Free House of Shards by Walter Jon Williams

expect the trumpets at any moment.”
    “Only too.” Meaning, only too ready.
    Maijstral put the phone down and told the privacy field to disperse. The sound of conversation returned, nearly drowning the orchestra. Maijstral glanced about and saw Advert huddling against the bar in an orange shell gown that clashed badly with her background, which was of bright closewood and mirrors. Deciding that Advert had failed to notice the clash and was therefore obviously very distraught, Maijstral decided to rescue her. As he walked toward her, he saw something glitter against the hollow of her throat. Seeing him, she turned away and watched his approach through the mirrored Khanji relief behind the bar. Only when his arrival seemed inevitable did she turn to him. They exchanged two fingers and sniffed.
    “My compliments on your choker, madam,” Maijstral said. “The sapphire is wonderfully set off by the diamonds.”
    Advert raised a hand swiftly to her throat, as if to prevent him from snatching the choker then and there. Then she hesitated.
    “Thank you.” Through clenched teeth.
    Maijstral glanced casually about the room. “Is not Pearl Woman here?” he asked. “There was something I particularly wanted to say to her.”
    “She isn’t feeling well.”
    “I trust she will recover soon. Before the ball, I hope.”
    Sullenly. “I can’t say.”
    “Perhaps my news will cheer her. I believe that she may have lost something, and I believe I know where it is.”
    Advert's eyes blazed. “So it was you.”
    Maijstral’s lazy eyes widened in feigned surprise. “I said I knew where it was, Miss Advert. I did not say that I had it. I believe it was recovered by someone else, and I can probably get it.”
    Advert looked at him with suspicion. “What do you want?” she asked.
    “May I escort you to your table? I think we may have a number of things to talk about.”
    She put her arm through his. Rings glittered against the dark material of his suit. “I’m not certain whether I should listen to this.”
    “You can always walk away.”
    She bit her lip. Maijstral guided her away from the clashing backdrop. She harmonized much better with white than with close wood and mirrors.
    “I’ll listen,” she decided. “For now.”
    “Will you do me another favor, Miss Advert. Will you order a new deck of cards from one of the robots?”
    Standing up amid the orchestra, trumpeters raised their instruments to their lips.
    *
    Trumpet calls rang from the giant diamond. A pair of leather-covered doors swung open. Couples began moving toward the dining room.
    “The Waltz twins, definitely,” Geoff Fu George said, wrapping Vanessa’s arm in his. “Have you seen what they're wearing?”
    “I’ve seen it,” Vanessa said. They were barely moving their lips, wary of lip-readers hiding behind invisible cameras.
    “They can’t possibly wear those heavy pieces at the ball later.”
    “They may go in the hotel safe.”
    “In that case, we'll take them off the robot.”
    “Not as many points that way.”
    Fu George shrugged. “Risks of the game, Vanessa.”
    “I suppose. Look. There's Roman.”
    “Yes.” Noncommittally.
    “I always liked him. Perhaps I should say hello.”
    “Perhaps.”
    “He never approved of me, I always thought. He probably thought me a nouveau riche adventuress.” She thought about this judgment for a brief moment. “He was perfectly right, of course.”
    “Oh.” (A brush . . .)
    “Ah.” (. . . not a thud.)
    Maijstral offered an excusatory smile. “My apologies. I must not have been looking where I was going.”
    Fu George looked at him and nodded. “Quite all right, Maijstral.” He nodded. “Miss Advert.”
    “Mr. Fu George. Miss Runciter.”
    Maijstral stepped back. “Pray go on ahead of us.”
    Fu George was pleased. “Thank you, Maijstral.”
    The trumpets were still calling. In his formal dinner clothes, Roman watched, imperturbable, from his corner of the room. The trumpets were not,