Rock of Ages Read Online Free Page B

Maijstral said. “Here?”
    “Indeed.”
    Roberta Altunin, the Duchess of Benn, was a famous amateur racer and the former owner of the Eltdown Shard, the fabulous gem which Maijstral had once had the pleasure and glory of stealing.
    “Curious,” Maijstral said, “that the Prince never mentioned she was here.”
    “You’ll meet at supper at any case.”
    “Yes. I will. Your servant.”
    “And yours.”
    They sniffed ears again and parted, Maijstral frowning. He’d come to think of Kuusinen as a creature of omen—not necessarily ill omen, since after all the man had been of service—but at least a harbinger of unsettling times.
    Once in his suite, Maijstral settled his unease by watching a Western till it was time to dress. This one, The Long Night of Billy the Kid , was an old-fashioned tragedy featuring the legendary rivalry between Billy and Elvis Presley for the affections of Katie Elder. Katie’s heart belonged to Billy, but despite her tearful pleadings Billy rode the outlaw trail; and finally, brokenhearted Katie left Billy to go on tour with Elvis as a backup singer, while Billy rode on to his long-foreshadowed death at the hands of the greenhorn inventor-turned-lawman Nikola Tesla.
    It was wonderful. Maijstral, transfixed by the ancient, fateful myth being brought to life, watched with an aching heart as the awesome story unfolded in its somber, tragic perfection.
    And while he watched, he paid particular attention to the horses.
    He was really looking forward to lessons.
    *
    Paavo Kuusinen, after leaving Maijstral in the hall, turned a corner and began counting doors. He counted the light fixtures and power outlets as well, but only because he was compulsive that way—counting the doors really had purpose.
    When he came to the eighth door, he knocked. A servant opened the door and he entered.
    “Your grace,” he said.
    The Duchess of Benn was a tall, graceful woman, eighteen years old, with short red hair and intense violet eyes. She held out a hand and Kuusinen took it, sniffed the wrist.
    “Maijstral’s arrived?” she asked.
    “An hour ago or thereabouts.”
    “Good. And the, ah—the package?”
    “It will be in place by tomorrow evening.”
    “Splendid. The Special Event goes forward.” She smiled. “I will look forward to enjoying Maijstral’s surprise.”
    Kuusinen bowed again. “As shall I, your grace. To be sure.

CHAPTER THREE

    His heart still brimming with the glory and tragedy of his Western, Maijstral glided down the balcony to join the others in the drawing room. Before making his entrance, he absently patted one of the hidden pockets in his jacket to make certain the stacked deck of cards was in its nesting place.
    He had also prepared his ground by having Roman bribe one of the footmen serving dinner tonight. It was nothing, he reflected, that Houdini hadn’t done.
    Maijstral stepped into the drawing room. The Prince’s string quartet played Haydn in one corner—among them Maijstral recognized Will, the Bubber, who puffed out his cheeks as he sawed away on his cello and stared intently at the music. The regular cellist, he observed, was standing out, absently fingering his own instrument in a corner of the room.
    Standing with her back toward Maijstral was Roberta, the Duchess of Benn. She was speaking to an elderly Khosalikh female who stood shorter than Maijstral, which made her a miniature by Khosalikh standards. Roberta’s gown was cut quite low in back and Maijstral approached slowly, the better able to appreciate the curve of Roberta’s supple spine, the play of shadows beneath her scapulae.
    “Your grace,” he said, speaking in Khosali Standard.
    Roberta gave a start, a larger one than Maijstral’s usual silent approaches generally warranted. Maijstral confirmed an old suspicion that her grace of Benn was perhaps a bit too tightly wound.
    “You startled me,” she gasped, which was, Maijstral reflected, not only a fairly redundant remark for someone who’s