Walter Jon Williams - The Crown Jewels

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Drake Maijstral walked on soft leather buskins down the

center of the Peleng City ballroom and never made a

noise. He was light-footed by trade.

Above him, ideographs for "long life" and "welcome,

travelers" floated below the high ceiling- The glowing

holos lit the room more brightly than usual, mainly to

provide sufficient light for the large number of media

globes that also floated over the assembly. Individuals,

human and not, found themselves reacting to the unex-

pected brightness in accordance with their character and

purpose. Some did not wish their business to be known,

and these shrank into the shadows and mumbled with their

faces turned to the wall. Those wanting to be seen prome-

naded beneath the hovering globes or floated on a-grav

fields toward the ceiling in hopes a globe might conde-

scend to interview them. Some promenaded in the light,

but being self-conscious, blushed. Others tried their best to

behave normally and ended up asking themselves what

normal was, particularly under these conditions.

Maijstral did none of these things. He had been schooled

in ways of maintaining assurance under unusual condi-

tions, was used to a certain amount of media attention, and

2 / WALTER JON WILLIAMS

though his business was not entirely legitimate, he felt no

urge to hide in comers and mumble.

The formal stance adopted by most of the guests fea-

tured the shoulders pulled back and hips tucked under a

slightly curved but nevertheless rigid spine. The pose was

natural to a Khosalikh but required training in a human.

That Maijstral managed to add a supple grace to this

posture was to his credit. He was only a few inches above

the human average, but he looked taller. Also to his credit

was his dress, which managed to make the most of the

monochrome scheme demanded by High Custom—black

being the mourning color of most of humanity, and white

of the Khosali. He wore little jewelry save the silver pins

used to hold back his long brown hair, and the large

diamond on one finger. His eyes were a pleasant and

unassuming green, and half-closed lids gave the impres-

sion of laziness. He appeared to be in his midtwenties.

Maijstrat approached a tall, elegant, somewhat older

man, who walked the ballroom unaccompanied. The man

had a glass stuck in one eye, and was one of three hundred

humans who bore only a single name. His skin was black,

his ruffles and boots scarlet.

"Etienne," said Maijstral.

"Maijstral. How delightful."

Formally they sniffed each other's ears. A waxed musta-

chio point jabbed Maijstral's cheek. "Still in mourning, I

see," said Etienne.

"My father's still dead," said Maijstral.

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They spoke in High Khosali. Most humans managed the

strange intonation and nasal vowels easily enough, but it

took training to make proper use of the shifting syntax

wherein the structure of each sentence makes a comment

on the previous sentence, paragraph, or idea, and in one

THE CROWN JEWELS / 3

difficult parsing even makes a relation of the subject of the

conversation to the state of the universe as a whole.

"I remember hearing the news about your father a year

or so ago. There's no hope of recovery, I assume?"

"I'm afraid not. He sends me frequent letters complain-

ing about his condition.'*

"The dead can be a burden, I'm sure. But mourning

suits your figure well, Maijstral."

"Thank you. You look elegant, as always. Though I'm

not sure the eyeglass suits you. 1 don't think you're old

enough for such a major affectation."

Etienne lowered his voice. "It's cosmetic, I'm afraid.

Pearl Woman challenged me on Heath Minor and ran me

through the eye. My boot slipped, damn it. There are still

a few bruises around the implant." He paused a moment,

as if troubled. "You hadn't heard?"

"I'm afraid not. I've just ended a long passage, and I

haven't caught up on the news."

"Ah." Etienne seemed comforted. "Take my arm and

walk with me. The citizens seem a bit shy."

Maijstral fell into step with the other man. Locals parted

before them in a certain awe. "I am not surprised,"

Maijstral said, "How long has it been since members of

the Diadem visited here?"

"Forty standard. And from the looks of this burgh, I

can see why."

Maijstral was diplomatically silent. It is a credit to his

teachers that he did not so much as glance upward to see if

one of the media globes had overheard this remark. Etienne

went on, his parsing indicating irritation.

"It's not so much the reception as the degree of eager-

ness, if you know what I mean. Too much reverence."

"They will soon leam to relax in your company, I'm

sure."

4 / WALTER JON WILLIAMS

"My dear Maijstral, I don't want them to relax. I'm not

supposed to be a neighbor, I'm supposed to be a god."

Anyone, Maijstral reflected, who has got a rapier through

the eye and then discovered that an old acquaintance hasn't

even heard about it might be forgiven a certain amount of

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peevishness, even inconsistent peevishness. Maijstral

shrugged.

"In that case reverence is only your due," he said.

"Relish it, it is the coinage of godhood." Spoken in the

difficult parsing relating the subject matter to the condition

of existence.

Etienne wasn't so peeved he didn't know when someone

had scored a point, but his recovery was graceful. He

bowed to a tall blond woman who was approaching them

at a lazy walk. She was elegantly dressed in blue and

silver, and looked younger than her thirty-two years.

"Ah. Nichole. Maijstral was just asking about you."

Her scent was familiar and struck him like a silken

glove. "My lady. I am ravished." Maijstral brushed her

knuckles with his lips before sniffing her ears. She was

taller than Maijstral, and pale. She, like Etienne, bore only

a forename. She smiled at Maijstrai whitely.

"Drake. Such a joy to see you after all this time.

Mourning looks well on you." She spoke Human Standard.

"Thank you. And thanks again for the kind note on the

death of my father.''

"How is he, by the way?"

The media globes were beginning to jostle one another

above Nichole's head. Etienne made his excuses, sniffed

ears, and departed. Nichole took Maijstral's arm. Her

nearness to him conveyed old intimacies, suggested new

hopes. Linked, they strolled the length of the ballroom. At

least fifty men turned red and mentally assassinated Maijstrat

on the spot.

THE CROWN JEWELS I 5

"Etienne seemed disturbed I hadn't heard of his duel."

"His share was going down, you know. This mandated

an affaire de coeur with a protege of Pearl Woman, an

affaire d'honneur with the Pearl herself, and then the new

eye. A silly business. The second duel among the Diadem

in a twelvemonth. Pearl Woman was furious."

"He told me his boot slipped."

"Perhaps it did. One hopes it will cure him of martial

ambition. Dueling is habit-forming, though luckily suicide

is not."

Even the Khosali, who had reintroduced to humanity the

twin fashions of dueling and suicide, had mixed feelings

about this part of High Custom- There is a Khosali saying,

"Any fool can die in a duel." (They have a similar saying

about suicide.) The tone of Nichole's comments (though

spoken in Human Standard, which does not have the con-

textual modes of High Khosali) somehow managed to

convey the essence of the Khosali expression without actu-

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ally saying it.

Nuance, nuance. The globes, such as heard, loved it.

"How is Roman? Is he well?"

Maijstral smiled. "Roman is Roman. He'll be pleased

you asked after him, but he will be secretly pleased."

As they spoke they watched each other, listened, touched.

Explored, in their minds, possibilities. Each in search of a

conclusion, a resolution.

"He's much the same, then. And yourself?"

Maijstral cocked his head while considering the ques-

tion. "Well enough, 1 suppose."

"You're too young for ennui. That's more my line."

"Did that sound like ennui? I intended rather a becom-

ing modesty."

"You're not a modest man, Drake. Don't assume vir-

6 / WALTER JON WILLIAMS

tues you don't possess." Said lightly, but still with a touch

of vinegar. She had changed in four years-

"1 have to assume at least a few," Maijstral said, "else

I'll have none at all."

She put her free hand on his arm. "Now that's more

like the Drake Maijstral 1 remember."

The second hand on his arm was an external sign of an

inner process. She had come to a resolution regarding

Maijstral, a resolution similar to that which he had reached

himself some moments before. It was perhaps impolite,

and certainly assumed much, for him to reach such a

resolution so soon.

She looked at a group of Khosali standing a short dis-

tance away. "Are those Imperials snubbing us? They stand

facing the wall."

"That is Baron Sinn and his friends. He was always

deep in conspiracy with my father. I suspect he is a spy.

He probably regrets being here at all, considering the

media attention this is getting."

"What is there here worth spying on? A provincial

planet, sufficiently far from the border to have little mili-

tary value."

"He must earn his wages somehow."

Trumpets sounded from the a-grav orchestra suspended

near me arched ceiling. People began sorting themselves

out into couples and lines. "Ah," said Maijstral, "the

Pilgrimage to the Cinnamon Temple. Will you partner

me?"'

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"Delighted, sir."

The Pilgrimage was originally a sprightly dance called

Going to Market, but eight hundred years before, during

the reign of an elderly, arthritic Emperor, the pace had

been slowed down and a more stately name applied. The

change proved to have unexpected benefits. Because the

THE CROWN JEWELS / 7

dancers changed partners frequently, the slower tread gave

everyone in the line the chance to sniff ears and exchange

introductions and witticisms—and if you were short of

witticisms, you could repeat the same one over and over

without fear of being a bore. Cinnamon Temple was,

therefore, the perfect get-acquainted dance.

The trumpet call repeated, and the dance began. Maijstral

advanced toward his partner and sniffed.

"Will you come see me tomorrow?" Nichole asked.

"I'd be delighted," he answered. She was circling him,

stately, her arm crooked to hold an imaginary market

basket.

"Can you come at sixteen? I have to witness an Elvis

impersonation at eighteen, and you can be my escort."

Maijstral did a caper. "I'll dress formally, then."

"God knows what it will be like." Nichole sighed- "He

probably won't even be able to get 'Heartbreak Hotel'

right."

Maijstral faced the man on his right and introduced

himself. The dance spoke on.

"I don't like it, Pietro. Baron Sinn being here."

Pietro was a young man, gangly, of medium height. His

partner was a few years older, with dark, short-clipped

hair and a serious mien. Pietro was the taller, but only by

virtue of high-heeled boots.

"I don't like it, either. Miss Jensen," Pietro said. "Per-

haps he intends to interfere in the auction."

"Damn it. We can't outbid him. If only Tartaglia were

here. I sent him a message, but no reply as yet."

"Oops. Sorry."

"You shouldn't dance in heels unless . . . Oh, hell.

Later, Pietro."

8 / WALTER JON WILLIAMS

"Baron, a word." Sinn was a Khosalikh; tall, with a

pointed face and ebony skin beneath his dark fur. His

interrogator was a human; short, fair, with intense blue

eyes that glittered like diamond-bearing sand. She was in

her fifties but looked ten years younger.

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The Baron touched his warm nose to her cheek.

"Countess."

Her ears pricked downward. "There may be a complica-

tion. I noticed that Maijstral is here."

"He has the contents of a planet to choose from, ma'am.

I would not be concerned. The chances of our interests

being similar are not great."

"Perhaps the simplest way is just to ask."

"I don't wish to betray our intentions to such an uncer-

tain character. We shall simply watch, and wait."

Her mouth hung open, her tongue lolled. A Khosali

smile- "Still. I haven't seen him in years. Will you join

me, Baron, at the bottom of the set?"

"With pleasure. Countess. Take my arm."

"Drake Maijstral, sir." Mutual sniffs.

"Lieutenant Navarre, sir. 1 see we're both in mourn-

ing." He was a tall man, copper-skinned, about thirty, in

uniform with a mourning cloak.

"I'm afraid I don't recognize the uniform. A local

unit?"

A dismissive laugh. "No. I'm from Pompey. I just

inherited some property here, and 1 have to inspect it."

"Substantial property, I hope."

"Oh, no. Just a house and some land. A lot of bric-a-

brac—my uncle had eccentric tastes, but he wasn't rich.

I'm selling it all."

"I hope you don't think me impertinent for asking."

THE CROWN JEWELS / 9

A shrug. "Not at all. What else is there to talk about,

between strangers?"

". . . Yes. My boot slipped, damn it."

"It was such a beautiful eye. I think it was your eyes

that made me fall in love with you, years ago when 1 was a

child."

"Er. Yes. To be sure."

"Drake Maijstral, sir."

"Pietro Quijano, sir. Say, are you the Drake Maijstral?"

"Ah ..."

"Oh. I'm terribly sorry, sir. These are new shoes."

"Think nothing of it, sir. The answer to your question,

I'm afraid, is yes."

A pause. "Sir? What question was that?"

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"Hello again, Nichole- That was a lovely turn you just

did."

"I had to try something new. I've done this dance so

many times. . . ."

"Now who's filled with ennui?"

A wry laugh. "I just danced a measure with the most

appalling woman. Countess Anastasia. You blanch, Drake."

"She must have arrived late, else I would have seen

her." Maijstral's hooded eyes could not entirety conceal

his disquiet. "A spectre from my youth."

"She must have found out that Baron Sinn was here. I

don't suppose she came to see you."

"My father was terrified of her. and with reason. Truth-

fully, so was I." He craned his head down the set. "Possi-

bly she won't notice me."

"I wouldn't count on it, Drake. I would guess that

woman notices everything."

10 WALTER JON WILLIAMS

"Hullo, Pietro."

"I'm having a good time. Miss Jensen-"

"I'm glad to hear it."

"Here we are, involved in a serious intrigue, and with

all these famous people around . . . it's just like the Magic

Planet of Adventure."

"The what?"

"Didn't you watch Ronnie Romper as a child? 1 did."

"Of course. I'd forgotten."

"Do you know who's here. Miss Jensen? Drake Maijstral.

The Drake Maijstral."

"I'm sorry to be dense, Pietro, but I'm not sure who

you mean."

"Don't you follow sports? The Khovenburg Glacier?

The Inside Straight Affaire?"

"Ah. I remember now. Which one is he?"

"Over there. Talking to the onion-head. I was think-

ing. ... He might help us with our, uh, problem."

"Oh. "A tone of surprise. "That's a good idea, Pietro."

Two beats' pause. "Is it really?"

"Yes. Bad tuck. My boot slipped."

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"Drake Maijstral, sir."

A high-pitched voice composed of glorious harmonies.

"Count Quik." The Count was a Troxan, less than four

feet tall, with a large, round head composed of translucent

layers of alternating brain tissue and cartilage. There were

no external ears, as the structure of the head produced a

resonance that had much the same purpose. Maijstral had

to make approximations during the get'acquainted sniff.

"On unbusiness I am inning this system," the Count

THE CROWN JEWELS I 11

explained. "Humanity is me interested. I big tour taking

am. Am on Earth big finishing, acquaintance making."

Maijstral wondered if teaching implants for Human Stan-

dard had never been developed for Troxans. "That sounds

, delightful," he said. "I have never been to Earth."

"You touring should. Home ofElvis and ancient Greeks."

"It's near the border, too, and I'm heading that way. I

should make plans. Yes. Definitely."

"Lieutenant Navarre, ma'am."

"Nichole. The Pompey High Seas Scouts, I see."

"You recognized me uniform? I'm astonished at your

breadth of knowledge, ma'am. Have you been to Pompey?"

"Alas, no. But I've always liked a man in uniform."

"Drake Maijstral, madam."

"Amalia Jensen, sir. Are you the Maijstral of the

Mirrorglass BellBox?"

"I'm afraid that was Geoff Fu George, madam."

"I beg your pardon."

"Think nothing of it. The comparison flatters me."

Briskly, "I was wondering, though . . . perhaps we

could discuss business."

"I am rapt attention, madam."

"An antiquity. About to be sold at auction. I'm afraid 1

might be outbid."

"I shall be happy to hear you- Please continue when

next we share a measure."

"Delighted."

"Such a shame. I hope you've acquired a new pair to go

with the new eye."

12 / WALTER JON WILLIAMS

"Maijstral, sir."

"Paavo Kuusinen." He was a slight, cool man, entering

middle age-

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"That coat is cut Empire-fashion. Are you with the Sinn

party?"

"1 travel alone, sir. On business."

Maijstral could think of no reply to that, and the man's

manner discouraged intimacy. He danced on.

"Drake."

"Nichole."

"Do you know that four hundred lives are lost annually

on Pompey, in accidents relating to the sea?"

"Ah. I see you have been talking to the man in uniform."

"He is full of facts, Maijstral. How long has it been

since I've actually heard a fact? Not a supposition, or a

rumor, or a piece of gossip, but an actual ctear-cut fact?

Four hundred lives. A fact."

"It is a fact that you are beautiful."

"It is a fact with which I am distressingly familiar."

"Pietro Quijano."

"General Gerald. Marines. Retired." The General was

a broad-shouldered man, erect, his face set in an expres-

sion of permanent fury.

"Your servant, sir."

"Ridiculous business, this dance. I've sniffed so many

dirty necks tonight it's scandalous. Yours could use a little

wash, by the way."

"Ah—I'll attend to it straight away. I say, do you know

who 1 just met? Drake Maijstral. You know, the Khovenburg

Glacier. The Swiss Cheese Incident."

"Maijstral? Here? Where?"

"There. In mourning."

THE CROWN JEWELS I 13

"Hah! An outrage. And here, in this company."

"Oh. Sorry, sir."

"You shouldn't be wearing heels, young man. you

don't need the extra height."

"Oh." Beat. "Do you really think so?"

"Nichole."

"Paavo Kuusinen. Your servant, ma'am."

"Are you traveling from the Empire?"

"Yes, ma'am. Is it that obvious?"

"If you wish to remain anonymous, you shouid have

that coat altered."

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"I am chagrined. I am a student of human nature, and I

had hoped to blend in, the better simply to watch the rest

of humanity at their games. My tailor assured me this was

the latest style."

"Our fashions no longer come from the Empire. There

are some here who would count that a loss."

"Drake Maijstral."

"General Gerald. Marines. Retired. Come after any-

thing of mine and I'll kill you."

Astonishment. A caper terminated at the halfway point.

"1 beg your pardon, sir, but I have no intention—"

"I don't give a damn about your intentions. It's results

that I'm after. Move in my direction and I'll kill you, or

have it done. That's fair warning."

"Fair enough, sir."

"I don't need your judgments as to my fairness either,

damn you. Go sniff that lady's neck and get the hell out of

my sight."

"Miss Jensen, if all is as you say, my fee would be at

least sixty. More if the job is difficult."

14 / WALTER JON WILLIAMS

"Do you doubt my information?11

"Your information may not be up to date."

"Your price is ... high, Maijstral."

"You aren't allowing me media rights. If you change

your mind, the price will go down."

"Sorry. I'm Firm on that point."

"Then I'm firm on my price. My apologies, miss."

"I saw that fight of yours. Damn bad business."

"Yes, General. Unfortunately my boot slipped."

"Hah. You're a liar, or perhaps an idiot. She dropped a

foot on your instep, you lost your concentration, she caught

your blade in forte and you were done for. A midshipman

could have done better."

"Siri"

"Don't play the outraged man of action with me. 1 may

be past retirement, but I know better than to fall for tricks

like that. I'd cut you to ribbons."

"Maijstral."

"Countess." There was a distressing wail in his nerves,

a tendency in his limbs to tremble and betray his resolu-

tion. It is not pleasant to discover that a childhood ogre

still has teeth, still possesses the ability to quicken the

pulse, tighten the diaphragm, weaken the knees.

"Allow me to express my thanks for the kind note on

my father's death."

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Walter Jon Williams - The Crown Jewels

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