This, which Breyguhn saw as a grievous, shaming and even maliciously intended limitation on her freedom and prospects, had done nothing to endear Sharrow to her; however the two had been sworn at least to attempt to get along with each other by their father, one tearful night a few weeks earlier after he had lost the last of Sharrows late mother’s jewels in a bones game.

On his return from this disaster he had been handed two envelopes by the hotel receptionist: one containing a final demand from the hotel management, the other a message from Breyguhn’s mother-from whom he had been separated for five years-intimating that she had fallen in love again and wanted a divorce.

He had brandished a loaded pistol, and wept, and talked of suicide, and thus suitably terrified both girls and ensured their acquiescence to his demands for a peace agreement.

The visit to the Summer Palace would be the first long-term test of this pact.

Their father had been lucky in the casinos earlier that month, and although the gesture of chartering the circus for a few days used up most of his funds and left his many debts still unpaid, he had convinced himself that his fortunes had changed in some strategic manner with that series of wins, and that lavishing money on his younger daughter was so far from being an extravagance as to be an investment; it would ensure that fate would continue to smile upon him. Like a sacrifice, in a way.

Sharrow, who too well remembered the straitened circumstances of her own fifteenth birthday when, rather than being showered with presents, she had received nothing but apologies and a request that she give her father the jewelled, platinum-cloth gown which was the last un-hocked or unsold possession her mother had left her so that he could pay off an urgent gambling debt, had not been conspicuously enthusiastic in conveying birthday good wishes to her half-sister.

Sharrow found solace in the fact that Breyguhn obviously thought the hired circus would have been a suitable gift for a younger child, not the woman she was so proud of having become (though she was equally obviously determined to enjoy the gift to the utmost). She was also happy not to have to stay very long at the Summer Palace after enduring Breyguhn’s birthday celebrations; she had been invited to go skiing in Throsse with the family of a young man she had met during an open day at her last finishing school.

He was the brother of one of the other girls, the son of a commercial army owner, and Sharrow thought he was quite wonderfully fine. She had almost lain with him that first day; only their discovery in the cupboard by a couple of other girls had prevented them requiting their tryst. It would probably have meant another expulsion if she hadn’t successfully bribed the two girls later. Since then she had written to him and he to her, and she had been just consumed with bliss when she’d received the invitation to join his family at their chalet.

Skiing was not something she really enjoyed, though she had-grimly determined-set about becoming proficient at it while in Claav; but to be with this particular young man she would gladly have undertaken any trial, undergone any torment. Her father had linked his approval of the skiing trip to her attendance at Breyguhn’s birthday, but suffering her half-sister for a couple of days was a small price to pay for the expected ecstasy awaiting her in Throsse. (Compared to that, even her feelings of victorious joy at having been granted a scholarship to go to Yadayeypon University for the coming semester shrank into insignificance.)

“If you’re so utterly wonderful with computers, Shar, why don’t you hack into a bank and make Daddy rich again?”

“Because they’re practically impregnable unless you work in one, that’s why,” she replied scornfully. “Any idiot knows that.”

“Well, you do, anyway.”

“Oh, I’m sorry; was that supposed to be funny?”

“I don’t believe you could hack into a… a calculator.”

“Oh, don’t you? How interesting.”

The sunlit rolling hills of the estate blued away to the horizon, softly ruffled green and yellow waves of fragrant vegetation under a cloudless blue sky. Lakes glinted in the distance.

They sat together in a gently swaying carousel circling round a giant fairground wheel. A number of the children and adults resident at the house for the summer sat in other carousels. What with them and the servants and their children-happily invited to share in the fun by Breyguhn’s father, though Brey herself had been silently chagrined at the idea-the temporary fairground on the grass-ball lawn was almost busy.

“Girls? Hello, girls?”

They both turned round with smiles fixed on their faces to look back and up at their father, who was in the carousel behind. His android butler, Skave, sat at his side, incongruous in the formal servant’s suit their father liked it to wear. A round black butler’s hat sat on its naked metal head.

Skave stared into the distance, its metal hands gripping the safety barrier. The tubular metal barrier looked slightly dented under Skave’s hands, though this probably indicated a minor malfunction rather than some android analog of fear; the machine was elderly, dating from the first Golterian era which had thought fit-and had the ability-to create androids. Their father’s debts meant it hadn’t been properly maintained for the last few years, and recently its coordination and movements had become erratic.

“What, Daddy?”

“Having fun?”

“Pardon?”

“Having fun?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Oh, incredible fun; unbelievable.”

“Jolly good! They’re having fun; isn’t that excellent, Skave?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“Do you remember that old merry-go-round in the ballroom? Sharrow?”

Breyguhn dug her in the ribs. Sharrow sighed exasperatedly and turned round to look back at her father, shaking her head as she tapped one ear. “Can’t hear you,” she shouted.

When the ride finished, the big wheel reversed to let the people off; their father and Skave were first out of their carousel and onto the boardwalk, then it was their turn to step down. Father took Breyguhn’s hand; Skave took Sharrow’s.

Sharrow screamed as the android’s metal fingers crushed hers.

The old machine let go immediately and wobbled as though it was about to fall over, its head shaking in its collar. Sharrow bent double over her aching fingers. “You stupid machine!” she wailed. “You’ve broken my fingers!”

“Mistress, mistress, mistress…” the android said plaintively, still shaking. It looked at its own hand, as if confused.

Breyguhn took a step back, watching it all.

Her father held Sharrow by the shoulders then gently took her hand and kissed it, teasing her fingers out. “There,” he said. “They’re not broken, my love. They’re all right; see? They’re fine, they’re perfect, beautiful fingers. Mmm. just made to kiss. Mmm. What fingers. There, how kissable. You see? Silly old Skave. I must oil him, or whatever one does. Look at him; he’s quivering, silly old sap. Skave, say sorry.”

“Mistress,” the old android said, its voice quivering. “I am most terribly sorry. Terribly, terribly sorry.”

Blinking through her tears, she looked at the machine, conscious of Breyguhn watching her. She tried not to sob. “You idiot!” she told it.

The android vibrated again, hands shaking.

“Oh, my love, my little love; why, silly old Skave didn’t mean it. Here; another kiss…”

“Right,” Sharrow said, swinging into Breyguhn’s room while she was combing her long, brown hair before the mirror. Breyguhn watched as Sharrow plumped herself down on the bed and unrolled a simple stick-on computer. She flicked her hair back and woke the machine up with a couple of keystrokes. “You wanted to see some hacking; I’ll show you some hacking.”

Breyguhn finished doing her hair and tied it up, then joined the older girl on the bed. She looked at the screen. It was all figures and letters.