Daniel hammered on the door panel with his balled fist, making the steel ring. “Candace!” he shouted. “Let me in! Now! It’s Daniel Leary!”
There was argument inside. Daniel couldn’t hear the words, but the rhythm of angry voices penetrated the metal. Daniel slammed his fist once more into the door. Making this much noise might get him killed, but by God! he wouldn’t go alone.
It was a tall door and had three separate bolts. They clashed back: top, bottom and finally the heavy crossbar in the center. The door swung outward for safety: an attacker would have to break down the heavy leaf, not simply bash the bolts out of their sockets. Daniel stepped back as the panel opened enough for him to slip through, barely, into the anteroom.
He stumbled as he entered. At some point the original floor had been replaced by a mosaic showing sea life battling in gaudy colors. The new floor had been laid directly over the old one, raising the level by more than an inch. The incongruity of Daniel’s misstep made him giggle.
Candace was white-faced and furious. He wore his service pistol in a gilt-leather holster. With him in the anteroom were five servants. Two carried sporting shotguns, two had clubs—legs wrenched off a heavy table; and the last, a wizened little man, held a chef’s knife with a blade as long as his forearm.
Daniel thought of the night the Three Circles Conspiracy broke; thought also of the plasma cannon in the APCs cruising the city. The door would burn like the white heart of a sun. . . .
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing here?” Candace shouted. “I have half a mind to hold you for a patrol to pick up! I swear to God, if I weren’t afraid of getting involved that’s just what I’d do!”
Four of the servants were as frightened as their master. The little man with the knife was another matter entirely. If it came down to cases, Daniel would try to kick him in the crotch and pray for a better result than he expected.
“I need some help, Candace,” Daniel said in a calm voice. “You know why. Some clothes, a gun, and the loan of your aircar. Then I’ll be out of your life.”
There was a doorway to either side of the anteroom. Directly in front of Daniel a hall led to the courtyard and, on the right, a staircase to the upper floors. One of the men with clubs carried a yellow glowlamp, the only light.
“Good God, man, are you insane?” Candace said. “Listen, the Candaces aren’t political. Don’t you understand what that means? This house has been in our family for four hundred years. I’m not going to throw it away by getting involved in matters that are no business of mine!”
Daniel looked at the Kostroman. He tried to imagine life as Benno Candace. He smiled.
“Can’t you even pretend you’re a man?” Daniel asked pleasantly. “No? Well, I suppose it’d be too much of a stretch.”
He nodded toward the servants. “If one of you dogs will open the door,” he said, “I’ll be on my way. A Leary doesn’t stay where he’s not wanted.”
The man with the knife grinned. Daniel grinned back. He doubted the fellow was as clever as Hogg, but there was an undoubted resemblance.
A servant handed his shotgun to a fellow. He stepped past Daniel and put his weight against the door.
“Look, Leary,” Candace said, spreading his hands. “When this blows over we’ll have a drink and laugh about tonight. But it may not blow over, don’t you see? This isn’t like a normal coup. This is—everything’s different. Everything!”
The servant had opened the panel no wider than it was when Daniel entered. Daniel put his left palm flat against the embossed leather padding on the door’s inner side and straightened his arm.
The door swung slowly, but it didn’t stop until it banged against the stops on the outer jamb. “Good night, Lieutenant,” Daniel said. “I wish you the fortune your sense of honor deserves.”
He stepped into the street, deliberately pausing to dust his uniform with his hands. No point in letting Candace know which direction the fugitive had gone.