Irona 700 by Dave Duncan Page B

lover’s twinkle in his eye now. He was a human octopus, coloring himself to match his background. At times in the night he had seemed to have eight hands, too. She wanted to drag him off to bed right away, but she mustn’t.
    â€œOrder up a sedan chair for us. I want to go to the New Customs House, or near there. Just you and me. No escort.”
    His eyebrows shot up. He had beautiful eyebrows.
    â€œWear your sword, though,” she said. “And a heavy cloak. From there we’ll walk.”
    â€œTo?”
    â€œBrackish.”
    He did not question, just pursed his lips. He had beautiful—Goddess! She must stop behaving like a mawkish child bride. Craver had stolen her wits.
    â€œIn secret,” she said. “As soon as you have finished eating.”
    He rose, clutching his bread roll. “I can eat and walk. By the way, Mother was asking if she can have the broken floor tiles in the hall repaired.”
    â€œOf course she may. Last night …”
    He paused, eyebrows raised again.
    â€œWas not your first time,” she finished limply. She should not ask.
    He smiled. “I was given a few lessons when I was younger.”
    â€œYou can teach me everything you know. But, Vly—”
    â€œMa’am?”
    â€œAlways rumple your bed. I don’t want the servants to know.”
    He looked at her pityingly. “They’ve known for months. I mean they’ve assumed it for months. I refuse to discuss it, but I am so gorgeous that they can’t believe you could ever refuse me.”
    â€œOh, you … ! Go!”
    â€œAnd I don’t abuse the slaves, so obviously—”
    â€œGo, I said!”
    Chuckling, he strode off to dispatch a slave runner.
    He was gorgeous, and she was happy to hear that he had not been abusing the slave girls. Oddly, she believed him on that.
    Still gulping the last of breakfast, she went to the strong room door near the fireplace. The keys lived in a box on the mantel—no point in hiding the keys, the Property Commission’s flunky had said when instructing Irona in the strong room’s operation, because then a burglar might try an ax instead. There were ten keys and ten keyholes, but you couldn’t guess which key went in which lock, or which way to turn them, or even which needed to be unlocked. If you made a mistake, you locked instead of unlocking and finished up no better off than when you started.
    The door opened inward, so its hinges were not exposed and vulnerable to attack, but behind all those safeguards, the strong room held little except dust, for Irona had long since returned all Podnelbi 681’s jewels and other finery to the commission. She kept nothing in there except state documents and gold. She chose a bag holding ten whales, equal to a thousand dolphins, a sizable fortune. It was heavy, but Vlyplatin could carry it for her with some of those muscles she had so much admired in the night.
    Locking the strong room was as tricky as unlocking it.
    She rang for a slave to remove the remains of breakfast.
    Irona was going to veer dangerously close to breaking the decree of Absolute Secrecy that Seven Knipry had laid upon the Irona Committee, but she had begun her inquiries before he issued it. A few days earlier she had asked the Geographical Section for a list of all the harbormasters on the island. Her assigned office in the First’s Palace was a tiny nook, up in the attics where the most junior Chosen nested. It was furnished with a small table and one chair and illuminated by a single tiny window. The list was brought there by a young clerk with ugly buckteeth and ears as widespread as a cormorant’s wings. He was undernourished, and his tunic looked like burlap. She thanked him and laid two silver dolphin coins on the table. He stared at them as if he had no idea what they were. His official monthly income was probably a few copper fish.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” she