“No,” she said, “only the ordinary ones. The offer is my own.”
“But someone would have to … effectuate this design.”
“That is the province of the secret weapon.”
“I would have to know more about it.”
“I’ve offered you a service and I’ve promised you total discretion. I will go no further as to means.”
“If this idea is wholly your own, it would seem that you stand to benefit from it personally. How? What’s in it for you?”
She looked away. She was silent for a long time. “Your file,” she said at last. “It was … fascinating reading it. You’re one of the few people here close to my own age, and you’ve led such an interesting life. You can’t imagine how dull most of the things I have to read are-agricultural reports, trade figures, appropriations studies. I have no social life whatsoever. I am always on call. Every party I attend is really a state function in one form or another. I read your file over and over and I wondered about you. I … I have something of a crush on you. I know it sounds silly, but it’s true. When I saw some of the recent reports and realized that you might be in great danger, I decided I would help you if I could. I have access to all sorts of state secrets. One of them would provide me with the means of helping you. Using it would benefit you without damaging Begma, but it would be disloyal of me to discuss it further. I’ve always wanted to meet you, and I was very jealous of my sister when you took her out today. And I still wish you’d stop by later.”
I stared at her. Then I raised my wineglass to her and took a drink.
“You are … amazing,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was either an on-the-spot fabrication or it was true. If it were true, it was somewhat pathetic; if not, I thought it a rather clever bit of quick thinking, calculated to hit me in that wonderfully vulnerable place, the ego. She deserved either my sympathy or my wariest admiration. So I added, “I’d like to meet the person who wrote the reports. There may be a great creative talent going to waste in a government office.”
She smiled, raised her own glass and touched it to mine.
“Think about it,” she said.
“I can honestly say I won’t forget you,” I told her.
We both returned to our food, and I spent the next five minutes or so catching up. Bill decently allowed me to do this. Also, I think, he was waiting to be certain that my conversation with Nayda was finally concluded.
At last he winked at me.
“Got a minute?” he asked.
“Afraid so,” I said.
“I won’t even ask whether it was business or pleasure going on on the other side.”
“It was a pleasure,” I said, “but a strange business. Don’t ask or I’ll miss dessert.”
“I’ll summarize,” he said. “The coronation in Kashfa will take place tomorrow.”
“Not wasting any time, are we?”
“No. The gentleman who will be taking the throne is Arkans, Duke of Shadburne. He’s been in and out of various Kashfan governments in fairly responsible positions any number of times over the years. He actually knows how things work, and he’s distantly related to one of the earlier monarchs. Didn’t get along well with Jasra’s crowd and pretty much stayed at his country place the whole time she was in power. He didn’t bother her and she didn’t bother him.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“In fact, he actually shared her sentiments on the Eregnor situation, as the Begmans are well aware-“
“Just what,” I asked, “is the Eregnor situation?”
“It’s their Alsace-Lorraine,” he said, “a large, rich area between Kashfa and Begma. It has changed hands back and forth so many times over the centuries that both countries make reasonable-sounding claims to it. Even the inhabitants of the area aren’t all that firm on the matter. They have relatives in both directions. I’m not even sure they care which side claims them, so long as their taxes don’t go up. I think Begma’s claim might be a little stronger, but I could argue the case either way,”