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Authors: Simon R. Green

Deathstalker Coda (32 page)

BOOK: Deathstalker Coda
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“I would just like to point out that I am not in any way involved in any of this,” said Brett.
Lewis looked at Akotai. “Do we really have to do this? Finn would laugh, to see his enemies fighting each other.”
“This is Mistworld,” said Akotai. “We do things differently here. Make some room.”
At this command, the other Mistworlders rose up as one and moved the ironwood table out of the way, leaving an open space in the middle of the room. The people sitting around it were forced to scatter. Brett retreated into the nearest corner, holding Rose before him as a shield. Jesamine made to draw her sword, but Lewis stopped her with a hand on her arm, and eased her gently but firmly out of the way. The Mistworlders formed a circle around Lewis and Akotai. The Councillor didn’t look calm or sleepy-eyed anymore. He drew his sword, a scimitar with a long curved blade. Lewis drew his sword, and suddenly they were fighting.
Steel clashed on steel in the dimly lit room, and sparks flared up brightly against the shadows. Akotai and the Deathstalker circled each other unhurriedly, boots slamming hard against the bare floor as they thrust and parried. Akotai was a swift and subtle swordsman, his curved blade moving faster than most people could follow, and he was strong and brave and tricky; but never at any time was he a match for the Deathstalker. Lewis moved almost casually around his opponent, drifting here and there, somehow always in the right place to frustrate Akotai’s increasingly frenzied attacks. Lewis’s blade licked out to touch Akotai here and there, leaving bloody marks behind. Akotai threw all his strength and ferocity into every blow, trying to force an opening, and it did him no good at all. The Deathstalker dueled Akotai to a halt, and then stepped calmly back and lowered his blade, while Akotai stood breathless and beaten before him.
Manfred Kramer drew his sword and started forward. Jesamine opened her mouth and sang a single piercing note that drove Kramer immediately to his knees, grabbing at his head and crying out in pain. Everyone else in the room winced, including Lewis. Jesamine glared about her.
“Behave yourselves, darlings. Or I’ll sing you an aria that will have your brains dribbling out your ears.”
“A Siren,” said Caswell, respectfully. “It’s been a long time since a Siren came to Mistworld. I’ll have to tell Topaz.”
Lewis nodded casually to Akotai. “You really should have known better, Councillor. Maze or no, I’m still a Deathstalker.”
“I know that now,” said Akotai, still trying to get his breathing back under control. “But I had to be sure. Damn, you’re a fighter. Please forgive Manfred. He’s loyal, but not terribly bright. You have proven yourself in all our eyes, Sir Deathstalker, and all Mistworld will follow wherever you lead.”
“Good,” said Lewis. “We’re going to need you.” And then he stopped, and looked around. “Oh, hell, where are Brett and Rose?”
Everyone looked around them, but the con man and the killer had disappeared during the swordfight.
“Oh, God,” said Jesamine. “They’ve gone wandering. Brett always was far too keen to come here, to scare up some serious money with his dubious skills. And I don’t even want to think what Rose might get up to while she’s off the leash.”
“Is she really as dangerous as she’s supposed to be?” said Goldman.
“Trust us,” said Lewis. “You have no idea.”
“My people will track them down,” said Akotai. “Anything in particular they should look for?”
“Oh, the usual,” said Lewis. “People suddenly missing their valuables, or their heads. And just possibly, buildings on fire and people running around screaming.”
“Hell,” said Akotai. “That’s just a good Saturday night, in Mistport.”
 
Brett Random was having a severely bad time. He was finally where he’d been trying so hard to get to, and it was all turning out to be a terrible disappointment. Being a Random’s Bastard cut him no ice here; the city was lousy with pretenders to the title. And all his skills at the con and the scam were useless in a city where such things had been raised to an art form over the centuries. In fact, if Rose hadn’t been there to protect him, some of his increasingly desperate maneuverings might well have resulted in bloody mayhem. He thought wistfully of the fortune in alien porn he’d so briefly had his hands on, briefly considered trying to sell the pinnace they’d come down in, and finally settled for sulking in a truly disgusting tavern, where the wine tasted as bad as he felt. He couldn’t even escape from Lewis and his crusade by disappearing into the crowds; Rose’s presence made that impossible. Everyone here knew the Wild Rose from her televised appearances in the Arena, and she point-blank refused to let Brett go off anywhere on his own, on the understandable grounds that he’d probably get himself killed without her.
“I can look after myself!” he protested. “You taught me how to fight.”
“Yes,” she said. “But not how to want to. You’re far too civilized for a place like this, Brett. Mistport is a city of predators. I can sense it. It makes me feel . . . horny.”
“I’m in Hell,” said Brett.
He’d been drinking for some time, and was blearily wondering how he was going to sneak out of the tavern without paying his bill, when Manfred Kramer finally caught up with him and Rose. Brett had descended from a sulk into full-blown gloom, while Rose amused herself by staring out the local bravos. Kramer strode up to their table and glared down at them.
“I told Gil we couldn’t trust you,” he said flatly. “I knew you’d go scuttling off, the moment we turned our backs. What have you been doing, trying to find one of Finn’s spies, so you could sell us out?”
“Go away,” said Brett. “I hate this place, and I hate you. What use is there in being a con man in a place where everybody knows all the cons? Where pickpockets have their own union? God, I’m depressed, and this cider isn’t helping. Someone here told me they drop a dead rat into every barrel to help the stuff ferment further, and to give the booze a little body, and I am completely prepared to believe them. I just know something appalling’s going to appear on my toothbrush tonight.”
“You’re a disgrace,” said Kramer, sounding almost satisfied. “Let’s see if Gil can maintain his faith in the false Deathstalker, after he hears what the man’s companions have been doing. Now, are you going to come along with me voluntarily, or am I going to have to have you dragged? Guess which I’d prefer.”
“I can’t be bothered with this,” said Brett morosely. “Rose, you deal with him.”
“Sure,” said Rose, and she surged to her feet, drew her sword, and cut off Kramer’s head in one swift movement. The body just stood there for a moment, fountaining blood from the neck, and then it crashed twitching to the floor. Rose stooped down, picked up the head, blew it a kiss and then threw it casually into the open fire at the back of the room. Everyone else in the tavern had already decided it was well past their bedtimes, and were leaving at speed by every exit. Even the bar staff. In a surprisingly short time, the tavern was empty except for Rose Constantine, the headless body, and a suddenly very sober Brett Random. He lurched to his feet, struggling for words, and forced down a suicidal urge to hit Rose with the table.
“
What the hell did you do that for?”
he shrieked.
“You said deal with him,” said Rose, calmly cleaning the blood from her blade.
“I didn’t mean kill him! That was Gil Akotai’s righthand man! Oh, Lewis will have a coronary when he finds out. None of the Mistworlders will follow him after this! And you can bet Lewis will blame me, not you! Oh, God, my stomach hurts. All the people you could have killed . . . This will scupper all Lewis’s plans . . . I don’t even want to think about what they do to murderers here . . . Think! Think!”
“That’s your department,” said Rose, putting away her sword.
Brett strode up and down, glaring at the headless body on the floor, which was still twitching, as though it couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Brett kicked it a few times, but it didn’t make him feel any better. “All right . . . we could make it look like someone else did it. No, we couldn’t; they have espers here. They couldn’t pry anything out of our minds, but there were any number of witnesses. Think! Think! Hide the body—yes. Yes! And by the time they find it, we’ll be long gone. Rose, pick up the body. I’ve got an idea.”
Rose picked up the body, and slung it effortlessly over one shoulder. Blood spilled down her crimson leathers, but that was nothing new for her. Brett doubted anyone would even notice. He gestured for Rose to follow him, and headed for the back of the bar, and then down into the wine cellars below. Brett scurried back and forth in the gloom, until he finally discovered a barrel of cider that had just been opened. He gestured urgently to Rose, and she dumped the body into the dark liquid. The cider swallowed Kramer up with hardly a splash, and Brett nailed the top down very thoroughly. He and Rose then pushed the barrel to the back, behind all the other barrels. Brett stepped back, breathing and sweating heavily, and considered his work.
“They said they liked their cider to have a little body . . . All right, let’s get out of here. And remember, Rose,
this never happened.
”
 
Some time later, Brett Random and Rose Constantine strolled casually back into the Hob Hound, and expressed surprise that anyone had even missed them. Lewis and Akotai were deep in tactical discussions, and barely acknowledged their return, but Jesamine looked up suspiciously from the impromptu signing session she’d organized for her many Mistport fans. Brett stared innocently back.
“What?” he said. “We just went for a stroll. It wasn’t like you needed us here. Did we miss something?”
“I swear to God, you’re worse than children,” said Jesamine, automatically signing a photo a fan put in front of her. “I can’t take my eyes off you for a moment. Tell me you haven’t done anything embarrassing. Have you seen Manfred Kramer?”
“No,” said Brett, though his heart leapt painfully in his chest. “Was he looking for us? We must have missed him.”
“I didn’t miss him,” said Rose.
“Hush, dear,” said Brett.
“You’re looking very shifty, Brett,” said Jesamine. “What have the two of you been up to?”
“Not nearly as much as I’d hoped,” said Brett, leaning casually against the wall. “No one in this city knows a good business proposition when they hear one. The sooner we’re out of this dump, the better.”
“We’ll go when Lewis is ready, and not before. In the meantime, I have fans to attend to. Who shall I make this out to, sweetie?”
And Brett had to find a table with Rose and just sit there, outwardly calm but inwardly shaking, while Lewis finished his discussions with Akotai, and Jesamine signed absolutely anything the long line of fans put in front of her. Some of them actually wanted parts of their body signed, so they could then go off and have the signature tattooed over. Jesamine took it all in her stride. Eventually it was decided that all the Mistworlders who wanted to join Lewis’s rebel force (which was a hell of a lot of them) would join the fleet in their own ships. It was a matter of pride and paranoia. No Mistworlder would ever agree to take passage on an Imperial ship.
And then Akotai wanted to wait until Manfred Kramer returned, and Brett almost wept with frustration. Luckily Jesamine decided she’d had enough of her fans, after one of them wanted her to sign a particularly intimate part of his body, and she insisted on leaving right then. Brett would have kissed her, if he hadn’t known that would look suspicious.
 
Soon enough, the rebel fleet pulled away from Mistworld, joined by a strange collection of very individual Mistworlder ships. Silence asked Lewis where they were heading next, and Lewis’s answer upset almost everyone.
Shandrakor
, he said, and everyone else said
Oh, shit
, in varying disgusted, appalled, and terribly distressed ways. Everyone had heard of the legendary planet of monsters. No one went to Shandrakor by choice, unless they were suffering from a very serious death wish. Jesamine and Brett found themselves in agreement for perhaps the first time in their lives, saying
Why?
in pretty much the same dismayed tone of voice. Rose, predictably, was the only one who seemed pleased at the prospect.
“Trust me, Lewis,” Silence said heavily, “everyone is already seriously impressed that you and your companions survived one journey through the deadly jungles of Shandrakor. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
“Though it is just the sort of thing a Deathstalker would do,” said Captain Price, and the rest of the bridge crew nodded respectfully.
“You’re not helping, Price,” said Silence. “Lewis, what is to be gained by going there? The world has no ships, weapons, or even people to add to our cause. You said yourself there was nothing worth salvaging from the old crash-landed Standing. All Shandrakor has is monsters . . . Oh. Oh, no . . .”
“Oh, yes, Admiral,” said Lewis.
“I do feel I should point out,” Price said diffidently, “that every hour we spend not heading towards Logres does give the usurper Finn that much extra time to prepare for battle. It would be a shame to throw away what little advantage we’ve got.”
“We’re going to Shandrakor,” said Lewis. “I gave them my word.”
BOOK: Deathstalker Coda
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