The Dark Lady

sits, holding forth to anyone who will listen to her. I gather she even held a press conference from her cell!” He seemed vastly amused by her conduct.
    “I am very sorry to hear this, Friend Hector,” I said. “She must find confinement in Kennicott's prison very distressing.”
    “She's having the time of her life,” he said with a laugh. “Incidentally, don't I still owe you a lunch?”
    “It is only ten o'clock in the morning,” I pointed out.
    “You never heard of an early lunch?”
    “I appreciate your offer, Friend Hector, but I truly am not hungry.”
    He shrugged. “Well, it's an open invitation. Just give me a day's notice.”
    “I shall do so,” I promised.
    “The restaurant I told you about last time has closed,” he continued, “but I've heard of one that serves aliens. Maybe I'll check it out today and see if it's any good.”
    “That is very thoughtful of you, Friend Hector,” I replied.
    “By the way,” he added confidentially, “what's Valentine Heath really like?”
    “He is a very charming man,” I said. “Why?”
    “He's been unloading stolen paintings with us for years,” answered Rayburn. “I was just curious about him.”
    “Why do you accept the paintings if you know they're stolen?”
    “Hell, anything that's worth money has been stolen once or twice over the years. At least Heath's paintings are hard to trace.”
    “How long have you known that Heath trades in stolen artwork?”
    “I guessed it when I learned that he never put them up for public auction.”
    “Does Tai Chong know about it?” I asked, hoping that he would respond in the negative.
    “Officially, nobody knows about it,” answered Rayburn with a knowing smile, “and they would certainly deny all knowledge of it to the authorities if they were questioned.” He lowered his voice. “The only reason I'm even discussing it with you is because you're a colleague, and you happen to be on intimate terms with Valentine Heath.”
    “Knowing Valentine Heath does not make me a thief!” I protested.
    “Of course it doesn't,” said Rayburn soothingly. “But on the other hand, it doesn't make you as innocent as a newborn babe either, does it?”
    “I have never stolen anything, Friend Hector!”
    He smiled. “I'm not making any moral judgments, Leonardo.”
    “But you are,” I insisted. “You are saying that I have been corrupted by my association with Valentine Heath.”
    “Well, the police did contact Tai Chong about you when you left Charlemagne,” he said.
    “It was a misunderstanding,” I said. “I was not responsible for any wrongdoing.”
    “Okay,” he said, still smiling. “I believe you.”
    “I think that you do not.”
    “Look, I seem to have upset you, and I certainly didn't mean to. We were talking about Heath.”
    “We were talking about whether Tai Chong knew that the paintings Heath sold her were stolen,” I corrected him.
    “Would you rather that she didn't know and didn't stand on picket lines to get you people your rights?”
    “I was unaware that she had campaigned for Bjornn rights,” I said, grateful for the change in subject.
    “Bjornn, Canphorite, Rabolian— what's the difference? You guys are all fighting for equality, aren't you?”
    “The Bjornn do not fight,” I replied.
    “You know what I mean,” he said awkwardly.
    “Yes, Friend Hector,” I replied. “I know what you mean.”
    “Well,” he said, walking to the door, “I'm off. See you this afternoon.”
    “You must be anticipating a very large lunch,” I commented.
    He grinned. “And a little something to wash it down with.” He paused. “You're sure you don't want to come along? Five-hour lunch breaks aren't going to be so popular once Tai Chong gets back.”
    “No, thank you, Friend Hector.”
    He shrugged, waved to me, and walked out onto the street.
    Since I had been given no explicit assignment, and my two immediate superiors were unavailable, I spent the rest of the morning methodically going through the previous two weeks’ auction catalogs, hunting without success for any representations of the Dark Lady. In the afternoon I searched the listings of private offerings, with the same result.
    I was just about to leave the gallery for the night when Malcolm Abercrombie called me on the vidphone.
    “I heard you were back,” he said when the connection was completed and he could see my face.
    “I arrived this morning,” I responded.
    “Did you bring the Mallachi painting