City of Diamond, стр. 3
If Streph kept firing toward the doorway, Adrian could get to the side of the store—
A cry of pain came from the doorway. Roger’s head popped cautiously from the shop next door, and the three of them looked at each other.
From the butcher’s, there was only a mysterious silence. Adrian half rose, to be met by Roger’s fierce, “Don’t you dare!” It was hardly the way to address one’s nearly liege lord, but Adrian decided this was not the time to go into that. Slowly, Roger advanced toward the shadows of the doorway.
He leaped around the comer, pistol extended in both hands, and only pulled off his aim at the last millisecond. The shot hit the pig sign, charring it to ashes at once. Roger’s arms went down, and he started to laugh. Hysterically.
Streph and Adrian exchanged glances. Hitherto, Roger had given no evidence of mental illness. They rose slowly, and walked over to join him.
A body lay on the threshold of the open doorway of the Well-Fed Pig. Gil Veritie’s hand was flung out behind him, and a small pool of blood was gathering on the floor beneath his skull. Above him stood a portly, middle-aged man in a white apron with red-brown stains, holding a bat. The man was red-faced and half-bald, with dark eyes that turned now to the three in his doorway. He looked thrilled and appalled.
“I saw you from the window,” he said. His eyes went wildly to Adrian. “I saw your picture last week, when Saul announced you.”
“Thank you,” said Adrian quietly.
The butcher relaxed suddenly. “We always liked the Mercatis around here, sir. And if you’re good enough for Saul, you’re good enough for me. It’s his right to pick who he wants to go after him.”
Adrian grinned then. “I thought so, too.”
It was the Mercati family smile, the same one that his grandfather had used to become the unofficial lover of the Protector’s wife. The same one his father had turned on Saul with a joyful sincerity that was almost indecent in a public person. The butcher’s face turned into a mirror of Adrian’s.
Roger glanced over and saw that, beneath the smudges and grime, the boy had started to glow. The boy, indeed. He’d have to stop thinking about him the way Fischer and Saul had always referred to him: Adrian was twenty now. But he’d thought the boy—Adrian, dammit—would be shaky from this encounter, not so … well … happy.
Roger looked into Adrian’s eyes and realized with a start of horror that Adrian loved being shot at. By god, it fit with his reaction to tournament competitions. He loved being shot at, he loved having a situation come out his way, and he loved being loved; put it all together, and Adrian Mercati was glowing at this moment with enough candlepower to light the Boulevard. No wonder the shopkeeper looked ready to offer his firstborn child.
“We must do something for this fine gentleman,” said Adrian, still looking at the shopkeeper. “I think I’ll make him a knight. Roger, Streph, be my witnesses, would you? Mr.—I’m sorry, what is your name, sir?”
“Leapham,” said the shopkeeper, who found he couldn’t stop matching Adrian’s grin.
“Mr. Leapham, my dear Mr. Leapham, would you mind kneeling for a moment?”
Clearly Mr. Leapham would have stretched himself out in the gutter and acted as a bridge if he’d been asked. He knelt immediately. Roger, aware of what Fisher’s reaction to this piece of work would be, tried to take action.
“Adrian, you can’t just make somebody a knight. He hasn’t passed the tests. He’s never piloted a drop. His family—”
Still gazing happily on his first Diamond subject, Adrian said, “Isn’t that how they made knights in the old days on Earth? For valiant action in the field?”
“But this isn’t the old days on Earth, and people will—I mean, just think of what Fischer will say.” Acknowledging his cowardice, Roger added, “He’ll hold me responsible if I agree to witness.”
Turning that same look of happiness onto his friend like a knockout blow, Adrian said simply, “But this is for me, Roger.”
Roger sighed. Not that he didn’t curse himself for a fool, not that he didn’t anticipate Fisher’s set down, not that he didn’t find the whole situation ridiculous; but denying Adrian the right to give Mr. Leapham a knighthood seemed at that moment almost like a cruelty.
And after all, if they didn’t live through the night, it would be a shame not to have let Adrian have his way. If they did live through the night, this Mercati boy would be new Diamond Protector. And it would be a toss-up whether it would be worse to have Fisher or the Protector annoyed with him.
It took less than a minute to ask Mr. Leapham if he would defend the City of Diamond with his life and obey all lawful commands, and then Sir Tom Leapham was getting up, with Streph’s help, looking a bit shaky.
Streph met Roger’s eyes. “Can’t wait till he brings his family to the next tournament.” The comment was barely audible.
“Don’t be a snob,” began Roger, when they all froze.
Up and down Mercati Boulevard, from speakers over the shops, came the sound of bells from a recording made five centuries ago. They looked at each other, the fey glow ebbing from Adrian’s face.
“He’s dead,” said Streph.
“I can’t believe it,” said Roger. He suddenly looked faintly sick. “He was there all my life.” He turned blindly toward Leapham. “I thought I was prepared….”
Adrian touched his arm. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to do.”
The voice was businesslike. Roger turned and followed him. Behind him, he heard the new knight starting to cry.
Three hours later First Adviser Brandon Fischer reactivated the commlinks and called Adrian at his secret office on the admin level. “The conspirators have all