CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Seven months ago, back on Manticore, Admiral Basaltberg had been an unexpected but welcome guest at Lisa and Travis’s wedding.
It therefore seemed both fitting and proper for Travis, Lisa, and Winterfall to be guests at Emperor Andrew’s.
Travis had wondered how exactly the disparate Chinese and German influences of the Empire could be brought together: whether they would compliment or clash, whether one would completely dominate the other, whether the final result would be beautiful, confusing, or awkward.
He needn’t have worried.
The ceremony was beautiful. The groom was young and handsome, far more so than Travis had been. The bride was radiant, though less so than Lisa. The royal gardens outside Sorgenfrei Palace, where the event took place, were precisely manicured; the music, flowers, and benediction were flawless. The guest list filling the space was undoubtedly the top tier of Andermani authority and culture.
Against such a lavish backdrop, Travis felt completely out of place. If he’d had any idea who most of the people here were, he reflected, he would probably feel even more intimidated.
Fortunately, even if he felt like he and the others were intruders, no one else seemed to share that opinion. He and Lisa were seated with Basaltberg for the ceremony, and everyone he came in contact with either smiled at him or offered small nods of greeting. He’d lost Winterfall among the rest of the throng, but Basaltberg had told him his brother had been invited to sit with the foreign minister, Außenminister Yuèguìshù Shān, and her group.
With the final marathon of diplomatic and trade negotiations taking up most of Winterfall’s time in the month since the battle, Travis hadn’t seen much of him. But rumor had it that the Emperor had personally stepped in on two or three of the sticking points, his rulings generally favoring Manticore. No one seemed to know why, and Travis was looking forward to grilling his brother on the subject during the journey home.
* * *
“I trust you were taking notes, Gavin,” Lisa commented as the three of them stood at one of the stand tables off to the side, their plates and cups crowded precariously together on the tabletop.
“I’m sure the whole ceremony was recorded,” Winterfall reminded her. “We can probably get a copy to take home if you want one.”
“Oh, I don’t need it for me,” Lisa said, the impish look that Travis knew all too well mixing with the underpinning of innocence he was also quite familiar with. “I’m thinking of you. You’re going to get married someday, and this kind of wedding would be the talk of Manticore.”
“And then some,” Travis agreed, skipping the impishness—which he didn’t do nearly as well anyway—in favor of straight innocence. “I’m sure she and her family would be impressed.”
“This she being my nebulous future bride?” Winterfall asked. “I don’t suppose you’d like to enlighten me as to her name?”
“Well, if you don’t know who she is, we certainly don’t,” Travis said, watching Lisa carefully spear another of the wrapped shellfish from her plate and place it almost reverently in her mouth. Never mind the wedding itself—what had clearly impressed her more than the ceremony were these dainty little beauties.
“Speak for yourself, Travis,” Lisa said, the words muffled as she talked around her bite. Apparently, she wasn’t quite finished with the game. “What about this Baroness Crystal Pine you were going on and on about on the trip here?”
Winterfall blinked. “I wasn’t going on and on about her. Anyway, Olga and I are just colleagues.”
“You must be a bit more than that if you’re already calling her Olga,” Lisa pointed out.
“Come on,” Winterfall protested, and to Travis’s surprise he seemed to be actually squirming. He’d assumed Lisa was just teasing, but now he wondered if she might have genuinely hit a nerve. “I barely know her.”
“Barely or not, you’re fifty-three T-years old,” Lisa reminded him. “If you’re not careful you’re going to run out the clock on other options.”
“And who are you, my maiden matchmaker aunt?” Winterfall countered. “I appreciate your concern, but I can handle my own life.”
Lisa sent Travis a significant look. “Best defense…?” she prompted.
“A good offense,” Travis finished the aphorism, starting to enjoy this. He didn’t get to tweak his older brother nearly often enough. But then, Lisa had a knack for such things. “What she means is—”
“I know what she means,” Winterfall growled. “And I’m—” He broke off, his eyes switching to something behind Travis, his face suddenly changing. “Yes?” he said in an entirely different voice.
“Foreign Minister Baron Winterfall?”
Travis turned. Standing a meter behind him was a black-clad Totenkopf.
“I am,” Winterfall confirmed.
“Seine Majestät’s greetings, Herr Foreign Minister,” the soldier said. “Your presence and the presence of your companions—” his eyes flicked to Travis and Lisa “—is requested. Follow me, bitte.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and started back through the crowd.
“Come on,” Winterfall said, leaving his plate and cup and setting off after the soldier.
Travis had assumed that the invitation was to some kind of group event, and that once inside the palace they’d be joining up with some of the prominent Andermani in attendance. But the Entry Hall was deserted except for a few watchful Totenkopfs, as was the exquisite Marble Hall beyond it. Their guide turned them left out of the Marble Hall, through one more room, and finally to a closed door flanked by two more Totenkopfs.
“Seine Majestät awaits you,” he said, stopping and gesturing ahead.
Travis looked at Winterfall, got a microscopic shrug in return before Winterfall started toward the door. Travis followed, Lisa close at his side. One of the Totenkopfs pulled open the door and ushered them in.
There they finally found the crowd Travis had been expecting. A small crowd, certainly, but what it lacked in numbers it more than made up in prestige.
Emperor Andrew was there, seated on a velvet-covered couch beneath one of a pair of huge mirrors, two more Totenkopfs at his sides. At his feet a pair of greyhounds lay curled up dozing on the floor; beside him on the couch rested a flattish rectangular box. Standing past the guard to Andrew’s right were Admiral Basaltberg and an older woman in an army dress uniform who Travis tentatively identified as the Chancellor, Kanzlerin Schwarzer Flügel, the government’s top official. Behind the three Manticorans, as they stepped into the room, were two more Totenkopfs.
“Greetings, my honored guests,” Andrew called, beckoning them forward. “Please, approach. Our time together grows short, and I would speak with you before you leave New Berlin tomorrow and begin your long voyage home.”
“We are honored, Majestät,” Winterfall said, ducking his head in a low bow as he again led the way forward. If he was surprised or disturbed by the presence of Basaltberg and Schwarzer Flügel he gave no indication of it. “May we offer our congratulations on this, your wedding day, and also on the generous hospitality of you, your government, and especially the Andermani people.”
“Danke,” Andrew said with a smile. “Though I dare say the Manticoran definition of hospitality is an interesting one. Asking one’s guests to put their lives in deadly danger is hardly part of the diplomatic code.”
Travis threw a sideways look at Winterfall. Was Andrew saying his life had been put at risk, too?
“Which is why I asked you here,” Andrew continued. “The official gifts have already been presented and stowed aboard Damocles and Diactoros for you to take back to your queen. But I wanted to express my personal gratitude with a few more personal tokens. Baron Winterfall: step forward.”
With maybe half a second’s hesitation, Winterfall complied. Andrew gestured, and Schwarzer Flügel left Basaltberg’s side and walked over to face him.
“For your role in protecting the Emperor’s life,” she intoned, “and for your part in unmasking and putting to rest the final chapter in a dark night of Andermani history, you are hereby awarded the Hausorden von Anderman, an award for civilian bravery and merit.”
And to Winterfall’s clear surprise, Schwarzer Flügel produced a red-and-white ribbon and pinned it to his formal tunic. “Für Gott und den Kaiser,” she intoned.
“Danke, Kanzlerin Schwarzer Flügel,” Winterfall said, inclining his head to her. “Danke, Majestät,” he added, turning and bowing more deeply to Andrew.
Andrew nodded in return and gestured him to step back. “Lieutenant Commander Travis Uriah Long: step forward.”
Feeling his heart pick up its pace, Travis did so, watching as Schwarzer Flügel moved back and Basaltberg took her place. “For your role in saving Friedrich der Grosse,” the admiral said, “and for overall gallantry in the face of the enemy, you are hereby awarded the Orden von Tischendorf.” Producing another ribbon, this one green and white, he fastened it beneath the modest row of Manticoran medal ribbons on Travis’s uniform.
Which was going to look odd, a small part of Travis’s brain warned, given that the dimensions of the ribbons didn’t match. But that was something for the RMN leadership to figure out, not him.
“Danke, Herr Admiral,” he said, repeating the movements and gestures he’d seen from his brother. “Danke, Majestät.”
Andrew nodded in return. Travis started to step back, but stopped at a small gesture from the Emperor. “It was my father who invited you to New Berlin and who wished to meet you,” he said, reaching beside him and picking up the rectangular package. “That opportunity was sadly lost; but in his memory I would like you to have this.” He held out the package. “Please, open it.”
Frowning, Travis stepped closer and took the box from him. It was a lidded metal container, he saw now, its black surface holding a subtle etching of the Andermani Imperial seal. Balancing it on his right palm, he swung open the lid with his left.
Inside was a book. A real, paper, printed book. And on the cover—
“Sternenkrieg,” Andrew said quietly. “My father’s treatise on warfare and philosophy. In many ways, his life’s work. This is part of the very first printing, and I would be honored for it to be an heirloom of your house and descendants.”
“The honor is mine, Majestät,” Travis said, stumbling over the words as he gazed in wonder at the book. A gift like this—
“Of course, you may wish to read it before securing it in your family archives,” Andrew added with a small smile. “I’m told the Star Kingdom could use some additional instruction in strategy and tactics.”
“We absolutely do, Majestät,” Travis agreed. He opened the book’s cover.
And felt his eyes go even wider. Not just a rare paper book. Not even just a first printing. It was also inscribed.
For Lieutenant Commander Travis Uriah Long, on behalf of those Andermani whose lives he helped to save—Emperor Gustav II.
He frowned. Gustav II? He looked up at Andrew—
“You read that correctly,” the Emperor said. “I thought you might appreciate a bit of advance notice, since you won’t be present for the official announcement next week. Yes, I’ve decided to rule under the name Gustav II, both as an expression of continuity in Andermani leadership, and as notice to the galaxy at large.”
His eyes hardened. “They must know—all of them—that the Empire is not to be underestimated, dismissed, or trifled with. Our future enemies will learn that to their regret. Our future friends—” the eyes softened “—will know it to their comfort and reassurance.”
“I understand, Majestät,” Travis managed. “I hope that the Empire and Star Kingdom will always find themselves in the latter list.”
“As do I, Lieutenant Commander,” Andrew said. “You may step back.”
“Danke, Majestät,” Travis said, returning to his place between Lisa and Winterfall.
“And now, let us end our solemnity with one final presentation,” Andrew said. He gave a whistle, and the two napping greyhounds leaped to their feet and loped over to the Manticorans. “I presume, Herr Winterfall, that you recognize this one?”
“I do indeed, Majestät,” Winterfall said, reaching down and rubbing one of the dogs’ heads. “It’s my old friend Sunna.”
“She who helped you defeat a traitor,” Andrew said. “As a personal token of my gratitude, I would like her to be yours.”
Winterfall’s hands froze in mid cuddle of the dog’s head, his eyes wide as he looked back up at Andrew. “Majestät?”
“And this is her mate, Glenr,” Andrew said, shifting his attention to Lisa. “Do you also appreciate dogs, Commander Donnelly Long?”
“Very much, Majestät,” Lisa assured him, offering her hand for Glenr to sniff and then stroking the dog’s head.
“Then Glenr is yours,” Andrew said. “I would hate to break up a couple, and I’m sure you and your brother-in-law must spend a great deal of time together.”
Travis looked sideways at Lisa, wondering what she would say to that. But she just smiled and nodded. “We are doubly honored by your gift, Majestät. We’ll make sure Sunna and Glenr never grow lonesome for each other.”
“I would expect nothing less from you,” Andrew said. “And since Herr Winterfall mentioned that his mother breeds dogs, I would like to send a breeding pair of pups as a gift for her.”
“She’ll be thrilled and honored, Majestät,” Winterfall assured him. “Once again, we are in your debt.”
“Excellent,” Andrew said. “All four dogs will be delivered to your ships this evening, along with sufficient provisions and accessories for the voyage. And now, you’re free to return to the reception. Enjoy the food and drink and the music and fireworks which will follow. I wish you a pleasant and safe journey home, and I hope that on some future date we may meet once again.”
“We, too, will look forward to that day, Majestät,” Winterfall said.
“Oh, one more thing.” Andrew pointed at Lisa. “I understand, Commander, that you’ve taken a particular liking to our Gebäckgarnelen.”
Travis looked at Lisa in time to see her cheeks turn pink. “Ja, Majestät, I have,” she admitted.
“You have excellent taste,” Andrew said, smiling. “Please enjoy as much as you wish.”
A minute later they were outside the palace again in the sun and scented air. “Every time I think the Andermani can’t surprise me,” Winterfall commented, “I find myself standing corrected. Amazing man. Amazing people.”
“He’s absolutely right about one thing,” Travis said. “The Star Kingdom definitely wants to be in the friend column of the Empire’s ledger.”
“I just hope everyone on Manticore sees it that way,” Winterfall warned. “There are some in Parliament who might feel just the slightest bit intimidated by them. Sometimes that manifests in grumpiness and rejection.”
“Never mind them,” Lisa said. “Queen Elizabeth will snap them into line. My question is whether Baroness Crystal Pine likes dogs.”
“I suppose we’ll find out,” Winterfall said. “Maybe we’ll even find out if she likes Gebäckgarnelen.”
“How?” Lisa asked. “You going to ask for the recipe?”
“No, I’m just betting you’ll find a flash-frozen container of the stuff aboard Damocles when we get back,” Winterfall said.
“Right,” Lisa said dryly. “I’ll take that bet, Herr Foreign Minister.”
* * *
As it turned out, they were both wrong. The wrapped shellfish were instead delivered to Diactoros.
And there were, in fact, two containers of them.
* * *
“It’s a mess,” Lady Calvingdell said heavily. “And I’m pretty sure it’s just going to get worse.”
Seated across the desk from her, Chomps had an awful urge to ask if she was blaming him for someone else’s murder. But good sense and self-preservation won out. “I heard Crystal Pine has gone into seclusion,” he offered.
“What she’s gone into is house arrest,” Calvingdell said bluntly. “My God, Townsend. I sent you to look into Duke Serisburg’s death, not to bring down a sitting Peer and kick the House of Lords in the back of the knee.”
Once again, Chomps considered reminding her that he hadn’t been the one whose foot had been inside that particular boot. Once again, the better part of valor prevailed. “So I take it Masterson finally gave her up?”
Calvingdell glared at him another second then lowered her eyes to her tablet. “Not in so many words,” she said, some of the frustration-born fire fading. “He was never told who hired him, so he couldn’t finger her directly. But he kept some financial records in case he needed leverage down the line, and the fact that she was the only one who gained by killing the entire family was enough to get a warrant for her own records. Eventually the investigators were able to make enough connections to make the charge stick.”
“Was he actually from the Solarian League?” Chomps asked. “I know that’s what he said, but I never found out if that was true.”
“Who knows?” Calvingdell said, shaking her head. “We’ve got a message ready to send with the next ship heading that direction, but it’ll be at least a couple of years before we get an answer. But given that the duke’s car was a Solarian model, and Masterson apparently was one of the people who helped talk Serisburg into buying it in the first place, I’m guessing that was true.”
“Which suggests this whole thing was in the works for a long time,” Chomps pointed out.
“At least a decade,” Calvingdell agreed grimly. “Maybe more. Crystal Pine really wanted that seat in the Lords.”
“So I gather,” Chomps said. “What kind of fallout are we getting?”
“You mean SIS personally or the Star Kingdom in general?”
“You can start with the first,” Chomps said, mentally crossing his fingers. If ONI was screaming for SIS’s collective head, but decided they’d settle for his…
“No one’s happy with us,” Calvingdell said. “Our charter doesn’t permit us to go poking around in internal affairs, though Masterton’s self-identification as Solarian makes that edge a little fuzzier. Still, ONI’s using that excuse to try to get us shut down, or at least put under their oversight. But given what we found, their heart really isn’t in it. They’re likely to just put it aside in their collection of things they plan to pile on top of us as soon as they figure the stack is big enough. The fact that you’d been fired from SIS and therefore not under my control also helped.”
Chomps had to smile at that one. Not under her control. Flora Taylor’s little visit—complete with Sphinxian whiskey—and her revelation as to what Calvingdell really wanted him to do in Serisburg was clearly irrelevant. “Especially when they’ve got such a nice, big target in the Royal Investigation Division, first for taking Masterson into their ranks in the first place and then for duffing the whole investigation?” he suggested.
“Yes, big, fat, happy targets do seem about all that ONI’s capable of hitting,” Calvingdell growled. “Add in unmoving and you’ve got the picture. Mind you, if you’d moved a single day earlier you’d have been one of those big, fat, et cetera targets. They were just waiting for you to do something suspicious.”
“Figured as much,” Chomps said. So the former NCO who’d been hanging out at the Three Corners Inn those first few weeks playing birdwatcher had been ONI. Chomps had been pretty sure he was, but it was nice to have confirmation. “How did they even know I was there?”
“Don’t be so modest,” Calvingdell growled. “You’ve been on everyone’s radar since you got back from Silesia. That’s why I had to fire you to get you on this case.”
“Pretend to fire me, you mean, right?”
Calvingdell’s lip puckered a bit. “We’ll have to see,” she said evasively. “If this blows over quickly enough, I can probably get you back in. If not…well, there are some options on the table. Some people we’re talking with. Maybe we can give you a leave of absence.”
“With all due respect, My Lady, I don’t want a leave of absence,” Chomps said stiffly. “I want to get back to work.”
“And we want you back.” Calvingdell smiled faintly. “Pain in the neck though you are sometimes. Just try to be patient.”
“If I have to,” Chomps said with a sigh. So maybe his Delphi career was down the tubes. Still, he had helped catch a murderer. That had to count for something.
Even if no one else ever knew.
“I assume I won’t be getting any credit for this?” he asked.
“Given that there’s a target already painted on your back, do you really want any?”
“Probably not,” Chomps conceded. “Anyway, Deputy Lassaline deserves it. It’s hard to do good investigative work when the suspects are people you know and like. She did a great job.”
“Agreed.” Calvingdell raised her eyebrows a little. “Maybe we should hire her and let you take her place in Serisburg.”
“I’d rather wrestle hexapumas in a carnival,” Chomps said. “Though the Whistlestop ice cream is pretty good. So what’s the timeline look like?”
“God only knows,” Calvingdell said, shaking her head. “Crystal Pine’s holdings will have to be dissolved, with the Crown probably taking over her barony like it did Serisburg. The Queen will have to figure out how to sort out the holdings, but filling the seat in the Lords will be easy enough.”
“The fifty-fourth investor in the original corporation?”
“Right,” Calvingdell said. “There’s been some occasional talk over the years about modifying the current cap on House of Lords membership, and I’m guessing this may bump that discussion up to the front burner. So that could be interesting.”
“Though probably not an issue I need to worry about for the immediate future.”
“Not unless you plan on marrying into the Peerage,” Calvingdell agreed. “All right, here’s what I can do. If you’d like, I can hire you on as a secondary analyst.”
“A secondary analyst,” Chomps said flatly. “Sorting through papers and numbers that other people have already sorted through.”
“It’s a necessary job,” Calvingdell said. “Extra eyes, and all that. More to the point, it doesn’t require a security clearance since you’ll only get the data after it’s gone through the classification process.”
“We certainly wouldn’t want to strain ONI’s resources reinstating my clearance,” Chomps said sourly. “Lower pay, too, I suppose?”
“You’d be treated exactly the same as our other secondaries,” Calvingdell said. “You’d have to be. You want it, or not?”
Chomps sighed. “Sure,” he said. “At least I can come in every day and give Flora someone to be irritated with. I imagine her life was pretty boring these past few months.”
“She managed to survive,” Calvingdell said. “All right. Give me a couple of days to push through the paperwork, and you should be back at your desk by Friday.”
“Thanks,” Chomps said. “I appreciate it.”
“I appreciate you catching the murderer of my friend,” Calvingdell said, a flicker of old pain crossing her face. “And don’t worry. Sooner or later this will die down, and ONI will forget, and I’ll be able to fully reinstate you.”
She smiled lopsidedly. “And look at the bright side. While your friend Long was being bored out of his mind sitting through fancy state dinners and listening to long Andermani speeches, you got to investigate a crime, catch a killer, and nearly drown yourself.”
“And get shot at.”
“And get shot at,” Calvingdell agreed. “For once, you’ll be the one with the exciting story to tell.”