Rock of Ages (26 page)

Maijstral’s mind snapped to attention.

“Wait a moment,” he said. “How did the gates know to let him in?”

The elderly Elvis ambled up the path (huge slabs of emerald and ruby cut from asteroid material) and toward the doors (trefoil wood from Canther, carved with reliefs of Elvis Healing the Deaf), which likewise parted without a challenge.

“He’s got to have some kind of identification that takes him through security,” Conchita said.

“If we can get one, we can enter anywhere.”

“Especially if we look like Elvis.”

“Let’s steal one.”

“Right, boss.”

As they reached this decision, the elderly Elvis became visible again, rising to the top of one of the Pavilion’s towers (sheathed in green jade and carved with dragons) in one of the Pavilion’s exterior glass elevators (in the boxy form of an antique microphone). Maijstral and Conchita flew to the top of the tower (carved in the shape of a giant lotus), where they watched through window glass, (inscribed with an image of Elvis Negotiating a Peace with the Aborigine Geronimo) as the Elvis yawned, removed his vestments, and headed for the shower. Maijstral swiftly neutralized the tower room’s various alarms—easily spotted because they were in the shape of grimacing demon masks—opened a window, and flew in to pass his detectors over the Elvis’s discarded clothing. A diamond-studded pin in the shape of an ancient Cadillac ground vehicle responded with a complicated energy pattern, and Maijstral removed it.

“Are you certain that’s it?” Conchita asked, as he closed the window behind him.

“No. We’d better test it.”

He flew down to one of the Pavilion’s doors and dropped the pin onto the stoop. No alarms rang. The doors silently opened. Maijstral dropped to retrieve the pin and then made a careful, zigzag flight back to the Jungle Meditation Room.

“I want you to analyze this pin and duplicate it,” he instructed as he pulled on his clerical vestments over his darksuit. “If that Elvis has the seniority I suspect he does, it should get us in anywhere.”

“We’d have to move fast, boss,” Conchita said. “Once the Elvii find out this pin is missing, they’ll reprogram their computers to call security instead of open doors.”

“I suspect the old fellow just got off duty and is heading for bed. So we’ll have some hours, anyway.”

“I hope he’s due for a long rest.” She took the pin, looked at it for a moment, and then put it in a pocket. “Well,” she said, “I’ll fly out of here.”

“Thank you, Conchita. You’ve done very well.”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “I usually create a catastrophe by this point, but I haven’t embarrassed myself yet, have I?”

“No, you haven’t.”

“I’ll try to keep it up, then.”

She turned on her camouflage and flew toward the doors, which opened at her touch. She gave a yelp, and then the doors closed and Conchita reappeared.

“Guards, boss! Hundreds of them!”

Maijstral’s heart crashed in his chest as he hastened to the doors. He opened them a crack and peered out. Uniformed guards were, in fact, pouring into the open square outside. But they were forming ranks and facing to Maijstral’s right, not assuming assault positions, and they were dressed in fatigue uniforms, not armed and armored for battle. He’ closed the doors and turned to Conchita.

“It looks like a morning formation,” he said. “They’ll probably disperse after receiving their instructions.”

Relief flooded Conchita’s face. “For a minute I thought I’d done something horribly wrong again.”

“Wait until they disperse before you leave. All it takes is for one of them to look in your direction as you fly out, and the jig’s up.”

“Right, boss.”

He sat oh the meditation couch and looked at the tea that Conchita had brought earlier. “Is there real tea in here?”

“Sure. Shall I tell the pot to warm it up again?”

“By all means.”

Conchita sat next to Maijstral on the couch and gave the pot its instructions. Maijstral stretched and yawned.

“I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve slept.”

“You look tense, boss. Why don’t I give you a massage? It’ll perk you up.”

“That would be nice. Thank you.” Maijstral offered her his back. Conchita’s small hands proved surprisingly strong and effective in finding the knots in Maijstral’s muscles and dispersing them. He straightened, his back tingling with pleasure.

“Thank you,” he said. “That was very considerate.”

He glanced up, saw her looking at him.

“Oh,” he said. After a moment’s thought, he put his arms around her.

“It’s about time you noticed,” Conchita said. “I haven’t been hanging around in your air ducts just for the fun of it.”

“Sorry,” Maijstral said. “But I’ve been distracted.”

“I’ll forgive you,” she said, “if you’ll kiss me right this second.”

“Very well,” Maijstral said, and did so.

In the matter of being Captain of his fate, he thought, perhaps he could just leave the tiller unattended for a while.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Let us review your sins, Dornier.

Excuse me?

Your
sins
, Dornier, your
sins!

Oh for gracious sake. Why do you keep repeating yourself?

Because you don’t seem to comprehend your position!

Oh, I understand it perfectly well I’m in this, ummm, Hell place, and I’m supposed to, to . . . oh, what is that word again?

Atone, Dornier! Atone!

Oh yes. That’s it.

I call to your attention the League for Imperial Youth.

Ah yes. We had the most jolly meetings.

An attempt to corrupt the children of the Constellation with alien ideas!

Oh, what rot. You talk the most amazing brand of stuff, do you know? Stuff and . . . what’s the other word?

I’m here to force you to confront your past! To admit that you conspired against the Constellation by corrupting its children.

We had sing-alongs at our meetings. And nice little cakes that Miss Ginko sent up from the bakery.

You conspired, Dornier! Conspired!

Lovely little cakes with strawberries on them. And those creamy sort of buns that have that, you know, filling. And then the kind with the little nuts on them. I wish I could have a taste of them now. . . .

Confess your crimes, Dornier!

. . . What are those nuts called again?

Never mind the nuts, Dornier! You must confront the reality of your crimes and confess!

I can almost taste those buns . . . You wouldn’t have one or two in the pantry, would you?

No! You’re dead and in Hell! There’ll be no more buns for you!

No buns? What a pity. Perhaps a little biscuit with jam, then?

You’re dead! You’re dead! You can’t have a biscuit!

Oh that’s right. Sorry.

Now, Dornier. We’ll begin again. And pay attention this time.

If you just keep repeating yourself, my dear fellow, I don’t see why I should.

I’m not your dear fellow!

Well, yes. That’s obvious enough, I should think. But there’s no reason not to be polite, even in Hell.

*

“The guards are dispersing. You’ll be able to leave in another moment.”

“Fingo all right, boss.”

“I’ll call Roman and have him bring me out in the flier. It looks as if he and I will have a busy morning. But I want you to get started on breaking the code of the Elvii right away.”

“It’ll be a piece of cake.”

Beat.

“Conchita?”

“Yes?”

“You wouldn’t mind answering a question, would you?”

“Only too, boss.”

You’re not planning on marrying me, are you?”

“Why? Are you about to pop the question?”

“Frankly, no.”

“Well, that’s only sensible. You should get to know me first. Besides, I think I’m a little young for all that.”

A smile. “Ah. Thank you.”

“No prob, boss.”

Maijstral smiled. “No, as you say, prob.”

*

Darkness loomed. It was a darkness that yearned to be broken by a flash of lightning, or perhaps by a stabbing organ chord, but instead it was broken by a voice.

Not, one must admit, a
nice
voice either.

“Drexler, you may as well admit you’re awake. The neuromonitors make that clear enough.”

Drexler’s eyes, which had been determinedly shut, now shifted to determinedly open. “I want a doctor,” he said. “I’ve been injured.”

“What makes you think I’m
not
a doctor? You find yourself on a standard surgical table, with all the appropriate restraining straps, blood gutters, and so forth. You will observe I am wearing a doctor’s apron—a bit spattered, unfortunately, from the last operation, but it’s still perfectly functional.”

“If you’re a doctor, why are you wearing a mask and electronically altering your voice?”

“Because if you refuse to cooperate with me, I may be compelled to commence a surgical procedure that the Medical Association might not sanction. You will observe that I have my instruments sharpened and ready.”

Drexler’s body gave a leap within its restraints. “
Aagh!
What
are
those?”

“Custom instruments. My instruments. Nice instruments.”

Drexler stared. “
Nice?
”

“This is my favorite—you will observe that it is a pair of scissors designed to cut
outward
, not in toward the center. And this instrument, originally designed for pulling teeth, but which has been found perfectly suitable for extracting, well, just about
anything
.”

“
Let me up! Let me up!
”

The masked figure put out a calming hand. “Not until you’ve had your
operation
, Mr. Drexler.”

“
What operation? I don’t need an operation!
”

“It’s best to let doctor decide, don’t you think? I believe we need to extract something. Either information, or
something else
.”

“What do you want to know? I'll tell you!”

“Why are you conspiring with Alice Manderley against your employer?”

“Because I was
paid
, of course! It more than made up for the money that Maijstral cost me!”

“Cost you? How did Maijstral cost you money?”

“On Silverside, I was working for Geoff Fu George. Chalice and I had a bet against Gregor and Roman about whether Fu George or Maijstral would steal the Shard first. I bet all I had, all my savings, and I lost. I wanted to start my own career as a burglar whenever Fu George retired;, and I couldn’t.
Now let me up!
”

“I don’t believe your operation is quite over yet.”

“
Put that thing down!
”

“Doctor knows best, Mr. Drexler.”

“
Just put it down! I’ll tell you what you want to know!
”

“Very well. Who was it that contacted you?”

“A human named Commander Hood. He’s a free-lance leg-breaker, works the circuit.”

“When did he first contact you?”

“About three months ago, just after I’d started working for Maijstral. On Kobayashi.”

“Who did he say he was working for?”

“He didn’t.”

“I’m not certain I believe you, Mr. Drexler. . . .”

“
Put that down!
”

“But if you won’t let me extract the
truth
, I’ll have to extract . . .”

“
I’m telling the truth! Put it down!
”

“I think I’ll just leave the instrument right here where you can see it. Now what exactly did this Commander Hood tell you to do?”

*

“Drake! Welcome back.”

“Thank you.” Sniffing Roberta’s wrist. “I hope your Aunt Batty is well?”

“Oh, she’s fine, thank you. Just tired. The hospital will be releasing her later this morning.”

“Splendid. Any news?”

“Well, that short person—the one with the hair—flew in about an hour ago, demanded a room, and has been at work ever since.”

“Very good.”

“And I just finished watching Tvar’s interrogation of Drexler on a video link.”

“And . . .?”

“Drake, it was most uncanny thing I’ve ever seen. She put on Savage Simon’s apron and became
another person
. She was terrifying.”

“She got results, I take it?”

Roberta shuddered. “Yes, but . . . you know, I think she’s been around all these macabre objects far too long. They’ve gone to her head.”

“I recall her remarking to the effect that when Khosali go bad, they go really bad. I’ll have to take care never to get on her wrong side. What did Drexler say?”

“He says he was hired by someone named Commander Hood.”

“Hood? I’ve met him—he got into a scandal years ago and was thrown out of the navy. Since then he’s been making a living as a thug for hire. No style at all—couldn’t ever get into a sanctioned form of larceny.”

“Drexler claims he doesn’t know who Hood was working for.”

“Fortunately we do, so that doesn’t matter.”

“Drexler admits that it was he who put Joseph Bob’s pistol in the air duct, but otherwise he just transmitted intelligence to the other side, telling them where you were going to be, and what defenses you’d installed. He gave us the number he’d called to report, and it
is
registered to a Mr. Hood.”

“Does Drexler know where they took my father?”

“He said not. I am inclined to believe he was telling the truth.”

“Well.” Maijstral’s heavy-lidded eyes closed to slits. “I have a pair of tasks remaining for Drexler—perhaps I had better ask Tvar to keep wearing Savage Simon’s apron so that he will perform them willingly.”

“What do you have in mind for him?”

“First, I want him to call Commander Hood and tell him that I’ve decided to flee to Tasmania and go into hiding.”

“To allay their suspicions.”

“Exactly.”

“And the other is to transfer his—sixty novae?”

“Sixty. Yes.”

“Transfer it into my account. There’s no reason why he should be allowed to profit from all this. And anything else in his account should go as well.”

“I commend your sense of justice.”