whore’s garret.
The blowers soon dried him and he returned to the bedroom. The girl was waiting for him, once again respectably attired. Her face, utterly devoid of expression, could have been carved from old ivory. Expertly she helped him into his full evening dress, the archaic white tie and tails, with decorations. When he was fully clad he surveyed himself in the full-length mirror of the wardrobe. The effect would have been better, he thought, had he been taller and slimmer, less stocky, but . . . Not bad, he thought. Not bad. He allowed Su Lin to make the final adjustments to the snowy white butterfly nestling on his Adam’s apple.
“Thank you,” he told her and walked through to the sitting room.
Lieutenant Smith, in his uniform mess full dress, was waiting for him.
He said, “The car is waiting for us, Your Excellency.”
“Thank you,” said Grimes.
He followed the ADC to the doorway. Before he could pass through it Su Lin came out of the bedroom carrying his hat, another topper, black this time. Grimes had deliberately forgotten the thing; he took it from her with a brief word of thanks that he hoped she sensed was insincere.
He let Smith pilot him through the labyrinth of corridors.
He thought, I must tell Jaconelli to get me a chart of this bloody warren.
Chapter 10
The gubernatorial car was waiting in the portico, the civilian chauffeur, in his livery of faded, frayed denim and red neckerchief, in the front seat and, beside him, two soldiers in khaki uniform. The rear doors of the vehicle opened. Grimes took off his top hat, climbed in. The ADC followed him. Wong Lee and Su Lin bowed deferentially as the Whispering Ghost purred away from the portico.
Grimes tried to make conversation.
“I’m not used to having an ADC,” he remarked pleasantly to the Lieutenant.
“ADC, Officer Commanding the Governor’s Guard, liaison with the Officer Commanding the Garrison. . . .” The officer’s voice was surly. “I hope that you don’t think up any other jobs for me, Your Excellency. If ever there was a penny-pinching operation, this is it. I’m surprised that they don’t have me doing the cooking. . . .”
“Talking of cooking,” said Grimes, hoping to switch the conversation to a topic dear to his heart, “what’s the chef like?”
“Oh, all right, I suppose, if you don’t mind mucked-up food. He’s New Cantonese, of course. Like all the rest of the Residence mob, with the exception of my men and Jaconelli and myself.” He laughed. “I’m surprised that they didn’t appoint a New Cantonese as Governor. They’d be paying him much less than they’re paying you, Your Excellency.”
“Mphm.” Grimes managed to make it sound like a reprimand. He didn’t like and never had liked moaners. “Some people would think that being appointed ADC to a Governor was an honor.”
“I . . . I suppose so, Your Excellency.”
They sat in silence while the car sped down the winding road toward the city, taking a different route, Grimes noted, from that which had been taken during the journey from the spaceport. Dusk was falling fast but still work was continuing in the fields to either side of the highway. The last of the daylight was caught and reflected by metal implements, by sickles (sickles! in this day and age!) and the blades of hand-wielded hoes. A few of the laborers paused and straightened up to stare at the passing vehicle but most of them took no respite from their back-breaking toil.
Then there were no more fields but, to either side of the wide avenue, there were houses, each in its own garden. All of these buildings were low and rambling, the architectural style vaguely Spanish. Some—but only a few—of the gardens were well-kept; most of them were miniature jungles. The street lights were coming on but not all of them were working.
There was some traffic in the avenue. There was the very occasional solar-electric car. There was a sudden swarm of cyclists, skimming silently
The blowers soon dried him and he returned to the bedroom. The girl was waiting for him, once again respectably attired. Her face, utterly devoid of expression, could have been carved from old ivory. Expertly she helped him into his full evening dress, the archaic white tie and tails, with decorations. When he was fully clad he surveyed himself in the full-length mirror of the wardrobe. The effect would have been better, he thought, had he been taller and slimmer, less stocky, but . . . Not bad, he thought. Not bad. He allowed Su Lin to make the final adjustments to the snowy white butterfly nestling on his Adam’s apple.
“Thank you,” he told her and walked through to the sitting room.
Lieutenant Smith, in his uniform mess full dress, was waiting for him.
He said, “The car is waiting for us, Your Excellency.”
“Thank you,” said Grimes.
He followed the ADC to the doorway. Before he could pass through it Su Lin came out of the bedroom carrying his hat, another topper, black this time. Grimes had deliberately forgotten the thing; he took it from her with a brief word of thanks that he hoped she sensed was insincere.
He let Smith pilot him through the labyrinth of corridors.
He thought, I must tell Jaconelli to get me a chart of this bloody warren.
Chapter 10
The gubernatorial car was waiting in the portico, the civilian chauffeur, in his livery of faded, frayed denim and red neckerchief, in the front seat and, beside him, two soldiers in khaki uniform. The rear doors of the vehicle opened. Grimes took off his top hat, climbed in. The ADC followed him. Wong Lee and Su Lin bowed deferentially as the Whispering Ghost purred away from the portico.
Grimes tried to make conversation.
“I’m not used to having an ADC,” he remarked pleasantly to the Lieutenant.
“ADC, Officer Commanding the Governor’s Guard, liaison with the Officer Commanding the Garrison. . . .” The officer’s voice was surly. “I hope that you don’t think up any other jobs for me, Your Excellency. If ever there was a penny-pinching operation, this is it. I’m surprised that they don’t have me doing the cooking. . . .”
“Talking of cooking,” said Grimes, hoping to switch the conversation to a topic dear to his heart, “what’s the chef like?”
“Oh, all right, I suppose, if you don’t mind mucked-up food. He’s New Cantonese, of course. Like all the rest of the Residence mob, with the exception of my men and Jaconelli and myself.” He laughed. “I’m surprised that they didn’t appoint a New Cantonese as Governor. They’d be paying him much less than they’re paying you, Your Excellency.”
“Mphm.” Grimes managed to make it sound like a reprimand. He didn’t like and never had liked moaners. “Some people would think that being appointed ADC to a Governor was an honor.”
“I . . . I suppose so, Your Excellency.”
They sat in silence while the car sped down the winding road toward the city, taking a different route, Grimes noted, from that which had been taken during the journey from the spaceport. Dusk was falling fast but still work was continuing in the fields to either side of the highway. The last of the daylight was caught and reflected by metal implements, by sickles (sickles! in this day and age!) and the blades of hand-wielded hoes. A few of the laborers paused and straightened up to stare at the passing vehicle but most of them took no respite from their back-breaking toil.
Then there were no more fields but, to either side of the wide avenue, there were houses, each in its own garden. All of these buildings were low and rambling, the architectural style vaguely Spanish. Some—but only a few—of the gardens were well-kept; most of them were miniature jungles. The street lights were coming on but not all of them were working.
There was some traffic in the avenue. There was the very occasional solar-electric car. There was a sudden swarm of cyclists, skimming silently
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