Deathstalker Legacy (38 page)

He turned abruptly, and stalked out of the infirmary, his back very straight, his head held high, but none of them could see his face. Jesamine squeezed Lewis’s hand, once, and then hurried after Douglas. Lewis sat down again, his legs all but collapsing under him, and stared at the floor, broken and hurt beyond anything Brett Random’s disrupter could have managed. Anne walked slowly over and sat down beside him. She sighed heavily, and leaned back against the open regeneration machine.

“Some days . . . things wouldn’t go right if you bribed them.”

“Maybe I should have died,” said Lewis. “Maybe . . . that would have been best, for everyone.”

“Oh shut up,” said Anne. “I’ll work something out. Though God alone knows what, or how. You couldn’t have screwed this up worse if you’d tried, Lewis. You must know this can’t go anywhere. There’s no possible future for you and Jesamine. Too many vested interests have committed themselves to the new King and Queen. The momentum we’ve built up is unstoppable. Any change now, and there’d be riots in cities all over the Empire. A Royal wedding, a golden couple for a Golden Age, could heal the rifts in society, change the atmosphere, get people talking again instead of shouting. You can’t be allowed to interfere, Lewis. Too much depends on everything going ahead as planned.”

“I know,” Lewis said miserably. “I’d already decided I was going to leave. Get the hell offplanet and disappear. Let someone else be the Champion. I never wanted the job anyway. Let Finn have it. He’ll do a better job. He understands politics and he’s never had any bothersome emotions to get in the way.”

“You can’t resign as Champion, and you can’t leave,” Anne said remorselessly. “So far, there hasn’t been even a whisper of gossip, and we have to keep it that way. You just up and go, abandoning your best friend on the eve of his wedding, and people would be bound to wonder why. Sooner or later, someone would discover the truth. Someone always does. And a scandal like this . . . would be the end of Douglas as King. All the various causes and politicians would have a field day. I don’t even want to think about what it would do to the balance we’ve been carefully creating in Parliament . . . No; Lewis. You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay here and tough it out, until we can figure out some way for you to credibly retire, and disappear into the background. Maybe a family emergency . . . Virimonde’s a long way from anywhere . . . Give me time to think. I’ll come up with something. In the meantime;
stay away from Jesamine.
If you’re at the House together, don’t even look at her, unless you’re forced to. I’d say act naturally, but you’re not that good an actor. I’ll arrange the schedules to keep the two of you apart as much as I can, until she’s safely married. Think you can keep it in your trousers until then?”

“This isn’t about sex! It was never about sex! I love her, Anne!”

“No you don’t. You can’t. Too many people would be hurt. The fate of the Empire depends upon you doing the right thing. Remember your duty, Deathstalker.”

“I know my duty,” said Lewis. “I’ve always known my bloody duty.”

 

Back at Finn’s place, they were all in their favorite chairs, passing bowls of snacks around, and watching replays of the riot on the big viewscreen. The news channels were broadcasting uninterrupted coverage, running all the best bits in slow motion, the better to show off all the blood and gore. Nothing like a little death and suffering in close-up to pull in the viewers. Hell, the riot was getting better ratings than Friday night at the Arenas. Finn relaxed almost bonelessly in his chair, smiling and nodding, and even applauding some of the best bits. He’d come out of it very well, looking extremely heroic. Especially when he cut down his own people, right in front of the camera. He couldn’t have planned it better.

Emma Steel had also come out of it well; her cool and calm composure in the middle of madness making her look very professional. Commentators were already saying that she and Finn should make a great partnership. Finn wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know just how much Emma might have seen, or suspect. She hadn’t said anything, either to him or the media, but . . . That was a problem for another day. Right now he was feeling too good. The channel showed Brett shooting Lewis again, and Finn laughed out loud. The scene changed abruptly, to show people holding a candlelight vigil outside the House, praying for the Deathstalker to survive. Finn frowned. He hadn’t realized Lewis was so popular. Still, there was no danger of Lewis actually dying and becoming a martyr. Brett had aimed his gun very carefully, following his instructions to make it look as impressive as possible, while still missing all the major vital organs.

He glanced across at Rose Constantine, sitting scowling in her chair, sulking. Finn studied her for a moment. He’d never intended for her to kill Lewis, but of course he couldn’t tell her that. The fight had to look natural. She had to be convinced, to be convincing. No; Lewis couldn’t die yet. Not while Finn had such useful, amusing plans for him.

The vidscreen showed again the moment when someone in the crowd blew Veronica Mae Savage’s head right off, starting the riot. Finn couldn’t be more pleased. It was the exact visual image he’d needed, to blow everyone’s minds. It helped that he’d never liked Veronica Mae, but any Paragon would have done. He made a mental note to send the assassin a bonus.

Brett had gone back to drinking heavily. He hadn’t said a word since he returned. He watched the viewscreen, and took a big handful from the snack bowls when they came his way, but he seemed lost in his own unhappy thoughts. Finn decided he’d better keep a close eye on his new esper.

They watched the news coverage on the viewscreen for over an hour, switching back and forth between the channels to get a representative angle on the public’s perception of the riot, and their reactions on how Parliament and the King had handled it. (The House was expressing solidarity with the King. For now.) A surprisingly large percentage of the viewing public were already expressing their displeasure over the way the powers that be had overreacted. Specifically, they didn’t like troops being brought into the city and unleashed on civilians, and they really didn’t like the use of espers to control human minds. Comparisons were already being made with the way the despised Empress Lionstone used to do things. And every commentator on every channel was drawing comparisons between the ELFs and the oversoul, despite all the soothing words coming from the esper center on New Hope. The general public feeling was that the King and Parliament had been heavy-handed in their reaction to a legitimate protest, and that
that
was what had caused the riot. A lot of people still supported the Church, even if they weren’t too sure (as yet) about the influence of Neuman philosophy within it.

There was a lot of public sentiment over the death of so many Paragons (thirty-seven and still counting), but again the general feeling seemed to be that they shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Paragons were supposed to deal with crime, not political protest. They were supposed to be the King’s Justice, not his bully boys. There was no public call for a day of mass mourning, as usually happened when a Paragon fell in the line of duty. Finn found that especially significant.

Angelo Bellini turned up late, without even the grace of an apology, but ended up sitting on the edge of his chair, fascinated by the media coverage of the slaughter he’d helped to instigate. It was one thing to work quietly behind the scenes to ensure that everything went to hell on schedule, but quite another to watch the carnage unfold before you. Angelo all but bounced in his chair, his face flushed, breathing heavily. Finn thought Angelo looked a bit like Rose when she was contemplating killing someone horribly. Angelo sensed Finn’s gaze on him, and looked around, grinning foolishly.

“Death and violence and insurrection in the streets. The death of heroes and of ideals, and all of it at my command.” An idea occurred to him, and he scowled suddenly. “I hadn’t planned for the oversoul getting involved. Could those espers dig our names out of those people’s heads?”

“I planned for everything,” Finn said calmly. “No one actually present at the riot has any direct knowledge of me, or you. Their instructions came via so many cutouts that the security forces will end up running in circles trying to make sense of it all. My people in the Rookery have already set in motion a wide-reaching plan of disinformation. No one’s coming after us, Angelo. I have put a lot of thought into this.”

Angelo nodded and looked back at the viewscreen, and immediately all his doubts were forgotten. “I have to congratulate you, Finn. I never knew politics could be such fun. Such a rush. People going out to fight and die, at my command. The Parade of the Endless torn apart, and all because of me. I never knew power could be so . . . intoxicating.”

“Don’t make a mess on the chair, Angelo,” said Finn. “You didn’t cause this. I did. You merely helped. This is all my plan, my work, and don’t you ever forget it.”

“You couldn’t have done it without me,” said Angelo, just a little haughtily. “I put the Church in bed with the Neumen. I worked out the logistics for the marches. Those people listen to me, not you!”

Finn leaned easily out of his chair and slapped Angelo hard around the side of the head. Angelo rocked in his chair, and almost fell. He brought up a hand to protect himself from further blows, and opened his mouth to protest. And then his eyes met Finn’s, and the words turned to dust in his mouth. Finn wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even excited. But in that moment he looked cold and controlled and very, very dangerous.

“You are my creature, Angelo,” Finn said calmly. “Mine, to do with as I wish. I own you. You can’t go back to what you were, and if you ever think to cross me, or cultivate ideas above your station, I will destroy your media sainthood overnight, and have you removed from your own Church in disgrace. I will drag your good name through the gutter, and throw you to the wolves; and I will do it the moment you even think of setting your wishes in any way above mine. Or . . . I could just give you to Rose.”

“Give him to me,” Rose said immediately. “The Deathstalker got me all hot, but I never got the chance to finish.”

Angelo actually whimpered faintly. He sank back in his chair, and concentrated very quietly on the viewscreen. Rose sniffed. Finn just smiled.

Brett Random poured himself another large drink from the brandy bottle on the arm of his chair, but it wasn’t doing much for him. He took no pleasure from the slaughter and destruction of the riot. He didn’t even have anything against the Deathstalker. Good man, from all he’d heard. He was just following Finn’s orders when he shot him. He hoped (silently) that the Paragon would survive. Once, Lewis’s and Brett’s ancestors had been friends. Partners. Heroes, fighting side by side against evil. Things must have been simpler then. Brett couldn’t help wondering what his legendary ancestors would have made of him. He didn’t think they’d have been too impressed.

Brett had never been a violent man. He knew the ways of gun and sword because he had to, to survive growing up in the Rookery. But he’d always preferred to work on cons where no one really got hurt. Even the marks he soaked so thoroughly for money had nothing to really complain about. He always targeted the really rich bastards who could afford to lose what he took from them. He only ever punished the greedy. Until now. Now, people were dying, because of him. Good people. He drank his brandy in heavy gulps, but it didn’t comfort him. His stomach hurt worse than ever. Tension. Guilt. And perhaps, just perhaps, the beginning of conscience.

First chance he got, he was out of here, running for the horizon like his arse was on fire, and to hell with Finn bloody Durandal. This wasn’t fun anymore; if it ever had been. He looked up from his glass and there was Rose, Wild Rose, looking thoughtfully at him again. She smiled, and Brett got gooseflesh all the way up both arms. Out of here, definitely. And the sooner the better.

Finn studied the rising body count being displayed on the viewscreen, and smiled a slow, satisfied grin. He felt all warm and comfortable inside. Everything was going to plan. The commentators were calling this the worst day in the Golden Age’s history. Only he knew that this, all of this, was just the beginning.

E
mma Steel, Logres’s latest Paragon, defender of the meek and avenger of the wronged, stood impatiently on the roof of her new apartment building in the early hours of the morning, her thick purple cloak flapping noisily about her in the gusting wind. She was waiting for Finn Durandal to show up. She’d been waiting for almost an hour, and was not in the best of moods. It was bad enough that Finn had been openly giving her the runaround for the past few days, before finally agreeing to at least take her on a tour of Logres’s main city, but now it seemed he couldn’t even be bothered to show up at the time he’d insisted on. Emma, who was never late for anything, took Finn’s absence as a personal insult. She’d moved past outrage and planned insults, and was currently debating which side of the roof it would be most fun to push him off. No one slighted Emma Steel and got away with it.

She fumed quietly, arms crossed tightly over her armored chest, one foot tapping ominously. It didn’t help that she was pretty damned sure that the Durandal had only agreed to this meeting because the media had been asking, in increasingly mystified tones, as to why Finn hadn’t joined up with his new partner yet; particularly after they’d made such a good showing working together during the Neuman riots. Emma’s mouth tightened even more as she considered that thought. There was a lot about the riot that bothered Emma Steel.

To start with, the sheer viciousness of the violence had shocked her rigid. Emma was used to violence; she’d grown up on Mistworld, after all, where assault and battery was a daily occurrence. But . . . civilians turning on Paragons? Killing Paragons, their own beloved defenders, in what was supposed to be the most civilized city on the most civilized world in the Empire? If you couldn’t trust the people of Logres to behave in a sane and civilized manner, then you couldn’t rely on anything anymore. Perhaps not even the legendary Finn Durandal. Emma’s frown deepened into a scowl.