House of Shards Read Free

difficulty.”
    She raised her glass, put it down again. “I don’t want this to go wrong, Kuusinen.”
    “Geoff Fu George is already on station. Perhaps he would be more suitable. He has more resources to draw on.”
    “I want Maijstral.” Firmly.
    Kuusinen assented. The woman's mind was made up. “Your grace,” he said.
    Roberta glanced behind her, seeing Kotani in conversation with a short woman in bright clothes and a funny hat. “We shouldn’t be seen together for very long, Kuusinen. Perhaps you should make your congé.”
    “As you wish, your grace.”
    They clasped hands, still one finger apiece, and sniffed. Kuusinen passed the woodwind quartet on his way to the door. Roberta took her drink and drifted in Kotani's direction. She noticed silver media globes hovering over Kotani's conversation.
    “. . . I’m still looking for something suitable,” he was saying.
    “I understand,” the short woman agreed. She spoke a broad provincial accent that seemed less comically non-U than, somehow, a deliberate provocation. “It must be difficult finding a part nowadays that features the sort of old-fashioned character you favor.”
    Kotani stiffened slightly. “Not old-fashioned, my dear,” he said. “Classical, I should think.” He turned to Roberta. “Your grace, may I present Kyoko Asperso. Miss Asperson is a personality journalist.” He gave the words an unnecessary emphasis that indicated his distaste. “Miss Asperson, may I introduce her grace the Duchess of Benn.”
    Roberta offered the journalist a cautious finger during the handclasp, receiving two in exchange. Kyoko Asperson was a head shorter than Roberta, with straight black hair and a round face. She dressed in bright reds and yellows, and wore a odd mushroom-shaped hat. A loupe stuck over one eye allowed her to see through the lenses of her hovering media globes.
    “Congratulations on your Hrinn race,” Kyoko said. “You gave Khottan a run for his money.”
    “Metaphorical money, of course. An amateur event.”
    “Will you be turning professional anytime soon?”
    Roberta sipped her drink. “Probably not. Though I haven’t quite decided.”
    “You don’t need the money, of course, but on the professional level the competition is more intense. Do you find yourself intimidated by the prospect?”
    Roberta, having never considered this question, was mildly surprised. Amateur contests, in her circle anyway, were far more fashionable than professional competition. “Not at all,” she said, truthfully, and then wondered if she'd said it convincingly enough. But Kyoko had already moved to the next question.
    “Do you feel any pressure to turn professional simply in order to have people take you more seriously? Do you think that people take amateur sports seriously enough?”
    The quartet began to play, starting with a high-pitched screech from the ristor. Roberta glanced at Kotani in dismay. He smiled at her and nodded, happy to be out of it.
    Roberta resigned herself to a very long afternoon.
    “Mr. Drake Maijstral?” Maijstral’s interrogator was a slight man in a brown jacket.
    “Yes. May I be of assistance?”
    “Mencken, sir. VPL.”
    Mencken held out Maijstral’s Very Private Letter. Throughout Maijstral’s life, the appearance of a VPL courier would have been an occasion for dismay. Maijstral’s father used VPL almost exclusively, and his letters were either long lectures concerning Maijstral’s faults, or requests for money in order to honor an old debt. Maijstral restrained his reflexive annoyance, signed for the letter, glanced at the seal, then broke it.
    “Will there be a reply, sir?”
    “Not now. Thank you.”
    “Your servant.” Mencken bowed and withdrew. Maijstral looked at the card, then handed it to Roman. “We're invited to a wedding. Pietro Quijano and Amalia Jensen will be getting married on Earth in six months’ time.”
    Roman read the card. “Will we be attending, sir?”
    “Possibly. We're heading