City of Diamond, стр. 11

It was a fine gold chain with two hearts, each heart intricately engraven with their names, repeated over and over in miniature script.

“Beautiful workmanship,” said the cardinal, peering at the tiny letters. “I know this will please her.”

“I hope so.” Whoever the hell she is. For a moment a succession of cronelike images flashed through his mind. He dearly wished that City etiquette allowed him to ask for her picture. It might amuse the old men on the Opal Ecclesiastical Council to tie him to a humiliating marriage, though that was unlikely. Still, he did seem to dwell on the fringe possibilities lately. When it wasn’t a kinetescope of crones moving through his mind’s eye, it was a slower stream of dreamlike beauties that seemed to trickle in whenever he let himself wonder about Iolanthe Pelagia. Odds were far more likely that she was some skinny, plain young lady somewhere firmly between the two extremes; and why shouldn’t she be? She was just a seventeen-year-old girl. If she could stumble her way through City functions, that was the most he could reasonably ask.

Adrian said, “And now, if you’ll allow me, I’ll have you shown back to your suite so you can start becoming settled.”

Amo planted himself firmly. “I’m sure the Protector hasn’t forgotten his role in the full welcoming ritual,” he said. He reached into his robe and came out with a turquoise-handled dagger. “Duty sometimes slips the mind of youth, but maturity is ever a leader.”

It was a fully inscribed sacrificial knife. lord, thought Adrian, he’s not actually going to insist—

He was. Adrian sighed and made sure his white satin cuff was far enough from his palm that it wouldn’t get bloody. Lucius would have a fit if he ruined another shirt, and besides, this was Adrian’s favorite. With an air of martyrdom, he held out his palm, saying, “Three Cities, one blood. Redemptionist knows Redemptionist wherever they may meet.”

Amo was not a man with qualms about cutting through skin. He slashed quite competently along Adrian’s lifeline, then his own. “One truth, one family, never can be parted.” He laid his palm on Adrian’s.

Their eyes met. Mindless Opalline adherence to ritual the words might be, but Adrian was terribly afraid they were true.

“No hard feelings among the goddamn Verities,” muttered Adrian as Tal pressed a clean cloth into his palm.

“It could have just been a shot in the dark, to irritate you,” said Fischer. “It would make sense that the Verities might have been unhappy.”

“The man knew,” said Adrian. “I was standing next to him, I could see his face. How did he get up to date so quickly?”

Tal removed the cloth, checked to see the bleeding had stopped, and began cutting a bandage. “I’m sure Opal has plenty of spies on the Diamond.” He wrapped the adhesive efficiently around Adrian’s hand.

“Of course, but they haven’t spoken to them in twenty-five years. Amo’s been on board for three hours and he hasn’t seen anybody but the people we assigned to settle them into their quarters.” He looked down at the bandage. ‘Thank you. Under the circumstances, you can’t blame me for finding the whole situation rather depressing.”

Tal tossed the gauze back to the boy who’d brought it from the medical closet. “If it starts to ache, I have aspirin in my quarters.”

Fischer opened his mouth, closed it, looked up and down the corridor, and turned away. “Adrian, please tell him not to say things like that in public.”

He was genuinely perturbed. Adrian said, ‘Tal, you will not refer to interdicted drugs in public.”

“All right.” The demon shrugged. “I thought you should know.”

Adrian sighed. “I suppose the polite thing would be to warn the delegation that I’ll be asking for an official Oracle at dinner tonight.”

“Surely they’re expecting that,” said Fischer.

“But it would be polite to warn them. In case the Oracle comes out with some bizarre statement they feel bound to respond to.”

They emerged from the corridor at a high walkway overlooking the court level grounds. Below them, early spring had been enforced on the greenery at a temperature of 55 degrees Fahrenheit and a daily light-dose equivalent to Old Earth temperate latitudes in the month of March. Under this iron hand, pink and yellow buds would shortly be growing in profusion. The skinny silver band of the Katherine River wound past them. A canoe was out already, a court lady perched precariously in the rear; as they descended the stairs toward St. Kit’s Walk, the aristo in the front of the canoe put down his paddle and leaned toward the lady.

Fischer leaned forward as well, with interest. He was conventional, but no prude; spring was made for breaking the Purity Laws. Then he saw Tal follow his gaze, and made himself turn back toward the stairs.

Tal said to Adrian, “We can safely assume the Oracle won’t say anything specific enough to warrant attention.”

“You can’t predict an Oracle,” said Fischer severely. He risked a glance over his shoulder; alas, the lady was simply handing her companion a sandwich. The cliches were true: Youth was wasted on the young.

“Not word for word. I can predict a certain amount of vague generalization in whatever it says.”

“You’re an Outsider,” snapped Fischer. “If you’d ever read the Book of Prophecies—”

“I have read it, and a more irrational mishmosh of phrases would be hard to find.”

Adrian increased his speed down the steps, causing the four members of the security squad to speed up as well.

Fischer said, “It predicted Olin’s execution in 392.”

“It’s predicted somebody’s premature death at some time. A relatively safe bet. And a few good hits among six hundred prophecies fail to impress me. Random chance alone would dictate—”

Fischer was starting to hiss between his teeth.

“As for the writing style,” Tal continued, “verbs with only a spurious attachment to nearby nouns, an inability to get to the point, a lack of clarity that can only reflect a lack of cognitive