Any standard disclaimer will do here; this is a fanfic set in the Sailor Moon Expanded Continuum.  Sailor Moon and all associated characters, including the ever-so-kawaii Prince Demand, belong to their brilliant creatrix, Takeuchi Naoko-sama.

Roll 'em, Clancy.

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The thing about sending a Roman to Crystal Tokyo for any great length of time is that the experience almost inevitably turns him into a royalist.  This is less the fault of Crystal Tokyo's annoying tendency to gather quirky ironies than it is the influence of Neo-Queen Serenity herself.

We shall speak more of this later.

*    *    *

The crystal chime sounded.  Saffir sighed; th e entire point of him taking the watch over the jakozuishou would be so that people would just stop bothering him with their stupid little problems and calculations.  Well, that -- and the fact that Saffir trusted no one besides himself to watch over Demand's Dark Crystal.

"Come in," he called out, swiveling his chair so that he faced the door.

The double doors swung violently open, and Esmeraude stepped inside, looking around disdainfully.  Verdant hair poured over her shoulders to her hips, almost longer than her obscenely and unseemly short dress; red-brown eyes flashed in almost tangible contempt.  Never one for subtlety, she glared at him with a gaze that could have bored holes into corundum.

As always when she was in an environment that made her uncomfortable, she snicked open her fan and began slowly maneuvering it back and forth in front of her face.  "Well, Useless," she drawled, using her favorite nickname for him, "your presence is required, for gods alone know what reason."  She gave one of her eardrum-shattering laughs, as if she found something intensely funny about the way he was staring coldly at her.  "It surely can't be for your decorative effect, Useless; there's only one man in your family who's got that talent."

Saffir made no answer, just went back to his numbers.  If Esmeraude was going to tease him, he really didn't see anything he could do about it without running off to Demand and complaining.  While Demand wouldn't be overly annoyed over a chance to discipline Esmeraude, Saffir knew that the complaint would brand him childish in his brother's eyes; and Saffir esteemed his oniisan's good opinion more than anything else in the universe.  Demand-oniisan was his universe.

Besides, he'd learned from experience that just ignoring Esmeraude was the best way to irritate her; his cousin had an ego which made Rubius look almost servile.

He hid a quiet smile.  And this was the room in which to do it, too...&n bsp; Filled as it was with Saffir's projects and charts and pages of mathematical scribbles, the chamber of the jakozuishou's reactor always tended to put Esmeraude off balance.  It wasn't that she was really that stupid; no, she was filled with a certain sort of vaguely cunning intelligence, and there was no denying that she possessed an uncanny slyness.  But she WAS almost abysmally ignorant of most of Saffir's preferred studies, and she hated it that Saffir knew more than she did about anything.

"Did you hear me, Useless?"  she demanded.  The fan swished harder in annoyance.  "Your brother's orders!  Move it!"

"I'm sorry," Saffir said politely, "were you talking to me?"  He didn't bother to look up.  Just ignore her, and she would go away.

He really hoped that she would go away, anyway.

He could tell by the understated slither of cloth that she was moving closer to him.  His skin crawled; Saffir hated it when people invaded his personal space.&n bsp; Anyone save Demand, in any case.  He couldn't help it; he had to look up, had to make sure that she wasn't trying to outflank him and get around to his back...  Involuntarily, his head jerked back; wide blue eyes met brown.

Esmeraude looked startled; evidently she hadn't expected him to be so skittish.  Then she regained her composure, and regarded him in some amusement.  "Are you afraid of me, Useless?" she inquired sweetly.  "You ought to be, Saffy-kun."

Saffir made no reply, just looked up at her steadily.

She made a vexed sound, then leaned closer.  "You like numbers, don't you, Useless?" she said idly.  "Here's a puzzle for you.  How thick is your skin, boy?"

"My skin, or just skin in particular?"  He tried to lean back without being obvious about it.  She was too damned close for his liking.

"I think that your skin would do very well for this little intellectual exercise," she said, with another high-pitched chuckle.  "Say, the skin of your face."

Saffir unobtrusively nudged his chair just a few inches back.  "About an eighth of an inch, I'd say."

Esmeraude smiled, dazzlingly.  Her eyes shone.  "And how long would you say my fingernails are, Useless?"  She presented a long slender hand for his inspection.

Saffir looked at her disbelievingly.  "Uh - half an inch.."  His voice trailed off.

"Very good," Esmeraude said, her smile vanishing.  "Let's just remember that, shall we, and we'll all be much happier.  So, Useless my lad, up off that chair, and come with me.  NOW.  Your brother wants you.  And he'd like you to look presentable, or so I gathered.  Put on your little Savant's uniform, comb your hair, be a good little pet Savant.  Demand needs you in his Presence Chamber immediately or sooner.  Understand?"

Saffir nodded.  He stood up, grabbed his blue coat off its peg, shrugged into it.  All the ritual clasps had to be fastened just so: the plain quartz clasps were the insignia of a Savant, a mathematical and statistical prodigy, one of the few on Nemesis who could calculate faster than any computer, who could plan and think better than any mere machine.  Saffir was only half a Savant; he hadn't passed the final tests yet, hadn't received his blue earrings from the College of Savants under Rudra's direct control.  Still, he was good enough for Demand's purposes as he was.

Esmeraude watched him narrowly, and nodded slightly in approval when he slid a garrote into a seam of his coat.  "Good, Useless," she said.  "Maybe you aren't as gormless as you look.  Hurry up."

She deliberately turned her back on him, and preceded him out the door.  Saffir followed, pausing only to place Demand's seal on the chamber door.

Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the vaulted corridors of the Black Moon Citadel, the main stronghold of the clan on Ptolomea.  This was the family seat, home to the Princes of the Black Moon Family for almost five hundred generations.  Nemesians liked traditions like that; even bloodthirsty dignitascentric maniacs like the Bloodstar Clan needed to be occasionally reminded that, after all, they were all Nemesians together.
 
 "So," Saffir said finally.  "What's this about?"

Esmeraude, unaccountably, flashed him a look of pure infuriated dislike and, at first, kept a seething silence.  Saffir thought he might have to repeat himself when she muttered, "I don't know."

"Oh," Saffir said, in a tone that could've meant anything.  Inside, he was grinning like a maniac.  If Esmeraude didn't know what this was all about, but yet knew enough to hurry him along, then undoubtedly Demand-oniisan was in a temper.

Which meant that, whatever else this was, it was almost certain to be more interesting than the calculations he'd been doing for Tropa, anent her errant finances when Demand's decree came about.

At least he knew now why Esmeraud e was being even more of a pain in the spine than usual; Demand must've snapped at her.  That was usually the case whenever Esmeraude decided to take out her temper on Saffir.  Personally, Saffir had always felt that Esmeraude could do very well, being taken down a few pegs; all the better if it were Demand doing the de-pegging.  Plus, being made to act as a servitor (really!  Esmeraude, coming to fetch him?  that was a slap and a half; Esmeraude was Demand and Saffir's own cousin, and one of the highest lords in their clan!) must really grate on her nerves.

"Why are you grinning like that?" Esmeraude snapped.  "Stop it, Useless!  Behave yourself!"
 
 They stopped before the great white double doors of Demand's Presence Chamber, the heart of the Citadel.

Saffir took a deep breath.  Demand-oniisan in a temper, formal occasion requiring the full Savant uniform, Esmeraude in a snit and inclined to taunt him....

Well, at least Demand-on iisan was happy lately.

He pushed open the doors.

*    *    *
 
The Presence Chamber of any Nemesian Prince is bound to be the most heavily-shielded room in his House's citadel.  It has to be big enough to hold all the highest-ranking lords of the clan whenever the Prince wishes to address them; it has to be sturdy enough to withstand anything short of a doomsday direct hit; it has to be beautiful enough, whether starkly so or ornately, to impress people who need impressing; it must be secure against all depredations, be they standard infantry, a special brigade of halberdiers and artillery, or even a few dozen extremely good incendiarily-inclined sorcerers.

The Presence Chamber of the Black Moon Citadel was vast and predominantly pale green and black.   Ptolomeans as a general rule go in hugely for pillars, and the Black Moon Family was no exception; gray marble pillars, delicately flecked with cyan veins, stood at regular intervals aroun d the perimeter of the chamber, supporting the massive dark gray dome of the ceiling.  The pillars glowed - they also ensured that the room was well-lit, naturally: imagine the humiliation of being assassinated in your own throne room because you couldn't see an assassin hiding in the shadows.  Aside from being ribs for the circular chamber, there were some free-standing pillars.  Most noticible was the single thick slab of omnivarium on the three-tiered throne dais itself: omnivarium was a psi-conducive stone that cost the earth, and an entire pillar of it, of such gargantuan size, more than made up for the almost stark severity of the rest of the chamber.  It had formerly been linked to the Prince himself, shifting colors and occasionally flaring into brilliant shades to suit his mood; now it was linked to Demand's new toy, the jakozuishou.  In the center of the room, directly in front of the throne dais, was an ornamental pedestal; on its round top rested a holograph projector. < P>The floor was a black lake of polished obsidian, swallowing up light and refusing to refract it or give back in return any reflections.

The walls of the room were black as well; to the left and the right of the throne dais at the end of the room opposite the portals were hung an array of clan banners.  The black-on-white inverted crescent moon of the Black Moon Family took precedence, of course; but ranged all around it were the banners of other clans, fringed in red if they were allies, fringed in white to show neutral friendship, and, finally, trimmed in deep royal purple to show bloodfeud.  There were more red-fringed banners than any other color.  A most impressive display, really.  Demand had planned it so.

And then there are the doors.  Doors are an important feature: aside from letting people in, they are the first detail of the Presence Chamber seen.  Usually, they're taller than they need to be, at least ten feet tall, and as thick as a stout man.  Even t he poorest Prince will gladly spend the orbs to have genuine hardwood doors; wood has an effect on people that not the most beautiful perfect crystal does.  And first impressions are the name of the game.  They are important.  No matter how you might reconsider later, that all-important first glimpse invariably prejudices you in some way.

The great double doors of Demand's Presence Chamber were solid oak, lacquered brilliant white and polished smooth with inlaid jet inverted crescents all around the scrim.  Imposing and giving away nothing of what they contained within.

Demand glanced up as the doors opened, then sighed and returned to his thoughts.  It was only Saffir, reporting as ordered, and a very put-out Esmeraude.  She had a good poker face, but that raw tightness around her eyes bespoke an extremely frustrated woman; no doubt Saffir had squelched her with a few observations upon her dress sense or her intelligence as unfavorably compared to that of the ave rage brick.

He honestly could not figure out how such a staid individual as Garnet could have spawned such a temperamental pair of nitwits as Pumice and Esmeraude.

Demand waved his brother over to him, smiling with genuine pleasure at the one member of his family who seemed least likely to question his orders and irritate him by insisting that his or her judgement was better than Demand's own.  He reflected that discipline was sadly lax, these last few months.  He would have to do something about that.

Saffir approached the throne, absently brushing past one of the Uncanny Sisters - out of the corner of his eye, Demand caught a hint of dark green; Petz, then - and took his accustomed place at Demand's left hand.

"You took your time, brother," Demand said, allowing just a hint of inquiry to slide into his voice.

Saffir understood.  "There was a bit of a problem in delivering your order, oniisan," he said calmly.

Demand noted that, for some reason, Esmeraude tensed.  He smiled to himself; so that was the problem.  Esmeraude's favorite pastime of Saffir-baiting had taken precedence over carrying out her orders.  Idiot woman.  He'd wait and let her sweat it out before he dropped a reprimand on her.  This wasn't public enough to deliver a suitably stinging humiliation.  Demand was a firm believer in humiliation as a force that could move mountains.

Especially in Esmeraude's case.  Winds, but that woman got on his nerves....

Very well: Esmeraude and Saffir had finally arrived.  Garnet on his right, Saffir on his left; the Uncanny Sisters clustered around a pillar just to the right of the doors; Lady Tropa and Esmeraude took up twin positions facing each other at either wall.  Everyone was instantly visible from the doorway, which was subtly important; it's never good manners to give your guest the impression that you're hiding an assassin or two in the shadows or behind a pillar.

"Let it lie, brother," Demand said gently, recalled to the present by his brother's calm blue eyes.  "Saffir, I need you to perform as a Savant and an observer for me."

"As you wish, Highness," Saffir said distantly, eyes already going cool in a Savant's detachment.  He didn't even think to question why his services were needed.

Just as well; Demand had already had Garnet, Tropa, the Wiseman, even Rubius give him all sorts of disapproving looks on his decision to grant an audience to the Prince of Seven Stars Sept.  Even now Garnet, standing at Demand's right hand five paces behind the throne as befitted his rank, was undoubtedly scaring the life out of Demand's other counselors with the stony expression on his face.  Garnet would never go so far as to explicitly question the wisdom of Demand's decisions - to Garnet, Demand was the clan made flesh and as close to infallible as made no difference - but he was extremely good at registering his disapproval by just freezing and going even more granite-faced than usual. t to Judecca's Plaza of the Tower directly after he took care of Ptolomea.

And it certainly couldn't hurt to hear out a fellow Septlord.  It might come in handy later to have even the tentative goodwill of the Seven Stars Prince.

The double doors opened again; Rubius stepped inside, quickly closing the doors behind him and hurrying up to Demand's throne, going through his obeisances almost perfunctorily.

"They've come, Your Highness," he said unnecessarily.  Then, pitching his voice lower, only for Demand (and Saffir, but that could hardly be helped, as Saffir was glued to Demand's elbow), "There's still time to send 'em back, Prince Demand.  Say the word and I'll have them sent away back to backwater Breccia."

Demand fixed him with a freezing stare.  "Send them in, Rubius," he said pleasantly.  Somewhere under his light tone was a bared sword and a glowing third eye, ready and waiting for the first person to annoy Demand sufficiently.  "With as much courtesy as you would show me."

Saffir was observed to stifle a snicker.

Rubius was caught slightly off guard; his face froze for an instant in a look of almost comical surprise, then he bowed and murmured, "Certainly, my Prince."  He about-faced and went back to the double doors, throwing them open in one of the extravagant gestures to which he was prone to give way.

There was silence and stillness for one half moment: Esmeraude didn't fiddle with her fan; Tropa didn't indulge in her customary throat-clearing; even the sisters Ayakashi ceased their endless sororal bickering and were still.

Then, as the first pair of people made their way through the doors, Rubius said clearly, "Carnelian re'Nacre, Prince of Seven Stars Sept of Judecca, and his lords."

There were six of them, all dressed starkly in dark colors, as Judeccan Higher Stars customarily were; the men in long coats and loose trousers, the solitary woman in a gown that enveloped her from throat to ankles, all in long voluminous black cl oaks.  Each man had his waist-length hair gathered in a single plait, which was covered by a velvet or leather sleeve.  The woman had her rich orange hair cut extremely short, with two tendrils falling just before her pointed ears.  Every one of them had the black six-pointed stars scattered across his or her brow in a loose configuration of a quincunx with two extra points: the insigne of Seven Stars Sept.

Demand was able to pick out Prince Carnelian at once: he was the only one whose eyes weren't lowered.  To Carnelian's left was the dour, stone-faced man whom Demand had seen in the Nemetian Well of Omerna a month before and at last identified as one of the more reactionary conservatives ever to walk the Four Sisters, and whose name Demand could not dredge up to save his life.

And walking to the right and slightly behind the red-haired and crimson-eyed Carnelian - Demand silently applauded: Carnelian had brought his son with him, a young man of Demand's own age, a purple- eyed and purple-haired youth who met Demand's arrogant stare with one fully as haughty, unwilling to give an inch.

Oh, lovely.  The gesture of bringing his son and heir on what promised to be a signficant visit indeed could've meant anything, anything at all: from the fact that Carnelian didn't fear Demand at all, to the extent of bringing his heir with him; through the importance with which Carnelian imbued this audience; to a subtle mockery of Demand's own youth and (presumed) inexperience.

A beautifully subtle gesture.  Demand approved of its being made, rather than disapproving of its author making it.
 
Demand had been unsure of the size of Carnelian's party; he silently congratulated himself on restraining himself to only ten of his people in the Presence Chamber.  Just enough of them to do a fellow Prince honor, and not so many as to utterly dwarf the Seven Stars delegation.

And of course, if Prince Carnelian wished to try anything idiotic, the thought that he w as outnumbered by the Black Moon Clan (among whom were the four Tower Avatars, hovering in the background behind their nominal commander Rubius) would give him pause.

The five lesser lords arranged themselves in a semicircle behind Carnelian, who stepped forward; Demand rose from his throne and descended the three-tiered dais to come forward to him.  Saffir moved automatically with him; Garnet made a move forward, but was waved back by Demand's gesture.

"Lord Seven Stars," Demand said, speaking first.  Important bit of symbolism, that; Carnelian was Demand's guest and a suppliant, no matter that technically they were the same rank.  Demand had to be seen as the premier power here.

Carnelian gave no indication that Demand had taken what ought to have been Carnelian's prerogative of first words, and inclined his head politely.  "Lord Black Moon," he returned, using the formal clan name, as Demand had.

"If I may inquire, my lord, what prompts the honor of your visit?" Demand he red eyes glinted.  "I find one of your legislative attempts confusing, Lord Black Moon, and as you are the one who understands it and its repercussions most fully, I wished to know if you would do me the honor of explaining it."

Everyone in the Presence Chamber felt it at the same time: a prickle up the spine, just the faintest hint of power.  Demand actually caught two of the Seven Stars lords with defensive spells on their lips, only to let the embryonic shields drop when they discovered what the Black Moon clansmen had known instantly: it was only a robed, cowled man apparently rising out of the floor, no more than a foot from Demand's right hand.

Only two of the Seven Stars lords showed no reaction at all to the Wiseman's customary entrance: Carnelian and his son, the former of whom merely went on, "If you would be so kind as to translate it for me?"

Demand said calmly, "Which legislative 'attempt'?  I've made more than one of them, in the past few weeks."  It never did any harm to remind people of a brilliant forensic mind; no Nemesian really liked laws - they tended to cramp the Higher Stars' styles - but they did respect legislation.  Mostly because Rudra insisted that properly-made laws had to be obeyed, true, but they did respect laws.

Carnelian nodded, conceding the point, and went right on, "The latest proposed law, Lord Black Moon.  The one concerning a moratorium extremum for all of Nemesis."

Demand noted, interested, that he danced around the words "cancellation of debt."  That might or might not be significant; certainly, it was intriguing.  The term "moratorium" could apply to anything; legally, it was a null word.  Perhaps Carnelian just didn't like the very word debt.  Certainly many of the Higher Stars were deep enough in it to hate the word passionately.

"That law," Demand answered, "is precisely what it seems.  A total and complete cancellation of all debts, from One Star to Six Stars, from a sum of one half-o rb to six million orbs."  He added, as if he had just thought of it, "Interest, too."

"I see," Carnelian said, not looking unduly perturbed by this information.  "A very comprehensive law, then...  I don't suppose there would be any exceptions, then.  No codicils or late addendums."

"Certainly not," Demand said, looking shocked.  "That would be playing favorites, of course."

"Of course," Carnelian agreed, eyes flicking all around the Presence Chamber; he seemed particularly interested by the displayed banners of all the clans allied with the Black Moon Family.

"Very well, then," Carnelian said with no discernible change of expression, bowing and taking Demand off guard.  "That was all I wished to know.  If I may take my leave, Lord Black Moon..."

Demand was caught in mingled admiration and utter annoyance.  Oh, what a gesture!  There could be no doubt that Demand had won the exchange, but Carnelian was nevertheless leaving the field with honor.   Demand had just received his proper squelching for not offering his guest a chair.  For the elder Prince to go through all of this rigamarole, pay the no doubt staggering expense of ferrying his party over from Judecca, ask one basic-albeit-loaded question, and then take his leave almost at once - a grievously expensive gesture, yes, but an effective one.  There was no better way to be rude to someone than to be rude in a polite sort of way: Demand had done it first, then Carnelian had neatly one-upped him.

"Certainly, Lord Seven Stars," Demand said, without skipping a beat.  "I hope your journey home is a safe one."

Carnelian bowed again, then about-faced and strode to the doors, his party following him in well-ordered rank and file.  The Wiseman disappeared without a word to anyone; as Demand ignored this as well, everyone else deemed it wise to pay no mind.

As the double doors of Demand's Presence Chamber closed behind them and Demand reclaimed his seat, frowning tho ughtfully, Saffir spoke up quietly.  "Oniisan, was that all?"

"That was all, yes."

"Oh."  Saffir was quiet a moment, then said what no one else in the entire universe could have gotten away with saying.  "Then why did you do it, oniisan?"

Everyone inched closer to hear the reply; it was common knowledge that Saffir was allowed a leeway that no one else in the Family could ever hope to achieve. Whywas the question that each of them was dying to ask, but which Demand would never tolerate from any of them.

Demand was well-aware that he had an unpredictable temper, but Saffir was the one person at whom he would never lash out.  How could he?  Saffir was the one person totally and completely devoted to him.

Demand was silent a moment, then said reflectively, "Saffir, what did he ask me?"

"If you were willing to make any exceptions to your law."

"Why did he ask that, Saffir?" Demand prodded him patiently.

The blue eyes went glassy for an instant as Sa ffir went somewhere deep inside himself, to translate the question into more familiar numbers, retranslate the sum back into words, and come back to the outside world.  "He asked because he wanted to know what you wanted in exchange for making his clan the exception," Saffir said, slowly and perfectly correctly.

"Yes."  Demand was aware of everyone else not daring to move; they had all picked up on this early on.  Demand really didn't care; for some reason, it was important to him that Saffir understand why he did things as he did.  He went on, "I refused him because I didn't make exceptions for anyone this time.  Exempting someone, anyone, from a cancellation of debts is probably third or fourth on the cosmic list of horribly wrong things to do, Saffir.  I could make exceptions to any other law I cared to promulgate, but not one cancelling debts.  That would provoke resentment at me from the people who ended up having to pay their debts after all.  I can't even ma ke exceptions for people in our own clan - " with a cool stare at Tropa, who lowered her eyes - "nor in the clans allied with us."

"Oh," said Saffir again.  "Thank you, oniisan.  But then why did you see him at all?"

Demand glanced around at everyone straining to hear the answer, and said off-handedly, "Thank you, you may go."

He caught hold of Saffir's sleeve.  "Not you; you asked me a question."

Esmeraude caught Saffir's eye and sent him a stare of outraged jealous dislike.  Saffir smiled back sweetly.

When everyone had filed out disgruntledly, Demand stood and looked his brother in the eye.  "Come with me, Saffir."  They walked in silence for a few moments, headed towards Demand's study.

Finally, Demand said, "Do you think I can manage to unite all the clans if I don't gather the powerful clans over to my faction?"

Saffir frowned.  "You could, oniisan," he said.  "You can do anything."  From anyone else, it would have been pur e sycophancy; from Saffir, it was a statement of fact.  He was still young enough to regard his brother as his personal god, and bright enough to figure that the odds for Demand were running fairly high.

Demand smiled slightly, and said, "Thank you for that enlightened opinion.  - But I meant it, Saffir.  Eventually, I'm going to need every major clan.  If Seven Stars doesn't survive the moratorium, they won't be a major clan anymore, and thus I won't need them.  If they do manage to survive, they will have fallen from a preeminent major clan to a fair-to-middling major clan, but still a great House nonetheless.  In which case I will need them and their support.  Carnelian needed to know that if he requested an audience from me, he will most likely be granted one."

"But only if he's the Prince of a still-major clan?" Saffir asked.

Demand looked at him tolerantly.  "Well, of course."

Saffir thought about this for a moment.  "Thank you, oniisan," he said finally, and grinned up at his brother.  "I understand.  I trust you, Demand-oniisan."

"Glad to hear it," Demand said, smiling back.  "I can't very well leave my money in the hands of someone who doesn't trust me, now can I?"

"Oh, I sold your holdings," Saffir said.  "For twenty orbs.  I made a five-orb profit off our birthright."

Demand entered his study, laughing.  "Go back to your scribbles, Saffir.  I don't have any time for your nonsense right now."

Saffir stood there outside for a moment, slightly daunted and more than slightly puzzled.  Demand would do this to him occasionally; but lately, it seemed, the occasions became more and more frequent, closing Saffir off.

"All right, oniisan," he said softly, turning to go.  "I still trust you."

*    *    *    *

"Well," Tanzanite said dourly, "that was pointless."

From his spot at the head of the table, Carnelian glanced up.&nb sp; "Oh, you think so?" he inquired.

Sard made a small bet with himself that the number of times Carnelian would manage to make people squirm during this impromptu board meeting would be truly astronomical; usually the most even-tempered of men, Carnelian had been sorely tried during the last twenty-four hours and was consequently on the verge of losing his temper so completely that it might take him a few hours and quite a few blistering rounds of swearing to reclaim it.

And then to have his decisions questioned by such an idiot as Tanzanite...  Well.

"Certainly," Tanzanite said, heedless of the fact that his sister Tourmaleen was shooting him alarmed looks from across the table.  "A pointless journey to ask a pointless question about a pointless law."

Carnelian regarded him silently for a moment, fitting together his long hands and sporting a puzzled expression that Sard recognized and which Tanzanite really ought to have.

"And do you think I'm in the habit of doing poi ntless things?" he asked.

Tanzanite looked disgusted, then an expression of outrage crossed his face.  Tourmaleen had made a quick motion under the table that Sard correctly interpreted as giving her hapless brother a good swift kick on the ankle.

"Of course he doesn't, Carnelian," Tourmaleen said calmly.

Obviously smarting, Tanzanite muttered, "Well, and you think it was worth anything to have some young punk tell us no?"

"Actually," said Carnelian, "I found it extremely interesting."

Sard could tell that Carnelian was leading up to something that he probably thought was clever.  Hmmph.  All the way back from Ptolomea, Carnelian had been silent, pretending to be asleep and enlisting Sard to keep people from asking him stupid questions that he didn't want to hear.  Sard would have been willing to bet that Carnelian had been planning this entire meeting, mapping out the predictably stupid questions and the real business well in advance.  If so, Sard wished that his brother-in-law would get around to telling him about it.  Sard hated being left in the dark.

"Oh yes?" Tanzanite snapped.  The orange-eyed man ran his hands over his hair distractedly, reaching over his shoulder to yank on his sleeved braid.  "What could you find interesting about having that bleeding arrogant wolfshead laugh at us?"

"He wasn't laughing," Sard pointed out.  "Although he is a wolfshead and an abomination."

Carnelian shot him a quick glance; Sard nodded slightly.  Carnelian wanted this one himself.  "No, he weren't laughing, even though he refused," Carnelian said.

"He wasn't laughing," Sard said.

"Shut up," Carnelian hissed at him.  "I did that on purpose."  Sard just shrugged at him.

"Well, I call that pointless," Tanzanite said obstinately.  "If you knew that he was going to refuse, why'd you insist on dragging us over there?"

"I didn't know that he was going to refuse until I saw all the clans he was allied with," Carnelian answered calmly.  "As soon as I saw that he had such septs as Thunderblade, Redstar, and Omega in his clientele, I knew that he wasn't going to be granting anyone an exemption, much less a clan that stood neutral in the Kitson mess."

"But - " Tanzanite began.

Carnelian interrupted him, angry at last.  "Think about it, you idiot!" he roared.  "Who owes us money?  People like Redstar Clan!  Thundeblade Family!  The Omega Sept!  They are Demand's allies.  If he allowed us a codicil stating that the Seven Stars Sept was still able to collect their money, then clans just as powerful as we are - and more numerous - and more warlike - and more likely to want to take off his hide in strips! - would be breathing down his neck because they don't want to pay us back!"

Carnelian paused, took a deep breath, stared at Tanzanite.  The latter shrank into his chair; Sard began a small tally on his notepad.  That 's one; Tourmaleen's next.

"So think about it," Carnelian said, in a genial tone that could have scratched a diamond.  "Preferably, Tanzanite re'Chert, before you see fit to open your mouth and annoy me with pointless questions, hmm?"

Tanzanite nodded wordlessly.

"Father?"

Everyone looked up, at the speaker seated at the foot of the table.

Serpentine smiled slightly, then repeated himself.  "Father, there's another point that I thought important."

"Go ahead, then," Carnelian said wearily.  He sat back, closing his eyes.

"On the way back," Serpentine said precisely, "everyone kept saying that the Lower Stars were going to absolutely adore Demand for this.  But they won't.  They won't care much one way or the other."

"Explain that," Sard said sharply, before Carnelian could.

His nephew flashed him a brilliant smile, then Serpentine said patiently, "The lowly are never in debt, Uncle Sard.  They just - don't have any money.  It's those in the Middle and Upper Stars that borrow.  Mostly they have to borrow to keep moving upwards in the census, or even just to stay where they presently are.  No moneylender obliges those with no real collateral - we don't, anyway.  So the higher up you go, the better chance you have of finding someone who's borrowed and thus someone who's currently in debt and likely to adore Demand for the law he's going to pass."

Everyone was staring at Serpentine, who looked quite unconcerned with all the attention suddenly being paid him.

"He's right," said Tourmaleen thoughtfully, a look of slight awe on her pretty face.  At least Sard thought it was awe; it was sometimes hard to determine Tourmaleen's emotions.  Her columnar, blind-looking white eyes were often hard to read.

"It's never been One Star, then," Carnelian said. "He's going after everyone from upper Two Stars to Six Stars itself.  Huh.  Interesting...  Oh, God," he groaned suddenly.

"What?" Sard s aid.

"I just realized," Carnelian said painfully, "that Reachen owes us almost three million credits.  Lavian's eyes!"

Everyone else looked bitter.  To the common way of thinking, any situation that left themselves down and such monsters as Reachenite re'Basalt up by three million credits was proof positive that the Powers were massively skewed.

"Well," Carnelian said finally, "Sard.  Did you call the minor debts?"

"Did I call in the debts," Sard murmured under his breath.  Carnelian caught the correction anyway and glared at him.

Sard flipped open his notepad to the data that he really didn't need.  "Yes," he said, glancing briefly at the page, then reciting from memory.  "Four hundred fifty-seven from Alabaster re'Imrisite, ninety-four from Chert re'Gysum - " and on for more than one hundred fifty-eight names.

Carnelian looked a bit put out; he said, "Sard, I would've been willing to take your word for it that  they'd all been collect ed..."

Sard just shrugged.  If you were going to do something, it might as well be done right.

"And what does that all come out to?" Carnelian said, turning to face the one person who hadn't spoken yet.

Lord Savant Lychnite re'Serojin stirred, cracked open one brilliantly gray eye.  "Fifty-seven thousand four hundred ninety-one and one-half orbs," he said precisely, then closed his eyes again and appeared to go to sleep.

Carnelian said sharply, "And assuming we lose everything else that we have lent out, how much does that leave in the House Treasury?"

Lychnite replied instantly.  "Five million ninety-seven thousand nine hundred eighty-three orbs."

"I beg your pardon?" Sard said incredulously.

"Exactly that much," Lychnite said, sitting up straight and finally opening both bright eyes.  "We're going to be killed."  He did not appear unduly put out by this prospect; but then, you could lop off Lychnite's eyebrows with a dull halberd blade and he wouldn't lo ok distressed.  Sometimes Sard envied him his perfect control over his emotions.

"We had sixty-three million credits at the beginning of this year," Sard said tonelessly.  "We are, indeed, dead."

"We could always kill Demand first," Tanzanite said.

"You can go ahead and try," Sard said.  "Anyone who has the Uncanny Sisters in his clan isn't going to lack for a bodyguard.  No, something a bit more practical, please."

"We've lost about fifty-eight million credits then," Tourmaleen said, after apparently having worked out this sum on a piece of paper.

"Yes," Serpentine said, "but if we go and borrow fifty-eight million from someone before Demand gets to the Tower Tisiphone, we won't have to pay it back."

"Don't be an idiot," Sard began sharply, only to be cut off by Tanzanite.

"That might actually work, if we can find someone who doesn't know about Demand's intentions yet," Tanzanite said eagerly.  He smiled, showing a great many teeth.  "Say, someone fr om Antenora.  Why not the Knifewind Family?"

Serpentine snickered.  The Knifewind Family, headed by poor stuttering Jarosite re'Onnix (renamed Jeris because he couldn't even manage to get through his own full name without stammering), had been the chief financial adversary of Seven Stars for time out of mind.

Carnelian cleared his throat.  "Actually," he said calmly, "I sent Peridot to take care of that, nine hours ago, almost as soon as Sard told me about Demand's proposed moratorium.  She's borrowing fifty million all told, on my credentials from three different clans.  I put up five million orbs' worth of the House land as collateral.  We'll make forty-five million, all told; the land wasn't especially good anyway, but since I told Peridot to lie about it and we have a fairly good reputation we shouldn't get into any trouble."

Everyone gaped at him, especially Sard and Serpentine, who thought they'd known him the best.

"And now what about what we can do to con vince Demand that we'd be a good prospect for an alliance?" Carnelian prompted, when no one seemed likely to say anything.

"What makes you think he'll take us?" Tanzanite said weakly.  It wasn't a real objection, per se; just automatic belligerence.

Carnelian shrugged.  "I have a bit of an idea, but I want to hear any others first," was all he said.  "We can't let the clan get taken like this again, and if we get allied to Demand there's slightly less chance Seven Stars will ever have to go through something like this the next time."

Sard stared at his brother-in-law and Prince incredulously.  Surely Carnelian wasn't serious; surely Carnelian didn't seriously propose to ally the clan with someone as - as - as horrendously audacious as that arrogant young demagogue...

"You can't," he said before he thought.  "You can't do it; Demand's an utter wolfshead."

"So what?" Carnelian said.  "He's also pretty fair on the way to being the preeminent power in the Four Si sters."

"But don't you see?  He's trying to get all the clans he can," Sard said.  "He's trying to gather them all under his thumb."

Serpentine said, "Uncle Sard, I'd do it, too, if I could."  The purple eyes glinted.  "We all would..  Who wouldn't want a web of alliances that stretched over all Four Sisters, predominant clans?"

"He had all three spacefaring clans," Lychnite noted, actually sounding interested.

"There you are," Tanzanite put in.  "Like him or not - I don't - he's the wave of the future."

Tourmaleen sighed; her brother wasn't as prosy as he liked to think he was.

"But no one has any ideas?" Carnelian asked.

Slowly, everyone shook his head.  No, no one had any ideas about what to bring Demand as a present to convince him to pick up their clan and add it to his stack of banners.

Sard gritted his teeth.  "He wants to be King of Nemesis," he said, with exquisite patience and the sort of overly precise tone one would us e to a troublesome toddler.  "We're practically handing him the crown if we don't at least try to stop him."

"I don't see how we can, Sard, so kindly just shut up about Kings of Nemesis," Carnelian said cheerfully.  "By the way, Lychnite: input."

The Savant's eyes glazed over; he said tonelessly, "Ready for input."

"Parameters: Seven Stars Sept, in or around city of Breccia," Carnelian directed.  "Between thirty and fifty years of age.  Within the top thirty-six lords of Seven Stars.  Didn't file a chit to get his money back from creditors under our management.  Talent of holding a focussed illusion good enough to fool one man at close quarters for at least three hours.  Family man - or woman," he added at Tourmaleen's level look.  "Loyal to the clan."

"Those are awfully narrow parameters," Lychnite murmured doubtfully.

"I know my clan better than you think I do," Carnelian said.  "Quit dithering and be a Savant."

Lychnite kept his eyes gla ssy for another few minutes, then said tonelessly, "Three matches.  Chiastolite re'Rubi - "

"Rejected," Carnelian said.  "Next?"

"Avantureen re'Ambur," Lychnite droned.  "Or Feldspar re'Beselt."

"He'll do," Carnelian said.  "That last one.  - Very well.  End search."  Lychnite blinked once, twice, thrice; then wrinkled his nose and gulped the glass of water that had been sitting in front of him.  Searches through the incredible maze of memory that Savants constructed for themselves usually did leave Lychnite like that.

"All right," Carnelian said, turning away from his Savant and looking around the table.  "Tourmaleen.  You and Tanzanite back to Ptolomea; you're going to watch Beruche promulgate Demand's law, as witness to the Tower Alecto."

"Very well, Prince Carnelian," Tourmaleen said, administering another kick to her brother when Tanzanite seemed likely to protest another inter-Sister journey.

"Oh, yes," Carnelian said, smiling jo vially at the orange-haired man.  "I'm afraid that the clan couldn't pay your expenses, Tanzanite, in view of how precarious is the situation..."

Sard immensely enjoyed the horrible look that lurked somewhere behind Tanzanite's eyes.  That would teach him to be rude to his clan's Prince.

"Lychnite, go home and take a nap," Carnelian directed, standing up, "and Serpentine, send for Feldspar re'Beselt and have him report to me in a few Cycles, will you?"

Everyone nodded.

Sard dared one more question, as Carnelian seemed to be in a good mood again.  "And what are my orders?"

"Your orders wait for when I have Feldspar here," Carnelian said.  "Until then, my friends, get out of here and please do try to be successful..."

Without anything further, Carnelian turned on his heel and walked out of the room, humming "Lavian's Courtship" under his breath.

___________________

And another part wrapped up, oh boy!