by Peter David
“You may count on me, Londo.”
“You know, Timov … these days, I believe I am finding that to be the case more and more. Well!” And he clapped his hands and rubbed them together briskly. “I have a few more stops to make during my early evening circle of good cheer. I will see you in … shall we say … an hour?”
“Sounds great!” Vir said cheerfully. It was the first time in ages that he was actually looking forward to spending time with Londo.
“Excellent! Excellent!” Londo then draped his hands behind his back and walked out of the room.
“My! He certainly is … boisterous,” Vir observed.
“That was how he used to be all the time, when we were first married,”Timov said. `And you know, the thing that I consider most upsetting, is that in those days, his outspokenness and boisterousness were remarkably annoying to me. More … they were an embarrassment. But now I look upon it, and it’s taken me this long to realize … that he can be a rather charming individual.”
“I’ve always thought so,” Vir said diplomatically. Indeed, the apparent change in Londo’s attitude was enough to lend a certain amount of hope to Vir’s expectations for his stay on Centauri Prime. Nevertheless, the words of Kane stayed with him, and he had brought along several rather potent bottles of wine just for the occasion.
When he joined Londo that evening, Timov was already there, and after a brief pause, while his thoughts appeared to be elsewhere, Londo seemed delighted when Vir produced his alcoholic donation. Before long he was completely involved with the evening’s private festivities.
What impressed Vir the most was the easy camaraderie that had grown between Londo and Timov. He couldn’t get over it. When he had seen the two of them together on B5, there had been nothing but hostility between them. It was as if they were born unable to stand the sight of one another. But here there was laughter, merriment, an open appreciation of each other’s presence.
And as Londo had become more and more inebriated, his attitude seemed to go beyond that of a man who was becoming drunk. He seemed liberated, deliriously so. His laughter rang out so loudly that occasionally guards stuck their heads in to make certain that nothing was amiss.
“Vir, where have you been all this time!” Londo cried out, clapping Vir on the back and then sliding off a chair. “I had forgotten what it was like to have you as a drinking companion!”
“That’s probably because I don’t really drink very much,” Vir replied.
This just caused an even bigger reaction of hilarity from Londo, who poured himself another drink, decided that the glass was too time-consuming, and took a swig directly from the bottle. Timov hadn’t had nearly as much to drink as Londo, but she was quite nicely toasted herself. Vir was amazed to see that, in that condition, the woman was positively giggly, more like a teenage girl than the stern and severe woman she normally tended to be.
“To Centauri Prime!” Londo called out, raising the glass, which was still full. He took another swig from the bottle, then threw the glass. It shattered against the wall, spreading thick purple liquid across it. Londo stared, bleary-eyed and said, “I suppose that should have been empty, yes?”
“It should have been empty, yes!” Timov said, laughing. She hauled herself to her feet. “Londo … I’m going to call it a night.”
Londo looked out at the dark sky. “That certainly would have been my guess,” he agreed.
“Good night, my dear,” she said, and then she kissed him. It was quite an overt gesture for Timov, and Londo was clearly surprised by it. Their lips parted, and then she touched Londo’s cheek and said softly, “Perhaps I will see you later.” With that, she walked out.
“What do you think she meant by that, eh?” asked Londo, taking another swig of liquor.
“I … think maybe she meant that she would see you later.”
“You know, I think she did.” Londo looked wistfully in the direction that she had departed.
It was at that point that Vir took a deep breath, and then he said, “So … tell me about Shiv’kala.”
At first, Londo said nothing at all. It was as if his alcohol-saturated brain needed extra time to process the comment. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze on Vir. His eyes were so hazed over that it was impossible for Vir to get a feeling for what was going on behind them. “What … did you say?” he asked.
“I said … tell me about Shiv’kala.”
Londo waggled a finger and Vir drew closer. With a sodden grin on his face, Londo said, “I would not … say that name again … if I were you…”
“But … is there a reason you can’t tell me about Shiv’kala?”
That was all Vir remembered.
In his cell, Vir realized that that was the point when Londo had whipped the bottle of wine around and knocked Vir cold. That was where the dull ache at the base of his skull had come from. Knowing it, however, didn’t make the knowledge any better, nor did it improve on his situation.
“Help!” he called experimentally, but no one responded. He shouted once more for aid, but it was no more forthcoming the second time than it had been the first.
The evening had gone terribly, terribly wrong … to put it mildly.
Londo had never in his life sobered up so quickly, so completely . The moment that name had escaped Vir’s lips, every bit of inebriation had dissolved.
Part of it was that the keeper, which was enjoying the same blissful alcoholic haze as its charge, had been snapped to full attentiveness when the Drakh’s name was mentioned. Part of it was Londo’s immediate realization that something had to be done, and done instantly. Unfortunately, he had no idea what that something might be, and so he had reverted to the simplest and most straightforward means of handling a problem , especially when it involved hearing something that one did not want to hear. He silenced the source.
In this instance, silencing the source entailed nothing more involved than knocking him cold. That he had managed with no effort.
He stood over Vir’s prostrate form, and naturally, as he had already suspected would occur, Shiv’kala emerged from his state of perpetual hiding. Never had the Drakh seemed more grave than he was at that moment. “This one must die,” Shiv’kala said.
“No,” Londo said.
“Pleading will not help.”
“That was not a plea. That was a statement.”
Shiv’kala looked at him with pure danger in his face. “Do not defy me.”
Without a word, Londo crossed the room to a sword hanging on the wall-ornamental but nonetheless lethal. He pulled it from its sheath and turned to face the Drakh. He held the sword firmly in his right hand. His intent for its use was clear.
“I defy you,” said Londo. “I will kill you if I have to.”
“You are insane,” the Drakh told him. “You know what I can do to you. The pain … “
“Yes. The pain. But you siphon it through the keeper, and the keeper is not functioning … up to its best levels at the moment. Nor am I. But a drunk lunatic with a sword can still do a great deal of damage.”
To demonstrate, he took two lurching, staggering steps toward the Drakh. He was having trouble standing, and his hand-eye coordination was almost nonexistent. But that didn’t make the blade any less deadly as it whipped through the air.
“Now then,” Londo said. “You can try to stop me … with the pain … but the question is … will I still be able to cut you in half … before you stop me completely?”
“If you kill me,” Shiv’kala said quietly, “I will simply be replaced by another of the Drakh Entire. And my replacement will not be nearly so generous as I have been.”
“Perhaps. But you will still be dead. Unless, of course, your own life means nothing to you, in which case your death will be … besides the point.” He took another several steps, slicing the sword back and forth like a scythe whacking through wheat.
It was clear that he was not bluffing.
Shiv’kala did not back down, did not panic, did
not even come close to doing so. Instead he said coolly, “Very well. Simply have him locked up for now. We shall settle his situation later. I give you my word that I will not call for his death … if you do not attempt mine.”
Londo considered this, as well as his alcoholic haze would allow him. Then he tossed the sword aside, lurched to the door, and summoned the guards. They saw the emperor’s condition, saw the unmoving Vir upon the floor. What they did not see was the Drakh who, to Londo’s utter lack of surprise , had vanished.
“Lock him up,” Londo said.
“On what charge is he being arrested, Majesty?” asked one of the guards.
Londo stared at him through bleary eyes. “For asking too many questions. Pray that you don’t wind up his cell mate.” Then he staggered out into the hallway, his thoughts racing.
He had been deluding himself into thinking things could go back to the way they had been. That he might actually be able to find happiness and camaraderie with loved ones. He had been fooling himself. By having people close to him, he was simply putting them in danger from the Drakh. At least Senna had a sort of dispensation, her presence in the palace was a trade-off for having to endure Durla as minister. Say what one would about the Drakh: At least they had kept their word when a bargain was made.
But Vir … poor, stupid Vir, deluded Vir, Vir who had somehow stumbled across the name of Shiv’kala and, in uttering it, had drawn a huge target on his back. What was going to happen to him now? Londo had to get him out of the horrific situation that he had hurled himself blindly into.
Friends, lovers. They were liabilities to him, he understood that now. Luxuries he simply could not afford. For as long as they were around, he would continue to fool himself into thinking that he could have something vaguely approaching a normal life.
He entered his quarters and stopped dead.
Timov was in his bed.
Draped across the top of the bed, she was dressed in an alluring nightgown, with an inviting smile playing across her face. Not even on their honeymoon, the requisite consummation of their arranged marriage, had she looked so happy to see him.
“Hello, Londo,” she said. “I thought you’d never get here.”
“You can’t be serious,” he told her.
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I know you’ve been drinking a bit, and won’t necessarily be at your best…”
“But … now? Now? After all these years? Certainly you can’t be-“
“Londo,” she said with a gentleness of which he would have thought her incapable. ” `All these years’ is exactly the problem. So many possibilities have been sacrificed to vituperation , and to the two of us working out anger over our being forced together by our families. It’s taken a lot for me to realize that it needn’t be that way. What I need to find out is if you’ve come to that realization, too.”
He had. He wanted to take her in his arms, to love her, to make up for all that wasted time. But even as he wanted it, he knew that it was impossible. Those who were close to Londo, those whom he loved, had a nasty habit of dying. The further that Timov was from him, the better, for her sake.
And besides, he had the monstrosity sitting on his shoulder. What if, in the act of love, she managed to detect it? At the very least, thanks to the keeper’s presence, there would be no privacy. Everything that he and she felt and shared would become part of the awareness of the Drakh Entire. The notion was ghastly, horrific. Something as personal, as private and intimate as that, belonging to the gestalt mind of those creatures? It would be as if she were being raped without even knowing it. And he, Londo, would be the instrument through which it had occurred.
He cleared his throat and tried to give his best impression of someone seized with anticipation of an event that was eagerly awaited and long in coming. Timov actually-Great Maker help him-giggled in a faintly girlish manner. “Why, Londo. You seem positively nervous. I haven’t seen you this nervous since our wedding night.”
“I was not nervous on our wedding night,” he said archly, stalling for time as his mind raced.
“Oh, of course not. That’s why you were trembling the entire night.”
“You left the windows open and there was a stiff draft.”
“And is anything … stiff … this evening?” she asked.
Londo gulped. He hardly recognized the woman. She had never been an enthusiastic bedmate, even in the earliest days, and he had just written that off to a fundamental lack of interest on her part. He was beginning to perceive, however, that it wasn’t lack of interest in the act, so much as it was in him.
For just a moment, he considered it. Then he felt the keeper stirring on his shoulder, as if its own interest was piqued, and immediately he dismissed the idea from his mind. However, dismissing Timov was not quite as easy.
And it had to be done with finality. There was no choice; he simply could not risk a recurrence of this night, ever.
He tugged uncomfortably at his shirt and said, “If you wouldn’t mind … I could use a few minutes to slip into something…”
“Less confining?”
“Exactly, yes.” He nodded. He backed out of the room, never taking his eyes off her. He allowed his breath to steady, his pulse to slow so that his heart wasn’t hammering against his chest.
And then he summoned Durla. Quickly, straightforwardly, he outlined for Durla exactly what he wanted done. The minister ‘s eyes widened as Londo explained it. Of course, this was something that was solidly within Durla’s comfort zone; indeed, he would probably enjoy it, for Londo knew all too well that there was no love lost between Durla and Timov. The unjustness of it rankled at Londo; of the three of them this night, the only one who would actually have a pleasant evening was Durla, who was certainly the least entitled. Truly, the Great Maker had a perverse sense of humor some nights.
Timov was beginning to wonder if Londo would ever return . It was one of those situations where one starts to ponder how long one would stay before realizing that the person being waited for was not going to show up.
Then there was a sound at the door, and she looked up. Londo was standing there, smiling at her, dressed indeed in far more loose-fitting attire. He looked younger, more handsome , more vital than she could recall seeing him. Or perhaps it wasn’t really him; perhaps it was her, or the way she was seeing him. It was as if years of resentment had been scraped away from her, like an encrustment from the hull of a ship.
She said nothing then. There didn’t seem to be any requirement for words. He came to her then, lay with her, and kissed her more passionately than she could ever recall. She was stunned at the vehemence of it. In her imaginings, it was as if he was kissing her in a way that was to make up for all of the sourness of the past …
… or …
… or to last him for the entirety of their future, as if this was it, the last time they would be together.
Immediately she brushed the notion aside as ridiculous, paranoid, a residue of the antipathy they had felt for one another all these years. This was their time, and nothing was going to spoil the mo-
The doors of the bedroom burst inward. Londo immediately sat up, his head snapping around, and Timov saw that there were several soldiers standing in the door. In between them was Durla.
“Unless you truly desire to see the city from the vantage point of your head upon a pike,” growled Londo, “you had best have some incredibly good explanation for your presence here.”
Durla took two steps forward and said in a firm, unyielding voice, “Highness … I regret to inform you that we have uncovered evidence indicating that the lady Timov was plotting against the crown.”
“That’s preposterous!” Timov said immediately. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do you think, milady, I would put forward this charge if I were not positive?” asked Durla, reeking with disdain. “I am more than aware of the gravity of the charge and the stakes involved . So rest assured that I would not say this unless I knew it for a fa
ct. She has allies, Highness. Allies who would like nothing better than to see you removed from office, your head upon that same pike that you alluded to just now. She is to search out your weaknesses, and when she has compiled them, she and her allies will strike.”
“Londo, throw him out!” Timov said, rage building. “Don’t listen to these calumnies! They … he …”
Londo was looking at her in a way that she couldn’t even begin to decipher. It seemed to be a mixture of anger and horror and infinite loss.
“I should have known,” he said quietly.
The immensity of the meaning implicit in those words stunned her at first. “You … you can’t actually be saying that you believe these mendacities! You-“
“Why else!” he demanded. “Why else would you embark on this seduction? What was it to be, eh? Poison, perhaps? Or a simple dagger between the ribs? Or did you just want me to lower my guard sufficiently so that I would tell you something you could use against me.”
“Londo!” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In absence of anything else, rage began to consume her. “You would actually think that of me? Of me?”
“Get out of here,” he whispered.
“Londo … ?"
“Get out of here!” he fairly exploded. “Take her away! Lock her up! Now!”
“Are you out of your mind!” she shrieked as she got to her feet, and then the guards were upon her, dragging her out.
Londo watched her being pulled away. He felt as if his hearts were being ripped out along with her. Her voice echoed up and down the hallway, her protests, her voicing of her hurt, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing he dared do. He was still shuddering inwardly at the vomitous feeling he’d had of the Drakh watching his final, amorous moments with her in a sort of clinical manner, as if he were not a man but a laboratory specimen being put through his paces.
