Province Admiral Juris Ormsment had dressed for a presentation to the Emperor. The starched dress reds, the black cuff-pins, the short boots that slipped off so easily. Jeweled tiles of her merit fastened like Purge pieces at her neck. On her left hip curved an officer’s boarding saber. She chatted easily with Barber-General Thomis Love, who wore a sleeveless waistcoat and an expression of immense relief. Behind them forty Masquerade marines in full battle rig stood at impassive attention, their short lances cocked at parade rest. The poles pushed the barge to a halt one inch from the quay.

“They can’t step onto embassy ground,” Tau-indi whispered to Baru, “without declaring war. Not so armed, and in such force.”

A many-legged thought crawled over Baru’s chin. She snatched at it, hissing. Tau held up their hands: “What’s wrong?”

“I had a terrible thought—” They huddled under the south pavilion, among the ruined husks of pineapple. Lizards the size of short knives had come out to bicker over the pulp. “What is Ascentatic up to? What if they’re here to help the Kyprists? What if they decide to strike this embassy, to root out whoever’s funding the Canaat?”

“They’d be mad to try it. It’d be an act of war, and Parliament would purge the navy. Every last seat in Parliament wants a chance to install their pick of admirals before the banquet opens.” Tau smiled against bitterness. “Your navy will be the first to pick the Mbo’s fruit, after all.”

Baru squeezed their hand. It was very nice to touch someone without thinking up excuses. “If worse comes to worst, and there’s a fight, the embassy has security.…”

“There are families here, Baru.”

There are families everywhere, Baru thought. That has never stopped anyone: except the people who lose.

Scheme-Colonel Masako stepped out to greet Barber-General Love and the province admiral. There was a general exchange of courtesies and salutes, and then Ormsment and two bodyguards—both tall capable men, neither one plausibly Tain Shir—marched straight up the long boardwalk toward the embassy courtyard. A drummer beat out a few bars of the Whale Words, something about ships: Baru could hum it, but never remember the verse.

“Well,” she said, straightening her lapels, “shall we go meet her?”

Tau swallowed. The chains between their nose and ears rustled and chimed. “I know Ormsment. Shall I make introductions?”

“No need. We became acquainted over dinner last year. Where’s—” Baru whirled in a thrill of panic. “Where’s Shao Lune?”

“I’m here.” She stepped out of Baru’s rightness, Osa shadowing her at a careful two strides. Shao had picked a dart from one of the steward’s trays, the sort used to lance meats: she threw it, offhandedly, at one of the overhead balconies. Someone up there flinched. “I didn’t find anyone sneaking in through the plumbing. Maybe Ormsment’s given up.”