“Rather to be expected,” Markos said to Adele in tones of suave amusement. The trouble appeared to have restored his good humor. “The whole history of Kostroma indicates that no alliance lasts much longer than the common enemy. A mercurial folk, the Kostromans.”
The table decorations were stemless flowers floating in silver bowls. In reflection, Adele saw the Alliance spy waggle a finger toward the main doors. A youngish woman came toward him from the gaggle of aides there. She wore Kostroman business dress, out of place to a degree among the bright livery of those with whom she’d been waiting.
The woman bent over Markos and whispered in his ear. He nodded solemnly and said to Adele, “You’ll have to excuse me, Mistress Mundy. My secretary tells me I have an urgent call. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”
“Good day,” Adele said without inflection. She watched Markos leave the hall with a lengthening stride.
The Cinnabar “Navy Office” functionary was already out the door because he hadn’t bothered with the fiction of being summoned by an aide. If Adele hadn’t seen Markos’s gesture, even she might have accepted his charade at face value.
The Alliance and Cinnabar delegates were frantically signaling for their aides. Le Golif of the Aglaia looked startled and concerned. He wasn’t a diplomat, and he had no idea what had happened.
Adele went back to the dish which had been put before her at the instant of the Zojira exodus. It was sliced vegetables in a very spicy red sauce; she wouldn’t have guessed the sauce had anything to do with fish were it not for the merchant’s description.
She didn’t suppose the fuss would affect her task one way or the other. Vanness, the only assistant she’d have made an effort to keep, was a Hajas; by the same token, Bracey was a Zojira collateral and she’d already dismissed him herself.
Kostroman politics were a concern for foreign intelligence agents, not for librarians. . . .
Aircars were common enough on Kostroma that the sound of one approaching probably wouldn’t have interrupted the drinking if Lt. Mon hadn’t recognized the fan note. “That’s one of ours, by God!” he said.
The midshipmen sat at the end of the table nearer the balcony, but they’d drunk themselves almost legless. The three lieutenants proved their greater capacity, professional as well as alcoholic, by getting onto the balcony almost simultaneously despite the litter of chairs, glasses, and Midshipman Cassanos on the floor behind them.
The Aglaia carried a quartet of ducted-fan aircars, an unusually high number for a naval vessel but in keeping with the expected mission of a communications ship. The duty car, 73 on the bulbous forward fan nacelle, idled up the street while a rating checked building fronts with a spotlight.
“Here we are!” Mon bellowed. The balcony flexed; Daniel hadn’t thought more than two people would fit on it, but that had been when he was sober. “Aglaia!”
The spotlight swept them at leg level, illuminating but not blinding the officers. The car angled closer, keeping slightly above second-floor level.
“Sir!” called the petty officer behind the light. He bellowed to be heard over the fans’ whooshing intake. “Lieutenant Mon is to take a cutter up and launch a message cell. The middies are to round up crewmen on leave, and Lieutenant Weisshampl will hold the ship in readiness for the captain’s return!”
Daniel relaxed—as much as anyone could, squeezed so tight that the railing creaked. Something had happened, but it couldn’t have been too serious if Le Golif himself hadn’t reported back. This was diplomatic excitement, not the kind of emergency in which lives or the very ship herself depend on fast action. It was more important to finish a formal dinner.
“Bring the boat close,” Weisshampl ordered with the decisiveness expected of a naval officer. “We’ll board from here.”
The aircar dipped toward them. If the crewmen aboard had an opinion of the idea, it wasn’t theirs to question.
Weisshampl put her right foot on the low railing. The railing toppled with her into the street ten feet below. Weisshampl rotated a perfect 270 degrees in the air, landing flat on her back on the stone pavement.