Dragon's Honor - Kij Johnson [80]
Chih-li bowed his head toward the elderly servant. His dark hair hung down his back, since he had left his helmet behind in the High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur. “Your laudable concern for your master’s honor does you great honor as well,” he said. “And yet, if a dishonorable scoundrel conceals his ill-gotten goods within your honorable master’s rooms, then your master is dishonored if the goods go undiscovered.”
The old man scratched his head, visibly puzzled. “But if they are undiscovered, how can my master be dishonored?” he asked. “And what honor is derived by defending the honor of a master whose honor is not in question?”
Worf’s sharpened canines ground together in exasperation. He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. His forehead throbbed beneath his bony ridges. This is ridiculous, he thought angrily. At this rate, they would not uncover the location of the stolen gifts until after the wedding of the Green Pearl’s great-grandchildren. “I must go,” he stated gruffly, stalking away from the old man and Chih-li. If I remain another minute, I will eviscerate them all.
“Honorable Worf,” the minister called out. “Where are you going?”
“To investigate the scene of the crime!” he snapped, making his decision even as he announced it. Why not? he thought. Searching the palace, and debating the finer nuances of Pai honor with every lowly menial they met, was not getting him anywhere. Perhaps he had missed some vital clue at the High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur. The more he thought about it, in fact, the more convinced he became that there was something not quite right about this entire scenario. Even allowing for a huge retinue of servants to handle the heavy lifting, how could anyone remove such a staggering accumulation of physical artifacts from the chamber without attracting attention?
As Worf strode down the wide, capacious corridors of the Dragon’s palace, he passed clusters of male and female Pai going about their business. The palace never slept, apparently; despite the lateness of the hour, he could see servants and attendants scurrying down the long halls, carrying laundry, mops, washrags, sonic polishers, and last-minute decorations for the coming wedding. Worf’s presence, as he marched determinedly along, his dark eyes glowering, his clenched fists pumping at his sides, never failed to alarm the timid Pai servants. They went out of their way to avoid him, often cowering against the nearest wall until he passed, then whispering excitedly in his wake. Worf was not offended by their reactions; rather, he expected just such a response, and would have been disappointed with himself had the Pai behaved otherwise. They did well, be thought, to fear an angry Klingon.
The constant stream of busy passersby tugged at the back of his mind, however. There was something about all this nocturnal activity that bothered him, but it took him a moment or two to put his finger on the problem: How had the thieves managed to transport their booty through these well-populated hallways without being spotted? It made no sense. After all, they had not gassed the entire palace into unconsciousness, so someone should have noticed a huge parade of thieves carrying all manner of extravagant gifts through the corridors of the palace, and yet, apparently, no one had. The furrows on Worf’s brow grew even deeper as he examined the problem. Never mind where the gifts are now, he thought. How did they get there?
He quickened his pace, the sooner to reach the High Hall of Ceremonial Grandeur. If only there was a turbolift to rush him to the scene … ! He was on to something, he knew it. He would recover the gifts before the dawn, and demonstrate once and for all the efficacy of Klingon forthrightness as opposed to the endless verbal circumlocutions that the Pai seemed to have mistakenly confused with honor. The Pai talk about honor, he concluded, but the Klingon achieves