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“Suppose there’s a first time for everything.”

“Good,” he says. “Good. That makes it simpler.” He claps his hands together and stands. “You were here during the Battle of Luna, yes?”

“All three years.”

“Fighting for the Rising?”

“For part of it.”

“Change of heart?”

“No. I just saw enough body parts separated from their owners.” I don’t feel like going into the politics of it like I did with Holiday.

“Then you would have witnessed the Rape of Hyperion?”

“Liberation, you mean. Made you fellows rich.” He stares at me till I clear my throat. “All right. ‘Rape of Hyperion’ is much slicker sounding.”

He continues. “After the Sovereign died but before the Ash Lord’s counterattack to relieve the marooned legions and Peerless, Hyperion lay black. During that time, the Hyperion Museum of Antiquities was looted by soldiers who had promised to protect it, by citizens who thought only of their own pockets. As the moon steeled itself against the next wave of war, those cretins absconded with the combined heritage of man. A heritage shared by all Colors.

“As you know, all commerce that flows through the black markets of Luna is my province. My domain, as given to me by my queen. When I discovered a trove of stolen treasures being hawked by ex-legionnaire baboons, I looked at it as my duty as a citizen of Luna that they be returned to their rightful place. Now I find that the crown jewel of my donation, the Sword of Silenius, has been stolen…again. Our ears told us that it was a very particular sort of heist. One that only a few freelancers would be capable of executing.”

“Well, there’s not many of us left,” I say. “You’re dressing them all up in dusters and giving them juicy contracts to steal for you.”

“Out of chaos, us. Thieves of order,” he says, and traces his finger along the table in one elegant movement. It reminds me of the time I took Trigg ice-skating. He didn’t move with the elegance of this man’s finger, and that was what I loved about him. There’s no honesty in elegance, not in the elegance of humans at least. “When you took my sword from the museum, did you know from whom you were stealing?” the Duke asks.

“I did not.”

“Lying,” Gorgo says.

“Convince me,” the Duke says. I don’t know where to begin. “Would you be more eloquent with a grenade in your mouth? I have some on board.” He nods back to the yacht idling on the landing pad beyond the construction floor.

“Do I look like an idiot?” I ask. “If I’d known, I’d have walked away. Shit, I’d have shot the man who asked me to do it. There’s a difference between bold and stupid. I know which side this falls on.”

“Do you?” the Duke asks. “Your reputation says otherwise. It reads as if you have a…death wish.”

“That again…” I roll my eyes and feel a stabbing pain behind them.

“Four of your heists in broad daylight. Nearly always public spectacles.”

“I work for middlemen. Arbiters. Occasionally they leave out details about the job. In this case, important details like whose protection the sword was under.” I lean forward, selling hard because my life depends upon him buying what I’m selling. “I don’t rat. And I don’t play with the Syndicate. Man has to have a code.”

Any moment now I expect to feel a carbon hard wire around my neck. Or the nip of one of those Martian pitvipers Syndicate thorns love to import just for play. The last thing I’ll see is this pretty jumped-u

p ganglord reclining in his chair like he’s king of the universe, when he used to be little more than a sex toy. All this new money expects everyone else to have a short memory. Wish I did.

But the wire doesn’t come. Neither does the bite.

“In the Gardens, they teach us body empathy as well as the art of shadow dancing—a proportional mimicking of body language to make the subject at ease,” the Duke says. “It facilitates emotional bonding. It makes me ghastly good at sniffing out liars.” He seems to disdain his schooling, but he leans back till he’s a shadow version of me. Shoulders slouched, legs out, a perfect replica. “You, my dear, have a dishonest face, so it’s easy to tell when you’re telling the truth.”

“So you believe me?”

“I do.”

I hesitate. “Then I can go?”

“What a pleasant world that would be. Although you were ignorant in your crime against me, it was, as you know, also a crime against the Queen herself. So I’m afraid you don’t just walk away from this.” He smiles sympathetically. “I’m the sort of man who would let you go if it was just between us. I see how frightened I’ve made you. To be honest, that’s often punishment enough. But I fear this isn’t just between us any longer. Others know. The Duke of Hands has been made into a fool. I can’t have that.” He leans across the table, a vein pulsing in his temple. “Can’t have that at all. In words of Old Stoneside, ‘Mercy emboldens evil men.’ You and I have the misfortune of floating amongst a sea of evil men. A debt is owed. A debt must be paid.”

I can’t even think of anything to say. The ramifications of his words cause a spike of fear to go straight into my chest. They’re going to hurt me, badly.