At All Costs

"What the-?!" Timothy Mears jerked back as he opened the air cab door and got hit in the face with an eye-stinging spray of moisture.

"Oh, shit!" a voice said, and he blinked his burning eyes, then found himself glaring somewhat blearily at the cabby on the other side of the opened partition between the cockpit and the passenger compartment. She was an attractive, if not spectacular, blonde, and she held a bottle of commercial air freshener in one hand, still pointed almost directly at Mears. She also wore an expression of almost comical dismay.

"I'm so sorry, Lieutenant!" she said quickly. "I didn't see you coming, and my last fare was a smoker." She shook her head in angry disgust. "Big sign, right there," she jabbed her head at the "No Smoking In This Vehicle" notice on the partition, "and the jerk sits right down and lights up. A cigar, of all damned things. And not a very expensive one, from the stink!"

The air freshener's scent was almost overpowering, but as it began to dissipate, Mears could smell the tobacco reek to which she'd referred. And, he admitted, it really was pretty bad.

"So I was just turning around to spritz some of this stuff-" she waved the air freshener "-and you opened the door, and, well...."

Her voice trailed off, and her expression was such a mixture of dismay and apology that Mears had to laugh.

"Hey, I've had worse happen, okay?" he said, wiping the last film of air freshener off his face. "And you're right. It is pretty ripe back here. So I'll just stand back and let you spray away to your heart's content."

"Oh, gee, thanks!" she said, and applied the air freshener industriously for several seconds. Then she sniffed critically.

"That's about as good as it's going to get, I'm afraid," she said. "You still want a ride? Or do you want to wait for something that smells a little fresher?"

"This smells just fine to me," Mears said, and climbed into the cab.

"Where to?" she asked.

"I need to do some shopping, so let's hit Yardman's first."

"You got it," she agreed, and the cab whined away towards the capital's best known shopping tower.

Behind it, a nondescript man watched it with carefully incurious eyes, then turned and walked away.

"Hello, Nico," Honor said as Nico Havenhurst opened the front door for her. "You seem to have quite a mob out here this evening."

"Oh, it's been more crowded than this upon occasion, Your Grace," Havenhurst said, stepping back with a welcoming smile. "Not in the last few decades, you understand, but-"

He shrugged, and Honor chuckled. Then she stepped past him into the entrance hall, and paused in mid-stride. Emily, Hamish, and her parents were there. So was Reverend Sullivan, but Honor had expected that. What she hadn't expected was the distinguished, dark-haired man in the episcopal purple cassock and glittering pectoral cross. She recognized him almost instantly, although they'd never met, and she wondered what Archbishop Telmachi was doing at White Haven.

Surprise kept her focused on him for at least a few heartbeats. Long enough for her feet to get reorganized and resume carrying her forward. She'd just noticed the younger man standing at Telmachi's elbow and recognized him as Father O'Do

There were too many individual sources for her to analyze their feelings clearly, but Hamish and Emily's strands stood out more clearly than those of anyone else, including her parents. She felt herself reaching out for them, as automatically as breathing, and then both eyebrows rose as she tasted the mingled love, determination, apprehension, and almost giddy anticipation rising off of them like smoke.

Obviously, she'd been right to suspect her mother was up to something. But what?

"Hello, Honor," Emily said calmly, reaching out her hand. "It's good to see you home."

The meal, as always, was delicious, although Honor decided Mistress Thorne could have taught Tabitha DuPuy a thing or two about poaching salmon. The company had also been convivial, and Honor was pleased by the genuine friendship and mutual admiration she tasted between Sullivan and Telmachi. The Star Kingdom was legally nondenominational, with a specific constitutional bar against any state religion. Despite that, the Archbishop of Manticore was recognized as the "dean" of the Manticoran religious community, and she was glad he and Sullivan had hit it off so well.

But despite that, and despite her happiness at being home, she found it increasingly difficult not to select someone at random to strangle as supper went on and on and the strange combination of the Alexanders' emotions-and her parents', and even Sullivan's, now that she thought about it-continued to swirl about her. She still didn't have a clue what they were all so... energized about, which was maddening enough. But what made it even more maddening was her absolute confidence that it all focused on her, somehow.

At last, finally, the dessert dishes were cleared away, the servants withdrew, and the Alexanders and their guests were left alone around the huge table. It was the first time Honor had ever eaten in White Haven's formal dining salon, and despite its low ceiling and ancient wood paneling, she found it just a bit overpowering. Possibly because it was half the size of a basketball court, or seemed that way, at least, after the more intimate quarters in which she, Hamish, and Emily normally dined.

"Well," her mother said brightly as the door to the serving pantry closed, "here we all are at last!"

"Yes," Honor said, handing a last celery stalk to Nimitz, "here we are, indeed, Mother. The question in my mind-and it does appear to be in my mind, alone, since everyone else at this table obviously already knows the answer-is why we're all here."

"Goodness!" Allison said placidly, and shook her head. "Such youthful impetuosity! And in front of such distinguished guests, too."

"I might point out that the guests in question are Hamish and Emily's, not yours, Mother," Honor replied. "Except, of course, that whenever someone is pulling the strings and you're present, I never have to look very far for the puppetmaster."

"Honor Stephanie Harrington!" Allison shook her head mournfully. "Such an undutiful child, too. How could you possibly think of me in that way?"

"Sixty years of experience," the undutiful child in question responded. "And now, if someone could possibly answer my question?"

"Actually, Honor," Hamish said, and his voice-and emotions-were far more serious than her mother's droll tone, "the person 'pulling the strings,' inasmuch as anyone is, isn't your mother. It's Reverend Sullivan."

"Reverend Sullivan?" Honor looked at the Grayson primate in surprise, and he nodded back gravely, although there was a twinkle in his dark eyes and she clearly tasted the affectionate amusement behind it.

"And just which strings are being pulled?" she asked more warily, looking back at Hamish and Emily.

"What it comes down to, Honor," Emily said, "is that, just as we'd feared, the news about your pregnancy-and mine-has gotten back to Grayson. It's already started to die down a bit here in the Star Kingdom, actually. Especially," a bubble of pure, malicious delight danced in her mind-glow, "since the Landing Tattler's new management discovered certain irregularities in Solomon Hayes' financial records and let him go. I believe he's currently discussing those irregularities with the LCPD and the Exchequer.

"But," the brief flicker of amusement faded, "the situation on Grayson was about what you and I had feared it might be. In fact, a delegation of Steadholders called on the Reverend to discuss their... concerns."