Part 16 (2/2)

'I'm sick of this, Doctor. We're not going to outrun those guys or hide from them for long.'

'S'blood ' Fortalexa was alerted by a warning bleep from his console. 'Incoming looks close.'

'Drop seventeen, fast.' The Doctor spoke without looking at the chart. He was still watching Ace.

Klasvik felt his stomach heave as the s.h.i.+p dropped suddenly from beneath him. He and Lannic strained at the straps on their chairs, Fortalexa and Lefkhani leaned forward against their harnesses. Ace and the Doctor staggered slightly, then they were flung together as the blast caught them and the s.h.i.+p shuddered under the impact. They sprawled across the console next to Klasvik, arms locked as they each tried to prevent the other from falling.

'You're sure about this, Ace?' Klasvik heard the Doctor ask quietly as the shock*wave subsided.

'Doctor, I'm going to do it,' she told him.

'Are we safe for a moment?' the Doctor called to Fortalexa.

He listened for a second, checking the console. 'Look like they lost us in the wake of that. We should have a minute or so.'

'Good.' The Doctor was at the chart, jabbing his finger at a blob which represented an asteroid. 'I'm going to bring us round the back of this one.'

'Why? That will slow us down we should be getting out of this sector before they quarter it, they're bound to see us when we emerge from occlusion.

'Exactly.'

'I'm not with you.'

'Nor will Ace be. We'll drop her off as we round it here.' He pointed to one edge of the blob. Then when we emerge, the Rippearean will come to here. His finger traced back to a point where the cruiser would have a clear shot at them as they emerged from behind the asteroid.

It was also in direct line of where the Doctor had suggested they drop Ace. 'And then blam blam,' she said.

'You're mad!' Fortalexa was staring in disbelief at the chart. 'Even if the cruiser actually ends up where you say it will there's no guarantee they won't get a shot off before Ace does. And if they don't, we'll all get blasted to bits when their magazine goes up anyway.'

'Do you have a better suggestion, Mister Strategy?'

Fortalexa said nothing.

'We are running out of options,' the Doctor pointed out.

Fortalexa shrugged. 'You want a suggestion? Aim for the aft thruster feed section, not the main body of the s.h.i.+p.'

'Oh great, now you want a trick*shot. And you tell us we're mad.'

Fortalexa grinned suddenly. 'Maybe. But at least can tell a hawk from a handsaw.'

The section of the Mansionhouse they had entered from the Orangery was deserted. 'I keep these rooms and areas for myself,' Braxiatel confided quietly as they walked down a corridor lined on both walls with mirrors.

A never*ending reflection of Bernices turned to Braxiatel. 'Where are we going?' they asked in a single hushed voice.

'My drawing room. I need to check on the readiness of your s.h.i.+p. And there's one exhibit I'd like you to see.'

'You're not maybe considering telling me about the history of Menaxus?'

'Let me show you the exhibit first it is relevant, I promise you. Then I'll tell you about Menaxus.'

'Fair enough.'

What Braxiatel called his drawing room would, Benny thought, have made kings weep with envy. It was huge, with walls made of inlaid marble. In the centre stood a mahogany writing desk, a simple office chair behind it. Alcoves along each wall were filled either with statues of Lavithian Graffs in full ceremonial armour, or with forced perspective paintings of parts of the grounds of the house. These seemed to be subst.i.tutes for any windows, which suggested that the room was hidden within the depths of the building. For whatever reason, Braxiatel had ensured that he could not be overlooked from outside. Benny guessed that the room was also s.h.i.+elded.

Braxiatel walked across the room to the one alcove that contained neither a statue nor a mural. Benny followed, her feet ringing on the stone floor and her eyes fixed on the replica Supremacy of Venus Supremacy of Venus which covered the high ceiling, the G.o.ddess sitting among the clouds surrounded by cherubs and maidens. She negotiated the writing desk, glancing idly at the blotter and silver fountain pen lying on it. The blotter was headed which covered the high ceiling, the G.o.ddess sitting among the clouds surrounded by cherubs and maidens. She negotiated the writing desk, glancing idly at the blotter and silver fountain pen lying on it. The blotter was headed Custodian of the Library of St John the Beheaded Custodian of the Library of St John the Beheaded, but before Benny could ask what that meant, Braxiatel called her over.

He had already opened the gla.s.s*topped specimen cabinet. Inside was an opened book. It was bound in leather with the pages edged in silver. A silk bookmark was laid down the margin of the left*hand page, its counterpart was the illuminated cover page.

Braxiatel stood back a little to let Benny see. She read the few lines on the cover page. '”The Good Soldiers” a theatrical play by Stanoff Osterling.'

'The original handwritten ma.n.u.script,' Braxiatel confirmed. 'It's all there.'

'Have you read it?'

'Oh yes.' He smiled. 'It's actually not terribly good. Grigsen was wrong about that.'

Benny reached out for the book. But she stopped herself before her fingers touched the page. 'May I?'

He waved a hand for her to continue. 'It's been treated; you won't damage it so long as you're careful.'

Benny turned a few pages, reading odd lines and actions as she went, holding her breathe in awe. 'Why don't you publish it?'

'Because it's not very good.' He could see that his answer surprised her. 'I'm serious,' he went on. 'There is such a mythos about this play. If I publish it now that whole bubble of mystery and awe would burst.' He clicked his fingers sharply to ill.u.s.trate the point. 'Imagine your greatest and best childhood memory then go back and relive the moment. I guarantee it won't be the same. It can never live up to your expectations, so you would never go back to it. It is the potential that's important, like the statue for the last fountain. I can't deprive the universe of such a magnificent work of art, even if it never really existed.'

Benny thought of her diary. Even her recent past was covered by yellow sticky reinterpretations. Maybe he had a point. 'But it's a play. Maybe in performance it really is stunning.'

'Maybe.'

'Have you seen a performance of it?'

'In a sense.'

'And?'

'And you'll probably get a chance to judge for yourself.' He turned away and walked over to the writing desk, leaning back against it and waving Benny to the chair. 'Now then, the question of Menaxus. I just about have time before your s.h.i.+p is ready, and you will need to understand before you go. Not least so you can talk to the Doctor about it for me.'

Benny sat down, smoothing the velvet on her lap. She was eager to hear what Braxiatel had to say, to discover how close her improbable theories had been to the truth. But she was also intrigued by Osterling's lost ma.n.u.script. 'Has it occurred to you that the Doctor might already know all about it?'

He seemed startled. 'No how could he?'

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