But it was not her features that ensorcelled him, or not merely that: her motions were graceful, as if every gesture were a choreographed work of art, a ballet, a pantomime of swans, and yet also as spontaneous as a dove in flight, as a child’s laugh, a sight whose simplicity and beauty pierced the hidden soul. He had spoken perhaps, what, a dozen words to her? Already his heart was roaring in his chest, telling him to live and die at her command.

The muscles clenched around his mouth, and his eyes narrowed. Inwardly, he was telling his heart to shut the hell up.

“Shall we start a new custom?” With a graceful flick of her wrist, she threw her wineglass into the shadowy rosebushes below.

“A perilous custom, throwing scrap blind onto the heads below. And you were talking so nice about heeding the little folk! What if you scratch a brow, or wet a dame’s hair-fixings she slaved a week to fuss into place, heh?”

She smiled, which was music to his eyes. He wished the many-colored dazzle overhead would cease its riot, so that he could see that smile in a clearer light. “I’d pay,” she said, a little sadly. “We live in a day when men have sold their souls, and any hurt to property or propriety can be soothed with coin. It gives the rich a license to act out their basest instincts, and the poor a reason to smile at their bruises and hurts. Have you seen the traffic in Paris? The taximeter carriages will send the low-passengers any tips the high-passengers paid to buy their right-of-ways, and bribe the favorable signals, so a rich man can speed through the boulevards at breakneck pace, while poor students can park their spindly cars in traffic, and let their meters run negative numbers, to earn their book money just by letting wealthier carriages take their place in queue and cut them off, yielding up their right to cross the crossroad.”

“Pshaw!” said Menelaus. “Save your money! And throw a bucket of champagne across the rail, or the whole bar, and, yea, the barkeep too, ’til it’s raining spirits, and old bottles of fine wine shatter and explode like grapeshot. If any jack of them is man enough to storm the balcony, ’tis I’ll who’ll pay them off, not you, and in iron, not in gold, which is truer coin, and one the years do not corrode.”

“You are so bold, Mr. Galois?” She lowered her lashes. He saw how delicate they were and how the long black lashes almost kissed the curve of her pink cheek. “The sovereignty under heaven is gathered into one, and the hellish suffering of this sad world, for once, for this season, has been soothed by the balm of peace. Surely it is perilous to break the peace—The celebrators and celebrities outnumber us by thousands.”

“In a pareto-optimal matrix of their possible moves and my possible responses, I need but render their losses beyond their utility ratio to put all the statistics in my own favor. If’n I’m worth ten of them, then they are not such men as would cheer to see nine die just to beef me. Can you smite them on the cheek and pay into their pocketbook to make them bow? Nope: I am worth eleven of them, or a flat dozen.”

“But if we threw the butlers and the wine onto their heads, it would be assault, intentional infliction of emotional distress, breach of the peace, and perhaps an act of contumely as the legates were drenched: So the law would be with them.” A ghostly smile almost danced about her perfect lips. Was she teasing him?

“I’ll hold them back!” Menelaus declared with wild humor, wishing he were serious. “These four corners here, from the balustrade down aways as far as that big pot of flowers, I can hold them, bottleneck all comers at the corner yonder, past the statue of the naked lass, if you can hold off a rush from the French doors. I’ll fill this little square of marble up with blood, and raise your petticoat to be our flag, and call you empress and queen within this five paces wide, until the great parliaments from Iceland to Japan recognize our claim of independency. Once we are called a sovereign state, we may act as pirates and scoundrels, and all the tribes and nobles of the world will rush to sing the virtues of our doings!”

“What virtue is in bloodshed? My conscience would upbraid me to be the mother of such misery: I would save even the nine men you would slay from the horror of war, if I could, no matter how small the war might be.”

“History always fawns on crooks, if they wear crowns! And we will make our own law, and force the other nations to bow.”

“Nation—there is but one, and she is mine, a Concordat of my own making. You do not think Del Azarchel skilled enough to solve a cliometric calculation involving six billion variables? In any case, you underestimate the warlike character of the dignitary houses, or that of the militia of the freeholds. They are not less valiant than you.”

“They would fail, ma’am, if you were in back of me, for their womenfolk are only ordinary fair, and will not put into them more heart than mortals know, where I will have the devil’s own heart in me, hot as hell from an angel’s face! Come, I will make you queen of this balcony, and I will be your champion and armed forces, and our custom will be to greet the New Year with a kiss.” And he stepped forward.

She stepped backward so smoothly and quickly, he was not sure if she had moved at all. It was as if a moonbeam slid through his fingers.

As suddenly as shapes that appear in a dream, the two figures woven of blurred shadows came forward, noiseless as icebergs at sea. They seemed to be made of glass, for the scene behind them, although distorted, was visible. These were hulking men in padded light-repeating suits, evidently her bodyguards. A shimmer, a trick of the light, hinted at the pole-arms in their hands, held at the ready.

She spoke in a voice like a cooing dove. At the moment, there was a pause in the fireworks, the light was dim, and he could not see her face. “The disadvantage to your plan is that the men of this world would be no less inspired as you by that beauty you flatter, since I am theirs. The advantage is that we could meet on equal footing, not as sovereign and subject.”

“Equal baloney! I don’t recognize you as—” he said.

“Do you not recognize me? The light is poor! I am Rania Anne Galatea Trismegistina del Estrella-Diamante Grimaldi, Sovereign Princess of Monaco, Duchess of Valentinois and of Mazarin, Marchioness of Baux, Countess of Carladès and of Polignac. If I floated, you would know me.”

“What?”

“This odd ground here, no matter where you stand, is accelerating at one gee: there is no higher deck with lighter spin. In any case, it is you, none other, who elevated me to my current post, and convinced the ship’s brain to accept my blood as proof of continuity. So I am still your Captain—you have none to blame but you for this. I hear from the Landing Party Senior that you are absent without leave. What penalty must I impose?”

She turned and nodded. The dark figures nodded and stepped back, their suits taking on the hue and patterns of brick and climbing rose-vine of the wall behind them. In the complex patterns of the fireworks, their suits could not react at speed, and so human-shaped bubbles with dark goggles hovering at eye-level were visible, even in the gloom. But then the light steadied, and grew bright, and the cheers of the crowds changed, and became a steady roar, and the soldiers faded into invisibility, paradoxically harder to see, as the light grew stronger.

“What—wait—? You’re the Captain?”

Menelaus wondered how he could have missed the point. There were clues enough. Del Azarchel had mentioned the Princess being “in transit” and out of radio communication, and had said the same thing of the Captain. Montrose had assumed “in transit” meant in the middle of traveling, but no, Del Azarchel had used the word in its spacer’s meaning: the Hermetic had been between Earth and the Sun. Radio communication was always difficult for targets lost in the electromagnetic glare and radio-noise Sol put out.