The Thief of Thoth

10

THE SCREEN filed with a voluptuous specimen of femininity.

"Senior Inquiry Specialist Barsine Torsche, officially requesting instructions to land and deliver a Crown commission from the Carina Intelligence Depot. Priority prime/4."

It was with difficulty that Quicksilver repressed the pungent expletive that rose unbidden to his lips. He had worked with Senior Inquiry Specialist (or S.I.S.) Torsche on earlier occasions and, while she was a decorative creature and quite efficient, he found himself uncomfortable in her presence for some inexplicable reason. Perhaps his reluctance to endure her proximity was mere masculine modesty—the pitiful girl was throughly smitten with his virile charm, was, in fact, madly in love with him, an emotion he did not reciprocate. Or perhaps it was due to professional pride, for Hautley found her frequent caustic comments on his conduct of a caper difficult to endure with equanimity.

Whatever the deep-rooted source of his discomfort, he did not intend to be burdened with her in any case, as he was too intrigued with this matter of the Crown of Thoth to even entertain the notion of another commission. He resolved to fob her off with a mild subterfuge.

"Regret inability to accept," he said coldly. "I am otherwise engaged at present."

"Hi, Haut, is that you? Switch on your vision, you? I thought I was talking to that creepy butler you keep around.''

He complied, permitting her to observe the stem set of his visage, but repeated his refusal in obdurate terms.

"I am considering two commissions at the moment, S.I.S. Torsche," he said, eyeing her stonily. Then, adding a lie, continued: "And have in fact accepted a retainer on one. Hence I fear my schedule is too occupied at the moment to undertake any further—"

She shaped her warm pink mouth into a tiny moue.

"Oh, aren't we hoity-toity, Hautley! But this one will interest you. The Lord Commissioner of Internal Security himself!"

"I am busy!"

A stormy look entered her undeniably lovely eyes.

"Hautley," she said between her teeth, "busy or not and retainer or no, you can't refuse a commission from a member of the Crown Cabinet! You'll just have to set your other case aside for the nonce."

He ground his teeth sourly. She was right, of course; he couldn't rebuff a Crown commission. Article XIX of his Criminal Charter was quite explicit on the point. Hautley's Charter, by the way, which licensed him as a fully accredited brother in the thieves' Guild, was issued by the Alphard Chamber of Commerce. The Alphard Anarchate was, of course, the famous star system in whose culture criminality was fully legal and honest employment not only against the law, but punishable by disembowelment with electric needles. An interesting society, in many ways—virtualy unique. The Anarchate had been, of necessity, recognized diplomatically by the Imperial Commonwealth a few lustra ago, when its cooperation became tactically valuable during the explosive Comalte Crisis.

Hautley viewed Barsine Torsche bitterly, his silvery pupils mirroring distaste. As the immortal Sherlock of legend had his feminine nemesis in Miss Irene Adler, so Hautley Quicksilver had his Barsine Torsche. It was a pity such a wench had to be so lucious a wisp of girlish charm—it would be easy to loathe a withered spinster given to orthopedic footwear and health tonics. It was distinctly not easy to react in any other than a glandular manner to the voluptuous Miss Torsche! She had skin like magnolia petals and thick, silky, fluffy hair of metallic indigo, filled with tiny witch lights. Her lips and eyes were dyed a watermelon pink. And between the strategically arranged interstices of her frock (a wispy thing of floating gauze in melting opal hues), could be glimpsed firm curves of tender white flesh.

Well ... she had him.

"Oh, very well," be rasped harshly. "I suppose I'll have to take a look at the commission." His thin, superbly expressive lips creased in a sardonic, mocking grin. "Just what does the Lord High Panjandrum want me to do?" A short bark of dry laughter escaped him. "Steal the jeweled Crown of Stars from the Crypts of the Cavern Kings of Thoth, I suppose?"

He knew the jesting reference would elude her, since she had not been apprised of the two attempts in the past hour to secure his services for precisely that exploit. Hence he was unprepared for the violent reaction which met his gaze in the phone's screen.

Her dewy eyes widened incredulously. Her perfect lips parted in a strangled gasp of sheer amazement. Her pallid complexion paled to an ashen hue.

"Hautley ... have you been taking ESP shots, or have you always been telepathic? How on earth did you know what the Commissioner wanted?"