Free Rock of Ages by Walter Jon Williams

to marry it, and anyway you’ve eliminated that objection yourself by earning a fortune in the last year…”
    “But why me? There must be a thousand poor, virtuous, titled Imperialists out there.”
    “Well.” A little smile crept onto her face. “If you stand to inherit a fabulous gem like the Eltdown Shard, you spend a lot of your girlhood trying to imagine who’s going to try to steal it from you. Trying to picture the romantic stranger who’s going to fly in the window some night. And, of course, your family security people keep a list of all the top burglars, and you get dossiers…your face crossed my desk when you took out your burglar’s license, and I remember thinking, Well, there’s one I wouldn’t mind meeting some dark night…”
    “I took out my ticket ages ago. You must have been just a girl.”
    “Oh yes. Red hair and freckles and a school uniform that wouldn’t fit. I’m glad you didn’t know me then.”
    “I’m pleased to know you now.”
    “Are you?” Her eyes sparkled with interest. “Had you considered me a marriage candidate?”
    “Frankly, no. I hadn’t thought of myself as suitable.” Maijstral touched his chin thoughtfully, with a forefinger and regarded her, absorbing the creamy shoulders, the intriguing shadows about her clavicles, the gems that sparkled about her neck.
    “I had thought about trying to get you into bed,” he said, “but on Silverside we were both busy, and we had a business relationship besides, and since I’ve arrived here there hasn’t been time.”
    She flushed becomingly. “Well,” she said. “At least you noticed I was trying to make myself attractive.”
    “Your grace,” Maijstral said, “I would have had to be as inhuman as a Drawmiikh not to notice.”
    Roberta smiled a little. “That inhuman, eh?”
    There was a moment of silence as the two shared a memory. A Drawmiikh, they had once discovered, was more unforgettable, and inhuman, than either anticipated.
    “Your grace,” Maijstral finally said, “this whole marriage situation seems impossibly complex. Couldn’t you just be my mistress for a while?”
    She gave a little smile. “I could ,” she conceded, “but they’d probably make me marry someone else first.”
    “I suspected as much,” Maijstral said. There was another little pause. “You saved my life,” he added, apropos perhaps of nothing. “When that madwoman attacked me.”
    “Yes. I did; didn’t I?”
    He looked at her. “Have I ever thanked you properly?”
    Kissing Roberta, Maijstral discovered, was very pleasant, and he prolonged this pleasure for some little while. When there was a pause; Roberta said, “What do we tell everyone?”
    “Tell them,” Maijstral said, “that negotiations are ongoing.”
    Negotiations onwent a while longer, and then Maijstral and Roberta returned to his father’s room holding hands. Kuusinen and Aunt Batty looked up expectantly.
    “We have more talking to do,” Maijstral said.
    “What’s the problem?” Gustav Maijstral demanded. “Is the girl ugly or something?”
    “No, Dad,” Maijstral said. “Her grace is very beautiful.”
    “I order you to marry her whether she’s ugly or not!” the corpse said. “Gad, son, the girl is rich! Think of all the money for the Cause!”
    Maijstral offered the Duchess an apologetic glance. Money and the Cause were two of his father’s favorite topics, and once the old man had broached either subject it was difficult to keep him from enlarging upon it. Maijstral spoke up quickly.
    “Time for your cocoa, Dad,” he said.
    *
    An hour or so later Maijstral returned to his own room and called for Roman to unlace him. The tall Khosalikh arrived with a thick leather tube under one arm.
    Maijstral looked at the tube, then at Roman, and then at the bare patch of pink flesh on the underside of Roman’s muzzle. He thought he recognized the dangerous red-rimmed look smoldering in Roman’s eyes, and ventured a cautious question.
    “Are