Cherry tapped the side of his nose. “Oh, the admiral’s given out that it’s because of the business on Kostroma,” he said, “and I suppose most of the guests believe that. But some of us know the real reason Speaker Leary’s son has been sent on this mission. I understand you’re an intimate of Mr. Leary yourself?”
Adele swallowed, hoping that her shocked expression would be put down to the mouthful she’d just consumed. The bug had been pickled before being coated with honey; the combination of flavors would take a great deal of getting used to.
“In a manner of speaking,” she said. “We’re on duty for the full period of the cruise, of course.”
Adele had bitten back a retort along the lines of, “And what do you mean by ‘intimate,’ sir?” when she recalled that she had duties to Mistress Sand. If this fat civilian was ready to blurt secrets to Mr. Leary’s light-o’-love, then it wasn’t the business of Mistress Sand’s agent to disabuse him.
“Yes, yes, of course,” Cherry agreed through a nibble of bread. “The deception has worked excellently, you’ll be pleased to know. Why, the common folk here are falling over all of you on the say-so of Admiral Torgis. And you’ll notice that the admiral pretends he doesn’t even know that the President-to-be has arrived on Sexburga.”
“Delos Vaughn isn’t here,” Tovera agreed. “Nor is Mistress Zane. All the other persons who met Captain Leary at the Captal da Lund’s dwelling are here.”
“Yes,” Adele said mildly as she speared a sausage from her plate. Another result of her earlier privations was that she tended to the foods of the highest calorie and protein content; starches and greens were relatively cheap. “Quite a clever ploy for a man who appears to be a bluff old spacer, isn’t it?”
“Between us . . .” Cherry said. Surely no one could be so great a fool as to believe that anything shared among conspirators as amateurish as Cherry and his friends wouldn’t also be common knowledge with anyone else who cared? “I think the idea came from young Gerson. He’s the one who’s been appointed as our liaison with the Republic.”
“I see,” said Adele. “I’d noticed that Mr. Gerson spends rather more money than his position on the admiral’s staff would run to. That explains it.”
Which it did. Adele had examined Admiral Torgis’s record, both the public version and the one Mistress Sand had provided. The admiral was exactly what he seemed, a well-born, reasonably competent RCN officer who’d been put in place on Sexburga because of its value as a fleet base if trouble broke out again in the Sack.
Giving a gala reception for a naval hero was perfectly in character for him. Involvement in subtle diplomatic and intelligence activity was as unlikely as Torgis defecting to the Alliance.
And to corrupt a man like Gerson, who borrowed large sums of money and spent it in the form of cash, would be no more difficult than persuading a bitch in heat to couple. Adele didn’t know what Gerson’s unpleasant vice was, but it was obvious that he had one.
On the third floor guests danced to the accompaniment of a percussion band which played castanets, tambourines, and a glockenspiel. The effect was melodious and, though penetrating, didn’t overwhelm speech even on the outskirts of the dancers. When the stairwell door opened, however, chiming music poured out over the refreshment room. It drew the attention of all the diners.
Admiral Torgis, imposing in Dress Whites instead of civilian attire, strode out of the stairwell looking even more red-faced than he had when Adele met him in the reception line. Behind him, his right hand gripping her left and pulling her along, was a woman who could pass for his twin sister but was in fact his wife. Lady Torgis wore a white dress with gold braid in the form of panels and hussar knots: not a uniform, but close enough to one to make her Tweedledee to the admiral’s Tweedledum.
“Damned elevators in this place take forever!” Torgis boomed. “Who needs them, eh, Lieutenant? A companionway was always good enough for me during forty years of service!”