Certain Symmetry (7 page)

Together, they entered the sen'Equa's House
of Chance, he in his evening lace, and she as she might appear for
an evening among friends to her house; or even friends to her bed.
Assuredly, someone ought to speak to the lady regarding the attire
generally held to be proper for public outings - but it would not
be he.

A servant, bland-faced, admitted them to the
house, and waved them to a small room to the right of the
entranceway.

"You may open your envelopes and don your
accessories in this chamber," he said. "After you have
appropriately adorned yourselves, you may find the rest of the
guests in the larger room. Buffets will be laid in the private
parlors at mid-revel."

It was at this point that Betea sen'Equa
herself appeared, slightly breathless, as if she had run down from
her office the moment the monitor showed his arrival. Immediately
was Dela bel'Urik's costume discovered to be mere commonplace,
quite cast into the shade by Betea's choice of flame red shirt, cut
low across her breasts, form-fitting leather trousers, and
soft-soled leather house-boots.

Nor was the young bel'Urik's address
sufficient to assure her place at Pat Rin's side. Betea swept
forward, using her height much as he sometimes used his, to clear a
path through a crowd and arrive at his destination unrumpled and
unimpeded.

"He has not yet arrived," she said, leading
the way into the accessory chamber. Pat Rin followed, but not
without a wistful thought to the bel'Urik.

"I have been through our
records," she said, pulling what appeared to be a small square of
leather from between her breasts. "Never has the House of Chance
hosted such an event. Why
must
it be here--"

"...Is something that we shall perhaps
discover of Hia Cyn, when we have an opportunity to speak," Pat Rin
interrupted, striving for patience. He was here, he reminded
himself, as an instrument of Balance. His personal pets and peeves
had no brief here. Looking down, he broke the seal on his Express
packet, and, wonderingly, pulled out a folded bit of leather, much
like the one Betea had...

The leather unfolded, revealing its form: A
half-mask in supple black leather, with ribands of the same
color.

Betea's mask was flame red. As he watched,
she tied it into place and let the ribands fall over one shoulder,
the tasseled ends kissing the swell of her breast.

Pat Rin's uncle, Daav yos'Phelium--Val Con's
very father--had once told Pat Rin a story about a world where all
went masked and revealed themselves only to their most intimate
kin. The story had turned upon a man with whom Uncle Daav had sworn
to be acquainted, who had one day formed a desire to go about his
daily business unmasked, and the unlooked-for and increasingly
distressful situations that arose from taking that single,
seemingly correct, decision.

The story had a lesson at its heart, of
course--a Scout lesson, with which one's mother most emphatically
disagreed. The lesson was that custom was arbitrary and oft-times
nonsensical, and that the superior person was one who was not
shackled by the custom of his homeworld, but moved freely from one
set of traditions to another, without offense to any.

To wear a mask on Liad was, of course, to be
very wicked. Masks were erotic, intoxicating and entirely outside
of Code.

"Well?" Betea sen'Equa asked, not a little
snappish. "Are you going to put that on, or are you not?"

* * *

THE HOUR WAS growing late.

Not that the young gentleman of leisure was
at all concerned for the final outcome of the evening, he only
wished that Betea would approach him so that the matter could be
settled, finally and for all. She oversaw for a time the room's
small spin-wheel, and joined a party at cards, making certain that
the money and the drink flowed, as a proper hostess must do.

Indeed, he would quite miss Betea, and where
he would find another cat's paw so perfectly situated, he could not
predict. However, he was a young man of an optimistic cast of mind
and rarely allowed the problems of tomorrow to oppress him today.
He did not doubt for a moment that Betea would find herself able to
accommodate the arrangements he had made for her. After all, what
could it matter to a Clanless where she lived or to whom she owed
duty?

If only she would she would stop circulating
and come within his orbit so the evening could go forward...

* * *

IT WAS ... DISCONCERTING ... to enter a room
filled with people dressed with entire propriety, saving only that
their features were masked. Pat Rin, master of any social situation
described in the Code, felt ill-at-ease, which sensation he found
unsatisfactory in the extreme.

By contrast, Betea strolled into the room as
if she had gone masked all her life, moving among people whose
motives and desires were hidden from her. Which, Pat Rin thought,
the echoes of Uncle Daav's old story suddenly ringing in his ears,
perhaps she had.

He raised his head and moved into the room,
ignoring, as best as he was able, the supple caress of leather
against his cheeks. A masked servant offered him wine from a tray,
which he accepted, and, sipping, moved even further into the
room.

Betea, he saw, was well advanced of him, her
crimson shirt a beacon among the pastel evening colors of the
Festival season.

Strolling through the room, Pat Rin
recovered somewhat of his equilibrium. He had a good ear for
voices, and he found that he recognized the accents of more than
one social acquaintance in conversation, mask to mask.

So acclimated did he become, in fact, that,
when hailed by a yellow-haired lady in an emerald green mask, he
inclined his head gravely and murmured, "Good evening, Eyan. I hope
I find you well?"

The lady gave a startled laugh and moved
forward to lay her hand on his arm.

"Quick, my friend. Very quick. A word in
your ear, however: We name no names here."

Pat Rin sipped his wine. "Whyever not?"

"Oh, it adds to the mystery, the intrigue,
the naughtiness! Is it not absurd?"

"Perhaps. But it is possible that you will
change my mind. I am not accustomed to finding you engaged in the
absurd."

"Prettily said," smiled the lady. "Alas, I
am here at the whim of a friend, who had heard of such affairs
being all the rage from her cha'leket. I must seek her soon, to
find if the telling matches reality, or if we may go and find a
less ...mealnt'i challenging... gathering." She had recourse to her
own glass, eyes quizzing him over the crystal rim.

"But how do I find you present at such an
exercise? Pay-off on a wager? Never say that you lost!"

Pat Rin inclined his head. "I find my
situation similar to your own; and am here at the necessity of
another." He swept a glance across the room, looking for the
crimson shirt--and failing to find it.

"Pat Rin?" Her hand was on his sleeve once
more. "What's amiss?"

"I--am not certain," he replied, and turned
sharply on his heel. "Perhaps nothing is amiss. Your pardon,
Eyan..." He moved off into the crowded room, leaving her frowning
behind him.

* * *

IT HAD BEEN absurdly easy. Betea had all but
literally walked into his arms, and it had been simplicity itself
to guide her into the parlor where his business associate awaited
them.

"This is she?" The man behind the table
asked, while Hia Cyn held Betea firmly by her arm.

"It is," he said, adroitly avoiding the kick
she aimed at his shins.

"And you have the right to sell her into
indenture?"

"Sir, I have," said Hia Cyn. "There is a
debt between us of long standing, which she makes not the slightest
push to settle. I certainly - "

"That," snarled Betea, twisting against his
grip, "is a lie! I owe you nothing!"

"Yes, well..." Hia Cyn shifted his grip and
got her arm up behind her, hand between her shoulder-blades, which
quietened her quick enough. "I have the papers, sir, which you've
seen. The Council itself acknowledges my right to redeem my money
through the sale of this woman's work for a period of seven
Standard years."

"He's a wizard with papers, this one!" Betea
snarled. "Look twice at any signatures he shows you,
lordship--Ah!"

"Respect for your betters, Betea," Hia Cyn
said pleasantly, but the man behind the table frowned.

"She's worth less to me with a broken arm,"
he said, sternly. "Nor do I wish to buy at hazard."

"Sir--"

"You are wise," came a cool voice from
behind. "Sir, release that woman. She is neither your chattel nor
your debtor."

The man behind the table moved a hand,
beckoning. "Who are you, sir?"

Pat Rin yos'Phelium stepped into the room,
impeccable in high-town lace; his face covered by a supple black
mask; blue gem blazing in his right ear.

"I was told we name no names here, sir," he
said calmly. "However, I have business and a name for the man who
has attempted to sell you that which does not belong to him." He
turned and raised his hand, pointing.

"Hia Cyn yo'Tonin, release that person, and
prepare to answer me in a matter of Balance."

"Balance?" Hia Cyn's grip loosened, from
pure amaze, so Betea thought, though she was quick to take
advantage of his lapse.

"We are in the midst of social pleasure,"
Hia Cyn protested. "How may Balance go forth here?"

"Balance goes forth in the name of Fal Den
ter'Antod, whom your actions slew. Do you deny that you are Hia Cyn
yo'Tonin?"

"I neither deny nor acknowledge! You, sir,
are not anonymous. I know your voice. I know that ear-stone--as who
does not? I've seen you deep in the cards--and shooting, at
Teydor's!"

Betea, forgotten in the argument, moved
swiftly to the side, raised her hand and pulled the bright
ribands.

"What!" Hia Cyn raised his hand too late.
The mask had slipped, fallen, and was held useless in his left
hand. He stood revealed, his face seeming curiously naked, the skin
slightly damp where the leather had cuddled his cheeks.

Pat Rin raised a hand, showing the battered
debt-book, Imtal's sigil to the fore.

"I have a book from the hand of a dead man,
Hia Cyn yo'Tonin. Balance goes forth, here and now. What Balance is
just, for the loss of a life?"

"I repudiate this. I will not accept Balance
from a masked robber."

"But do you know," said a feminine voice
from the door, "I think you will?" A smallish lady with gray hair,
and wearing a mauve mask stepped into the room, closely followed by
Eyan yo'Lanna's emerald. The mauve mask inclined her head to Pat
Rin.

"I have only this afternoon had a message
from dea'Gauss, sir. I believe I am in your debt for the very
welcome information he imparted." She raised a hand. "Your duty
takes precedence over my own. Pray continue. I believe we may be in
a situation where witnesses may be ...appropriate."

Pat Rin inclined his head. "Ma'am." He
looked again to Hia Cyn yo'Tonin, and it was anger he felt. Anger,
that this man lived where Fal Den ter'Antod--twelve dozen times
more worthy!--had died. Died for the cause of this man's greed. And
he was to Balance this wrong? There was no Balance fitting. Even
death...

The man behind the table cleared his
throat.

"I do not wish to trespass into a private
affair," he said calmly. "However, I think it relevant to point out
to those concerned that I came here to buy seven years' of hard
labor in my company's mine. It matters not at all to me whose labor
I buy, so long as the contract is valid."

Pat Rin turned and looked at the man behind
the table.

"Seven?"

The man inclined his head. "The contract
can, of course, be renewed, at seller's option. I am limited to the
purchase of seven year blocks."

"I see." Pat Rin held looked again at Hia
Cyn yo'Tonin, pale and sweating. "Let us say seven years initially,
renewal to depend upon Fal Den ter'Antod's delm."

"The Council!" yelped Hia Cyn.

"I don't think that the Council will find it
difficult to name you beholden," the lady in the mauve mask said.
"And if Imtal does not impose additional terms of service, you may
warm yourself by the certainty that you will have pel'Varn to
reckon with on the day your indenture is done."

It was too much. Hia Cyn spun, knocking Eyan
aside, and vaulted into the main room, Betea in hot pursuit.

"Card-sharp!" she cried. "Stop him!"

The pleasure-seekers--gamesters and High
Houselings alike--turned to stare at the one so hideously accused;
several young gentlemen were seen to cast down their dice or their
cards and move in pursuit.

Hia Cyn slammed to a halt, staring at the
room full of masks, the avid eyes focused on him. He glanced down
at his left hand, fingers still uselessly clutching his mask.
Revealed, he thought. Revealed and ruined.

"Do not run from the lordship's Balance, Hia
Cyn," Betea's voice was quite near. He jerked his head up and
stared at her. "It was wrong, what we did. And now a man has died
of it."

"A fool has died of it," he snarled,
snatching his hidden pistol free. "And not the only one."

He raised the weapon and pulled the
trigger.

Betea fell, someone in the crowd of
pleasure-seekers screamed; someone else shouted. And Hia Cyn
turned, seeking the way out--

And found instead a tall man dressed all in
evening lace and jewels, the blue stone in his ear blazing. He was
showing empty hands, which marked him a third fool.

"Put the gun aside," Pat Rin said, pitching
his voice for gentleness. "Put the gun aside and stand away. Hia
Cyn. You hold no winning cards here."

"No?" The gun came around, the eyes wild and
the face aflame with some fever of madness.

There was no time to warn the crowd, no time
to think. Pat Rin brought his right hand down, felt the little gun
slide into his palm. The target...