The present was on Madame’s desk, and after pouring them each a glass of a pleasant restorative, she laid the velvet box before him with a nourish, a necklace of gemstones and gold, the stones local, but cut and faceted off planet, the gold of a fine workmanship utterly impossible to achieve on Newholme. The necklace was not massive, and it was not gaudy, but every link of it spoke of quality and care.
“Your lady will simply love it,” said Simon.
“She’d better,” murmured Madame, thinking how nice it would be to have a man as much in love with one as Calvy was with Carezza. “You’ve outdone yourself, g’Valdet.”
He smiled, stretching back on the sofa, letting Simon fill his glass. “It’s an odd old world we live in, Madame.”
“It is indeed. You’re noting some particular oddity?”
“Though I cultivate a certain fatalism and eschew the fidgets my colleagues are displaying, I agree with them that the world seems increasingly unstable, in a geological sense.”
Madame frowned. “The Hags are worried, but they don’t let themselves show it, and therefore the people, who are also worried, don’t show it either. What brings it to your mind today?”
“The Questioner is coming.”
Simon looked puzzled, but Madame nodded, lips thinned. “Oh, is she, now.” With a side glance at Simon, she said, “Haraldson’s creature, Simon. You know.”
He did know. The Questioner was the monster under the bed, the bugaboo in the closet, the sound creeping up the midnight stairs. To anyone without a clear conscience, the Questioner was the ultimate terrifier. He nodded, sipping at the wine while Madame went on. “You think she’s coming because of this rumbling and rattling we’ve had to endure lately?”
“That, possibly. Though it could be another thing or two, or both.”
She asked, “The other thing being?”
“The Questioner has on more than one occasion recommended severe action against the mankind population of worlds when that population had not governed in accordance with Haraldson’s edicts.”
Madame sipped at her glass. “As in the matter of our invisible people.”
“That is one such matter.”
“You know of another?”
“There’s our odd imbalance of the sexes, Madame.”
She frowned. “But we know why that is. There’s a virus peculiar to this planet that attaches to the mother’s X chromosome. When the cell doubles, at the polar body stage, the virus doesn’t double, and it has a fifty-fifty chance of staying with the oocyte or being discarded with the polar body. It’s more complex than that, but that’s the pith. The Hags have been unable to find a cure, though they’ve searched diligently.”
He smiled, sipped, murmured, “I merely have a feeling the Questioner may doubt that. Having read the Council of Worlds accounts of some of her investigations, she seems a doubting sort of device.”
“Where do you get Council of World’s reports?” demanded Simon.
“They’re public record. I subscribe to the journals that record them. The data cubes come in with our other supplies. Some of her visits are extremely interesting. There was one case I was very taken with. Beltran Four.”
“I don’t know of it,” said Madame.
“A warlike planet, ruled by a polygynous warrior elite. Because of the constant battles, there are many fewer men than women. Our own situation, in reverse. This results in a large surplus of women, so the powerful men have huge harems of them.”
“Why did this interest you enormously?” asked Madame, with an expression of distaste.
“Because, essentially, the powerful men keep the battles going that result in the deaths of the young men that result in the surpluses of women they then take advantage of.”
“I agree it is unethical. And the Questioner dealt severely with mankind on that planet?”
“No.” Calvy smiled. “That’s what interested me enormously. She did not.”
Madame and Simon exchanged confused glances, at which Calvy smiled the wider. “As I said. It’s an odd little old world, but I didn’t mean to discuss each and every little oddity in today’s conversation. I did mean to thank you for your help with the necklace.”
“Always glad to help,” murmured Simon.
Calvy nodded. “I did hope one of you would say that, for I have another problem. Carezza is pregnant. Tinsy, our chatron child tender, is up to his fat little armpits with the older children. I need another chatron. Unfortunately, a few of our friends have been sharing horror stories, and both Carezza and I want to be sure … “