The Cutting Edge by Dave Duncan Page B

whenever he could, but duty required him to attend many, and his signifer was always at his side. The blushing debutantes were presented and when they rose from their curtseys, their eyes would invariably fall on the prince's companion, the handsome one in the romantic wolfskin cape that was the badge of a hero. Ylo enjoyed Gaaze. Gaaze was good to Ylo.
    The year of victories was drawing to a close. In far-off Hub the weather would be turning foul and the days short. In Qoble the sun still shone ferociously.
    Early one morning Ylo was at his desk as he always was early in the morning. He sat by the door and the big room was filled with the bowed heads of scriveners, copying out letters and reports in busy silence. There were twenty of them, and they were only a small part of the huge staff he commanded. At his back was the door to the prince's private study. He had a clear view of the antechamber, which was already starting to fill up with hopeful petitioners.
    He had become an important person. Shandie's day would be filled with visitors and documents, but Ylo would choose who or what came first. He was the legate's right hand, his sword and his shield. He worked hard and loyally. Old dreams of murdering the heir to the throne were nothing now but nightmares to raise a sweat in the dark. He had fallen completely under Shandie's spell. He knew it and cared not at all.
    When the imperor died and a new imperor sat upon the Opal Throne, then his signifer would be at his side and the fortunes of the Yllipo clan would be restored. Shandie had promised.
    Meanwhile Ylo must justify the prince's trust and his judgment. He must also show the world that the Yllipos had owed their success to more than historical good fortune, and show them he would.
    For the past hour he had been clicking the coding sticks, deciphering a missive from the imperor. He had whistled softly as the meaning began to emerge. And then-inevitably just as he was coming to the really interesting part-the text had degenerated into gibberish. Muttering curses, he checked his work. He found no error. That meant that the unknown clerk in Hub had made a miscalculation, or skipped a word in the key, or blundered in any one of a dozen ways. Ylo might need hours to find the glitch, by guess or by Gods. At worse, he would have to admit defeat and ask for a repeat, which might take weeks to arrive. God of Patience!
    He leaned back and rubbed his eyes, then frowned around the big room, searching for similar signs of slackness or inattention in his minions, but they all seemed suitably engrossed. Sunshine streamed through the huge windows and soft sea breezes rustled the papers. Another beautiful day ... he was long overdue for some time off.
    "Good morning, Signifer," said a rustly, dry-leaves sort of voice.
    Ylo jumped and then frowned at the unimpressive presence of Shandie's political advisor. He did not rise-he was a soldier and Acopulo was not. "Morning. "
    Acopulo was a small, birdlike man, one of those impish zealots who refused to wear anything but standard Hubban dress, no matter what climate they might be inhabiting. Now his silvery hair was plastered to his head by sweat and dark patches soaked his doublet. His legs within his hose were thin as rice stalks. He regarded Ylo with disapproval.
    "Any mail for me?"
    "None today-"
    "Ah well-patience is a divine virtue." The little scholar not only looked like a retired priest, he often sounded like one, also. He had an inexhaustible supply of platitudes. "Any news at all?"
    "Well . . ." Ylo rubbed his chin, frowning at his inkstand. "Back in Hub ... No, that's just hearsay. No value until it's confirmed. "
    "Suppose you do your job and let me do mine?"
    "My responsibility is not to pass on rumors, Sir Acopulo."
    "Tell me anyway."
    Ylo tried to think of some other delaying tactic, but he was too sleepy this morning to play the game with real enthusiasm. "There's a report that Count Hangmore is to be the new consul. "
    The