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 glove-soft 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.
‘Subbat’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