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and orders came down from the hundred-fiftieth floor as if from beyond the
Shield, with no consultation, no notion of how things actually stood, no
concept of how to make it work.
"Institutionalized dysfunction," Constantine says.
"Oh yes. And institutionalized frustration as well. So now I am trying to
set up the PED in order to facilitate lines of communication, to make certain
that everyone has access to authority when needed. . . ." She sighs again
and picks up her brandy glass. "But that authority is me, and that means I am
consulted on everything. I have never worked so hard in my life, and still
the department only lurches along.
"It will dance and skip, given time.
"The Ascended willing," Aiah says, conceding somewhat to superstition as she
sketches the Sign of the Ascended in the air with her brandy glass.
"But you have a department," Constantine says, "and you have not gone mad, or
had a fit of the vapors, or checked yourself into the hospital for a long
course of sedation.
"Give me time," Aiah says, and smiles into her glass as she takes a sip.
"You deal well with Ethemark?
She shrugs, feels a little insect-twitch of distaste crawl cross her face.
"As I must. He is gifted, even if he isn't my choice.
"But you have hired other twisted people.
"They're applying in swarms!" Aiah says. "Ethemark or his kin must have put
the word out. I'm hiring only the most qualified.
"As you should." He cocks his head, regards her. "But you don't like them?
She sighs, puts down her glass. "Is it bad of me to wish the twisted people
well, but not to wish them in my vicinity?
He purses his lips as he chooses words. "Bad, I will not say. Inconsistent,
perhaps?
Aiah sighs and throws up her hands. "Then I am inconsistent. But it is what
I feel.
"You are honest with yourself, at least. You do not lie to yourself about
your feelings. But despite your distaste you hire them, if you think they're
qualified, and that is admirable of you.
She looks at him. "They never make you uneasy? Or even afraid?" She thinks of
Dr. Romus, the snake-mage, and represses a shudder.
Constantine considers this for a moment. "I must admit," he says finally,
"that I find myself comfortable amid all manner of unlikely people.
Aiah reaches for her brandy. "That is your gift. It isn't mine.
"People born with money and position, I find, often possess this talent. I
was raised a prince, and even considering that I was a prince of pirates,
still it makes for a level of security in dealing with others.
"And I'm a poor kid raised on the dole," Aiah says. "But I don't see what
that has to do with consistency, or the lack of it. The rich seem to be as
inconsistent as anyone else.
He smiles. "Conceded absolutely," he says. "But we were speaking of
security, not hypocrisy. The Barkazil were refugees in Jaspeer, poor,
confined to low-status jobs. Perhaps they competed with the twisted for work
or for living quarters.
"So far as I can tell," Aiah mumbles into her drink, "we competed with poor
longnose Jaspeeris, who hated us. I hardly ever saw a twisted person when I
was growing up.
"A theory only." Constantine shrugs, and then his eyes turn to her. She sees
in them a glow as mellow as that in the brandy that swirls in his glass.
"Since you put such store in communication between members of the department,"
he says, "let me communicate to you what I perceive in your PED. I am utterly
gratified that you came to Caraqui. I was right to choose you for this work.
You confirm my judgment every day, and I thank you.
Heat rises in Aiah's cheeks. She touches her glass to his, the crystal chime
singing in the air for a long moment before she drinks. Constantine's lips,
tasted next, are afire with brandy.
Desire has its way. Neither is in a hurry, and both in a mood to prolong
this banquet of pleasure as long as possible: there are hors d'oeuvres on the
sofa, soups and salads sampled on the bed, and then the main course, served
with a full range of tangy condiments.
Aiah pushes Constantine onto his back and captures him between her legs,
gazing down at his supine body, the broad cords of muscle that cross his
massive shoulders and barrel chest. Her breath hisses between her teeth as
she rides him. He regards her with a lazy, catlike smile, indolent eyes
half-closed. His big hands set her skin afire where he touches her. She
bends to lick his scent from him, covering his chest with a waterfall of her
dark hair.
"I adore you utterly, Miss Aiah," he says, baritone voice a resonant murmur in
her ear, like the deep bedrock far below whispering a secret to her; and the
words set her plasm-charged nerves alight, firing her flesh, melting her
groin, and suddenly she finds herself peaking, the climax coming all
unexpected, and from the words alone. ...
Breathless, she grabs fistfuls of his pectorals and pushes herself upright,
arching her back, looking down at him through the skein of her hair.
That was fun, she thinks. And fortunately, she adds to herself, there are
plenty more where that one came from.
She has yet to purchase any sleepwear, so afterward she pulls an undershirt
over her head so that she and Constantine won't stick together. He smiles at
the sight.
"I should buy you some dainties," he says, "satins and lace." He smiles. "I
need recreation, a break from my official worries. It will be good for me to
exercise my imagination in this regard.
"You gave me that lovely negligee of gold silk," Aiah recalls, "but I had to
leave it behind in Jaspeer.
"I will replace it with a better," Constantine says. He throws his arms over
his head and brings his body to full stretch, arching on the bed as he brings
slumbering muscle awake. "What now?" he says. "Shall I fetch the brandy
bottle, and we toast each other till end of sleep shift?
"I had in mind a more literary pursuit.
She reaches to the bedside table, takes Volume Fourteen of the Proceedings,
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