"How…did she know I have children? How did she know my name?" Anderssen stepped out into the hallway and caught sight of Mrs. Petrel sailing past a quartet of armed guards, the tall, thin shape of a manservant following quietly behind. Seeing him, Gretchen realized he'd been in the background the whole time, silent and as much a part of the paneled walls as the wood itself. "Well."

She laughed, feeling tension ebb from her chest. "I should say, I never. I think I'd better sit down for a minute and get my breath back. What a bracing person."

The chairs were far more comfortable than they looked and Gretchen took a moment to key "Court of the Yellow Flagstones" into her comp. Good lodgings – and she was certain the White Lily was excellent and probably reasonably priced – were worth more than a woman's weight in quills in this business. She couldn't help but smile.

I hope Maggie and Parker are doing all right. Oh, bother! I'd better call them about the hotel.

A Nondescript House

Near the Tomb of Gharlane the Mad, Parus

Lachlan's image turned sideways, alarm plain on his young face. "An unexpected hyperspace transit, mi'lady." He tapped a glyph on his end and Itzpalicue watched with interest as a navigational plot unfolded on a spare display. "A relatively small ship…'casting Fleet ident codes…here we are, an Astronomer-class light cruiser, the Henry R. Cornuelle."

The old woman bared her teeth moodily. "A late arrival for Battle Group 88?"

"Not on the squadron list," Lachlan replied, scratching the edge of a stubbled jaw. Like Itzpalicue, work had replaced sleep on his schedule. "Fleet records say…the Cornuelle is assigned to deep range patrol in the Hittite sector. One zone to core from here. Commander of record is Mitsuharu Hadeishi, a Nisei from New Edo on AnГЎhuac…"

The old woman grunted and sat up a little straighter.

"…graduate Fleet Academy, this is his third deep space command, no notable clan affiliation, sponsor list is…empty?" Lachlan frowned, looking up at her. "How did he get an independent cruiser command?"

"Consider his service record, child." Itzpalicue stifled a yawn. She had been working long hours, racing to keep ahead of the Flower Priests. Spyeye deployment had gone well, but high levels of acid rain were causing intermittent problems with the relay grids. She plucked a maguey spine from her sleeve – one of dozens carefully pinched through the cloth – and pricked her cheek. A stab of pain cleared her mind, leaving a tiny crimson dab on a cheekbone serrated with a closely spaced pattern of puckered scars.

"…sixteenth in his class at the Academy," Lachlan was reading, growing more puzzled with each entry in Commander Hadeishi's personnel jacket. "Fourth in tactical exercises, second in overall efficiency, high marks from his science instructors, winner of the Graymont Exercise three years in a row, very good rating in engineering, management skills, composure under fire."

"Yes." Itzpalicue had already scanned the records herself. "Do you see the note from the senior chief petty officer of the Shoryu concerning his first tour of duty?"

Lachlan flipped to the appropriate page, green eyes searching through the records.

"Sho-i Hadeishi," he said slowly, digesting the passage, "is as fine an officer as I've had the honor to serve with aboard any ship of the Fleet." Lachlan leaned back in his seat, staring at the old woman. "High praise from a thirty-year joto-heiso on a Fleet heavy carrier. But he has no friends noted at Court, or on the Heavenly Mountain, no heavyweight pochteca backing him up, he's not married to an admiral's daughter…he's no one at all."

Itzpalicue nodded, a pleased smile beginning to seep into her wrinkled old face. "He is an exemplary officer, Lachlan-tzin. An honorable credit to his family – though by their surname they are not of noble birth, so perhaps they do not care – and to the Fleet. You see why he is here?"

The Йirishman nodded, biting his lower lip. "Ship's been two years out of refit or a Fleet base. Must be worn down to the nub. Hmmm…four recent engagements with 'hostile elements.' Three confirmed counter-privateer kills, including a Tyr-class refinery ship. Five stationside or colony disputes settled by force of arms. Greeting squirt to Admiral Villeneuve reports his ship is at seventy percent capability due to crew casualties and mechanical attrition. Well! The commander has been keeping busy out in the big dark."

"Battle group 88 has a Fleet mobile repair dock assigned?" Itzpalicue was considering a picture – now several years out of date – of Hadeishi. A thin little man with an intelligent face, narrow beard and pencil-thin mustache. She imagined he would laugh easily, sitting around a low table with his friends, drinking sake and listening to a samisen player. The edge of her thumb, polished sharp and reinforced to razor sharpness with layers of rebonded polytetrafluoroethylene, tapped slowly against a list of 'associated persons.' The list was not part of Hadeishi's public Fleet jacket.

The Mirror took care to watch the activities of ship commanders, even ones who barely existed from a political point of view. At some time in the past, a 'mouse' had observed Chu-sa Hadeishi speaking in a familiar way with a certain person. An individual Itzpalicue knew and detested, not solely because he was an Imperial Judge – a nauallis – or what the credulous would call a sorcerer. Unlike everything else in the Empire, the activities of the nauallis were kept well hidden from the Mirror. Of course the rival organizations took great interest in one another's doings. The old woman's lips tightened in remembered anger, considering the name.

Her eyes moved on, coming to rest on a red-flagged Admiralty note at the bottom of the record. Ah, I see why our brave captain has stayed in the shadows so long… He has been avoiding fate.

"He must be looking to refit with the battle group while the Flingers-of-Stone are in-system." Lachlan rubbed one of his eyes. The medical readout showed him close to complete exhaustion. "Or use the battle group tachyon relay to get recalled by Nineteenth Fleet. So…he's shot off every sprint missile in his stores. His beam weapon mounts must be caked solid with particle flux. Shipskin and armor are barely hanging to the hull. This ship desperately needs to recycle at a repair base."

The old woman pursed her lips. "This ship was placed under orders months ago to return to Toroson to be decommissioned. Commander Hadeishi is very tardy in returning from his patrol." She considered the message traffic passing between the Cornuelle and the battle group's tachyon relay. "He's reporting damage to the last message drone – how convenient…"

"That won't matter," Lachlan said, yawning again. "All the queued mail and orders are dumping to his main comp now – he'll have to make transit for the Fleet Base within a day or so."

Itzpalicue shook her head, decision crystallizing even as she considered the matter. "No. The Holy Mother is watching over our shoulders, Lachlan-tzin. This is one of our missing elements, cast down from heaven to serve our purpose."

"Mi'lady?" Lachlan was noticeably surprised.

"The Cornuelle will serve as Elder Warrior's sacrifice for the exercise about to commence on the planet. Pass my desire on to the Flower Priest handling such things. Have them cut Hadeishi new orders, delaying his return to Toroson until after our activities here are complete."

The young Йirishman stared at her in dismay for a moment, then shook himself, nodded and turned away to key up the appropriate comm channel. He said nothing about her decision, as was proper.