Adele had never met any member of Sand’s organization except the spymaster herself. Adele couldn’t imagine that Sand personally controlled all her agents, but neither did she have evidence to the contrary.
“I’d like you to be on that vessel,” Sand concluded, raising her eyebrow minutely to elicit a response.
“The Princess Cecile, you mean?” Adele asked; a genuine question because she didn’t care to assume Sand’s intentions. “Under Lieutenant Leary?”
“Both would be eminently suitable choices,” Sand said mildly, her eyes on Adele’s. There was nothing threatening in Sand’s tone or appearance, but both commanded respect. “Cruises of this sort normally involve ships no longer fit for frontline use, but a foreign-built vessel like the Princess Cecile should fit in admirably.”
Sand coughed into her hand without lowering her eyes. “Lieutenant Leary would accept the posting, you think?”
Daniel would turn nude cartwheels down Mission Boulevard if that were required to get the posting. Aloud Adele said, “I believe he will. I, ah, have in the past found working with Lieutenant Leary to be . . .”
She smiled; humor was only a part of the expression.
” . . . as much of a pleasure as the circumstances allowed. And I of course would be pleased to serve aboard the Princess Cecile.”
Sand nodded. “I try to make the lives of agents doing difficult jobs as comfortable as possible,” she said. “I want to know whether or not the government of Strymon is intriguing with the Alliance. It’s possible that you’ll be able to determine this without ever leaving your vessel. On the other hand . . .”
She turned her left hand palm down. The ring on her middle finger was set with a blue-and-white sphinx cameo which looked extremely old.
” . . . the Republic requires an accurate assessment of the situation, regardless of the risk to those gathering the information.”
Adele ran through a mental checklist of what would be required to carry out the assignment. The corvette had a full RCN communications suite which, coupled to Adele’s own equipment, would see to the hardware needs. Much of the remaining background Adele could gather herself more easily than by having Sand retail it. One aspect, though—
“Will the arrival of an RCN squadron alert the plotters?” she asked. “Perhaps even precipitate events? If there is a plot, of course.”
“It shouldn’t,” Sand said. “Strymon is a loyal Cinnabar ally—so long as it’s watched. A naval visit every six months or so is normal. The present one is actually a little overdue because of the rush to refit the fighting squadrons.”
Sand’s left arm rested on the pad of the information console. When the machine was switched on it would become a virtual keyboard; the alternative control wands waited in a slot at the edge of the pad. It was an old system, though considerably updated since Adele’s youthful visits to the Celsus.
“They’ll expect Commodore Pettin’s squadron,” Sand continued. “They will not, I think, expect an information specialist of your abilities to accompany the ordinary naval personnel.”
That raised another question. The RCN had its own channels and hierarchies; neither Adele nor Mistress Sand herself could give Daniel an order that he would obey. “I, ah, assume Lieutenant Leary will receive his assignment in the normal course of business?” she said.
Sand laughed, rising to her feet with the help of her hand against the desktop. “I’m afraid I rather anticipated your acceptance,” she said to Adele. “I believe Lieutenant Leary is getting his orders even as we speak. Though I don’t know about—”
She grinned, the satisfied expression of a person who does good work and knows it.
“—’the normal course of business.’ Still, the orders will be coming from an acknowledged superior.”
Still smiling, she waved Adele to the door ahead of her.
Chapter Three
Daniel Leary sat in the General Waiting Room of the Navy Office, eyeing the ceiling thirty feet above him. The afternoon sun slanted through the skylights. It caught the whorls of webbing which clung to the corners of the coffers and turned them into so many jeweled accents.
There were three hundred officers in the waiting room at the moment, most of them senior to Daniel. Some talked quietly; some read or pretended to read professional works or the Gazette; most sat with their eyes forward and the grim expression of people who expect to hear the worst and are determined to take it like officers of the RCN.