Two.
He retrieved his gear from the tunnel and, looking fore and aft to make certain he was unobserved, began to run. His low-heeled buskins made no sound.
*
Paavo Kuusinen turned the Duchess of Benn under his right arm. She spun to her place and smiled.
“You're a smooth dancer, Kuusinen,” she said.
“I thank your grace.” Properly.
Roberta looked at Kuusinen thoughtfully. “You have that secret look, Kuusinen.”
“Do I?” His face disclosed a quiet smile as he danced a brief jig about her.
“What are you involved with?”
“I have engaged in a slight intrigue, my lady,” he said. “Raising Maijstral’s stock, as against that of Geoff Fu George.”
“Very good, Kuusinen.”
Kuusinen gave her a pensive look. “I’m having second thoughts, I’m afraid.” Roberta danced in place, her heels flashing. “I’m afraid I’ve just heightened the rivalry.”
“The better for us, then.”
“Possibly, your grace. If it doesn’t get out of control.”
They touched hands, moved three vigorous, hopping steps to the right. Down the set, one of the Waltz twins gave a whoop.
Roberta retired a pace. Kuusinen made a flourishing bow. She smiled at him as they passed right, then left. “There’s another mystery to which you might address your talents, if you're not feeling overstrained.”
“Your grace?”
“The object that Lord Qlp gave me this afternoon.”
“Ah. I heard about that.”
“It looked at first like a wet lump. But now it’s dried off, and it’s looking more . . . interesting.”
“How so, your grace?”
“There are . . . colors in it. Patterns. And the patterns change. It seems to have some form of internal life. I asked Lady Dosvidern about it, but she affects to be as baffled as I.”
“Perhaps you ought to have it checked, your grace. It might be unhealthy in some way.”
Roberta laughed. “The least of my worries, sir. But still, I'd like you to see the thing.”
“Happily, your grace.”
She regarded him carefully. “You still have that secret look, Kuusinen.”
“Have I, your grace?” Touching hands again, and hopping to the left. Still holding hands (his left, her right), they turned up the set and began to perform an intricate series of steps while maintaining forward motion. Roberta sighed.
“Very well, Kuusinen. I won’t insist. But I hope you'll let me know when something is about to happen.”
“I will, your grace.” He caught her eye and smiled. “You may depend on it.”
*
Mr. Sun sat fidgeting in his cool blue heaven, possessed of a growing conviction that Lucifer had somehow got in amongst the angels and all PanDaemonium was going to break loose at any instant.
Alarms were still going off with dismal regularity. There were thirty lights on his board, and more appearing every minute. His people were an hour late in answering them.
Perhaps, he thought, something in the unique character of Silverside's star had wildly increased the local rate of entropic decay. The security system on which Sun had labored for the better part of two years was falling apart at the first crisis, and Sun found himself helpless to cope with the shock.
He knew he had to deal with the situation somehow, take command. He had no idea how.
A light winked into existence on his console. He pressed an ideogram, said, “Yes.”
“Khamiss, sir.” Which Sun could see perfectly well, as a hologram of Khamiss’s head had just appeared in the control room. Khamiss was looking weary about the eyes.
“Yes, Khamiss?”
“We've finished on Azure Corridor. No sign of anything out of the ordinary.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Sun. He reset the alarm on Azure Corridor. “Peach Division next, eighth deep.”
“Sir.” Speaking very carefully. “I think It’s time for a command decision. My people are growing tired, and we haven’t found a single intrusion.”
Sun frowned. Entropic decay, it appeared, was beginning to spread to his minions. The Sin Balance was tilting
He retrieved his gear from the tunnel and, looking fore and aft to make certain he was unobserved, began to run. His low-heeled buskins made no sound.
*
Paavo Kuusinen turned the Duchess of Benn under his right arm. She spun to her place and smiled.
“You're a smooth dancer, Kuusinen,” she said.
“I thank your grace.” Properly.
Roberta looked at Kuusinen thoughtfully. “You have that secret look, Kuusinen.”
“Do I?” His face disclosed a quiet smile as he danced a brief jig about her.
“What are you involved with?”
“I have engaged in a slight intrigue, my lady,” he said. “Raising Maijstral’s stock, as against that of Geoff Fu George.”
“Very good, Kuusinen.”
Kuusinen gave her a pensive look. “I’m having second thoughts, I’m afraid.” Roberta danced in place, her heels flashing. “I’m afraid I’ve just heightened the rivalry.”
“The better for us, then.”
“Possibly, your grace. If it doesn’t get out of control.”
They touched hands, moved three vigorous, hopping steps to the right. Down the set, one of the Waltz twins gave a whoop.
Roberta retired a pace. Kuusinen made a flourishing bow. She smiled at him as they passed right, then left. “There’s another mystery to which you might address your talents, if you're not feeling overstrained.”
“Your grace?”
“The object that Lord Qlp gave me this afternoon.”
“Ah. I heard about that.”
“It looked at first like a wet lump. But now it’s dried off, and it’s looking more . . . interesting.”
“How so, your grace?”
“There are . . . colors in it. Patterns. And the patterns change. It seems to have some form of internal life. I asked Lady Dosvidern about it, but she affects to be as baffled as I.”
“Perhaps you ought to have it checked, your grace. It might be unhealthy in some way.”
Roberta laughed. “The least of my worries, sir. But still, I'd like you to see the thing.”
“Happily, your grace.”
She regarded him carefully. “You still have that secret look, Kuusinen.”
“Have I, your grace?” Touching hands again, and hopping to the left. Still holding hands (his left, her right), they turned up the set and began to perform an intricate series of steps while maintaining forward motion. Roberta sighed.
“Very well, Kuusinen. I won’t insist. But I hope you'll let me know when something is about to happen.”
“I will, your grace.” He caught her eye and smiled. “You may depend on it.”
*
Mr. Sun sat fidgeting in his cool blue heaven, possessed of a growing conviction that Lucifer had somehow got in amongst the angels and all PanDaemonium was going to break loose at any instant.
Alarms were still going off with dismal regularity. There were thirty lights on his board, and more appearing every minute. His people were an hour late in answering them.
Perhaps, he thought, something in the unique character of Silverside's star had wildly increased the local rate of entropic decay. The security system on which Sun had labored for the better part of two years was falling apart at the first crisis, and Sun found himself helpless to cope with the shock.
He knew he had to deal with the situation somehow, take command. He had no idea how.
A light winked into existence on his console. He pressed an ideogram, said, “Yes.”
“Khamiss, sir.” Which Sun could see perfectly well, as a hologram of Khamiss’s head had just appeared in the control room. Khamiss was looking weary about the eyes.
“Yes, Khamiss?”
“We've finished on Azure Corridor. No sign of anything out of the ordinary.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Sun. He reset the alarm on Azure Corridor. “Peach Division next, eighth deep.”
“Sir.” Speaking very carefully. “I think It’s time for a command decision. My people are growing tired, and we haven’t found a single intrusion.”
Sun frowned. Entropic decay, it appeared, was beginning to spread to his minions. The Sin Balance was tilting
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