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“You just walked out?” Zefla giggled, a hand over her mouth. They were sitting in a lunchbar at the foot of a Corp tower in Malishu’s central business district.
Sharrow shrugged. “Oh, I was just getting fed up with it all. I don’t even know what they were supposed to tell me.” She stirred her salty soup. “Maybe they just wanted to show me how clever they were, that we hadn’t fooled them.”
“But no more of those pains?” Zefla said.
“Not so far.”
Zefla nodded. She had dressed as soberly as she could, in a dark two-piece. Her height didn’t attract attention in Malishu, where most people were around two metres tall. She’d tied her hair up and wore a rather dowdy hat. “You got a gun yet?”
“That’s next,” Sharrow said. “How’s the Central?”
“Comfortable.” Zefla smiled. “Been done out since, but the Bole bar is still the same.” Zefla’s smile widened. “Hey, Grappsle’s still there. He remembered us. Asked after you.”
Sharrow gri
“Yeah; we told him you were on the run.” Zefla bit into her sandwich.
“Oh, thanks.”
“Obviously hadn’t heard the news,” Zefla continued, chewing. “He just seemed to assume it was a jealous wife.” She shrugged. “Men, eh?”
“Hmm.” Sharrow sipped her soup. “And where are the boys?”
“Ce
Sharrow sipped her soup until Zefla swallowed, then said, “Had a chance to screen the legal situation?”
Zefla shook her head. “Got all I’m ever going to get from the public data bases in about five minutes. Under System law the Kingdom of Pharpech doesn’t exist; the area around it’s still theoretically Settlement Territory under the auspices of the (First) Colonial Settlement Board, Defunct. That takes us back to the thirty-three hundreds, and it’s got much more complicated since; there are at least fifteen competing and mutually aggravational land-title disputes, all dormant for way over a century so technically moribund, but there are just bound to be loop-holes; I can smell them.
“Going as far back as it’s sensible to go, the Kingdom was created as a Dukedom by the Ladyrs in return for tap-mining rights on the territory outskirts; it was declared capital when the Ladyrs needed a casting vote on the Planetary Board and the burgers of Malishu weren’t being cooperative. The then Duke declared himself King when the Ladyr dynasty collapsed, the Conglomerate that fell heir to the tap-mining rights got a Title by Use deed over their patch, which seems to have been the only bit anyone really cared about-and which has been closed down for three hundred years anyway-and… well, apart from removing its status as planetary capital, nobody ever got round to sorting out Pharpech’s legal status.
“If you want an opinion, with eight cents of de facto existence the Kingdom’s been going so long a decent gang of greased-up legal hot-shots could swing Full Diplomatic Acceptance and even a seat on the Miyke
“You got all that in five minutes?” Sharrow gri
“Maybe ten; I lose track when I’m enjoying myself.” Zefla shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll be heading for the Uni Legal Faculty myself soon. See if there’s anything the public DBs have missed.”
“You don’t think there’s anything we’ll be able to use?”
“No,” Zefla said. “Buying some defunct mining claim, forging docs and pretending to the throne…” She shook her head. “Pharpech’s complexities all seem to be in the distant past; there’s no confusion recent enough to exploit. Unless I can dig up something very unexpected indeed, we aren’t going to crack this one via the legal route. I’ll keep looking, though.”
“Okay,” Sharrow said. “I’ll check out the travel possibilities, but assuming that doesn’t take long, let me know if I can help you or the boys.” She reached into her satchel. “Here, I got this phone…”
“Right.” Zefla tapped the code for Sharrow’s disposable phone into her own. “How’s your hotel?”
“Comfortable. In the Artists’ Quarter.”
“What’s it like these days?”
“Full of artists.”
“No improvement, then.”
“Even more twee, if anything.”
“And the hunkies?”
“I have a horrible feeling nothing’s changed there either; the good-looking ones are gay and the interesting ones turn out to be mad.”
“Hard times,” Zefla agreed.
“Hmm.” Sharrow nodded, a pained expression on her face. “It’s been too long,” she said. “I hear words like ‘hard’ and I’m in danger of sliding off my seat.” She looked out at the gentle, filtered light of afternoon… “Doesn’t help having all these huge fucking towering columns rearing up all over the place here, either…” She sighed. “I may be forced to desperate measures; I haven’t seen one for so long I’m starting to forget what they look like.”
“Well, hey,” Zefla said, looking amused. “There’s always Miz. He’d be up for it.”
She shook her head. “I know. But…” She looked away.
“Old wounds, eh?” Zefla said, washing her sandwich down with some wine.
Sharrow gazed away with a lost expression Zefla knew from over a decade and a half earlier. “Yeah, old wounds,” she said quietly.
“Good afternoon, Madam. How may I help you?”
“Good afternoon. I’d like a FrintArms HandCa
“A-? Oh, now; that’s an awfully big gun for such a lovely lady. I mean, not everybody thinks ladies should carry guns at all, though I say they have a right to. But I think… I might… Let’s have a look down here. I might have just the thing for you. Yes; here we are! Look at that, isn’t it neat? Now, that is a FrintArms product as well, but it’s what’s called a laser; a light-pistol some people call them. Very small, as you see; fits easily into a pocket or bag; won’t spoil the line of a jacket and you won’t feel you’re lugging half a to
“I’ll take the special.”
“Sound choice, madam, sound choice. Now, do-?”
“And a HandCa