The Dark Lady

before?”
    “No, Friend Hector.”
    “Does his work resemble that of any Albion Cluster artist who might reasonably bring that kind of price?”
    “No, Friend Hector.”
    “Now listen to me, Leonardo,” said Rayburn. “Two different men valued this painting at over 350,000 credits, and I'd like to know why your estimate is at such variance with theirs before I bid on any more pieces from the Albion Cluster. Mr. Abercrombie could be a collector who's simply infatuated with this single painting, but Venzia owns a gallery, so I'm going to put the question to you again: Is there any similarity between this piece and any other work from the Albion Cluster that might have brought a six-digit price?”
    “None, Friend Hector,” I said. “I do not wish to offend Friend Malcolm, but this painting is simply not worth that much money. In fact, the only resemblance it bears to any more noteworthy artwork is the striking similarity of the subject to that in a Binder X hologram which was sold for 150,000 credits almost two years ago.”
    Abercrombie turned to me.
    “When you say subject, do you mean the model?” he asked sharply.
    “Yes, Friend Malcolm.”
    “And you've seen that model before?” he persisted.
    “I do not know, Friend Malcolm,” I answered. “I have seen a remarkable likeness of the model in a Binder X hologram. But I have also seen an equally similar resemblance in a Patagonian painting, and Patagonia IV was abandoned 308 years before Kilcullen was even born.”
    “I suppose all humans look alike to you,” suggested Abercrombie, and I had the feeling that he was intently observing my reaction.
    “No, Friend Malcolm,” I replied. “I find each of you quite distinctive. Otherwise I could not have made the human artwork of the Albion Cluster my specialty.”
    He stared at me for a long moment. I could sense his innate dislike of me, though I could ascertain no logical reason for it. Finally he turned to Rayburn.
    “I want a word with you,” he said. “In private.”
    “Why not?” replied Rayburn. He turned to me. “Why don't you rejoin Madame Chong, Leonardo? I'll be along in a minute.”
    “Yes, Friend Hector,” I said, and, glad to finally be free of Abercrombie's unsettling presence, I returned to the main gallery.
    “Where's Hector?” asked Tai Chong when she saw that I was alone.
    “He is speaking with Mr. Abercrombie, who seems to have taken an intense dislike to me,” I said. “I truly did nothing to offend him, Great Lady.”
    “I'm sure you didn't, Leonardo,” she said soothingly. “I just hope you don't judge all Men by this evening.”
    “I don't judge them at all, Great Lady,” I replied.
    “Then perhaps you should.”
    She fell silent then, watching distractedly as a small three-dimensional spacescape from Thamaaliki II brought a moderate price, and an early Kamathi sold for somewhat higher than I would have anticipated, given its crudeness of line. Then Rayburn joined us, a curious expression on his face.
    “Well?” demanded Tai Chong.
    “He just made us the damnedest offer I've ever heard!”
    “What was it?” she asked.
    “In a minute,” he replied. He turned to me. “Leonardo, I want the truth now: What do you think of Malcolm Abercrombie?”
    “I think that he must be under considerable tension because of the auction, Friend Hector.”
    “Come on,” scoffed Rayburn. “I said the truth."
    “I think he is a narrow-minded xenophobe with a totally inadequate knowledge of current art market values,” I said, and I could feel my color registering the Hue of Absolute Honesty.
    “That's more like it,” said Rayburn with a chuckle. “He thinks even less of you.”
    “Get to the point, Hector,” said Tai Chong irritably.
    “The point, Madame Chong,” said Rayburn, “is that Malcolm Abercrombie just offered the Claiborne Galleries our choice: an early Sabai ink sketch or fifty thousand credits.”
    “In exchange for what?” she demanded.
    Rayburn grinned in amusement.
    “A week of Leonardo's time.”

3.
    I sat, alone and uneasy, in Malcolm Abercrombie's study.
    I had arrived almost ten minutes early for my appointment with him and remained in the busy, bustling street for almost nine minutes, studying the bold structure of his enormous home, the mathematical precision of his formal gardens, the grace and beauty of the two large stone fountains that fronted the east and west wings of the house.
    Finally, when I was certain that I could cause no