Free Star Risk - 02 Scoundrel Worlds by Chris Bunch

see what would happen. As to your question, I'm not one of those who can recognize a plainclothesman, which I've heard members of the criminal class are frequently able to do.
    "But there were those who had recorders, or were jotting things down that I noted. No doubt looking for material, either pro or con, for poor Brother Sufyerd's trial.
    "Why did they choose your� congregation, if that's the right word?" Riss asked.
    "Brother Sufyerd and his family have worshiped here once or twice," Bracken said. "The interesting thing about these police spies is that I didn't see the last of them after Brother Sufyerd was convicted."
    "Oh?" Riss said, letting her interest show, since it was obvious Bracken was on to them.
    "Yes," Bracken said. "There have been at least half a dozen visitors since the trial, which I can only ascribe to the fact we're the most open of the various chapters here on Montrois. I just wonder what they're looking for."
    "I do, too," Goodnight said thoughtfully.
    "Well," Bracken said. "I have business elsewhere. Be advised, no matter who you're working for, that you're welcome back to any of our services. Even a spy might benefit from a little peaceful meditation."
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    FOURTEEN � ^ � Von Baldur didn't know what to expect from his invitation to meet L'Pellerin at his offices for dinner.
    The secret police, the Dampier Information Bureau, were housed in an ominous old-fashioned steel building just off a fashionable boulevard in Tuletia. There was no security visible outside, although von Baldur knew it had to be there. Secret policemen are always more paranoid than intelligence agencies.
    He'd been asked to be there around normal quitting time, and workers were streaming out to the heavily guarded parking areas down the street. He didn't see anyone wearing a cloak, nor a dagger or a set of thumbscrews in her or his back pocket.
    He entered through double doors into a blast-resistant room, quite large. There was a receptionist, male, who looked as if he'd been hired from a police emergency response team, but who was civil enough.
    He asked if von Baldur had any arms, smiled politely at the negative response, and touched a sensor. Two silent men searched him, one using a handheld solid-object detector, but found nothing.
    Von Baldur was given a photo badge, and the two men escorted him down an empty corridor to a lift that shot him up to the second from the top story of the building, then down another empty corridor to an unmarked door.
    They bowed him into L'Pellerin's office, a large, comfortable-looking suite. There were no papers or holos visible.
    L'Pellerin came out from behind his desk, greeted von Baldur in a tone that was probably meant to be friendly, but actually sounded like a bureaucrat about to deny a last appeal.
    L'Pellerin was a slight man, balding, who clearly would never bother with follicle regeneration. He had a nervous, gray face, and, von Baldur noticed, nails bitten close.
    "We shall eat in my private dining room," L'Pellerin announced. His voice was that of a small-town teacher, used to being obeyed.
    Von Baldur expressed pleasure at the idea, and was led into a small dining area paneled in wood and incongruously hung with archaic hunting prints.
    There was no menu.
    The meal was very simple and excellent: crudites, then crusty, warm, fresh-baked bread with home-churned butter, a smoked meat and fowl bean stew, salad, and a cheese course. Von Baldur was offered a red or white wine, L'Pellerin drank mineral water.
    L'Pellerin ate hurriedly, in spite of the fact his face suggested he was ulcerous. He behaved as if he'd been given a task at birth, then told he wouldn't have enough time to finish it.
    However, like Reynard, L'Pellerin observed the most sensible custom of not talking business with his meal.
    Near its end, von Baldur complimented him on the meal.
    L'Pellerin looked at von Baldur disbelievingly.