House of Lords
City of Landing
Planet of Manticore
Manticore Binary System
June 7, 1906 PD
“i don’t know if this was a good idea, Dad,” Michelle Henke said quietly as she and her father climbed out of the air limo on the House of Lords landing apron. A command tapped into her father’s uni-link sent the limo emblazoned with the Gold Peak coat of arms off to its assigned parking space, and he paused to straighten his tunic’s lapels before he looked at her.
“Frankly, it’s a terrible idea.” Edward Anson Winton-Henke, the Earl of Gold Peak, was equally quiet. “And Allen’s going to pitch three kinds of fit when he hears about it. Especially when he figures out what we—I—had to do with it.” His lips twitched briefly. “I can live with that. It’s where this is going to end for her that really worries me, sweetheart. In fact, it breaks my heart. But I couldn’t tell her no when she asked me to help.” He wrapped one arm around Michelle and smiled a crooked, bittersweet smile. “Got that problem with both my girls, really.”
Michelle blinked suddenly misty eyes and nodded. Her parents had regarded Honor Harrington as a second daughter ever since she and Michelle had roomed together at Saganami Island. In all that time, Honor had never once presumed upon her connection with the Queen of Manticore’s uncle or asked him for any sort of favor any more than she’d ever presumed upon the fact that Michelle Henke was Elizabeth’s cousin . . . and that Michelle herself stood fourth in succession for the crown.
Today she’d finally asked, and the potential consequences terrified Michelle. Not for herself, but for the closest friend she’d ever had.
“God, I wish someone could tell her no! That someone could convince her that if she keeps this up—”
“She knows all that, Mike,” her father interrupted. “Do you think for one second she doesn’t? This is Honor we’re talking about. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and, frankly, I don’t blame her one damned bit.” Gold Peak’s jaw clenched. “I’ve known the Youngs for decades. Dimitri Young was beneath contempt, and I’ve known Pavel was at least as bad as his father ever since that business with Honor at the Academy. But until he had Paul murdered, I hadn’t even begun to realize how far beneath it he truly is.”
Michelle’s face tightened. She and Paul Tankersley were—had been—almost exactly the same age, and they’d always been close, but in many ways, Paul had been even closer to her father than to her. He’d been the younger son of her father’s sister Frederica, and after Frederica’s husband Roland’s death, Edward Winton-Henke had taken over much of the father’s role in Paul’s life, as well. No wonder Paul’s death had hit them all with such brutal force, even when they’d believed the duel had arisen spontaneously. They still weren’t privy to Honor’s evidence that it hadn’t been a spontaneous quarrel, but none of them doubted that that evidence existed. She was obviously protecting someone, someone who’d gotten the proof for her, and that, too, was just like Honor Harrington. But now—
“And then, not content with having Paul killed, he sends gunmen with automatic weapons—military grade weapons—into a public restaurant to murder Honor when she calls him on it?!” Gold Peak continued. “Eleven casualties, Mike—eleven—and it’s only God’s own mercy all the dead were gunmen. And, from a political standpoint, at least, that none of the wounded were hit by Honor’s Graysons.”
Michelle nodded soberly. She’d known Pavel Young entirely too long, yet, like her father, even she had been stunned by that bit of insanity.
“I would’ve helped her even before Regiano’s, if she’d asked,” her father said bleakly. “After that?” His eyes were even bleaker than his voice and his lips worked as if he wanted to spit. “I knew she was right about him already. This only proves it. Well, proves that and also that—from everything I can see—he’ll go right on trying to kill her through one proxy or another until he succeeds . . . unless she stops him. So now it’s a total no-brainer for me.”
“You’re right,” Michelle sighed. “About North Hollow, I mean. He will keep trying, no matter what. I used to think he was just a terminal narcissist with sociopathic tendencies. Now I think he’s certifiably insane. No one with two working neurons thinks anyone but him was behind that Regiano’s hit, and even he had to know that’d be the case before he ordered it. But he went ahead anyway.” She shook her head. “I don’t see how anyone who wasn’t insane could’ve thought for a heartbeat he could get away with that in the long run! Even if the law can’t touch him—yet; I’ll guarantee you the Crown Prosecutor’s already got a ton of investigators digging into the whole thing—if he had managed to kill her, it would only have been a matter of time before someone caught up with him for it! Howard Clinkscales would’ve hunted him to the ends of the galaxy, and he wouldn’t have given a single solitary damn about ‘due process,’ either! For that matter, Benjamin Mayhew would’ve sent the Grayson Army after him and dared anyone to get in his way!”
“They’d have to get in line.” Gold Peak snorted harshly. “I’ll tell you God’s honest truth, Mike. If Honor can’t find a way to get to him and do the job, then I will damned well do it for her. In fact, that’s what I should’ve told her instead of even mentioning the Coswell Protocol when she came to me. I tried to, actually. I even told her—asked her—to let me challenge the bastard, instead, because he was less likely to see me coming and hide from me.” He shook his head, brown eyes dark. “She wasn’t having it. And, God help me, I couldn’t fight her on it.”
“But if she does it this way—”
“Mike, she’s out of time.” Gold Peak’s cold voice turned iron-hard. “She has to deal with him now, before he sends more killers after her and this time kills someone she loves. Someone else she loves, I mean. You and I both know that, but every goddammed politician in Landing is trying to stop her. Hell, the Admiralty’s trying to stop her! You know as well as I do that the real reason BuShips is expediting Nike’s repairs is so that White Haven and Caparelli can assign her to some out-system squadron and keep Honor away from North Hollow! For that matter, according to a couple of people who ought to know, White Haven actually ordered her not to meet North Hollow.”
Michelle’s eyes widened. Earl White Haven had tried to order Honor not to challenge North Hollow to a duel? That was—
“That would’ve been an illegal order, Dad!”
“And your point is?” Gold Peak snorted again. “Hamish Alexander’s one of my best friends, Mike, but once he gets his teeth into something, God Himself can’t talk him out of it! And he knows exactly what will happen to Honor’s career if she kills a peer of the realm in a duel. Of course he tried to stop it . . . in his own inimitable, autocratic fashion. And when that didn’t work, he put his head together with Caparelli. Oh, and just to gild the lily, Allen begged Elizabeth to order Honor off North Hollow! That was before Regiano’s, of course. I suspect that after that little affair Hamish has probably changed his tune, but no one else has. Everybody who isn’t trying to stop this because they see political disaster looming is trying to stop it because they’re desperate to save Honor from herself. And I know up here”—he tapped his temple with an index finger—“that, in a lot of ways, I should be doing exactly the same thing.”
“The Duke asked Elizabeth to order Honor not to challenge him?” Michelle asked.
“He did.”
“Then when he finds out about this, what happens in the Cabinet?”
“You mean”—her father twitched a smile which, for all his anger, flickered with genuine amusement—“do I get replaced as Foreign Secretary?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“I doubt it. For a lot of reasons. Including the fact that Allen knows as well as we do that Honor’s absolutely right about North Hollow. If it ever comes out that I’ve helped her this way, I might have to step down because of the shitstorm the Opposition will raise, of course. And I won’t be the only one the shit splatters on, either. But if that happens, it happens, and this time the political establishment and even Allen Summervale can piss up a rope, as far as I’m concerned. Besides, if he asked for my resignation, he’d have to explain to your cousin why he’d done it, and she’s flat out refused to intervene. In fact, instead of saying a word to Honor about it, she ordered Allen to stay the hell out of her way!”
“She did?” It was a day for surprises, Michelle realized.
“Firmly, as a matter of fact. And not just because of how much she—hell, the entire Star Kingdom—owes Honor, either. I think it was—”
Gold Peak cut himself off with a curt headshake, then glanced at his chrono.
“We’d better get a move on. This is one maiden address I don’t want to miss.”
* * *
Isaac McCallum looked up when the private lift shaft’s door opened, and his eyebrows rose in astonished recognition as a tall woman stepped out of it into the House Chamber’s vestibule, with an auburn-haired, green-uniformed man at her heels. That lift shaft bypassed all of the public entry points and security points, but only formally seated members of the House were authorized to use it, and although the newcomer wore formal red-and-black robes over the scarlet and gold of the Order of King Roger, she most definitely was not a seated member of the House. Which made her sudden appearance a matter of pressing professional interest to the man who was the House of Lords Sergeant-at-Arms.
She started across the vestibule toward the Chamber’s open doors, but he stepped away from his own position just inside them and intercepted her on the threshold.
“Excuse me, Milady,” he said, his expression polite but unyielding. “May I ask what brings you here?”
“I intend to address the House,” she replied.
“I don’t recall seeing you on the day’s agenda, Milady,” he observed.
“That’s because I’m not on it.”
“Then I’m afraid it will be impossible for you to—”
“I’m here under the Coswell Protocol, Mister McCallum,” she said, and he closed his mouth with a snap. The Coswell Protocol? How the hell had she even heard of the Coswell Protocol? He didn’t think it had been used more than twice—maybe three times—in the entire history of the Star Kingdom!
“Milady,” he said after a brief pause, “how does the Coswell Protocol apply in this case?”
“Because I’m under orders to depart the Star Kingdom with my ship as soon as her repairs are completed, and supervising those repairs is eating up more and more of my time. That means it will be impossible for me to schedule my maiden address in the normal fashion. I happened to have some free time today, but that may well not be true again between now and my departure date. And, to be honest, Mister McCallum, it’s long past time I took my seat in the Lords.”
“But there are right ways and wrong ways to go about that, Milady. For that matter, there are right ways and wrong ways to invoke Coswell, and this—”
“I don’t intend to stand here and debate with you.” A snap of command crept into that crisp, Sphinxian voice, and it was much colder than it had been. “The same time constraints that have compelled me to be here today mean that, frankly, I don’t have the time to waste. So either stand aside or else invite Baron Eastlake over here so I can . . . explain the situation to him.”
She waved an impatient arm across the chamber at the Speaker, and McCallum’s expression tightened. He glared at her for a moment, then tapped his personal com link.
“Yes?” a voice said in his earbud.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Milord, but I think you’d better come over here. We have a . . . situation.”
McCallum looked across the large chamber as the Speaker turned. They’d known one another a long time, and he half expected Eastlake to rip his head off for bothering him with some sort of routine matter. But then the Speaker must have recognized the intruder, because he stood up abruptly and strode across to them.
“How may I serve you, Milady?” he asked in a wary tone as he arrived.
“By giving me leave to address the House,” she replied flatly, and something flickered in his eyes. Something that might have been a ghost of sympathy overlaid by a much stronger awareness of the potential disaster rising sharklike from the depths.
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question today, Milady. I could put you on the agenda for early tomorrow afternoon, but that’s absolutely the soonest—”
“Forgive me, Milord, but I’m afraid that won’t work.” Eastlake closed his mouth with an almost audible snap as she cut him off. “As I’ve explained to Mister McCallum, I’m under orders to expedite my ship’s repairs and depart the system as soon as possible. And once I do depart, it may be months before I return. That means I simply don’t have time to do this through the normal channels of protocol. And that, Milord, is why I’m here under the Coswell Protocol.”
Eastlake’s eyes widened. Who the hell had told her about the Coswell Protocol? He doubted more than ten percent—if that many—of the Peers even knew about that arcane bit of the House Rules. Its existence was buried in the archives—not even included in a new peer’s initial briefing on the House’s rules, for God’s sake. Only a compulsive rules mechanic—or someone who’d decided on a deep dive into those archives—could possibly have told her about it. And how had she gotten access to the House Chamber without being stopped by Security at one of the public portals? Or without someone at least having warned McCallum she was on the way?!
His eyes narrowed again as suspicion struck. Just as only someone intimately familiar with the House of Lords’ procedures and protocol would have known about the Coswell Protocol, only a seated member of the House could have given her the security access code for the peers’ private lift shaft. Which, given her close friendship with Michelle Henke . . .
Wonderful, Sergios, he thought bitterly. The Prime Minister wants her as far from North Hollow as we can get her, and the Queen’s uncle is conniving to get her into the House when she knows he’s here. It’s got to be him, which means I’ll be pissing him—and maybe the Queen herself—off if I try to stop it! But God only knows where it’ll end if I don’t stop it right here!
Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. Only God might know where it would end, but Sergios Kappopoulos didn’t need precognition to know its final outcome wouldn’t be anything remotely good.
“Milady,” he said, “the Coswell Protocol hasn’t been used in at least fifty or sixty T-years!”
“Perhaps not. It’s still a valid procedure under the House’s Rules, isn’t it?”
“Well, perhaps technically, but—”
“Then I’m afraid I must insist upon invoking it.”
“Milady, with all due respect, if you can be here today, I feel confident you could coordinate a time properly with my office.”
“Not in my judgment, Milord.” Her voice was inflexible soprano steel.
“Then your judgment is questionable,” Eastlake said sharply. “And this House has rules and procedures for a reason. It’s neither proper nor seemly for someone to twist their clearly intended function for his or her personal convenience!”
“I regret that that’s what you think I’m doing,” she replied in that same coldly level tone of voice. “Despite which, I intend to invoke the protocol. Today.”
“I think not!” he said, even more sharply as he sensed other peers rising, flowing toward the door as the confrontation attracted them.
“Milord Speaker,” she said, “I’ve approached you as a peer of the realm and a serving officer of the Crown who, given the exigencies of the Service, has no option but to invoke the Coswell Protocol. Do you seriously intend to deny me that right?”
“I do!”
“In that case, Milord, I will be appearing on Into the Fire tonight to explain to Ms. Prince and Mister DuCain—and to their viewership—what happened here today. I will also publicly invite the Government—and you, specifically—to explain why my right as a peer of the realm and a naval officer was capriciously denied.” Her ice-cold smile showed a white flash of tooth. “I rather doubt you or the Prime Minister will enjoy the questions that will undoubtedly provoke.”
Eastlake flushed crimson as she put her pulser squarely to his head. The temptation to call her bluff flashed through him, but she only looked at him with those unflinching brown eyes, and he realized it wasn’t a bluff. She’d do it. She truly would. It would be professional suicide for any naval officer, but no one could see those eyes and believe for one moment that she hadn’t already decided that was an acceptable price. And if she added that to the fire . . .
Damn it—damn it! She knows how hard everybody’s fighting to avoid the three-ring disaster this is certain to turn into! And if I let her do this, Allen will have a fit. But not as big a one as if she really does go on the air. . . .
More of the other peers were moving closer. Some of them stopped, and he heard the mutter and buzz of sudden, animated conversation behind him as they recognized the newcomer. This was sliding rapidly from bad to worse, he thought, and there wasn’t one damned thing he could do about it.
“Very well!” he snapped finally, throwing up his hands in helpless, furious resignation. He glared at her a moment longer, then strode angrily back to his desk, seated himself, and banged his ceremonial gavel on the rest under its microphone.
“Be seated, My Lords and Ladies,” his voice boomed, and the gavel fell again, so hard the handle snapped. “Be seated, My Lords and Ladies!”
Silence fell, and he cleared his throat.
“My Lords and Ladies, I crave your indulgence,” he said harshly. “I apologize for this interruption of your deliberations, but under the rules of this House, I have no choice.
“I have just been reminded of a seldom used rule. It is customary”—he turned to glare at the newcomer, still standing beside the Sergeant-at-Arms—“for new peers to send decent notice to this House, and to be sponsored, before taking their place among us. Under certain circumstances, however, including the exigencies of the Queen’s Service, new members may be delayed in taking their seats or, as I have just been reminded, may appear before us at a time convenient to them if their duty to the Crown will make it impossible for them to appear at one convenient to the House as a whole.
“That rule has just been invoked, My Lords and Ladies,” he said heavily. “A member who wishes to make her maiden address to the House informs me this may be her last opportunity for some months due to the demands of the Service. As such, I have no choice but to permit this irregularity.”
The buzz of conversation rose once again, louder even than before, as he waved a curt invitation to the woman standing in the doorway.
She crossed to stand before his desk, then turned to face the House. Her hands rose to draw back the cowl of the Knights of the Order of King Roger, and the Earl of North Hollow lunged up out of his seat with a strangled cry.
Honor Harrington smiled coldly up at him as he stood frozen, only his head moving, as it swiveled back and forth like a trapped animal’s, and something cold and merciless flickered in her icy eyes. She let him stand for a long, agonizing moment, and then looked away, sweeping her gaze across the assembled nobles.
“My Lords and Ladies,” she said finally, “I apologize to this House for the unseemly fashion in which I have interrupted its proceedings. But, as the Speaker has said, my ship is under orders to depart Manticore as soon as her repairs and working-up period are completed. The demands of restoring a Queen’s ship to full efficiency will be a heavy burden on my time, and, of course, my departure from the system will make it impossible for me to appear before you after my ship is once more ready for deployment.”
She paused once again, and every man and woman there knew how the hunger at her core savored what must be ripping through Pavel Young in that moment.
“I cannot in good conscience leave Manticore, however, without discharging one of the gravest duties any peer owes to Her Majesty, this House, and the Realm as a whole,” she said then. “Specifically, My Lords and Ladies, it is my duty to inform you that one of your members has, by his own actions, not only demonstrated that he is unfit to sit among you but made himself a reproach to and a slur upon the very honor of the Kingdom.”
Her voice was calm, clear, but vengeful hunger flowed within it like an icy river.
“My Lords and Ladies, there is among you a man who has conspired at murder rather than face his enemies himself. A would-be rapist, a coward, and a man who hired a paid duelist to kill another. A man who sent armed thugs into a public restaurant only two days ago to murder someone else and failed in his purpose by the narrowest margin.”
The spell was beginning to fray. Peers began to rise, their voices starting to sound in protest, but her soprano cut through the stir like a knife, and her eyes were fixed on Pavel Young.
“My Lords and Ladies, I accuse Pavel Young, Earl North Hollow, of murder and attempted murder. I accuse him of the callous and unforgivable abuse of power, of cowardice in the face of the enemy, of attempted rape, and of being unfit not simply for the high office he holds but for life itself. I call him coward and scum, beneath the contempt of honest and upright subjects of this Kingdom, whose honor is profaned by his mere presence among them, and I challenge him, before you all, to meet me upon the field of honor, there to pay once and for all for his acts!”