Standard disclaimer: No one from the SM canon belongs to me; they belongto a saintly Japanese Lady who is a genius and a wonderful artist and whosename I could not spell if my life depended on it.  Anyone whose namehas never ever been mentioned in either the SM or the SME canons belongto me.  If you want to use them, ask me first and I'll say, why certainly. If you don't ask, Aneiron Jander will be sent after you and will bringme back your still-dripping head.  I don't know what I'll do withit, but there it will be.  So: you've been warned.  On with thestory.

*    *    *    *

Since Sard and Carnelian of the Seven Stars Sept were, technically,not on the unofficial list of Black Moon Family Enemies, they slipped intothe expectant crowd of the well of the Nemetia rather more easily thaneither lord had expected.

It was a cold, gray, uncomfortably blustery day on Judecca; but then,as a shivering Carnelian had earlier grumbled, "Do you really expect anythingbetter of a Weather Bureau whose ministers are the CAST-OFFS from the otherministries?"

The cold provoked many of the Judeccans to dress in thick, heavily-paddedcloaks over their coats and trousers; most cloaks were sensible black,with a few young nobles wearing outrageously colored gaucheries that couldonly be termed "cloaks" by the fact that they wore the things on theirbacks.  Carnelian himself, scion of a House noted for its archconservatism,wore all black, in knee-high soft boots, gloves, trousers, coat and velvet-linedcloak; his brother-in-law and boon companion Sard wore the same in maroonso dark that it might as well have been black - unusual, but still wellwithin the bounds of good taste.  Nobles of Nemesis did not call attentionto themselves.

At least, those who wished to survive long enough for a political careerof some note, or even to survive at all, did not.

Jostling and elbows stuck into passerbys' sides were uncommon to crowdson Nemesis, even those crowds composed mainly of the lower social strata;no one had ever been able to fault a Nemesian on his courtesy.  Abloodsucking politically-vicious mass of Machiavellian scrabblers the Nemesitesmight be, but they were, to a man, unfailingly polite as they destroyedreputation, career, and life of a political rival.  In some ways,that made the nasty business worse.

"True," Carnelian said, to this low-voiced observation by his dearly-lovedbrother-in-law.  "True.  However, you must admit that it makesfor some fascinating parties.  Would you rather be a bureaucrat, brother?"

To which Sard did not reply at all.  Sometimes there was just notalking to Carnelian.

The brothers-in-law gained a favorable position from which to comfortablyview the speakers' rostra: towards the rear of the great wide open spacethat formed the "stage" of the amphitheater-style Nemetia, actually a fewlevels up on the rows and rows of benches.  Carnelian threw back hishood so that all could see the seven stars scattered across his brow; SevenStars Sept was currently riding high in the Game, so no one cared verymuch to press the two lords in black and maroon.

The wind that perpetually whistled in every nook, cranny, chink, orniche in the Four Sisters literally howled at this gray hour; Carnelianuttered a heart-felt curse that, among other things, consigned the ministersof Weather to the tender ministration of Hades for all their afterlives,plus noted their respective canine ancestries on the distaff side. Sard, while amused and inclined to agree (silently, because as much ashe loved Carnelian, he deplored his brother-in-law's occasional lack oftact), shushed him.

"It's beginning," was all that Sard said, when Carnelian bent an inquisitiveglare on him.  "It's beginning."

"Oh, yes," Carnelian said.  His tone dripped cold sarcasm all overthe relatively clean white marble of the bench upon which they stood toget a better view.  "Finally this gymkhana is being called to order. I wonder what today's topic will be, my brother?"

"I've no idea," Sard replied tranquilly.  As well he might; thisexpedition into the Nemetia, in the cold gray Third Bell when Carneliannormally slept, had been all Sard's idea.  This, as much as the cold,vaguely rankled Carnelian; he was the one who usually came up with thebrilliant ideas.  It was, for lack of a better phrase, his job tocome up with brilliant ideas.  It had been what had won him his placeas Prince of the Seven Stars Sept.

"It had better be worth dragging me out of bed at this ungodly hour,"Carnelian said.  "I don't think you truly realize how annoyed I getwhen I don't have enough sleep, brother.  It's almost enough to makeme contemplate taking up Rudra's offer of work at the Accounting Bureau. At least then I'd have regular hours."  He craned his neck to seethe rostra and the man who now appeared on it.  "Ha.  He's herein person, not a holographic Sending.  Hmmph.  Whoever -"

"Whomever, brother," Sard corrected gently.

"Shut up.  - Whomever your prodigy might be, Sard re'Jasper, he'seither brave, foolhardy, or crazy.  I offer you that opinion absolutelyfree of charge, nothing at all my price."

"Good," said Sard lazily.  "It's not worth anything, brother. Just wait.  Just wait.  I heard him at Twelth Bell; Lychniteheard him three Bells before; the whole of Nemesis shall hear him beforethe beginning of the next Cycle.  Don't you trust my political acumen,oniisama?"

Carnelian didn't deign to reply.  He peered at the figure standingon the rostra, all alone, no guards, no Family, no companion or nomenclatoresor aides.  No one but the young man himself.

He whispered a brief command, was rewarded by a spell seizing his eyesand working small miracles upon his farsight.  The rostra jumped intosharp focus; Carnelian trained his now-superlative vision on the youngman who stood, watched, waited for the crowd to die down enough for himto speak.

This young prodigy of Sard's - tall, slim, had an aura of cool commandabout him.  White hair that framed his thin pallid face; pale eyesthat were nonetheless piercing and unreadably opaque.  Carnelian foundto his acute surprise (and discomfort) that the young man had apparentlymastered the orator's trick of making each man in the crowd think thathe was looking at him alone: even though Carnelian and his best friendstood at the very rear of the crowd, had made no moves drawing attentionto themselves, were in no way recognizable from any other nobleman there,Carnelian was suddenly sure that those argent eyes looked directly intohis.

The prodigy was dressed unusually: pure white, from high-collared blouseto trousers to shoes.  He wore no coat; his cloak was deep imperialpurple.  At his throat was a large stone that caught the light andthrew it back with malevolent glitters.

On the handsome, if colorless, young nobleman's brow was an invertedcrescent moon, of a black made all the more startling by the utter whitenessof the young man's skin.

Carnelian was absurdly pleased.  If nothing else, there was certainlygoing to be a splendid show in the well of the Nemetia.  This mighteven turn out to be worth getting up before he absolutely had to do so.

"Well, well, well," he said snidely to Sard.  "And just who -"

"WHOM, Carnelian, WHOM," Sard said wearily.  Love Carnelian thoughhe did, his friend's mangled grammar often drove Sard up the wall. Which was why Carnelian intentionally slipped up, though he would neverdream of letting Sard guess.

"Actually, I think I'm right this time.  Who's our prodigy, then? What's this young sprog's name?  Patronymic?  Homeworld?"

"Demand," said Sard irritably, glancing at the mute figure on the rostra,smiling faintly now.  "Demand re'Adamant, of the Black Moon Family,of the city Breccia of Ptolomea.  Now, beloved brother, shut the hellup before I choke you into muteness.  He's starting."

On the rostra, the young man clad in white began to speak.  Therewas no fanfare of trumpets, no announcement, not so much as a preamblebefore he launched headfirst into his topic.  Carnelian pulled a faintmoue of distaste.  The creature had no idea of style, rhetoric, orFLAIR; he just - spoke.  What was the magic in that?

And then, as suddenly as two faces become a vase, Carnelian began toappreciate the prodigy's cleverness.

Young Demand was preaching simplicity.

"Crystals," said pale Demand, pitching his voice rather higher thanhis normal speaking tones.  The well of the Nemetia was absolutelystuffed with acoustical spells to make sure that the speaker from the rostrahad the crowds' ears; the well was also equipped with some very cleverarchitectural tricks for the same reason.  So good was the built-insound system that no one had ever bothered to put in such paltry mechanicalsas microphones or speakers.

"Crystals," Demand said again.  He held up a large pale gem thesize of one's fist.  Lovely and rare for its unusual fire, but stillonly worth only pocket money on Nemesis, where people literally trippedover gems in the streets.  "Consider this crystal, Nemesites. Naturally faceted, each face different and unique.  Consider it, Nemesians! Each face of this crystal is naturally one pure, perfect, unique trackof the individual crystal.  No two faces are exactly alike. No two faces share more than one edge.  No two faces look in the samedirection.

"But consider, Nemesites.  If you split this crystal into its individualfacets -"  Demand made a gesture, tossing the crystal up into theair.  It hovered there, above his head, glimmering frostily in theangrily muted red light of NemesisStar, shining as remotely as the heartof a demon.  At another gesture from Demand, the crystal splintered:each facet quite literally disjoined itself from its comrades.  Thepyramidal chunks of gem presented their flat base/faces to the crowd, whomurmured doubtfully.

Demand smiled gently.  "The individual facets," he said, almostreflectively, "split into their own unique selves, are weak.  Seehow they shine only fitfully, see that there is no more inner fire at thecenter.  They've lost an essential luster, they now lack the clarityand the brilliance of the original gem."

"Not subtle at all," said Sard, looking disappointed.  "You canspot where he's going from a mile away."

"Shutupshutupshutup," hissed Carnelian, looking at young Demand in speculation. "Listen, damn you, listen UNDER what he's saying."

"There is no intrinsic value to mere facets of a gem, Nemesites," Demandwent on.  "It is only the original crystal, pure and whole, that isof any worth.  It is only when the facets unite, when they join freelyand willingly, that they form a whole crystal.  Not just the sum ofthe faces - "  the splinters of crystal obediently lined up and formeda two-dimensional mosaic in the air - "but a UNION, a whole, living unionthat is much more than just a coalition of factions, but one united organismthat is much more than the sum of the parts."

"He's mixing allusions," Sard muttered.  Carnelian glared at himand drew his finger across his throat with the appropriate sound effect. Sard, no dummy, shut up.

The crystal was now whole again, sparkling with almost an animate joy. "Nemesites!" cried Demand, with what seemed like real passion.  "Thereis nothing to be gained from forever squabbling amongst ourselves! The only real goal is to have a united Nemesis!  If the Four Sistersbecome a more closely-knit family than ever, against us no one could stand!" Demand paused, literally roared, "NEMESIS UNITED IS THE ONLY GOAL WORTHHAVING!"

The crowd, infected by who knew what kind of quasi-religious fervor,roared back at him.  "NEMESIS UNITED IS THE ONLY GOAL WORTH HAVING!"

Sard commented sourly, "Demagogue.  But a clever one.  He'sbeen doing this for a week and already he has the well-goers in the palmof his hand.  It's not proper."

"Oh, who gives a damn about not proper, do you realize that he's justproposed an alliance of all the Great Houses?" Carnelian said.  "Hecould strip naked and sing 'Lavian's Courtship' at the top of his lungs,for all I care about decorum, but the political implications of what ourprodigious young demagoguical orator is doing can't be allowed."

"It isn't right, correct, proper - it is absolutely CRASS," said Sard. "This is what I wanted you to see, Carnelian.  You have an iconoclasticstreak in you too - and I'll be damned if I let my sister's husband pursuea political career of pandering to the masses.  This young fool willbe dead within a week's time, if he keeps this up.  I don't want youto get it into your head that you can keep fiddling with the capite censilike you've been doing, and start trying to woo the underlings."

"Don't be a snob."

"Don't be a fool," Sard shot right back.  He gestured at the rostra,where Demand bowed civilly to the crowd.  "He's the scion of a familyas old as ours, and one which is currently as near the top as can be expectedfor a bunch of usurping parvenus, but he'll die in a matter of momentsas soon as the Blackblood Clan and the Gray Cloak Family, not to mentionour own Seven Stars Sept, realize what he's doing."

"What  exactly IS he doing, Sard?" Carnelian inquired sweetly;the insinuation that Sard considered him a demagogue, if only a potentialone, rankled.

"He's gathering the goodwill of the underlings," said Sard wearily. "He's building a base of power that's firmly anchored in the capite censi,the Head Count, the lowest of the Four Sisters.  He's advocating thatall the clans stick together and give up individual power to make one strongcentral base.  In short, he's trying to get himself declared Kingof Nemesis."

Carnelian stared, first at his brother-in-law, then down at the rostrawhere Demand was walking unconcernedly off the speakers' dais.  Helooked back at Sard.  "You have got to be kidding."

"Not a chance," said Sard flatly.  "You, Carnelian re'Nacre, areone of the most politically-savvy men I know; so will you PLEASE stop sulkingover getting up early, forget your fascination with how he controls thecrowd,  and just tell me what we are going to do that will stop thisnonsense before young Demand decides that the well of the Nemetia is notenough and he wants the Plaza of the Tower?"

Carnelian stole one last lingering glance down at the rostra. The crowd was still murmuring in a soothing roar; the plebeians down thereevidently thought that young Demand was, quite frankly, an ace of the firstorder, giving them performances like that every day.  Demand was gonefrom the well by this time; Carnelian sought a flash of white anywhere,but the Black Moon Family noble had disappeared.

He turned back to Sard.  "What do you think I'm going to say, brother?"he said.  "Demand must either give up this streak of wooing the well-goers,or he will have to give up political haranguing permanently.  Preferablythe latter.  If he's going to be a clever young lord, he can do itin the presence of nobles, in the Conclave of Houses like everyone else."

Sard smiled.  "Good.  He's been doing this all over the FourSisters.  He must be stopped before anyone of consequence actuallylistens to him."  He set off purposefully, going up the stairs tothe back of the well.  Carnelian's thoughtful drawl stopped him.

"Ah, a bit too late for that, brother.  Demand has already drawnin the aristocrats."

Sard paused, looked back.

Carnelian went on, looking ironic, "After all, we're here, aren't we?"

Chuckling, Carnelian followed Sard up the stairs after Sard had flashedan exasperated glare in his direction.  Still, Carnelian wonderedall that day.

What would it be like, to hold a crowd so obviously in the palm of yourhand?  What might it be like, to know that a mass of people hung onyour every word and thought you a wonderful fellow?

What would it be like - to have a literal army, of these political amateurscalled the capite censi of Nemesis?  To have a devoted following. Of the proletariat....

This Demand of the Black Moon Family (head of it, wasn't he, since the... untimely death of Prince Adamant, his father) definitely bore watching. And, if possible, Carnelian would have to cultivate his friendship.

*    *    *    *
 
In all the dreadful aftermath of the Great Darkness, in the periodafter Neo-Queen Serenity had used the Imperium Silver Crystal to awakensleeping Terra from the chaotic ice-bound sleep of the planet, there wasmore than one powerful city-bound enclave.

There was, of course, Crystal Tokyo, which was THE City of all Cities. There was New Orleans Free Enclave; there was Minnesota Free State; therewas Granada; Westminster; Yerusholaim; Wittenberg; Khartoum.

But the only true rival to Crystal Tokyo, the only city that even approachedbeing a City bordering on the peace and interestingly magic-choked atmosphereof Serenity's capital, was Roma Aeterna, the Eternal City.  Just askany Roman.

The (Re)United Nations might yammer all they liked about how CrystalTokyo was a law unto itself and was the only City that Earth needed. Crystal Tokyo itself might gently hint that Rome overreached itself whenit dared proudly compare its own style of government to Serenity's benevolentdictatorship.

The Romans told all of them to take a running jump into the Tiber. Roma Aeterna was a City, it was an excellent City, and it was, to top itoff, one helluva lot more civilized than those nincompoops up north inJapan (of all places) would ever dream of being, thank you.  Justask any Roman.

Unfortunately, the Romans were gifted with both political savvy (courtesyof Crassus Orator Junior and Gaia Licinia) and enough money to buy offthe most vociferous United Nations protester (courtesy of Oppius the bankerand Labienus the CEO of General Dynamics).   This meant thatRome was, either deservedly or not, a great deal more popular with theworld than its rival Crystal Tokyo.  Just ask any Roman.

Which was probably why the inaugural meeting of the Senate on the firstday of January, AD 2976, was so heavily attended by the international press. There had, after all, recently been elected two new consuls, six praetors,four aediles, and - last and potentially most politically dangerous - tenbrand new tribunes of the plebeians.  The tribunes of Rome were easilythe most entertaining of any politicians in the world, for two very simplereasons.  The first was that the tribunes were officially sacrosanctwhile they were in office, which meant that the person of a tribune wasoff-limits to anyone seeking to manuever through the tortuous Roman politics. Aside from the censors, no other Roman magistrate - no other elected officialin all the world - had such a distinction by laws both civil and ecclesiastical.

And the other reason, the reason that made certain that the neo-Romanpolitical atmosphere was always one not unlike that of a circus, was thatthe tribunes of the plebeians retained their ancient prerogative of theveto.

And the tribunes this year were such a lovely lot of troublemakers,one and all!  Slavering, the press waited as the senior consul performedthe ritual sacrifice (rather than an unblemished white bull, this had veryearly in Roma Aeterna's existence been modified to one single sheaf ofwheat and a bowl of blood) and convened the House.

There were the aediles, sitting pompously on their beautifully-carvedivory curule stools; the backbenchers high away from the curule dais, highup on the tiered seats of the Curia Julia; the more distinguished senatorswith their iron rings in the middle rows; and the previous magistratesin their togas of purple-edged snowy white, here and there a flame-redtoga for a woman.

The praetors, all six of them (an undistinguished lot, really - onlyone from a Famous Family, and he had yet to make a splash), sat in theirrespective ivory chairs, right behind and to the left of the two consuls. The latter were both from impeccably old, impeccably rich families: thesenior consul, Gaius Caelius Calvus, had served an outstanding term asRome's ambassador to the United Kingdom, and the junior consul, LuciusSergius Aemilianus, was patrician by blood, birth, and adoption, meaningthat he came from not one but two families with very respectably mana-richbloodlines.

And then there were the tribunes.  Ah, yes, the tribunes. Sitting so innocently on their plain wooden bench, smiles carefully brightand ingenuous before the cameras, feral grins lurking behind their eyesfor when the House was closed and the cameras were banished.

Every respectable senator worth his (or her) salt shivered in his (orher) sandals at the thought of what was coming.  The people of Romehad had a terrific joke on the Senate; oh yes they had!  The outgoingsenior consul had publicly praised Quirinus that last year's tribunes hadbeen a bloodless bunch, "finally content to let the REAL rulers of Romerule!"

And the people, being true Romans in that they loved a good laugh andloved tweaking the noses of their masters even more, had gotten their revengeon the Senate by voting into office the ten most boisterous, unorthodox,rowdy bunch of ne'er-do-wells as the Curia Julia had ever seen.  Theplebs of Rome looked forward to the senatorial goings-on with unmaliciousglee; the senators trembled for their sanity.

Calvus stood, looking quite imposing in the formal purple-edged togaof a magistrate; most Romans wore modern clothing from day-to-day (withthe exception of those reactionary nincompoops the Porcii), but it wasa law from the earliest days of the Eternal Republic that all senatorsand knights must wear togas for official business.  It was so handeddown from Romulus himself, back from the First Republic of Servilius Ahalaand Marcus Junius Brutus.  Romans loved tradition; it was what heldRoma Aeterna together.

"Conscript Fathers," he began, using the ancient form of address despitecertain mutterings from a scarlet-togate form or two.  "On this dayI will publicly unveil the year's policy for the Eternal City."  Hepaused; the tribunes leaned forward.  The backbenchers winced andlooked away.  "Foreign policy, to be specific, Conscript Fathers!"

At least one tribune was noticed to stifle a bloodthirsty grin.

"For one thousand years this Republic has stood alone as one of thefew unchanging points in this world of corruption," Calvus said. His oratorical style was quite plain-spoken, as compared with the floweryexplosions from Gaia Licinia or the cold clipped mesmerizing barbs of CrassusOrator Junior; Calvus was a man who said exactly what he thought, the momenthe thought it.  "For one thousand years Roma Aeterna has been a stolid,solid island in a sea of change and chaos.  In us has Servilius Ahala'sdream and Romulus' vision reached its final fruition; in us the world seesthe perfect system of government.  A Roman citizen, whether he beof the Fifth Class or the First, holds himself inferior to no one, be theya duly-elected premier or a pretentiously aloof mon-"

Here Calvus paused so long that even old Hortalus and Scipio Ravillusbegan to believe that he was going to say "monarch."

"Moneyed aristocrat from foreign shores," the consul went on, so smoothlythat even a few of the tribunes had to nod in appreciation.  Oh, thiswas going to be tremendous fun, being in the Senate this year!

"We are Roma Aeterna," Calvus said solemnly.  "And we are the foremostnation in the world: in education, in finance, in politics, and in truefreedom.  Therefore we do not take protectorates, nor do we submitto becoming a protectorate.  Therefore we do not go forth in war toconquer, as Romulus, Marcus Furius Camillus, or Gaius Marius did; no, wetake rather after the Fourth Founder of Rome, Gaius Julius Maximus, instaying at home and mediating between other misguided nations on the vergeof war."

One of the tribunes, young Publius Cornelius Vatia, began to get a gleamin his eye.  The backbenchers began to pray that the senior consulwould notice it and call off the rest of the meeting before it was toolate and Vatia moved politely to speak.

"Our foreign policy, Conscript Fathers," thundered Calvus impressively,"stays unchanged!  Rome stands ready to help any nation in need, everready to extend an offical invitation of Friendship and Alliance; Quirinusviva est!"

And while the applause died down (there hadn't been much of it; whilea worthy speech it wasn't as good as some previous senior consuls had delivered),a tribune of the plebeians courteously stood from the bench and very properlyand correctly asked leave to speak.

And very stupidly, Calvus neither closed the House to the press andsent out the cameramen nor denied young Vatia's motion.  Gaius CaeliusCalvus, senior consul, nodded stiffly and said, "You have permission tospeak, Publius Cornelius."

The urban praetor, Tiberius Claudius Dives, groaned and buried his headin his hands.  Calvus ought to be shot.

After shooting Dives an inquiringly wounded look, Vatia transformeda rather tense, anxious face into a wonderfully bewitching one with thefamous Cornelian smile.  Unlike the ancient Cornelians, the FamousFamily of Roma Aeterna was a branch of startlingly handsome people; theyrivalled, in fact, the Julii and the Claudii for the title of most pulchritudinousclan in Rome.   Unlike the most correct and patricianly decorousJulii or Claudii, however, the Cornelii, particularly the branch cognominatedVatia, were born scallywags.  Punks, to make it perfectly blunt.

"Gaius Caelius, Tiberius Claudius, Conscript Fathers," Vatia said punctiliouslyand correctly, "I have a question regarding the new policy, or rather theold policy slightly rehashed."  He waited for Calvus' slightly impatientnod, then went on ingenuously.  "Roma Aeterna, the place of whichQuirinus is the Avatar and Protector, is the only place in the world wheretrue freedom and true wisdom has been attained, yes?"  The press beganscribbling furiously.  There was going to be a whole lot of unpopularitydirected to Maximus' Republic once this broadcast got to New Orleans orTrondheim.  "And there is nothing to possibly withstand the eternallight of Quirinus' wisdom, is there?"

By now the urban praetor had his face buried in the sinus of his toga;his broad shoulders were shaking.  The man next to him could havesworn that Dives was laughing.

"So in reality, we ought to be ruling the world, should we?"  Therumbles were coming; Calvus was turning purple.  Gaia Licinia wasquivering, she ached so much to refute this jackass of a tribune. "So Roma Aeterna ought to make an official treaty with Crystal Tokyo, sowe can lead the Nihonese misguided Senshi-worshippers to true enlightenment,oughtn't we?"

It was impossible to overlook the muffled hoots of laughter coming fromTiberius Claudius Dives.  The urban praetor was literally crying withmirth.  Vatia spared enough energy from his bland little phillipicto wink at Dives, which everyone took to mean that Vatia was, as the sayingwent, in cahoots with the urban praetor.  Gaia Licinia was heard tomutter, "I'll kill him, I swear I'll kill him, the bloody Claudii haveNO SENSE OF PATRIOTISM -"

"Nor of fair play," Hortalus hissed.

Next to both of them, Gnaeus Rutilius Rufus snickered and said, "Buthe's twisted our diplomatic tails beautifully, hasn't he?  No oneis going to forget this in a hurry."  He appeared to be enjoying himselfhugely; both Licinia and Hortalus glared at him.  The Boni, as Licinia'sfaction had lately named themselves, the "Good Men," were not going toforgive either Dives, Vatia, or anyone who seemed to support them anytimesoon.

Dives, had anyone known it or cared to find out, was laughing for areason entirely different from that which everyone imagined: far from beingVatia's employer, Dives was the man who would be most directly and negativelyaffected by Vatia's impromptu display of tongue-in-cheek political razzing.

Dives was the newly-elected praetor urbanus, which in ancient Rome wouldhave meant that he was the mayor and administrator of the city of Romeitself, the man in charge of the day-to-day affairs of the city. However, since Roma Aeterna was now quite different from the Republic ofServilius Ahala or of Aemilius Scaurus, there weren't a lot of wars tobe fought, which meant the two top-ranking magistrates the consuls werefree to stay in the city and rule Rome themselves.  Obviously, thepraetors still had to be dealt with; the six officials who would have ordinarilyfunctioned as Rome's versions of Secretary of the Interior and Secretaryof Foreign Affairs were now shipped out as Roma Aeterna's official ambassadors.

And Dives, as the praetor who had been voted in at the top of the poll,had been chosen as Rome's envoy to Crystal Tokyo.

So he was going to be seriously hampered by Vatia's histrionics, andprobably no one in all of Japan was going to speak to him once he arrived;but the joke was too superb, too wonderful!  How could he not appreciatethis wonderful jest at the expense of himself and of the Senate? If Quirinus, God of the City and the deified Romulus, had been present,He would have laughed too, Dives was certain of it.

Vatia was getting into his stride now; the cameramen and reporters wereavidly watching his every move as he jumped up off the bench and beganto stride up and down the length of the speakers' rostra.  Wavinghis arms, making terrific theatrical gestures, striking melodramatic posesthat would have made Shakespeare and Plautus both cry with envy - oh, Vatiawas going to be a wonderful tribune of the plebs, for his sense of theaterif for nothing else.  And really, wasn't Roman politics merely thehighest form of theater there was?  That was the real secret for Romangovernment: do whatever you like so long as you give the People a lovelyentertainment while you're doing it.

"And Conscript Fathers," Vatia bellowed, halo almost tangible abovehis unruly dark locks, "why not go the whole hog and deliver to the Empressof Japan our highest honor?  We really can't go on prating about peaceand serenity - "  at this terrible pun, Dives almost went into hysterics,earning himself a fresh glare from Calvus - "if we don't honor the mostvigilant defenders of this world's continued Pax Nihonum!  We needto give Her Serene Majesty at least an OFFER of Friendship and Alliancewith the Roman People!  We need to send embassies absolutely chokedwith consulars and esteemed Good Men such as our esteemed Marcus AemiliusHortalus and Appius Claudius Ravillus to Japan, right now, immediately! We can set up lessons in Roman insular short-sighted backstabbing - I mean,politics - as soon as we can get the Pipinnas - I mean the Porcellas -I mean the Boni, oops!  Well, as soon as we can get the Good Men toCrystal Tokyo I'm sure that the Nihonese will see their ultimate failingin not being just like us!  I mean, really, Conscript Fathers -" Vatia's sense of the ridiculous momentarily overcame him and he nearlychoked on a giggle; he resumed control of himself and went on, eyes gleamingin hilarity, "Really, if we try hard there's no earthly reason why we can'tpersuade everyone to be just like Rome!"
 
At this juncture one of Vatia's colleagues got fed up.  SextusCaelius Junior (no relation to the consul, that is none closer than twelfthcousins) jumped up and roared, "VETO!  I forbid you to say anotherword today, Publius Cornelius!"

And that was that; Vatia stopped in midrant and closed his mouth. He smiled sweetly at the cameras, bowed to the consuls and to the Houseat large, and trotted back to the tribunician bench, exuding an air ofinnocence that fooled no one.

Tiberius Claudius Dives was crying by this time, his laughter was sosustained.  The listening plebs outside the great copper doors ofthe Curia Julia had already spread the gist of Vatia's satiric harangueall over the Forum outside, and by now probably some enterprising youngsnot with a good PC and a Floodgates chip had spread the exact speech allover Creation.  The Neo-Romans were going to be some mighty unpopularpoliticians on the world stage once the House got through with this one.

Dives didn't care; this was simply the best bit of extemporaneous politicalsatire he'd heard for years!  Oh, it was a privilege to have heardit!  Really, it was Calvus' own fault for not gauging what kind oftribunes he had on his hands this year.  Besides, whatever had possessedhim to choose foreign policy as an inaugural topic anyway?

He took a deep breath and stood.  "Senior Consul, I'd like to speak,if I may," he said, taking more deep breaths and managing to hoot withlaughter only once.

"Denied!"  screamed Gaia Licinia.  "Denied!  Denied! Denied!  You upstart!  You put the piece of scum up to it!"

"Gaia Licinia," said Calvus tiredly, "sit down."  The leader ofthe Boni, glowering, sat down.  The senior consul turned his attentionto the urban praetor, whose dark handsome face was still ruddy from theeffects of so much laughter.  "Tiberius Claudius, your motion is denied. Please sit; I would like to conduct a fairly reputable session of the Housetoday.  There will be no more tribunician speaking today."  Vatiastoically withstood the glares that his nine colleagues bent upon him;on his way to sit down, Dives caught the young man's eye again and winked. Oh, glorious!  Dives didn't even regret all the trouble he was goingto have in Crystal Tokyo, not even with the worse trouble he was goingto have after the Boni finally managed to refute Vatia's message.

The senior consul turned over to the camera banks.  "This meetingof the Roman Senate is now closed.  Lictors, escort the press outside,and close the doors; activate the hush fields."  This was done, withcommendable alacrity; the plebs listening outside yelled in protest athaving the doors closed in their faces, and the aforementioned enterprisingyoung snot undoubtedly cursed as he found his listening bug cut off bythe hush fields, but Calvus was absolutely right.  For the shoutingmatches that were going to ensue, the Senate needed their privacy.

At which thought Dives broke down in laughter again.  He'd knownthat politics was the right field to be in; this was truly the greatestcity in the world!  Of course Serenity's government ran smoother,but did she have as much fun running the place?  Of course not; onlythe patently Roman streak of ridiculousness would make this system work.
 
Now that the cameras were gone and Calvus had had time to realize justhow much Vatia and Dives (as he thought) had royally stuffed up Rome'sreputation, the senior consul was not going to tolerate any insubordination. Much good that it was going to do him; brilliant speeches might sway theHouse, but they weren't going to be terrifically useful against the fancifultales that the press would spin.  Calvus resisted the urge to rubhis stomach in anticipation of a fresh set of ulcers.  Damn Vatiaanyway.

"Tiberius Claudius...  DIVES," he snapped, putting so much emphasison the family name of "Heavenly" that no one doubted what a misnomer Calvusconsidered it to be, "if you could compose yourself, this House can getdown to business."

Dives obligingly choked down the howls of laughter and sat with eyesbrimming and his lips pressed together tightly.  Just looking at himmade Rutilius Rufus want to burst out laughing again.  Oh, what ahoot!  It was almost worth it to know that from now on that old verpaLicinia and her faction were going to be at the throats of Dives and themore radical Popularis.

The old verpa herself stood up and blared, "Senior Consul, Iwould like to answer the senior tribune's....  harangue!"

Calvus' lips tightened.  A quick glance over the House - backbenchers,previous magistrates, few surviving war heroes, and current officials -told him that he wasn't going to get any other business done today; hemay as well let Gaia Licinia rant.  "You may, Gaia Licinia."

The flame-colored toga draped itself regally; the leader of the Bonisailed down the center aisle to stalk across the speakers' rostra. She turned, swept her still-bright eyes over the House, and let her scathinggaze rest on Vatia and Dives impartially.

"Quirites," she began in surprisingly gentle tones, "yes, Quirites. Children of Quirinus, the God of Rome, husband of Roma, the deified Romulus,First Founder of the Eternal City.  Yes; it would be good for us toremember that we are the children of the God, if not in ancestry then inspirit.  After the Great Darkness who rebuilt Rome?  Why, wedid!  The Julii, the Caelii, the Sergii, and, if I may beg your collectivepardons for my presumption, the Licinii!  After the Great Darkness,who restored the Esquiline to its consecration as Quirinus' Well? We did!  After the Fourth Foundation by Gaius Julius Maximus, thedrawing of the Constitution by Tiberius Claudius Pulcher Mactator and GnaeaPorcia Limetana, Roma Aeterna almost literally stood alone as the one city,the one nation, that could even comprehend the new nature of the world,much less tame it!"

Aemilia Lepida, the Princeps Senatus (Leader of the House), seemed aboutto say something but checked herself.  Mainly due to old Hortalus'elbow in her side.  There was no use contradicting Licinia's blatantrevision of history; and if Aemilia Lepida happened to mention that throughoutthe Resettlings that Rome had been second to Crystal Tokyo by a large margin,the Princeps Senatus might get herself lynched.

Gaia Licinia gazed over the House, gathered a deep breath, literallyscreamed, "And why are we letting such WOLFSHEADS as Dives and Vatia, thosepederasts, those shiteaters, those NON-ROMAN parvenus - "
 

"Hardly non-Roman, dear lady," Dives commented placidly.  "TheClaudii are one of the First Famous Families."

The Leader of the Boni didn't even bother to look at him.  "Why,Quirites, should we allow these demagogues to seduce us into allying withthe mini-skirted harlots running around up North, the wooers of the UnitedNations,"  no one, not even Vatia, felt inclined to disagree withthe patent scorn for the UN; no true Roman felt entirely comfortable withthe idea of a global community, no matter what Vatia or Dives might say,"the little Jewel Queen of Japan?  We are ROME, Quirites!  Dowe, the heirs of Quirinus and Julius Maximus, NEED allies?"

"NO!" resounded the answer throughout the Curia.

Gaia Licinia smiled coldly.  "And do we NEED to plant people suchas the Boni, REAL Romans, anywhere else to teach some foreign harlots tobe like Rome?"

"NO!"

Vatia didn't look unduly concerned; he merely smiled when Licinia glaredtrimphantly in his direction.

"And do we, Quirites, NEED a reason for this refusal to 'cooperate'with the world's standards?"

"NO!"

"Because we are Rome," Licinia concluded softly.  "We are RomaAeterna, and we will stand alone forever as the Eternal City, the placewhere the God of Government dwells."  She bowed to the House, wentsedately back to her seat.  The Senate went wild; after Calvus andthe hitherto-silent junior consul got everything together, the House wasdismissed.

As togate senators flooded out, Dives perched himself by a pillar alongsidethe great copper doors and snagged both Vatia and Aurelia Diademata (thePopularis leader) by the elbows.

"You, young snot, made it very troublesome for me in there," said Diveskindly, gazing at Vatia without any particular malice.

"It's not my fault if you can't keep your mirth under control," Vatiasaid impertinently.  He grinned the Cornelian grin, lighting up hiseyes with something near mad glee.  "Besides, I didn't make Calvusany friends, and that's my goal for this year.  As well as that ofmy patron."

"And your patron is?"  Aurelia said, arching one delicate eyebrow. Very lovely, the Aurelii were, with rich red hair and gray eyes. It was deemed an unfair advantage in politics, however, and most of theAurelii, including the woman called Diademata for the Crystal Tiara shehad received for diplamatic service from Neo-Queen Serenity, were usedto slurs of being a lightweight or a prettyboy.

Vatia said smugly, "You'll never guess, and if you don't then you can'tvery well block my petitions.  Both of you are patricians, anyway,you can't come near me.  I've got my own agenda for all of Rome thisyear.  And it was purely luck that I got you into trouble, TiberiusClaudius; no hard feelings?"

"Young man, after the histrionics you put on in there, plus the ulcersyou've given the Boni," said Dives, "I could forgive you anything." And with that the three parted.

Still and all, reflected Dives on his way home, he was going to haveone hell of a time in Crystal Tokyo.

*    *    *    *
 
Changes come and changes go.  Here a clan miscalculates, therea family stumbles, and in neither cases do their erstwhile allies pickthem up and brush them off; they've lost their power and thusly lost theirattraction as political bedmates.

A wrong word can cut off all alliances, a mistimed gesture can get onethe cold shoulder from those who have previously offered effusive affectionand good cheer.  Say whatever you like, so long as you dress it upin suitably polite language; manners, courtesy, etiquette are nearly asimportant a component of the Game as power itself.  All very wellto have a steel fist, but the velvet glove covering it is essential. To be deemed crass is to be deemed politically dead; and political deathand odium is far far worse than any physical punishment.

As cruel as the Game can be, it provokes a rush of adrenaline, a flarebehind the eyes, that few if any warriors of the blade and ray ever find. Immense patience and even greater stubbornness is required of the players;how fortunate that the Nemesian environments, physical as well as political,greatly encourage such traits.

Not only lords play it, in languid drawing rooms and the great Hallof the House Conclaves; the ministers dabble in it, watching warily andoccasionally dipping a fingertip into the eddies and currents.  Thereis no limit to bureaucratic power; they are the cogs and the wheels, whilethe nobles are merely the source of the grease.

In the middle of all of it dwells a cream-colored cat with smoke-blueears, paws, and muzzle: Rudra, in whom there is more fox than cat, andmore spider than anything else.  Eons after the fall of Silver Millenniumhis name on Earth survived as that of a cold, inexorable god; even hadthe Nemesians felt inclined to quibble with the "god" part (and since Rudrapossessed almost omniscient powers of observation as well as the more readilyevident immortality, none felt so inclined), they would have readily agreedwith both "cold" and "inexorable," probably adding in "incorruptible" and"frustrating as hell."

A Nemesian lord can never stop playing the Game.  Even if one individualstops for his own good, there is still the clan to consider; and the clanis paramount.  "Myself against my brother; my brother and I againstour kinsman; my kinsman and I against everyone else."  A saying ofwhich Rudra was quite fond, a saying which Demand had always consideredvery apt to his own position.  He hoped to change it soon:  "Myworlds and I against everyone else."  Much better.  Much better. And where else would he start, but with his own dear brother?

"Saffir," he said gently, placing his hand on the oblivious youngerboy's shoulder.

Saffir's head jerked up, shadow-blue eyes visibly startled.  Thenhe relaxed, dropped the lightpen, dismissed all thoughts of his belovedmathematicals.  Here was something far more concrete, and easily farmore beloved.

"You're home," he said, drinking in the sight of his personal deity. "I thought you would be on Judecca for another Cycle."

Demand shrugged.  "I thought it wise to cut my stay short. There were a great deal more nobles in the well-crowd than I feel quiteready to deal with right now.  I don't want nobles yet.  I'mgoing to have to be more circumspect, I believe."

Saffir tilted his head to one side, looked up at his brother quizzically. "I thought you needed the nobles."

"Not yet," Demand told him.  "Not quite yet.  I need the 'broadbase' before I can concentrate on the top.  You know my theories onthis, Saffir, you helped me formulate them."

The brothers recited together, sharing a conspiratorial grin, "Whenin a pyramidal society, it's much easier to deal with the top if the broadbase is already softened to believe what you want them to believe."

Saffir glowed, twisted around in the chair so he straddled the backand gazed up at his brother.

Demand looked back affectionately, then past Saffir as he caught sightof the intricate matrices and graphs on the projection monitor behind hisbrother.  "What are you working on?"

Saffir squirmed slightly.  He'd hoped that Demand wouldn't bringthis up.  There was no help for it, though; not even Saffir couldwithstand those penetrating argent eyes when Demand wanted answers. "Ummm...  Well, oniisan," he hedged.

His brother regarded him steadily.  "Out with it," Demand prodded.

"It's a model of my predictions for your successes with the Head Count,oniisan," Saffir admitted in a peep.  "But I didn't label anything! No one can tell what it is from the pure data!"

Demand sighed and sat down, fashioning a chair out of thought in whichhe could face his younger brother comfortably.  Unconsciously, hehad shaped it as an imposing throne-like construct.  Saffir didn'tnotice, nor indeed would he have cared had he noticed; his attention wason the man in the chair, not the throne itself.

"You can't do that, Saffir," Demand chided.  "There is no privacyin this world at all.  You can never tell when one of the bureaucratswill decide that he's bored and will do a sweep through this sector's databanks. If a minister gets an inkling of what I'm trying to do, he'll spread it. And then the lower classes will certainly guess and probably know for certainthat I'm merely using them and don't care a pebble for their welfare."

"That's not true," Saffir protested.  "You're uniting Nemesis forthem.  You just don't care about the individuals, brother - exceptme - you're more concerned with the bigger picture."

Demand felt like hugging him.  Saffir, wonderful loyal trustworthysingle-mindedly brilliant Saffir.  Only his brother could be completelytrusted; Saffir was the one person who would never betray him.  Never.

"Be that as it may, brother," Demand said, "if you feel the need toplot out my success mathematically then use paper.  I don't care howexpensive it is, brother, if you're going to indulge in dangerous numbersthen you'll do it in a disposable mode."

"Yes, oniisan," Saffir said obediently.  He turned his torso slightly,depressed a button and watched the entrancing graphs disappear with noregrets.

When he turned around again Demand was still looking at him speculatively. "Saffir," his elder brother began calmly, fitting his long nervous handstogether below his chin.  Saffir waited patiently for his oniisanto come to the point.  "If I could get you a place in the Ministryof Research, would you take it?"

Saffir stiffened.  "I don't want to leave you," he said at once. Then his head drooped; he looked unhappy.  "If you ordered me to takea place in the bureaucracy I would, oniisama.  Anything that you needme to do, I'll do."

«Dammit,» Demand thought.  «He would,too.  If I ordered him.  But he would be obviously unhappy; noteven his numbers could take the place of me.  Ah well.  I hadn'treally expected him to take it anyway.  I don't think I would havelet him go through with it, either, come to think of it.  I wouldmiss my confidante too much, my adoring unquestioning utterly faithfulbrother.»  He shelved the thought regretfully and put itaway.  He'd simply have to find another mathematically-inclined savantto slide into the now-vacant spot at the Ministry.  It wouldn't stayopen for long; he would have to move quickly before any of the rival clansgot in first.  Research or not, this particular Ministry was goingto be important in the near future, what with all the new discoveries goingon.  Demand felt a grin burst out deep inside him; he firmly schooledhimself not to show it.  It was hard, though, knowing that he andWiseman had been the ones to foster most of the "new" discoveries and innovations.

Saffir, meanwhile, was busy awaiting his brother's decision.  Itwas plain to see that he dreaded the thought of leaving their bastion inBreccia City to head for the cold barren civil barracks of the Ministryin Alecto City.  If his oniisan asked it of him, though, Saffir wouldhave been off to the Center city like a shot, not even stopping to pack.

"It was just a random thought, Saffir," Demand said finally, smilingreassuringly.  Saffir, who knew better than most that Demand had neverhad a "random" thought in all his life, just waited for his brother totruly get down to business.  He held out his hand expectantly.

Demand's thin lips quirked in a half-smile.  "You always remember." He took off the white gem that pinned together his collar, and handed itto Saffir; the latter immediately put the stone into a certain slot ofthe projector.  Immediately the well of the Nemetia, as seen fromthe speakers' rostra, could be seen on the moniter.  Sounds filteredin a bit more slowly, a bit less clearly.  That was the problem withcrystal recorders; visual accounts, being nothing more than particularpatterns of refracted light, were easily caught and stored in the crystallinefacets.  Sound was a bit more difficult to catch, and a lot harderto store.  There were magisci working on this, but no one expectedto get anywhere soon.
 
Saffir peered at the image, humming tunelessly.  "There," he pointed,interrupting himself.  "That's a noble."

"Blackblood Clan," noted Demand.  "A minor noble.  His hairisn't smoothed back into a sleeve."

Saffir went on, "There's another one.  He's probably seen betterdays.  His browmark is an orange teardrop - what's that?"

Demand frowned.  "Rudra Wept," he said.

"What?"

"Rudra Wept Clan," Demand repeated patiently.  "Apparently thefounder of their family was such a thorn in Rudra's side that after oneof his stunts Rudra actually broke down and cried in sheer frustration. Not a particularly powerful clan, nor a rich one; they're mainly notablefor going along with whatever outrageous plan is fashionable at the moment."

"Oh," Saffir said, without much interest.  People didn't interesthim nearly so much as did his beloved numbers and statistics; he left politicsstrictly to Demand.  He thought briefly about mentioning the factthat cats couldn't cry, but decided that it was irrelevant.  If aclan wanted to boast of annoying Rudra, that was its business.  "Allright.  Actually, from the look of things, oniisan, the crowd is mainlycomposed of the First through Third Stars; I see a few middleclass FourStars, and one or two Five Stars, but none of the princes or higher lords- "

Without a word, Demand reached over his brother's shoulder and stabbeda long bony finger at two tall lords in the very back of the Nemetia. "The Prince of Seven Stars Sept and a high lord of same," Demand said tonelessly. Saffir could practically hear the frown.  "Carnelian son of Nacre,and - whomever his brother-in-law is. You remember.  The ones whonever took sides in the Kitson mess."

Saffir did indeed remember.  There were only a few of the greatHouses who had absolutely refused to ally themselves with either factionin the brief struggle between Demand and their father's murderer Lord Kitson. Among those tergiversating Houses, Seven Stars Sept had been prominent,mainly because Kitson had loudly and publicly demanded their financialsupport, citing his relationship to the Seven Stars Prince as adequatereason for Seven Stars aid.  Their equally loud and public refusalof that aid had been one harbinger of Kitson's political odium.

"I recall," Saffir said cautiously.  "They - um - didn't supportthe usurper."

"They didn't support me, either," Demand said tautly.  Saffir daredturn around, look up into his brother's cold argent eyes.

"Oniisan, but they DID support you.  Not giving any aid to theusurper indicated that they had more confidence in you, that you'd win."

Demand's scowl lightened considerably; he looked thoughtful.  "I'dnever thought of it that way.  Very well.  But it really doesn'tmatter; we are rich enough so that we don't need Seven Stars money. Ha.  Arrogant, aren't they?"

He referred to Seven Stars' name, which was in itself a boast of obscenewealth.  Among the Nemesites, not only birth but money counted towardsthe various placement of nobility; there were fixed financial bracketsof income, set in ascending order from the poorest in One Star to the wealthiestin Six Stars.  The Seven Stars Sept, founded by the last royally-appointedChancellor of the Exchequer, had held financial sway over Nemesis for roughlytwo hundred years before their usury monopoly had been broken - forcibly- by Rudra and the Gray Cloak Clan. They were nowhere near their old power,but were still a financial force to be reckoned with: they owned almostall of Judecca's banks, and either owned outright or had a controllinginterest in a great deal of the other moneyhouses of the remaining Sisters.

Saffir just shrugged.  Rich or not, Seven Stars was still influentialand Saffir was realistic enough to know that sooner or later Demand wouldhave to cultivate every single powerful clan that he could charm, coax,or bully into support of the Black Moon Family.
 
He looked up with a start.  "I'm sorry, oniisan?"

"I said, how much money do you have in your pockets right now?" Demandsaid, not unkindly.  "Don't drift, Saffir-kun, this is important."

Possessed of too much faith in Demand's inherent sense to boggle athim, Saffir obediently emptied his pockets and sorted through the assortedparaphernalia to come up with a credit voucher for fifteen orbs. "Here," he said, handing the thin gray marker to Demand.

The elder brother took it gravely, silver eyes narrowed in thought. Then he smiled, and clapped Saffir on the back.  "Congratulations,Saffir, you've just bought all of my personal holdings."

Saffir did not squeak.  He did NOT squeak.  He just made avery small, very startled yip of complete and utter shock.

All right, he squeaked.

When he was done gaping at his brother, he said (squeaked), "But oniisan,WHY?"

Demand tossed the credit voucher from hand to hand.  He did notseem unduly concerned that he had just given over his entire fortune, personalas well as the shares he held in the clan businesses.

He did not answer Saffir directly; he merely pointed at the displaywhich still hovered over Saffir's monitor.  "Tell me, brother, whoare the most politically powerful people in that crowd?"

Saffir didn't need more than, at the most, two seconds.  "Theselords."  He pointed at the most prominent noblemen one by one, finishingwith the Seven Stars Prince Carnelian.

"Why?" Demand challenged him.

Saffir stifled the quick stab of annoyance.  He wished that Demandwould just TELL him things, not ask these pointless questions.  "Becausethey have the money, and therefore have the clout," he answered, perhapsjust a shade too irritably.

Demand took no notice.  "Exactly," he said, looking satisfied. "Where was this meeting of the Lower Stars, brother?"

"In the Nemetian Well of Omerna City," Saffir said.  "The onlylegal place for meetings of the Lower Stars - ah."  He fell silentas a flush crept up his neck and blossomed over his cheeks.  Of course.

"And the Nemetian Wells of the major cities," Demand went on, smilinga white smile, "are ONLY open to the Lower Stars, just as the Plazas ofthe Towers are only open to the septlords.  Yes.  But no oneever enforces these laws, which is how I could speak in the Nemetia inthe first place.  That's going to change, dear brother.  By sellingall of my holdings to you, I've pauperized myself.  Put myself intoOne Star financial standing, which places me in the Lower Stars. I am therefore legally entitled to speak and to listen in the Wells ofthe Nemetia of any Nemesian city.  But anyone with financial standingof above Third Star is not."

Saffir felt abysmally stupid.  Why hadn't HE picked up on it? But on the bright side, if no one had thought of it before Demand, therewas no way that anyone could be prepared to counteract it right away. Whatever else Demand was doing, he was buying himself some time until hecould use what he'd already begun to mold into his tool.

Demand continued, putting a brotherly arm around Saffir's thin shoulders,"I trust you, Saffir-kun, which is why I'm safe selling everything to you. - And for only fifteen credits, too; undoubtedly the God of Lucre is screamingHis head off by now.  But the point is, Saffir, even if anyone elsemanages to come to the same conclusions I do, no one else will have someoneas trustworthy as you to whom they can sell their holdings, with the promiseto be allowed to buy them back at the same price."

Saffir said with a straight face, "Who says I'm selling them back, oniisan? I bet that I can get a lot more for your holdings than a mere fifteen orbs."

His elder brother brushed this away with a wave of a long slim hand. "That takes care of the nobles until I need them, at which time I'll abolishthe laws."

"Abolish one of Rudra's laws?" Saffir said.  To his credit, therewasn't much skepticism in his tone.  Much.

"Certainly," said Demand.  His arm left Saffir's shoulders; Demandbegan to pace while he spoke animatedly, occasionally stopping in his tracksto look directly at Saffir.  "Brother, I don't think you truly realizewhat an untapped resource are our Lower Stars, our proletariat.  Theyhave no political say in anything; they cannot petition their House's Princedirectly, but must go through a higher-ranking middleman instead, alwaysfor a price; for the most part none of them are any use as an army or evenas House guards; for Sisters' sakes, Saffir, for all intents and purposesthe Lower Stars are merely the human cattle of the septlords."

Saffir felt a bit lost.  He'd *thought* he'd understood what Demand'splans were, but he was rapidly losing track of his brother's weavings. "So..  you're going to give them a say in politics?"  he hazarded.

Demand looked first startled, then annoyed.  "Certainly not," hesnapped.  "What would they DO with political power except squanderit on frivolities?  On bread and holo-shows?  No, Saffir, I'mnot going to give them any power, but I'm going to give them the feelingsof power and the idea of power.  Why else would they choose me astheir champion?"

Saffir knew quite definitely that now he was lost.  He wished desperatelyfor his familiar charts, equations, and data; people were so much moreannoyingly complex.
 
"Saffir, the Lower Stars aren't useful in themselves, for any redeemingqualities of their individual selves; they're just useful because they'reTHERE.  They have no real power, but there are certainly enough ofthem to make the Higher Stars and the Princes *think* that they do. Do you see, little brother?  They are a feint and a puppet; once theybegin to love me, once they begin to think of me as the only Prince theycan trust, once the name of Demand re'Adamant of the Black Moon Familyis known from Sister to Sister as the only Prince upon whom the Lower Starscan depend, I can't lose.  The septlords will have to fall in behindme.  They must."

Saffir was caught not quite knowing what to say to this; it was justas well, because Demand stopped pacing and came back over to stand in frontof the monitor.  His slender fingers danced over the control panel,and the scene of the Nemetia disappeared, replaced by the neutral graySTANDBY screen normal to the projector.  The white crystal poppedout of its slot; Demand absently replaced it at his throat while keyingin a set of commands.

Saffir came and watched over his brother's shoulder, curiously; Demandwas typing in an official transfer of ownership from Demand re'Adamantof the Black Moon Family to Saffir re'Adamant of the Black Moon Family. Everything that Demand had inherited from their parents and owned in thename of the Black Moon Family was now shifted completely to Saffir's ownership.

"Give me your thumbprint," Demand ordered, finishing the document. He had already placed his own identifying print onto the appropriate panel;all that was needed to make the document legal and ready for filing wasSaffir's agreement.

The younger brother hesitated not at all.  If Demand thought thiswas the best course of action then by definition Saffir thought so too. He silently stripped off his gloves (making a mental note that he reallydid have to see about cutting off the fingertips for convenience) and pressedthe ball of his left thumb down hard upon the ID panel of the computer.

Demand depressed the SEND button and the document fled off to the bowelsof the databanks for the Ministry of Possessions and Legalities. For a moment, silence hung over Saffir's study; neither brother could thinkof what to say.

The elder brother broke the stifling silence first:  "I've sentfor Garnet and Wiseman," Demand said.  He added inconsequentially,"And Rubius."

"Oh," Saffir said flatly.  Rubius was all right, as far as thatwent; self-centered as a hurricane and tactless as a coriolis storm, butSaffir could deal with him.  The other two, however, Demand's onlycounselors (at least, the only ones to whom he listened), always sent pricklesof discomfort up and down Saffir's spine.  He thought of somethingelse that made him twitch; with Garnet came his daughter Esmeraude, andwhile Saffir wasn't quite sure how he felt about the green-haired girl,he did know quite definitely that dislike was a good part of it.

Mistaking Saffir's tone, Demand looked mildly relieved, and went on,"You may stay, if you like - " ignoring the fact that this was Saffir'sstudy and that Saffir ought to be the one deciding who could go and whocould stay - "but I warn you that it will be a boring affair."  Saffircame very close to asking if the day would ever come when he could sharehis brother's councils; then Demand had to go and spoil it all by smilingat his younger brother with so much pure affection and weary love thatSaffir merely bowed, and excused himself.

"I'll go elsewhere, oniisan," Saffir said obediently.  "I'll just...go and stand watch on the Dark Crystal's reactor, shall I."

"Yes, do that," Demand said, eyes already far away.  He murmuredto himself, "Debts...  Lower Stars...  Isn't it all in the wayyou view it?"

Saffir didn't understand another word of it, nor did he feel that hereally needed to, if Demand had it all figured out.

He trusted his brother.

*    *    *    *

Carnelian finished his pressing business in a very irritable mood. But then, dealing with Prince Reachen of the Graycloak Clan was enoughto make anyone irritable, much less someone as high-strung as Carnelianre'Nacre.

Reachen...  was tall, slender (the uncharitable said "skinny"),and looked as if he had just swallowed a lemon.  He had outlived fourwives, three sons, nine daughters, and any number of grandchildren; hesquinted at people and called them by the wrong name on purpose to annoythem, he poked at people with the cane by which assistance he still hobbledabout, and he took a sort of grim pride in vigorously tottering about toevery meeting of the Septlords and speaking praiseworthy good sense ina maddeningly condescending way.

Whenever his name was mentioned, anywhere on Nemesis, it was always,always followed by the phrase, usually spoken in a near-wail offrustration, "Why won't the miserable old monster just DIE?"

"Yes, Prince Reachen," Carnelian said wearily, fingers itching to flipthe cutoff switch of the transmitter.  "I agree that it's a terriblebit of business."

The holographic image of the old nobleman glared back at him. Steel-gray eyes glinted, still bright and still scalpel-sharp.  Carneliancaught himself fidgeting and firmly sat on his hands.

"Of COURSE it's a terrible bit of business," Reachen trumpeted. That was another thing.  The Graycloak Prince had only one tone ofvoice, and that was stentorian.

 "Giving the great Houses a bad name, is what it's doing," Reachencontinued.  "If what my employees tell me is correct, then this ishappening all over the Four Sisters, not just here on Judecca.  Iwent out in the streets the other day -"  Carnelian did not inquireReachen's purpose, nor did the still-canny old man tell him - "and a miserablelot of Lower Stars were following me about, just looking."  The Graycloaksnorted wildly and indelicately; his great bushy eyebrows waggled likegray caterpillars humped over his deep-set eyes.  Clearly, even thememory was still enough to annoy him.  "Miserable ill-mannered bunch. Not a one of them had his hair smoothed back like a proper man.  Afew of them even had that beastly Cainan habit of shaving their heads completelyand wearing hats.  Hmmph.  Next thing you know people will bewearing Antenoran hip boots, or - or - or dyeing their hair all sorts ofobnoxious colors, like the Ptolomeans."

"Sisters forfend," Carnelian muttered.  He had to get away beforeReachen could embark upon his pet topic of how ungodly rude young peoplewere these days, despite the fact that every person under the age of fortythat Carnelian had ever met had been infinitely more polite than Reachenwas at his best.  Again his errant fingers crept to the cutoff switch.

"It's a malign influence, Cornelius," Reachen blared.

"My name is Carnelian, my lord Graycloak," Carnelian said, everyword a victory over the urge to clench his teeth and just glare balefully. Good gods, another few sessions like this and he'd be like poor Sard, utterlyhumorless and jumping at every shadow.  Probably start stutteringlike poor Prince Jeris of the Knifewind Family.

They were not, as it happened, discussing the young demagogue Demandre'Adamant of the Black Moon Family; indeed, Carnelian had almost forgottenthat bit in the Nemetian well a month earlier.  Carnelian was practical,which meant that if something didn't directly affect him he didn't careabout it.  Occasionally this could be a liability; more often it wasan asset.  On the few instances when Carnelian's hard-edged practicalitywas unsuitable, Sard's outright paranoia fit the bill.

Currently, Carnelian wished very badly for that selfsame paranoia whichdrove him crazy when manifested in his brother-in-law: if he WERE paranoid,he might assume that Reachen's long-windedness AFTER they had concludedtheir business might be a plot to keep him stationary until the assassinationsquads arrived.  Carnelian amused himself for a moment with imagininghow he might then evade such a squad when he became aware of his stewardstanding by his elbow, patiently waiting for his attention.

He turned the crystal plate of the monitor away from himself, lettingReachen ramble on about the youth of today and the moral decay of society(so what else was new? Carnelian wondered).  "What is it?" he saidquietly.

The steward inclined his head in a bow from the neck.  "Lord Sardwishes to see you at your convenience, my Prince," the man replied. A slight clearing of the throat alerted Carnelian that it was something...unusual.  "He did say that it was rather urgent, my Prince."

Carnelian inwardly smiled.  Good old Sard; he'd needed a good excuseto get away from Reachen, and if that a man's brother-in-law and righthand needed him wasn't a good excuse, he didn't know what was.

He signalled the steward to stand by, and turned the monitor back towardshimself.

"My lord Graycloak," Carnelian said politely, cutting off Reachen inmidrant, "I fear that an urgent matter requires my attention.  IfI may take my leave, I thank you for the friendship and business of yourclan, and I should hope that Seven Stars Sept may prove as valuable toGraycloak Clan as your friendship is to us.  Farewell to you -"

He switched off the monitor before Reachen could make any more replythan a startled nod.  He knew better than to think that Reachen wouldtake any particular offense; if the Graycloak Prince got annoyed at everyonewho interrupted him, then he would be constantly feuding with all of Nemesis,including Rudra and the Uncanny Sisters themselves.

Carnelian stood up, shrugged into his thick coat (heating was gettingexpensive lately; he made a mental note to bring that up at the next HouseConclave in hopes that Seven Stars could influence the Ninerocks Clan),and followed his steward to a side room, where the steward bowed and lefthim once inside.

The room was brightly lit, of course; just try and catch a Nemesiannobleman going into a dimly-lit place where he can't see every occupantat once.  Sard lay on the couch at the far end of the room, holdinga wet cloth over his eyes and breathing deeply.  He wasn't as sanguineas he seemed; the noise of Carnelian's advent tensed every muscle in hisbody, sent him into a fight-or-flight physical alertness.

Carnelian cleared his throat and said something to reassure Sard thatit was him.  "So what's the emergency?  It can't be anythingtoo bad if you're lying down on the job."

Sard sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch with one fluidmotion.  He drew the cloth off his eyes; Carnelian drew in a hissingbreath as he looked at his brother-in-law's ruined face.

"Someone threw a rock at me," Sard said eventually.  "Several rocks,actually.  And I'm fairly certain that someone slapped me while wearinga gauntlet.  Yes, I distinctly recall that someone slapped me. It was a woman," he added inconsequentially.

"What?  Where?  WHY?" Carnelian managed at last.  "Whathave you been DOING that - that happened to you?"  He cataloguedto himself the damage; Sard's right cheek was scored in many places, forminga fine latticework of purple blood, while both eyes were slowly being forcedclose by puffy swelling bruises both above and below the socket. He thought of something else important, and asked sharply, "Who's seenyou like this?"

If someone thought that the third-ranking lord of Seven Stars Sept wasfair game to be beaten and thrown rocks at, then Seven Stars' reputationwas taking a rapid and cataclysmic fall.  If someone saw Sard andthought that someone else thought that it was obviously all right to beatand throw things at a Seven Stars lord, then the trouble was cubed.

Sard coughed, then said mildly, "My head hurts."  He coughed again,then said, "I was in the Nemetian Well of Chrysotile.  Over on Ptolomea. Or, rather, I was standing at the very top of the Nemetia, since I wasforbidden access to the Well itself."

Carnelian exploded.  "You were on PTOLOMEA?  You went throughthe TUNNELS looking like THAT?  Oh, why not just wear a sign saying'Seven Stars is weakening fast, please feel free to chuck rocks at me andruin my clan's reputation even further.'"  Then he paused, and said,"Can I get anything for you?  Do you need a painkiller or a Healer?"

Sard smiled sourly.  "No, thank you, your majordomo already askedme.  There's an opiate in this cloth that's being released into myskin.  But if you could Heal my eyes so I can see, I'd be much obliged."

Carnelian dithered briefly over what to do about this request; he couldcall in his house Healer and get Sard's entire face back to normal, orhe could Heal Sard personally and probably drain himself and only haveenough personal mana to Heal Sard's eyes anyway.  He decided on thelatter course; the Healer would talk, and the fewer people who knew thata high lord of Seven Stars had been manhandled in public, the happier Carnelianwould be.

Grimacing, he touched Sard's eyes lightly and concentrated for a goodfive minutes; then he fell back looking pallid.  Carnelian had aboutas much innate magickal skill as the average newt; even such simple personalspells as Healing bruises took a lot more out of him than he cared to admit. It rankled knowing that about half of his own clan was stronger than hewas; it was, frankly, an absolute bitch that preyed on his subconsciousevery time he came into contact with a fellow nobleman who had more strengthand skill in magic than he did.

But there was rather nothing that he could do about it, so there wasno point in worrying about it, was there?

Right.

"Thank you," Sard said, reaching up to his sockets gingerly.

"You're entirely welcome and you owe me big time," Carnelian said pleasantly. He drew in a deep breath, then said, "So.  What in the name of Lavianwas going on in a Nemetian Well that you came out of the encounter lookinglike you'd refused to pay the whore afterwards?"

Sard glared at him.  "Don't be vulgar."

"Don't think you can put me off."

"The demagogue, that would-be Demantoid, has closed off Upper Star accessto the Wells," Sard said, still fingering his Healed eye-sockets. "I tried to get in, but someone held me back and hit me.  I got annoyedand told him to let me loose, I was Sard re'Jasper of the Seven Stars Sept,Lord of Redrocks, and the lout said that it was for that reason that Iwas being refused entrance to the Well of the Nemetia.

"At that point, one of my eyes had already begun to swell up, and Ididn't think that I would be able to get the better of him if I began throwingeither knives or spells, so I decided to merely stand at the top of theWell and look down in at the speakers' rostra.

"Carnelian, the Well was absolutely stuffed with Lower Stars. I didn't think that there were so many Lower Stars in all of Chrysotile. The Nemetian Well was full."  Sard shook his head, repeated this dully. "The Well was full.  And they were quiet.  It was utterly andcomplete silent within the Well's confines; even the people up back atthe top, like me, could hear every word said down on the speakers' dais."

Sard went silent for a moment; Carnelian felt like hitting him. One would think that someone as humorless as Sard wouldn't be so damnedmelodramatic.  "Go on," he ordered.  "And what was being said? And by who?"

"By whom," Sard said, glaring at him.  "By whom."

By now, Carnelian REALLY wanted to deck him, but he was too tired tomake the effort.  "Just tell me the damn story," he said.  Goodgrief, I do believe that this is worse than listening to Reachen. At least he won't drag everything out, he'll be rude to you immediately.

"Demand is going to call for a general cancellation of debts," Sardsaid.

"Oh, God," Carnelian said.

Silence for a moment.  Then:

"He can't do it," Sard said quietly, as if trying to convince himself. "It's illegal."

"It's NOT illegal," Carnelian corrected him sharply.  "It's justso godsdamned stupid that no one has ever thought of outlawing it. Oh, GOD," Carnelian said again.  "Sard, if he really manages to dothat, Seven Stars is instantly gone.  We'll be absolutely finished."

"Along with about half of Antenora's Great Houses," noted Sard, notwithout a certain satisfaction.

Carnelian brushed this aside as irrelevant.  Who cared about anyother House than Seven Stars, anyway?

"Sard," he said, voice only trembling a bit, "we'll be wiped out. Utterly.  Do you know how much of the House Treasury is tied up inloans and funnel-funds?  Things that I personally chose in which toinvest the House's money?  Sard, if Demand follows through on this,then not only will the House be bankrupt, but I am going to be CRUCIFIED. Ripped into pieces.  We can't let Demand go through with - Wait. Demand?  Demand son of Adamant?  Demand, that sprog we saw inour Nemetian Well last month?  THAT Demand?"

"Demand, the Prince of the Black Moon Family," Sard said coldly. "Bloody young snot."

"That's what's getting me," Carnelian said, slowly.  "He's YOUNG. I mean, he can't be more than twenty, twenty-one at the outermost. Sard - I don't think that we really need to worry, do we?  Let's stepback and look at this.  I don't care who he threatens or coerces inthe bureaucracy, he can't manage to pull off a moratorium.  He's tooyoung to have made any connections of his own, and we'd have heard aboutit if he'd garnered the fealty of his father's supporters."  At Sard'ssilence, Carnelian darted a glance at him.  "Well, wouldn't we?"

Sard looked uncomfortable.

"WOULDN'T WE?"

"There was a choice three years ago; we could either have extra watcherson Antenora, or we could put some watchers on Ptolomea," Sard said. "There was that nasty business with the Knifewinds..."  He trailedoff as Carnelian's infuriated glare seemed likely to cut him in half.

"Well, there's no use crying over it now," Carnelian said eventually. "We're a pair of idiots, Sard, and we should've thought of everything sooner. We don't have ANY eyes-and-ears on Ptolomea?  None at all?"

"That's the point," Sard said.  "We have a few; we don't have enough. We've never worried much about the other Sisters; when we have, it's beenmainly Antenora that's gotten our attention, since that's where the otherbankers, the Knifewind Family and the Bloodstorm Clan and all the others,are.  What do we care about Ptolomea?  It's a bloody wizard'splanet, if you ask me; you can't turn around without tripping over somesorcerer or another.  Besides," added Sard the puritan, "they're too...  free with certain things down there."

Carnelian, who had been lost in his own thoughts, caught this last andgrinned.  He would never forget the shocked look on Sard's face whena Ptolomean courtesan had propositioned him during a business trip therefive years ago.  Classic.  You would've thought that the ladyhad goosed him.

Carnelian himself had a very high opinion of hetairae; in his view,they were often the best-informed and most unfailingly polite people youcould hope to meet.  Often they wielded quite a lot of power unofficially,which was why Carnelian still swore by the name of Lavian Firestorm, themost famous whore to have ever graced Nemesis with her charming profession. Tales were still told of how she'd managed to avoid paying taxes to Rudra'srevenooers for almost forty years.

In Nemesis, that was an accomplishment to be celebrated indeed.

"I beg your pardon?" Carnelian said.

"I said that there were more people than just Demand on the dais, thistime," Sard said.

Carnelian wondered vaguely why this calm pronouncement should make himsuddenly want to hide.  "Like who?"

"Like whom," Sard said.

"Shut up."

"Like the Uncanny Sisters," Sard said.

"Oh, God," Carnelian repeated, for the third time in an hour. "Coriolis, gale, and hurricane - Sard, will you hand me that cushion thereby your hand, please?"

Mystified, Sard handed him the cushion.

Carnelian studied the purple pouffe for a moment, imagining on it thefaces of each Uncanny Sister, of Reachen, of Demand, even the whiskeredmuzzle of Rudra.

Then he drop-kicked it into the wall.

He felt better immediately.

Carnelian sat down on the chair opposite Sard, smiled quite pleasantly,and said, "Now, brother-in-law, tell me absolutely everything about yourforay into the Nemetian Well of Chrysotile.  And do understand thatI want everything that could possibly convince me not to go into my bedroomand swallow the contents of the vial hidden behind the headboard of mybed."

Sard took a deep breath, then proceeded to make Carnelian a very unhappylord indeed.

"We do have some watchers on Ptolomea, and one of them happens to bein Chrysotile.  Her name is Kimberlite, and she's fairly reliable- you remember that she was the one who tipped us off when the Bloodstarsstarted buying up every piece of tin they could find?"

Carnelian just stared at him, willing him to get on with it.

Sard caught the look, hurried along.  "Kimberlite managed to geta message that the Well of the Nemetia had been patrolled lately by a fewof the Houseless.  Commanding them was a red-headed Black Moon noble."

Carnelian looked puzzled for a moment, sorting through his mental filesof noblemen.  He didn't come up with a red-headed Ptolomean with ablack crescent clan sigil.

"Rubius re'Stephanite," Sard prompted.

Carnelian nearly fell off his chair.  "THAT young prick?" he almost screamed.  "I thought he was DEAD!  Why wasn't he executedafter the Kitson mess?  Why?  Why?  If there were any justiceat ALL in this world, that bloody - Sard, there are NO WORDS for the -the - crassness of that - There are just no words!"

Sard simply nodded.  "I don't care for him myself.  It's justnot done to indict a superior for bribing.  And then to ask to prosecuteLord Ambir over the bribes...  Well.  If he belonged to SevenStars, he would have been executed for sheer gall.  Apparently, thingsare done differently in the Black Moon Family.  But in any case, he'sobviously funneled into Demand's military wing, and put in charge of securingthe Wells of the Nemetia whenever Demand appears in them."

"So in other words, captain of Demand's Guard," Carnelian surmised.

"Yes, well, in a few years Rubius will probably make a try for the patriarchyof the House himself, and then Demand absolutely WILL execute him," Sardsaid comfortingly.  "But he's been in charge of securing the Wells.

"When I arrived on Ptolomea, about four hours into this Cycle, I wentimmediately to the Well, as I said.  I was forced to remain at thetop of the Well, as were two or three minor nobles; it didn't really matter,I suppose, since all the others wore Black Moon sigils.  I pulledmy hood over my brow, settled into the shadow of a pillar, and waited.

"While I waited, I noticed that there was a pair of Black Moon nobleswho were just waiting, much as I was, about twenty feet away.  Garnetand his daughter Esmeraude."

Carnelian slumped further into his chair.  Winds, it was just gettingworse and worse.  Next, Sard was probably going to announce that Rudrahad stood by while Demand was crowned by a priest, a mage, a Savant, anda warrior.

"Demand had, down on the rostra with him, all four Uncanny Sisters:Beruche of Ptolomea, Petz of Caina, Calaveras of Antenora, and Cooan ofour Judecca.  They didn't do anything but sit there and look attentivelyat Demand, but everyone in the Well was very aware of them.  I certainlywas; it makes my spine itch to see all four of the Tower Avatars in oneplace at one time.  Those powers just don't mix."

"The Uncanny Sisters are supposed to be neutral," Carnelian said blankly. "They're supposed to be NEUTRAL.  They're supposed to stay above clanarguments."

Sard made a noise midway between a snort of disbelief and a harrumph. "Of course they're supposed to be.  But all four are from the BlackMoon Family.  Do you really think that a clan that's had at leastnine shifts of power over the last two hundred years is going to play bythe rules?  All four Sisters were there, and if they haven't swornpersonal fealty to Demand - "

"Just a damned minute there," Carnelian interrupted, obviously horrified. "The Tower Avatars, swearing loyalty to a Septlord?  Not - Possible! No one will ever stand for it!"

Sard shrugged.  "What's anyone going to do to stop them?" he pointedout.  "They already made a huge fuss ten years ago about not givingup their clan sigils of the black crescent; everyone knew then that theyweren't going to give up their clan allegiance.  All they're doingnow is reaffirming that they'll answer to Prince Demand first, and theirrespective planets second."

Carnelian said nothing, but he was secretly agreeing with Reachen'sopinion regarding the younger generation.  The Uncanny Sisters, forsakingtheir duty to swear fealty to a clan Prince!  That vial of poisonbehind his headboard was seeming very attractive right now.  Quickand painless and he wouldn't have to deal with any nonsense about cancelleddebts or unruly Tower Avatars...

Sard went on, "And if they haven't sworn fealty to Demand by now, theywill soon.  The Lower Stars are going to love this - all four UncannySisters united?  That's going to present so attractive a picture thatthey'll easily ignore the fact that Demand is a ravening wolfshead."

He paused, evidently to see if Carnelian was going to disagree withhim; when no such disagreement was forthcoming, Sard continued.

"Demand said the usual things - there was nothing to be gained fromwe Nemesites always squabbling amongst our selves, there should be no differencebetween Judeccan or Cainan.  This didn't go over especially well,but no one made a fuss over it; they were all waiting for him to say somethingelse, something important."  Sard shivered.  "They were so quiet,Carnelian!  They were _waiting_ for him to speak.  Ghastly. Like wandering into a meeting of those Third Eye idiots, where you knowthat something's going to happen, and you know it's not going to be pleasant."

Carnelian found himself wondering how Sard of all people would knowabout Third Eye Clan's private meetings, and stuffed the irrelevancy backbehind his eyebrows.

"So what?" he said harshly.  "Get to the point.  What specificallydid he say about the cancellation of debts?"

Sard said, "He said...  that he was not advocating a levellingof the Stars or the nobility; no, that was fine and right, that was tradition. But to help gain a more proper relation between the Stars, he would pushthrough a moratorium extremum, a total cancellation of all debts no matterhow great or small, in the Plaza of the Tower."  Sard bit his lip,then went on heroically, "In all four Plazas of the Towers, thereby makingit law throughout all of Nemesis."

Carnelian said several blisteringly rude words; Sard glared at him.

"Damn him," Carnelian said, conversationally.  "And do you thinkthat he can do it, Sard?"

Reluctantly, Sard nodded.  "Garnet is his uncle and is a respectedlord on both Ptolomea and Caina, for his part in the Kitson mess and thatnasty bit anent the Blackbloods and the Bloodstars, and he has publicallystated that he'll follow Demand in anything the Prince decrees.  Notonly that; all of the clans that swore alliance with Prince Adamant areextending it to Demand as well."

"Coriolis, gale, and hurricane," Carnelian said.  He was silenta while.  "All right.  How many nobles were there?"

Sard closed his eyes, apparently reliving the scene at the Well of theNemetia in his mind.  "Twenty-nine," he said, voice far away. "Twenty-four from the Black Moon Clan, not including Garnet and his daughter. Two from Redstar.  One from Rudra Wept.  One from ColdshadowFamily.  And myself."

"Huh," said Carnelian.  "You're sure?  There couldn't havebeen any down in the Well itself, out of your sight?"

"No," Sard said impatiently, opening his eyes.  "There were nonobles allowed down in the Well whatsoever.  In fact," now Sard soundedpuzzled, "there wasn't anyone over the Second Star in the Well.  Itwas only composed of Lower Stars.  Not a Higher Star to be seen."

"Yes, you'd mentioned that.  But why?  Demand can't thinkthat the Higher Stars aren't going to scream about this," Carnelian muttered. "It doesn't make sense.  I can't figure out what reason he'd havebehind it.  Demagogue or not, I can't see him stirring up the LowerStars without a concrete reason; he's got to have a reason behind it, andI don't know what it is."

"He wants to be King of Nemesis," Sard said.

"You keep saying that.  I'm saying that he can't be King of Nemesis. No one will stand for it."

"The Uncanny Sisters will," Sard said.

Carnelian sighed.  "There are two things we can do," he said. "First, we can go out right now and call in all of our loans, bring backall of Seven Stars' money.  That is going to cause at least threeclans to sever their ties of alliance, and it's going to make us very unpopular. Plus it's going to affect all of our future business, if we just yank ourmoney back with no explanation."

Sard offered, "We could only call back the smaller debts, and swallowthe losses on the larger ones, like the loan to the Graycloak lords andthe deal we have with the Golden Blade Clan."

"That could work, too.  But the other main option is to go to Demand,beg politely, buy him off with something major, and arrange to have SevenStars Sept exempted from this little moratorium of his.  If we can'tprevent the whole thing, we may as well make sure that our clan comes outon top."

Sard considered this.  "What do we have that he wants?" he asked.

Carnelian slumped.  "I don't know, I don't know enough about him. We could offer him Seven Stars' friendship and support, unconditionally,on a six-ties no-backing-down vow, or whatever he wants.  Are thereany advisors whom he listens to, that we can bribe?  Of course whyam I asking you, you don't know anything more about them than I do."

Sard coughed delicately.  "Well, actually - "

"I hate you," Carnelian said.  "Well, what is it?"

"Demand seems to take advice from Garnet, from Lady Tropa, and fromsome mage called the Wiseman."  Sard frowned.  "No one's everseemed to have heard of him, but he's probably some sorcerer who's managedto impress Demand enough that he listens to the old man."

"Can we buy off any of them?"

"Sadly, no," Sard answered.  "Garnet's wealthy in his own right,and is supposedly incorruptibly devoted to Demand.  Tropa's chronicallyshort of money, but with Demand's moratorium coming into effect, she won'tneed to worry about bills or whatnot.  And the Wiseman is a completequestion mark.  I wouldn't bet on him being swayed by anything."

"Dammit," Carnelian said.  "Doesn't he have any relatives who'dbe glad for a small boost into the throne of the Black Moon Family? I know Rubius is an absolute bleeding ulcer, but can't we stomach him asPrince better than Demand?"

"Rubius is too far removed from the succession and I don't think youwant him in power any more than I do.  The man's an idiot.  No,"Sard said thoughtfully, "but there's a brother.  About six years younger. Still a legal child.  Doesn't have his earrings of adulthood yet."

"Oh, perfect," Carnelian said.  "Can we buy him?"

"No, of course not," Sard said disgustedly.  "Apparently he andDemand are obnoxiously close to each other."

"Ah, fraternity," Carnelian murmured, and had a cushion pitched at himfor his pains.

"So, there's that," Carnelian said.  "Either we get back all ofour money right now, and have everyone hate us, or we go throw ourselveson Demand's mercy and get him to extend an amnesty to us.  I hateboth options.  Let me think about this - oh, by the way, do you knowhow fast Demand's planning to move?  I should expect that he'll havemade his first step by the start of the next Cycle; he can't possibly keepsomething like this quiet for long."

"He didn't say exactly," said Sard, "but I'd say that he'll have appearedin the Ptolomean Plaza of the Tower, with Beruche acting as witness beforethe Tower Alecto, by the beginning of the next Cycle, yes.  And thenhe'll use Petz as witness to the Tower Megaera, and so on, until the wholething spreads over all Four Sisters.  Oh, God," Sard said glumly,"he's going to be very popular with everyone who owes money."

"Which, unfortunately, covers rather more people than those who areowed," Carnelian said.  "Damn him.  Very well.  Sard, callLychnite and Tanzanite and Tourmaleen.  We're recalling all debtsof five hundred orbs or lower; the rest we'll leave intact.  Thatway some people will hate us, but the less money they owed us in the firstplace the less goodwill they had for us anyway.  And in four Bells,you and I are going to go see Prince Demand."

"I'm calling our three highest lords?" Sard said, eyebrow raised. "What are you going to do?"

"Me?"  said Carnelian, standing up and stretching.  "I'm goingto go to bed and cry on my wife's breast, then take a nap.  Healingyou took a lot out of me, brother.  Congratulations, Sard; you getto be in charge of the future of our clan while I go replenish my storesof energy.  And, while you're at it, you may as well make sure thatour personal fortunes are intact.  Call in the money that Carbuncleowes to me personally, will you?"

"Very well," Sard said, sounding very put upon.

"Oh, and by the way," Carnelian said, pausing halfway out the door. "How did you get through Auster and Eurus looking like that, anyway?"

Sard looked embarrassed.  "Well, I asked a young lady if she wouldmind accompanying me through the Tunnels to Breccia, for a small fee..."

Carnelian roared with laughter.  "You paid a hetaira to walk youhome?  Oh, you're pathetic, brother.  Get to work.  We'regoing to have a hell of an argument with our prodigious young demagoguein four Bells."

*    *    *

And that would seem to be the end of Part One, now wouldn't it.