

‘Don’t be absurd. Is it a watchman?’

‘I don’t know,’ Stragen replied. ‘I didn’t see him. I just caught a flicker of candlelight. Somebody down there opened a door.’

‘Some drudge working late, most likely.’ Caalador shrugged.

‘Now what?’ Mirtai asked.

‘We wait.’ Caalador sat down on the top step.

Stragen considered it. ‘Why don’t the two of you stay here?’ he suggested. ‘I’ll go have a look. If he’s settling in for the night, there’s not much point in camping on these stairs until morning.’ He went on down, his glovesoft shoes making no sound on the mother-of-pearl tiles. When he reached the hallway below, he saw the fine line of candlelight glowing out from under a door at the far end. He moved quickly with the confidence of long practice. When he reached the door, he heard voices.

Stragen did not even consider listening at the door. That was far too amateurish. He slipped into the room adjoining the lighted one, felt his way carefully to the wall, and set his ear against it.

He couldn’t hear a sound. He swore under his breath, and went back out into the hallway. Then he padded on past the door with the candlelight coming out from under it and entered the room on the other side. He could hear the two men talking as soon as he entered.

‘Our esteemed Prime Minister is slowly beginning to grasp the situation,’ a rusty-sounding voice was saying. ‘It’s a struggle, though. Pondia Subat’s severely limited when something new appears on the horizon.’

‘That’s more or less to be expected, your Excellency.’ Stragen recognized the second voice. It was Teovin, the Director of the Secret Police. ‘The Prime Minister’s almost as much a figurehead as the Emperor.’

‘You’ve noticed,’ the rusty-sounding man replied.

‘Subat’s not likely to ask too many questions. As long as he’s aware of the situation in general terms, he’ll probably prefer to let us handle things without personally learning too many of the details. That gives us a fairly free rein, and that’s what we wanted in the first place. Have you made any progress with the others?’

‘Some. I have to broach the subject rather carefully,
you realize. The Elene strumpet’s made many friends here at court. They all listen to me, though. I hold the keys to the Treasury, and that helps to get their attention. Most of the ministries are ceremonial, so I haven’t wasted much time on the men who head them. The Ministry of Culture’s probably not going to be of much use – or the Ministry of Education either, for that matter.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that one, your Excellency. The Ministry of Education controls the universities. We have to think past the current emergency. I don’t think either of us wants whole generations to go through life believing that Interior and Exchequer are hot-beds of treason. Technically, we
are
acting contrary to the Emperor’s wishes.’

‘That’s true, I suppose, but the Ministry of the Interior controls the police, and Exchequer levies and collects the taxes. We’re neither one of us ever going to be very popular, no matter what we do. But you’re probably right. If the history professors at the universities start telling their students that we’re traitors, people might start claiming that it’s their patriotic duty to ignore the officers of the law or to stop paying their taxes.’

‘That raises an interesting point, Chancellor Gashon,’ Teovin mused. ‘You’ve got a sort of police force, haven’t you? – muscular fellows who accompany your taxcollectors to make sure that people pay what they owe?’

‘Oh, yes. One way or the other,
everybody
pays his taxes. I get money – or blood – from all of them.’

‘Follow me on this, if you will. The Elenes probably know that Interior – and most likely the army as well – are opposed to them, so they’ll try their very best to disrupt our customary operations. I’d like to conceal some of my more valuable people. Do you suppose I might transfer them into
your
enforcement branch? That
way I’ll still have a functional operation – even if the Elenes start burning down police stations.’

‘I can manage that, Teovin. Is there anything else you’ll need?’

‘Money, Chancellor Gashon.’

There was a pained silence. ‘Would you accept eternal friendship instead?’

‘Afraid not, your Excellency. I have to bribe people.’ Teovin paused. There’s an idea. I could probably use some form of tax-immunity as an inducement in many cases.’

‘I don’t recognize the term.’

‘We give people an exemption from taxation in exchange for their cooperation.’

‘That’s immoral!’ Gashon gasped. That’s the most shocking thing I’ve ever heard in my whole life!’

‘It was only a thought.’

‘Don’t even suggest something like that, Teovin. It makes my blood run cold. Can we get out of here? Police stations make me apprehensive for some reason.’

‘Of course, your Excellency. I think we’ve covered the things we wanted to keep private.’

Stragen sat in the dark office listening as the two men pushed back their chairs and went out into the corridor. He heard Teovin’s key turn in the lock of his office door. The blond thief waited for perhaps ten minutes, and then he went back to the foot of the staircase. They’re gone now,’ he called up the stairs in a loud whisper.

Mirtai and Caalador came on down. ‘Who was it?’ Caalador asked.

‘The head of the secret police and the Chancellor of the Exchequer,’ Stragen replied. ‘It was a very enlightening conversation. Teovin’s enlisting other ministries to help him. They don’t know what he’s
really
up to, but he’s managed to convince several of them that it’s in their own interest to join him.’

‘We can sort out the politics later,’ Caalador said. ‘It’s almost midnight. Let’s get to burgling.’

‘There’s no need,’ Stragen shrugged. ‘I’ve found what we’re looking for.’

‘Isn’t that disgusting?’ Caalador said to the Atan giantess. ‘He tosses it off as if it weren’t really very important. All right, Stragen, stun us with your brilliance. Make my eyes pop out, and make Mirtai swoon with admiration.’

‘I can’t really take much credit for it,’ Stragen confessed. ‘I stumbled across it, actually. It
is
a secret room. I was right about that. We still have to find the door, though, and make sure that the documents we want are inside, but the room’s in the right place. I should have thought of it immediately.’

‘Where is it?’ Mirtai asked.

‘Right next to Teovin’s office.’

‘That’s the logical place, right enough,’ Caalador noted. ‘How did you find it?’

‘Well, I haven’t actually found it yet, but I’ve reasoned out its existence.’

‘Don’t throw away your soft shoes or your black clothes just yet, Caalador,’ Mirtai advised.

‘You hurt me, love,’ Stragen protested.

‘I’ve seen Elene reasoning go awry before. Why don’t you tell us about it?’

‘I wanted to do some constructive eavesdropping, so I went into the adjoining office to listen to Teovin and Chancellor of the Exchequer Gashon’s conversation.’

‘And?’

‘I couldn’t hear a thing.’

‘The walls are stone, Stragen,’ she pointed out, ‘and they’ve got sea-shells glued to them.’

‘There’s no such thing as a soundproof wall, Mirtai. There are always cracks and crannies that the mortar doesn’t seep into. Anyway, when I tried the office on the other side, I could hear everything. Believe me,
there’s a room between that first office and the one Teovin uses.’

‘It
does
sort of fit together, dorlin’,’ Caalador said to Mirtai. ‘The door to that room would almost
have
to be in Teovin’s office, wouldn’t it? Those documents are sensitive, and he wouldn’t want just anybody to have access to them. If we’d just taken a little while to think our way through it, we could have saved ourselves a lot of time.’

‘It wasn’t a total waste,’ Mirtai smiled. ‘I’ve learned the art of burglary, and I’ve had the chance to absolutely wallow in your affection. You two have made me happier than I could possibly say. The office door’s certain to be locked, you know.’