slice of underdone beef that he was holding. “What you doing, trying to make me throw up or something?”
“Not for you? How about him, then?” King Bester nodded to Mondrian, still deep in conversation with Princess Tatiana. “Think he might be interested?”
Kubo Flammarion scratched his head. “The Commander? Nah. To get him hooked, you’d have to have a real victim and real blood.” He pointedly took a couple of steps away from Bester.
The King turned to Luther Brachis. “How about you? Like to know more about some of our entertainments—I mean the Big Marble specials, the ones you’ll never see in the catalogs. How would you like one of those?”
Brachis smiled at him pleasantly. “And how would you like a big fistful of knuckles”—he spoke in poorly pronounced but quite passable Earth-argot—“right up your royal nose?”
King Bester decided that his glass needed refilling at the sideboard across the room.
“I didn’t know you spoke their lingo, too,” said Kubo Flammarion admiringly, watching Bester’s rapid departure.
“It’s good to have a few things about you that most people don’t know.” Brachis turned, so that no one but Flammarion could see his lips. “There’s things about your boss that you don’t know, too. Remember that. I don’t give away information—but I’m always willing to trade.”
Chapter 5
Tatty shook her head as soon as Mondrian explained what he was looking for.
“Not here, or in any of the areas where I have clout. There’s a local ordinance forbidding the off-Earth sale of anyone with more than four degrees of consanguinity with my imperial clan—and that means everybody. They all claim relationship, even when they don’t really have it.”
“Any ideas, then?”
“You might try over in BigSyd, or maybe Tearun. I don’t know the dealers there, though. And Ree-o-dee would be a cert, except you need to pay off so many people it gets out of control. Better if we could find somebody locally.”
“How about Bozzie?” King Bester had given up any pretense that he was not eavesdropping. “He’s top bod or that line of business. And he’s nearby, sort of.”
“Could be worth a shot. I don’t know what he has, though.” Tatty turned to Mondrian. “Well have to find him first—but he’ll be somewhere in the Gallimaufries, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Bozzie?” Kubo Flammarion was struggling to make an intelligible record of the conversation, but the last exchange was too much. “Find him in the Garry-what’s?”
“Bozzie. The Duke of Bosny. Also Viscount Roosevelt, Count Mellon, Baron Rockwell, and the Earl of Potomac.” Tatty’s face said what she thought of all those titles. “Upstart houses, every one. But I’ll say this for him, he prefers to be called plain Bosny, or just Bozzie. He hasn’t lived in Bosny City for years, though he claims to have been born there. He certainly has consanguinity with every major royal line in the Northeast, and he’s a big mover and shaker down in the Gallimaufries—the basement warrens” (She had seen Flammarion’s mouth starting to open again) “—two hundred levels below where we are now.”
Tatty glanced at King Bester. “More your stamping-grounds than mine. Think we might get him today?”
“You’ll have to hurry. Never find Bozzie there after dark—he’ll be topside with his Scavvies, scouting the surface.”
Luther Brachis was looking at his watch. “Then we’re too late. It’s already dark up on the surface.”
But Tatty was shaking her head. “It’s dark now where you landed, in Africa, but we came a long way west through the Links. We picked up six hours. Local time is only two in the afternoon.”
“Sorry.” Brachis sounded annoyed—with himself. “I’ll keep my mouth shut until I know what I’m talking about.”
“You’re not so far wrong as you think,” replied Tatty. “We’re in the northern hemisphere, and it’s winter. It gets dark
“Not for you? How about him, then?” King Bester nodded to Mondrian, still deep in conversation with Princess Tatiana. “Think he might be interested?”
Kubo Flammarion scratched his head. “The Commander? Nah. To get him hooked, you’d have to have a real victim and real blood.” He pointedly took a couple of steps away from Bester.
The King turned to Luther Brachis. “How about you? Like to know more about some of our entertainments—I mean the Big Marble specials, the ones you’ll never see in the catalogs. How would you like one of those?”
Brachis smiled at him pleasantly. “And how would you like a big fistful of knuckles”—he spoke in poorly pronounced but quite passable Earth-argot—“right up your royal nose?”
King Bester decided that his glass needed refilling at the sideboard across the room.
“I didn’t know you spoke their lingo, too,” said Kubo Flammarion admiringly, watching Bester’s rapid departure.
“It’s good to have a few things about you that most people don’t know.” Brachis turned, so that no one but Flammarion could see his lips. “There’s things about your boss that you don’t know, too. Remember that. I don’t give away information—but I’m always willing to trade.”
Chapter 5
Tatty shook her head as soon as Mondrian explained what he was looking for.
“Not here, or in any of the areas where I have clout. There’s a local ordinance forbidding the off-Earth sale of anyone with more than four degrees of consanguinity with my imperial clan—and that means everybody. They all claim relationship, even when they don’t really have it.”
“Any ideas, then?”
“You might try over in BigSyd, or maybe Tearun. I don’t know the dealers there, though. And Ree-o-dee would be a cert, except you need to pay off so many people it gets out of control. Better if we could find somebody locally.”
“How about Bozzie?” King Bester had given up any pretense that he was not eavesdropping. “He’s top bod or that line of business. And he’s nearby, sort of.”
“Could be worth a shot. I don’t know what he has, though.” Tatty turned to Mondrian. “Well have to find him first—but he’ll be somewhere in the Gallimaufries, so it shouldn’t be too hard.”
“Bozzie?” Kubo Flammarion was struggling to make an intelligible record of the conversation, but the last exchange was too much. “Find him in the Garry-what’s?”
“Bozzie. The Duke of Bosny. Also Viscount Roosevelt, Count Mellon, Baron Rockwell, and the Earl of Potomac.” Tatty’s face said what she thought of all those titles. “Upstart houses, every one. But I’ll say this for him, he prefers to be called plain Bosny, or just Bozzie. He hasn’t lived in Bosny City for years, though he claims to have been born there. He certainly has consanguinity with every major royal line in the Northeast, and he’s a big mover and shaker down in the Gallimaufries—the basement warrens” (She had seen Flammarion’s mouth starting to open again) “—two hundred levels below where we are now.”
Tatty glanced at King Bester. “More your stamping-grounds than mine. Think we might get him today?”
“You’ll have to hurry. Never find Bozzie there after dark—he’ll be topside with his Scavvies, scouting the surface.”
Luther Brachis was looking at his watch. “Then we’re too late. It’s already dark up on the surface.”
But Tatty was shaking her head. “It’s dark now where you landed, in Africa, but we came a long way west through the Links. We picked up six hours. Local time is only two in the afternoon.”
“Sorry.” Brachis sounded annoyed—with himself. “I’ll keep my mouth shut until I know what I’m talking about.”
“You’re not so far wrong as you think,” replied Tatty. “We’re in the northern hemisphere, and it’s winter. It gets dark
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