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The Duke found Eugene Botkin alone in a corner room to which a guard directed him. There was the sound of men setting up communications equipment in an adjoining room, but this place was fairly quiet. The Duke glanced around as Botkin rose from a paper-cluttered table. It was a green-walled cloister with, in addition to the table, three suspensor chairs from which the Sepannen "S" had been hastily removed, leaving an imperfect color stain.
"The chairs are liberated but quite safe," Botkin said. "Where is Alexei, Sire?"
"I left him in the conference room. I'm hoping he'll get some rest without me there to distract him."
Botkin nodded, crossed to the door to the adjoining room, closed it, shutting off the noise of static and electronic sparking.
"Eugene," Nicholas said, "the Imperial and Seppanen stockpiles of spice attract my attention."
"Milord?"
The Duke pursed his lips. "Storehouses are susceptible to destruction." He raised a hand as Botkin started speaking. "Ignore the Sultan's hoard. He'd secretly enjoy it if the Seppanens were embarrassed. And can the Baron object if something is destroyed which he cannot openly admit that he has?"
Botkin shook his head. "We've few men to spare, Sire."
"Then use some of Ukrainia's men. Maybe some of the Szganys would enjoy a trip off-planet. A raid on G'ob' Prime---there are tactical advantages to such a diversion, Eugene."
"As milord says." Botkin turned away, and the Duke saw evidence of nervousness in the old man, thought: Maybe he suspects I distrust him. He must know I've private reports of traitors. Well, best quell his fears immediately.
"Eugene," he said, "since you're one of the few I can trust completely, there's another matter that bears discussion. We both know how constant a watch we must keep to prevent traitors from infiltrating our forces---but I have two new reports."
Botkin turned and stared at him.
And Nicholas repeated the stories Alexei had brought.
Instead of bringing on the intense Technopath concentration, the reports only increased Botkin's agitation.
Nicholas studied the old man and, presently, said: "You've been holding something back, old friend. I should've suspected when you were so nervous during Staff. What is it that was too hot to dump in front of the full conference?"
Botkin's sapho-stained lips were pulled into a prim, straight line with little wrinkles radiating into them. They maintained their wrinkled stiffness as he said: "Milord, I don't quite know how to broach this."
"We've suffered many a scar for each other, Eugene," the Duke said. "You know you can broach any subject with me."
Botkin continued to stare at him, thinking: This is how I like him best. This is the man of honor who deserves every bit of my loyalty and service. Why must I hurt him?
"Well?" Nicholas demanded.
Botkin shrugged. "It's a scrap of a note. We took it from a Seppanen courier. The note---it's a thing that could have great consequence or no consequence. It's susceptible to various interpretations."
"What is the delicate content of this note?"
"Scrap of a note, milord. Incomplete. It was on minimic film with the usual destruction capsule attached. We stopped the acid action just short of full erasure, leaving only a fragment. The fragment, however, is extremely suggestive."
"Yes?"
Botkin rubbed at his lips. "It says; '....cholas will never suspect, and when the blow falls on him from a beloved hand, its source alone should be enough to destroy him.' The note was under the Baron's own seal and I've authenticated the seal."
"Your suspicion is obvious," the Duke said and his voice was suddenly icy.
"I'd sooner cut off my arms than hurt you," Botkin said. "Milord, what if..."
"The Lady Alexandra," Nicholas said, and he felt anger consuming him. "Couldn't you wring the facts out of this Pordaa?
"Unfortunately, Pordaa was no longer among the living when we intercepted the courier. The courier, I'm sure, didn't know what he carried."
"I see."
Nicholas shook his head. What a slimy piece of business. There can't be anything in it. I know my woman.
"Milord, if...."
"No!" the Duke barked. "There's a mistake here that..."
"We cannot ignore it, milord!"
"She's been with me for sixteen years! There've been countless chances for---You yourself investigated the school and the woman!"
Botkin spoke bitterly: "Things have been known to escape me."
"It's not possible, I tell you! The Seppanens want to destroy the Romanov bloodline---meaning Alexei, too. They've already tried once. Could a woman conspire against her own son?"
"Perhaps she doesn't conspire against her own son. And yesterday's attempt? Well, that could've been nothing but a clever sham."
"No, it couldn't have been a sham."
"Sire, she's not supposed to know her parentage, but what if she does know? What if she were an orphan, say, orphaned by a Romanov?"
"She'd have made her move long before now. Poison in my drink....stiletto at night. Who has had better opportunity?"
"The Seppanens mean to destroy you, milord. Their intent is not just to kill. There's a range of fine distinctions in kanly. This could be a work of art among vendettas."
The Duke's shoulders slumped. He closed his eyes, looking old and tired. It cannot be, he thought. The woman has opened her heart to me.
"What better what to destroy me than to sow suspicion of the woman I love?" he asked.
"That is but one interpretation I've considered," Botkin said.
The Duke opened his eyes, stared at Botkin, thinking: Let him be suspicious. Suspicious in his trade, not mine. Maybe if I appear to believe this, that will make the true enemy careless.
"What do you suggest?" the Duke whispered.
"Constant surveillance will do for now, milord. She should be watched at all times. I will see that it's done discreetly. Ukrainia would be prime choice for this job. Maybe in a week's time, or more, we can retrieve him. There's a young man we've been training in Ukrainia's troop who might be ideal to send to the Szganys as a replacement. He's gifted in diplomacy."
"Don't jeopardize our foothold with the Szganys."
"I will not, Sire. Should Dr. Rasputin be put on alert?"
Nichoals turned his back on Botkin. "I leave it in your hands."
"I will use discretion, milord."
I know he will, Nicholas thought. And he said: "I will take a stroll. If you need me, I'll be within the perimeter."
"Milord, before you go, I have a filmclip you should read. It's a first approximation analysis on the Szgany's religion. You'll recall you asked me to report on it."
The Duke paused, spoke without turning. "It can surely wait."
"Of course, milord. You did ask what they were shouting, though. It was 'Naib Diddy!' They directed the term at the young master."
"They were shouting that at Alexei?"
"Yes, milord. They've got a legend here, a prophecy, that a leader will come to them, the child of a Bala Garrasaid, to lead them to true freedom. It follows the familiar messiah pattern."
"They think Alexei is this....this...."
"They only hope so, milord." Botkin extended a filmclip capsule.
The Duke accepted it, thrust it into a pocket. "I'll look at it later."
"Certainly, milord."
"Right now, I need time to think."
"Yes, milord."
The Duke took a deep sighing breath, strode out the door. He turned to his right down the hall, started walking, hands behind his back, paying little mind to where he was. There were corridors and stairs and balconies and halls----people who saluted and stood aside for him.
In time he came back to the conference room, found it dark and Alexei asleep on the table with a guard's robe thrown over him and a ditty pack for a pillow. The Duke walked softly down the length of the room and onto the balcony, recognizing the Duke by the dim reflection of lights from the field, snapped to attention.
"At ease," the Duke murmured. He leaned against the cold metal of the balcony rail.
A predawn hush had come over the desert basin. He looked up. Straight overhead, the stars were like a sequin shawl flung over blue-black. Low on the southern horizon, the night's second moon peered through thin dust haze---an unbelieving moon that looked at him with a cynical light.
As the Duke watched, the moon dipped beneath the Barrier Wall cliffs, frosting them, and in the sudden intensity of darkness, he experienced a chill. He shivered.
Anger shot through him.
The Seppanens have hindered and hounded and hunted me for the last time, he thought. They are dunghills with village provost minds! On this planet will I make my stand! And he thought with a touch of sadness: I must rule with eye and claw--as the eagle amongst lesser birds. Unconsciously, his hand brushed the eagle emblem on his tunic.
To the east, the night grew a faggot of luminous gray, then seashell opalescence that dimmed the stars. There came the long, bell-tolling movement of dawn striking across a broken horizon.
It was a scene of such beauty it caught all of his attention.
Some things beggar likeness, he thought.
He had never imagined anything here could be as beautiful as that shattered red horizon and the purple ochre cliffs. Beyond the landing field where the night's faint dew had touched life into the hurried seeds of Dyuna, he saw great puddles of red blooms and, running through them, an articulate tread of violet akin to a giant's footsteps.
"It's a beautiful morning, Sire," the guard said.
"Indeed it is.
The Duke nodded, thinking, Perhaps this planet could grow on one. Perhaps it could become a good home for my son.
Then he saw the human figures moving into the flower fields, sweeping them with odd scythe-like devices called dew gatherers. Water was so precious here that even the dew must be collected.
And it could be a hideous place, the Duke thought.138Please respect copyright.PENANARl2ILjeg9O
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