I didn’t go straight back to the Pig. Something about that glimpse of Milo and the rest of the court had unsettled me. Not Milo. It’s a long time since a man I’ve known little more than a day could disturb me that easily. Certainly not when I’m looking at him from the safe side of a vid lens. No, it was someone else in the huddle of sycophants who’d triggered an alarm. Trouble was, I had no idea who. Or why. It hadn’t seemed like a good moment to ask Daisy to rerun the shot and the chances of her giving me a copy were nil. But at least it had told me where they all were.
It wasn’t that I wanted to see Milo. I wanted to look at the whole party, to know if the nagging sense that I had seen something without knowing it was imagination, frustration or something more substantial. I wasn’t hopeful. To myself I could admit I was fishing desperately for anything which might get me further along a path which had become far darker and more complicated than I could have anticipated when I’d looked up and seen a body hanging in the air like a mouse in a cat’s jaw.
They were still at the marina. It was half-tide so I was looking down on the pontoons from the harbour wall. I stayed where I was. No point in giving Gus a reason for banning me from the Port. Besides, I wasn’t sure what form marina security took and the thought of setting off all the alarms in the place had little appeal. That Milo would be one of those observing any such embarrassment was irrelevant.
There were eleven of them. Slightly foreshortened figures clustered around Gus, who was pointing at something on one of the smart boxes which went with every berth. They had a show boat in there so that all the links could be demonstrated: a sleek twelve-metre self-rigging ketch with a drive which made the sails an affectation.
Apart from Morgan and Milo – who was staring around without any apparent interest – there were five men and three women in the Company group. Daisy said I was good with faces, but I wondered how easy it would be to distinguish these. It wasn’t that they wore any sort of uniform, unless you count the sameness of high fashion: fitted to show perfect figures, beaded belts which clipped narrow waists and contained more circuitry than the Pig. They weren’t flaunting sex, it was power that was on show. The power of the wealth which could afford form-fitted clothes and the body-sculpting which made the clothes wearable. Hair colour and length and style varied but if I was close enough to see faces clearly I wondered if I’d find more of the generic sameness. Family likeness? Surgically achieved? Whatever had nagged at me from the vid was silent now I saw the reality.
Morgan and two of the others had gone on board the yacht with Gus following them. He seemed to be apologising for something, but then he always looked like that when he was with someone who outranked him. The rest of the party stopped looking interested as soon as Morgan was out of sight. Milo, who had never bothered pretending interest, turned to stare shorewards as though wondering when the real entertainment would begin. He saw me.
No reason I shouldn’t be there. No reason to feel embarrassed. I stood my ground and watched him approach, deciding he hadn’t had any surgical intervention. He was different enough from his court, flawed enough, for me to be certain of it.
I hadn’t come here to see him but I wasn’t going to avoid him. “Milo. Going sailing?”
His mouth twisted as though he’d tasted something sour. “Never. Morgan already owes me for making me come on this trip and he couldn’t begin to afford what it would cost to make me go out on that boat. Any boat.”
“So why did you come?”
His smile was crooked, appealing. “I don’t know. Boredom, mostly. I owe you for the only bright moment of the trip so far. I was going to call as soon as Morgan decided I was off-duty.”
“Just to say thanks?”
My formal manners were obviously inadequate. A message on the phone was as much as I’d expected. And, possibly, a return invitation? Whether that was on his mind I couldn’t tell. It wasn’t what he said next.
“Partly. I also wanted to tell you I’d spoken to Morgan about your neighbours on the hulks.”
Hulks sounded depressingly lifeless. It wasn’t a word I liked even though I admitted its accuracy. But I was both surprised and pleased that he’d remembered.
“My turn for thanks. Dare I ask what Morgan said?”
“It wouldn’t tell you much. Morgan specialises in inscrutability. We’re going to look at them this afternoon.”
“Gus taking you?”
He laughed. “Yes. He didn’t have much choice. I think it was a bit of the Port he was hoping we’d never discover. No chance. I may be lazy but Morgan’s thorough. That’s why he’s in charge here, of course.”
Lack of authority didn’t seem to worry him. Another point in his favour. Beyond his shoulder I saw renewed movement beside the show boat.
“Looks like he’s decided not to go sailing today.”
Milo looked behind him. “Then I’m back on duty. Call you.”
This time I decided to believe that was more than courtesy. I watched him saunter back down the pontoon, pausing to speak to someone on his wrist unit before rejoining his brother and the court.
I watched the group for a few moments longer but still saw nothing to tell me what I had seen on the screen in Daisy’s office to make my nerves twitch.
They were still twitching. I went back to the Pig feeling as though I was the one being watched. Considering the level of security in the Port, this wasn’t necessarily paranoia but I wasn’t usually so aware of surveillance.
Back at my berth I grabbed the muddy bit of cable I’d tossed into the dinghy the day before. I’d washed it off to reveal bright yellow cladding which confirmed the newness Pete had spoken of. It still weighed heavy, and I had no real doubt where it had come from, but I thought I might as well check out the recycle heaps in case they had more to tell me.