“There were no negative consequences for Fletcher,” he said, “until he killed Engineer Thuc.”

Xi said nothing.

“Was that something he did to fill his empty hours?” Martinez asked. “Cut a man’s throat?”

Xi peered at Martinez from under his white eyebrows, his dark eyes glittering. “I asked him, you know. The day it happened, at Lady Michi’s request. I believe she was hoping I could find Captain Fletcher insane and she could remove him from command.” He made the pursing movement of his lips. “I disappointed her, I’m afraid. Captain Fletcher was perfectly rational.”

Martinez tried to avoid shouting. “So why did he kill Thuc?” he demanded.

Xi licked his lips quickly. “He said that he killed Engineer Thuc because the honor of theIllustrious demanded it.”

Martinez stared at him. Words died on his tongue. He took a drink. “What did he mean by that?” he managed finally.

Xi shrugged.

“Were you his friend?”

Xi shook his head. “Gomberg didn’t have any friends aboard. He was very dutiful in the way he kept to his sphere, and he expected others to keep to theirs.”

“But you followed him.”

Xi smiled lightly and rubbed his thigh with his hand. “The job has its compensations. My practice on Sandama was successful but dull, and it turned me so dull that my wife left me for another man. The children were nearly grown. When young Gomberg got his first command and made his offer, I realized I hadn’t ever seen Zanshaa, or the Maw, or Harzapid Grand Market. Now I’ve seen all those things, and a lot more besides.”

Martinez felt a sudden flash of anger. All these questions had done nothing but draw him further into the riddle that was Lord Gomberg Fletcher, and the only thing he really cared about the captain was who had killed him. He didn’t even care why, he just wanted to find out who’d done it, and deal with that as efficiently as possible.

“What is that thing in Fletcher’s sleeping cabin?” Martinez asked. “The man tied to the tree?”

A half-smile played on Xi’s lips. “A part of his collection that could not be shown to the public. Captain Fletcher had a special license from the Office of the Censor to collect cult art.”

Martinez was speechless. Cults were banned for the public good, and were defined in the Praxis as any belief or sect that made irrational or unverifiable claims about the universe. Banned as well were any art such cults had managed to inspire. Generally such work could only be seen in the Museums of Superstition that had been erected in the major cities of the empire.

Of course, there were also private collectors and scholars, those considered reliable enough to deal regularly with such explosive material. That one such might be aboardIllustrious, and might have part of his collection aboard, was beyond all credence.

“Was he interested in any cult in particular?” Martinez finally asked.

“Those that produced good paintings and sculpture,” Xi said. “I don’t know if you know anything about ancient Terran art—”

“I don’t,” Martinez said shortly.

“A lot of it, particularly in the early days, was the product of one cult or another. Of course most of those cults now have no followers, and the art is now seen in ordinary museums.”

“Really.” Martinez drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you have any idea why Captain Fletcher put that—that thing—on his wall, where it was the last thing he’d see before going to sleep?”

Xi’s expression was frank. “I don’t know. I’d like to know the answer myself, Lord Captain.”

“It wasn’t part of some kind of erotic game, was it?”

Xi was amused. “I doubt very much that Gomberg was interested in homoerotic flagellation.” He shrugged. “But human variety is infinite, isn’t it?”

Thwarted again. Martinez found his anger simmering once more. “If you say so.”

Xi returned his empty glass to the tray. “I thank you for the drink, Lord Captain. I wish I could have been more useful.”

Martinez looked pointedly at the samples. “Thoseare what’s going to be useful, I think.”

“I hope so.” Xi rose and collected the little plastic boxes. “I’ll get to my investigations, with your permission.”

Martinez sighed. “Carry on, Lord Doctor.”

Xi slouched out without bothering to salute. Martinez looked after him for a moment, then paged Alikhan.

“Tell Perry he can bring in supper if he’s ready,” Martinez said. “Also, I won’t be moving into the captain’s quarters till tomorrow—unpack just enough to get me through breakfast.”

“Very good, my lord.” Alikhan leaned over the desk to freshen Martinez’s drink. “Anything else, my lord?”

Martinez looked at him. “What are they saying?”

Alikhan’s tone was regretful. “I’ve been here all day, my lord, packing and so on. I haven’t had a chance to speak to anyone outside the household.”

“Right,” Martinez muttered. “Thanks.”

Alikhan withdrew. Martinez looked through the files newly unlocked by his captain’s key and thumbprint, and sent Xi access to the fingerprint file. Perry arrived a few minutes afterward with his supper. Martinez ate left-handed, while his right hand worked with his stylus on the desktop, drawing up one list after another.

All things he needed to do or think about as he assumed command.

After Perry carried the dishes away, Martinez sent messages to all the senior petty officers, the heads of departments, ordering them to account for the movements of all their juniors for the critical hours of the morning. He thought it a job best done soon, while memories were still fresh. This done, he called Fulvia Kazakov, the first lieutenant.

“Are you on watch at the moment, Lieutenant?”

“No, my lord.” She seemed surprised at the question.

“I’d be obliged if you’d stop by my office then.”

“Of course, my lord.” She hesitated, then said, “Which office would that be, my lord?”

Martinez smiled. “My old office. And yours too.”

When he’d come aboard, as the third-ranking officer on the ship, he’d taken the third-best cabin, which turned out to be that of the first lieutenant. Kazakov had then displaced the lieutenant next junior to her, and each lieutenant shifted in turn, with the most junior having to bunk with the cadets. Tomorrow, he supposed, would be a relief for them all, with everyone restored to his proper place.

Except, of course, for Captain Fletcher, whose body was slowly crystallizing in one of theIllustrious freezers.

Kazakov arrived wafting a cloud of metallic perfume. She wore full dress, and the tall collar emphasized the long neck below the heart-shaped face. Mother-of-pearl inlay gleamed on the handles of the chopsticks she’d thrust through the knot at the back of her head.

“Sit down, my lady,” Martinez said as she braced. “Would you care for wine? Or something else, perhaps?”

“Whatever you’re having, my lord, thank you.”

He poured from the bottle of wine that Perry had opened for his supper. She took the glass and sipped politely, then returned it to the desk.

“I am a very different person from Captain Fletcher,” Martinez began.

Kazakov was unsurprised by this analysis. “Yes, my lord,” she said.

“But,” Martinez said, “I’m going to try very hard tobe Captain Fletcher, at least for a while.”

Kazakov gave a thoughtful nod. “I understand, my lord.”

Continuity was essential. Fletcher had commandedIllustrious for years, and his habits and idiosyncracies had become a part of the ship’s routine. To change that suddenly was to risk disturbing the equilibrium of the vast organic network that was the ship’s crew, and that network had been disturbed enough already by events of the last few days.

“I intend to continue Captain Fletcher’s rigorous series of inspections,” Martinez said. “Can you tell me if he inspected the different departments on a regular rotation, or if he chose them randomly?”