Deathstalker Legacy (13 page)

“Of course. Everyone does.”

“Of course. He wanted to be a King. He would have been good at it. But instead, it falls to me. And I’ll tell you this, Jesamine . . .”

“Jes.”

“What?”

“Call me Jes. All my friends do. My real friends.”

“All right; Jes. I’ll tell you this; I won’t let politicians push me around, like they did my father. I won’t be anyone’s figurehead. Let Parliament deal with the politics of Empire; my concern is morality. Doing the right thing. And to hell with whether I’m adored.”

“You know,” said Jesamine. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Douglas.”

“Oh. Is that a good thing?”

“I think so, yes. It’s . . . refreshing. I do so admire passion in a man. You’re not nearly as stuffy as they say. So; you be the Empire’s moral guardian, and I’ll take care of the being adored. I think . . . we’re going to get on well together.”

Douglas looked at her. “Who says I’m stuffy?”

“Oh shut up and kiss me.”

“Thought you’d never ask . . .”

 

In Anne’s office, she and Lewis were chatting chummily together over what was left of the tea and biscuits. They’d been friends most of their lives, right back to when they were both children growing up on Virimonde. They’d been so close for so long it was assumed by practically everyone that they would eventually marry. When they could both find the time. Assumed . . . by everyone but the two of them. As teenagers their hormones had briefly driven them over the edges of friendship and into bed, but it didn’t take them long to realize they made much better friends than lovers. They went their separate ways quite happily, always keeping in touch, until they both ended up on Logres; whereupon they quickly resumed their old friendship, secure in the knowledge they’d finally found someone they could be sure wanted nothing from them.

Lewis stirred an extra sugar lump into his tea, and rooted through the biscuit barrel. “Hey; she’s eaten all the chocolate ones.”

“She’s a star,” Anne said easily. “They always get first pick. In fact, it’s probably in her contract. Dig deeper; there’s probably a few chocolate chip cookies left.”

“It’s not the same.” Lewis abandoned the biscuit barrel, and looked meaningfully at a blank monitor screen beside them. “How do you suppose they’re getting on?”

“They’ll do fine,” Anne said sternly. “No peeking, Lewis. They are quite capable of sorting this out for themselves. They have a lot in common.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “The Prince and the Showgirl? Come on, Anne; that only ever works in bad vid dramas.”

“They’re both stars in their own right, both very strong personalities, and both of them are surprisingly good people.”

“Surprisingly?”

“Oh yes. Given their background and their almost universal popularity, it’s a wonder they’re not monsters. God knows I’ve had to deal with enough monstrous egos in my time, in politics and show business. There’s something about great personal authority that brings out the worst in people. I suppose when everyone will forgive you anything, you just can’t help but push the limits to see what you can get away with. Given how adored and worshiped Jesamine is, I’m constantly amazed how sane and balanced she turned out.”

“Some people hide their inner monsters very carefully,” Lewis said quietly.

Anne looked at him. “You’re not talking about Jes or Douglas, are you?”

“I could be wrong,” said Lewis. “I want to be wrong. We can’t afford a monster as Champion.”

“That isn’t official yet.”

“Come on; who else could it be?”

“Don’t you trust Douglas’s judgement?”

“Douglas is a good man,” said Lewis. “I’d trust him with my life and my sacred honor. Being a Paragon was the making of him.”

“A lot of who and what he is can be put down to you,” said Anne. “You’ve been a good influence on him. You ground him. People who think too much about ethics and morality often forget you have to deal with real people.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” said Lewis. “A
good influence
? Me? It makes me sound so . . . worthy. Dull. Stuffy.”

Anne giggled, and peered impishly at him over the rim of her teacup. “Sorry, Lewis, but that’s you. Old dependable.”

“I wish I was a hellraiser,” Lewis said wistfully. “It looks like so much fun. But it’s just not me. Somehow . . . there’s always work that needs to be done, and I just can’t justify taking that much time off, just to enjoy myself. I’d only feel guilty anyway.”

Anne nodded slowly. “I do know what you mean. My job is my life too. At least you get to get out and have adventures. I get to sit in this office, for far too many hours of the day, watching the world go by on my monitors. Working out plans and lists and detailed inventories, so the King and his people can get through the day without tripping over each other. The only excitement I get is when an invoice goes missing. My life is ruled by the lives I have to plan for everyone else. I live my whole life vicariously, through the Court. And my monitor screens.” She glowered about her, at the banks of security monitors, showing ever-shifting glimpses of the Court and its surroundings. “It’s not . . . the life I wanted.”

Lewis lowered his teacup and studied Anne carefully. “But . . . this is what you’ve always done. What you’ve always been good at. Sorting people’s lives out for them. You were even doing it back when we were kids together.”

“Just because you’re good at a thing, it doesn’t necessarily mean you want to give your whole life to it! You don’t plan to be a Paragon all your life, do you?”

“Well, no, but . . .”

Anne looked into her cup, so she wouldn’t have to look at Lewis. “This isn’t how I thought my life would turn out. It isn’t what I wanted out of life.”

“It’s a bit early for a midlife crisis, isn’t it?” said Lewis, trying hard to keep his voice light. “Plenty of time left to change your life; to be all the things you want to be. If you’re tired of what you’re doing now . . . do something else.”

“Like what?”
Anne looked at Lewis directly, and he was surprised to see real tears in her eyes. Her mouth was an angry straight line, almost sullen. “As you so astutely pointed out, this is what I’m good at. What I’m good for. I’m not brave, like you. Or glamorous, like Jes. I’m the small, quiet, dependable one that everyone else depends on to keep their lives in order. Well, maybe I’m tired of being dependable. Maybe I want to run wild, for once. Be irresponsible, just to see what it feels like.”

Lewis gestured awkwardly, spilling tea from his cup without noticing. “If that’s what you really want . . . come with me. Put your deputy in charge, and just walk out of here. I’ll take you to a bar somewhere. I don’t know the really disreputable ones, but I’m sure I can find someone who does. Or we could go . . .”

“No, we couldn’t,” Anne said tiredly. “The Ceremony starts soon. It’s important. We have to be here for it, you and I. You . . . because Douglas will need you. And I . . . I wouldn’t know what to do in a disreputable bar anyway. Probably just sit in a corner, nursing my drink, watching everyone else have a good time. I’m a backstage person, Lewis. Always have been. The spotlight’s not for me. I’m sorry, Lewis. I’m just tired. Don’t take any notice of me . . .”

She stopped, when she realized Lewis wasn’t listening to her anymore. He turned suddenly and looked at the door. Anne looked too, and that was when she heard approaching footsteps, and knew who it was, who it had to be. The future King and Queen of the Empire. The important people. Lewis put down his cup and rose quickly to his feet.

“That’s got to be Douglas, and I need to talk to him before the Ceremony. Excuse me for a moment, Anne. I’ll be right back.”

And he was out the door and gone, as quickly as that. Anne looked at her monitors, and other people looked back, not seeing her. Story of her life, really. No one ever really looked at quiet, dumpy, dependable Anne. She could have been beautiful. She had the money, enough to buy any kind of face or body she wanted. But . . . everyone would have known why she did it. And besides, she could never have carried it off. She didn’t have the confidence, to be beautiful and graceful and . . . sexy.

And, of course, it would have been admitting defeat. Admitting that no one would ever want the real her. There had been Lewis, of course, long ago. He was uglier than she was, but he’d never cared about things like that. Of course, a Paragon could have a face like a dog’s arse, and women would still call it
rugged,
and run after him with their tits hanging out. That’s celebrity for you. Anne reached under her desk, and slowly pulled out a long pink feather boa. Jesamine had brought it, as a gift for her. Not knowing Anne Barclay would never be invited anywhere she could have worn such a thing. Even if she could have worked up the courage to wear it. Anne would never dare to wear anything so bright and colorful in public. People would laugh at her. Not openly, of course. But she’d know. She’d watch it later, on her monitors.

She draped the feather boa around her shoulders and looked at herself in the one small mirror on her desk.

“You don’t know what I want,” she said softly. “None of you . . .”

There were footsteps right outside her door, and raised, happy voices. Anne snatched the boa off her shoulders, and quickly stuffed it back under her desk again. The door swung open, and Douglas and Jesamine came in together, arm in arm, smiling and laughing together. They did make a very attractive couple. They greeted Anne loudly, and she smiled very naturally in return. They took the two comfortable chairs by right, leaving Anne to sit on the edge of her desk, while Lewis closed the door and leaned against it. Jesamine looked back at him.

“So you’re the famous Deathstalker. I’ve seen you in action many times. On recordings, of course.”

“And you’re the even more famous Jesamine Flowers,” said Lewis. “And I have every recording you ever released, plus quite a few bootlegs.”

“Ah, a fan!” Jesamine clapped her hands together. “Darling, tell me you haven’t got that awful bootleg of me in Verdi’s
MacB,
when I played Lady M in the nude! They shot me from all the wrong angles, and made me look positively plump.”

“If I had seen such a thing, I am far too much of a gentleman to admit it,” said Lewis.

Jesamine turned to grin at Douglas. “You were right; I do like him.”

“You’d better,” said Douglas. “He’s my oldest and closest friend.”

“And Anne is mine,” said Jesamine. “We must form our own little gang; us against the world. Watch each other’s back, and always be there for each other. Yes?”

“Yes,” said Douglas, smiling fondly around him. “In an ever-changing world, friends are the only thing you can always rely on.”

“Friends forever,” said Anne.

“I’ll drink to that,” said Lewis.

Anne immediately got up and bustled around her office, scaring up more cups and pouring out the last of the tea from her elegant silver teapot. Luckily there was just enough milk and sugar left to go around. (There was no booze, no champagne. Anne didn’t keep any in her office. She didn’t dare.) Douglas raised his cup in a toast, and the others followed suit.

“To the four of us,” Douglas said. “Good friends, now and forever, come what may.”

They all drank to that, though Jesamine was the only one who crooked her little finger. She looked at Lewis thoughtfully.

“I saw you on the news. You and the Durandal, fighting the ELFs in the Arena. Horrible creatures. So many dead. Tell me, Lewis . . . Is it just me or was the Durandal really more interested in killing ELFs than in freeing their thralls?”

“No,” said Lewis. “It isn’t just you. Finn’s always been very . . . victory orientated.”

“You saved the crowd, but it was Finn they cheered,” said Anne. “It’s always the good-looking arrogant bastard that wins the crowd’s heart. Cocky little shit. Never liked him.”

“He’s the greatest Paragon we’ve ever had,” Douglas said sternly. “He does a hard job and he does it well, and that’s far more important than whether he’s a nice guy.”

“Being a Paragon is about more than just killing people,” said Lewis.

“Yes,” said Douglas. “Yes, it is. But when there’s killing to be done, there’s no one better than Finn Durandal to do it.”

“Oh sod Finn,” said Anne. “Forget him. This is our day, not his. We haven’t got long before the Ceremony has to start, and Douglas, you
still
haven’t changed into your official robes yet. Lewis, take him away and get him ready, and don’t be afraid to use threats, intimidation, and brute force as necessary. I’ll work on Jes. Trust me; that makeup is all wrong for the Court’s lighting. Come
on,
people!”

“Anne . . . I don’t know what I’d do without you,” said Douglas.

“I do,” said Anne. “And the prospect horrifies me.
Move!
”

They all got to their feet. Jesamine smiled at Lewis. “See you later, Deathstalker.”

“I hope so,” said Lewis. “And just for the record; you didn’t look in the least plump.”

 

It was finally time for the great Ceremony, for the grand Coronation of a new King for the greatest Empire that Humanity had ever known. The vast open floor of the Court was packed from wall to wall with humans and espers and clones and robots and aliens, all standing shoulder to shoulder. There was no one on the raised dais yet but a handful of servants doing some last-minute fussing over the gleaming golden Thrones, but there was a real feeling of anticipation in the air. The live orchestra squeezed into one corner was busily tuning up, the floating cameras of the official media were getting into savage butting contests as their remote operators fought it out for the best angles, and the Church Patriarch had gone so white in the face that he’d had to be given a little something by the Court medic.

St. Nicholas was right there in the front row; part payment for putting on the Santa Claus outfit in the first place. At his side and towering over him was a rather disconcerting alien called Saturday; a reptiloid from the planet Shard, who’d pushed his way to the front because absolutely no one felt like stopping him. Saturday stood eight feet tall, with a massive, heavily muscled frame covered in dull bottle green scales, heavy back legs, and a long lashing tail that everyone gave plenty of room because it had spikes on it. He had two small gripping arms, high up on his chest, under a great wide wedge of a head, whose main feature was a wide slash of a mouth absolutely crammed with hundreds of big pointed teeth. He looked like he could have eaten the entire orchestra in one sitting, and then polished off the choir for dessert. Saturday (apparently he’d had trouble grasping the concept of individual human names, “On my planet we all know who we are.”) insisted on chatting with St. Nick, who did his best to be polite and attentive, while fighting down an entirely atavistic instinct that kept yelling at him to run for the trees.