by Stephen Hunt
To give Laur his due, the lawman never flinched, trembled or begged. He spat coughing blood at Jack Skull’s killers while he still had lips to curse; swore at them for cowards and milksops. Laur’s profanities only stopped when his enemies made him more meat than man. But his silence still wasn’t enough for the revolutionaries; they continued their punishment far longer than their foe’s life. There wasn’t enough of Laur to avenge every insult, death, and incarceration he’d inflicted during his time in office.
‘It’s time!’ cried Daylen, Jack Skull well satisfied with his day’s dark work. ‘For the cathedral, my brave skulls. For the cathedral and equality!’
He took a final swig from the wine bottle before casting it aside. His men turned their backs from the Commander General, nothing left that resembled the Four’s chief enforcer.
Then, something unexpected. A team of rebels appeared dragging a cart filled with Watch uniforms. They had their choice, no doubt, from abandoned uniforms flung about Frente’s alleys and the citadel’s corridors as regime enforcers deserted. Like excited children playing dress-up, exuberant rebels pulled on the enforcers’ jackets and then streamed away, venting wild screams and revolutionary slogans, shooting shotguns into the air. Laughing as they blasted holes in the towering vegetation sheltering their capital. Lightning and thunder echoed their madness from above. In normal days, such folk would be off scurrying for storm shelters. But these Hexatorians were drunk on wine, freedom, and blood. Even a near boiling rain couldn’t wash this scum off the streets.
‘Meet the new boss, same as the old boss,’ I sighed.
In fact, all things considered, I rather preferred Laur, for all the brute’s threats towards me. There had been an honesty to his corruption. A lack of hypocrisy: one hand outstretched for gold while the other menaced with the nailed club. This new regime would slaughter in merry abandon with far more cant and pious platitudes about liberty, freedom and the necessary sacrifices mankind must endure reaching utopia.
Still. Something about Daylen’s quick-change act nagged deeply at me. ‘Simenon,’ I said, ‘quickly across and fetch me that wine bottle Master Skull found much to his taste.’
Simenon stared at me from under the shelter of a building’s lean-to as though he was going to throw up. ‘How can you be thirsty after watching that, Master Roxley?’
‘Sadly, it’s not the first time I’ve witnessed such barbarities,’ I said. ‘And Laur’s death is not the loss of a patron, at least, not for me.’
Simenon gasped in guilty bewilderment.
‘I knew the moment you begged to leave Hexator with us, laddie. Of course, Laur’s thugs ambushed you on the streets while you were running errands for me. Made it crystal clear that you would inform on us or be introduced to the Watch’s rack as soon as I departed Hexator. The dog Laur would’ve been dragging Sweet William inside his pen for a daily beating and calling it a debriefing without you in our ranks for his snitch. You don’t need to worry about the sorry brute’s vengeance, now. Neither do I.’
Simenon collapsed to his knees in front of myself and Mozart. ‘I’m sorry, Master Roxley, I had no choice! No choice!’
‘Quite. Which is why I told you nothing that I didn’t want Laur to discover; a few things besides to send that bully stumbling down blind alleys.’
‘Forgive me!’ trembled our guide. ‘You saved my life inside the dark of the forest and the mines. You took me into your house. What have I done for you? This! I am less than a wretch!’
‘No, you are only human.’ I lifted the boy up from his knees. ‘Which is why we created our gods to make us more.’
‘I’m not dismissed? Not to be—?’ Simenon quailed, glancing at Moz as though I was about to order justice-by-steel.
‘I don’t believe I’m likely to find a new guide of any quality during a revolution as grisly as this, do you, lad? Retrieve that bottle for me, Master Simenon. You are docked three week’s pay. Snap to it.’
I took the DNA analyser from my case and assembled it as the confused lad scrambled over the field of corpses. I ignored Mozart’s tutting behind me.
‘You’re getting soft, doc.’
‘No, Moz, but I’ve grown far too old for this abhorrent business,’ I admitted.
Time to measure just how big a fool Sweet William has been. I trembled, unwilling to acknowledge what fresh horrors I would find that I hadn’t already witnessed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Marriage gifts.
We reached the old cathedral of the goddess to find a variety of sentries protecting its steps. Warriors from the Seltin and Blez guard, hundreds of rebels and a scattering of Watch officers. So, this is what peace talks look like on Hexator?
‘Run back to the tavern,’ I commanded Simenon.
‘But, Master Roxley …’
‘Do as I bid,’ I told the lad, seriously. ‘Things will be balanced on a knife-edge inside the Four’s council chamber.’
‘All the more reason for me to head inside with you,’ protested Simenon.
I shook my head. ‘No. Games are at play here that you do not understand. Games fit for a fool with only a few miles left on the clock as well as Mozart’s hard-steel head.’
‘Is this because of what I did for Laur?’
‘Yes, yes, if you will,’ I lied. ‘Now, back to Mistress Miggs with you. Make sure her kitchen has a supper waiting worthy of a humble trader who would save this damnable moon from its own stupidity.’
Moz and I watched the boy sulk reluctantly away. ‘He’s game for it, you got to give him that,’ said Mozart.
‘Game for it, but not match fit.’
‘And you think I bleeding am?’
I shrugged and started walking towards the entrance. ‘Well, we’re certainly both stupid enough to go inside.’
‘Nah, you’re the stupid one, doc. I’m just up for a bit of aggro.’
Luckily, warriors from our caravan to Grodar recognised me as Alice’s man about town and waved us through. If they knew what Mozart and I had come to do here, they wouldn’t have been so eager.
The central temple inside wasn’t much different from my last visit, although not much improved by the lack of food or the addition of the dictionary definition of a rebel rabble on one side of the chamber, the families’ household warriors lounging on the other. The majority of warriors wore House Blez colours. In the middle, a small round table set up around the well where Inuno’s tree should be. I noted Lady Blez and Lord Seltin for the gangster elite, with Captain Jenelle Cairo for the Watch.
Jack Skull, aka Master Daylen, had made better time, arriving at the peace talks hours earlier than us. But then, Daylen hadn’t needed to battle his way through streets of rapists, rebels, rabble and other assorted ne’er-do-wells out to do a rogue’s business with the near abdication of what passed for authority on Hexator.
Falt Seltin pointed at me and my medical bag. ‘Nobody here is sick, doctor. You haven’t been invited to attend the Four’s peace talks.’
Falt was incorrect; there was at least one person here who was as ill as it was possible to be. I placed my bag on the floor and addressed the warlord. ‘I understand, my lord, but I have a hard duty to undertake. You need to know that it was Lady Blez who murdered her husband.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ barked Lady Blez. Her robot brute, Link, swayed behind Alice’s throne-like seat. The hound was eager to be off the leash.
‘So, have you only come here to speak ill of my wife?’ shouted Lord Seltin. He leaped to his feet, abandoning the conference table to confront me. Many of the others attending the peace talks did likewise.
‘Your wife?’ Oh, the old fool. No. No. No.
Lord Seltin indicated the exit. ‘Did you not see the registrar leaving on your way in? Myself and Lady Blez are married at last to seal the peace and stabilise this mess. You dare intrude here and speak of foul mariticide … where’s your evidence, man?’
‘Evidence? Are you acquainted with Jack Skull’s family
tree, my Lord Seltin?’ I asked.
Falt looked at me dismissively. ‘A ghost’s mask, a nom-de-plume sent to plague the betters and quality across a hundred worlds.’
‘Oh, I don’t mean the legend,’ I said. ‘I mean the pedigree of the actual person occupying the mask. Master Daylen Wang, here. In this case, your son. Yours and Lady Blez’s. Although she would have been simple Alice Maglade when she gave birth to him, long before you caught the fever which made you sterile!’
Lord Seltin looked at the rebel commander’s face, lines made familiar at last. Falt gasped as the truth dawned on him. ‘It can’t be!’
‘Because your parents ordered the product of your union with Alice to be drowned in the canals, like all good bastards. Nothing to upset your family’s lines of inheritance. No Wrongman to muddy the waters. And Alice hated you enough for it to fall in with the Blez family and marry your old friend Uance.’
‘No!’
‘Don’t look so confused, father,’ laughed the rebel leader. ‘Mother bribed your servants to pass me to families in receipt of her charity. There’re so many drowned babies in the canals, anyway, how could your house possibly hope to keep count?’
‘Daylen acts for me outside the palace,’ admitted Lady Blez. ‘Leads the revolts I can’t. Carries out the good works I’m unable to on the streets. My clever darling boy.’
‘It’s a miracle,’ laughed Falt Seltin. ‘The best marriage present a man could hope for! I have a son. After all these years I have an heir!’
‘You do,’ said Daylen, stepping into his father’s embrace. ‘A son.’
‘My great work can continue! A kallihuman shall be born on Hexator!’
‘You will never see it!’ screamed Daylen.
Falt swayed a step backward, eyes fixed in shock at the crimson stain spreading across his silk marriage shirt.
‘A son! Not a piece of human garbage floating down the canal. Abandoned and unwanted.’ Daylen lifted his dagger into the air. ‘Without blood, there is no revolution!’ Daylen shoved the blade back into his father’s chest, striking again and again until Falt Seltin finally fell to his knees. Then Daylen stepped behind and sliced open the nobleman’s throat, kicking the body to the floor. Lord Seltin gurgled there for the longest time before his trembling ceased. ‘That’s my marriage present to you, father. Be glad you won’t be around to see me set your precious vault of noble bloodlines ablaze.’
A rowdy cheer rose from the rebels in the chamber. Alice knelt and inspected the corpse, before nodding sadly and standing back up again. ‘Well finished, Daylen, my darling Commander General.’
‘This is getting right naughty,’ whispered Mozart, eying the rebels and House Blez warriors shifting nervously around the hall.
My friend wasn’t wrong.
Lady Blez addressed her warriors and the rebels. ‘This is how we bring peace to Hexator! Jack Skull and the Blez united in looking after everyone on our moon, irrespective of rank or station. Forget what divided you before, what set you apart; now we have a shared future and we shall prosper together.’
I almost believed Alice, but not quite. It seemed the Watch shared a few reservations, too.
‘You promised me the Commander Generalship!’ protested Jenelle Cairo.
‘Don’t test my patience,’ Lady Blez snarled. ‘Acting as my son’s second is as good a settlement as your support is worth. Or maybe you would prefer the magistrate’s bench? The Watch won’t figure large in the politics of our new Hexator.’
What, then, I wondered, did Alice have in mind for her reconfigured state of affairs? Poor Falt Seltin. Alice hadn’t been marrying him; she had been marrying his house. We were a pair of old fools, together. ‘You really called your child Daylen? After the colony’s founder?’ I thought that had just been a vain pseudonym.
‘Names have power, William. Which is what my eldest son will hold.’
I wouldn’t wish to be occupying the boots of her youngest pup. Unlucky Rendor Blez. Uance Blez’s heir will be well advised to advertise for a master food taster in the immediate future.
Daylen fixed me with a paranoid stare. ‘How did you discover my origins, you filthy foreign moneyass?’
‘You left a DNA trace while swigging a looted wine bottle after your war dance outside the citadel. Now, I know that doesn’t factor much in the regular state of affairs on Hexator, but the rest of the universe hasn’t regressed quite as far as this place. When I discovered who your mother and father were, much became clear about what’s really been happening on Hexator.’
Daylen made to stab me, too, but Lady Blez stayed his hand. ‘No need, my sweet. We have everything we need. While you, William, all you possess is circumstantial evidence. I command the Blez. I am Lady Widow of the Seltin family. The minor Derechors are fighting each other for control of their shattered house. Lady Martina Trabb is under the protection of the Watch and will be married off to little Rendor, the silly boy finally useful at last. Three families, united. A quorum among the Four. Enough to do anything.’
‘For the people,’ added Daylen.
‘Of course, for the people, my darling. Power only has meaning when used to help those born without any.’
‘Jenelle,’ I spoke up. ‘Captain Cairo.’ I indicated Falt Seltin’s crumpled bleeding corpse. ‘Breaking a parlay with blood is one of the darkest crimes. A little arresting by the Watch seems in order…’
Jenelle Cairo shook her head. ‘Lady Blez granted a full pardon to the rebels for crimes committed during the revolt. Lord Seltin signed that pardon, too. Its release for killing in casu during the rebellion expires at nine tomorrow.’
Regrettably, it seemed the revolt hadn’t failed as trumpeted. What is that old saying about signing your own death warrant? Falt should have read the small print.
I saw it all, now. Jenelle Cairo setting the charges that blew the mine with the Derechor twins inside. Killing the two entitled nobles she blamed for her clan’s death. Arranging the meeting with the twins inside the tunnels in the first place. Her contacts paying the poacher for poison in the initial attempt on Uance Blez’s life. Slitting the poacher’s throat and covering him in vioba scent. Did it even matter whether it was Jenelle or Lady Blez who’d paid the Ferals to attack the house’s own caravan and murder me? I had never been inside the captain’s investigation; she had been inside mine.
I sighed. ‘So, General Commander Laur was correct after all, the corrupt brute. The rebels did assassinate Lord Blez – everything from the sniper rifles and advance notice of his lordship’s movements passed to them by his loving wife.’
‘I have two sons to bear the title of Lord Blez. You and your baseless insulating accusations are no longer required here, Doctor Roxley. Your employment in my service is at an end. Consider yourself banished from our realm.’ Alice jabbed a finger towards the exit.
‘I was never licensed as a practicing doctor on Hexator, my lady. But I am still listed on the Watch’s rolls as a deputised sheriff. Regretfully, Alice Blez, I must place you and your eldest son under arrest as suspects for the murder of Uance Blez. Until such time as a full council can be called to sit in judgment on you, you shall both be confined to my vessel.’
‘Please don’t do this!’ begged Jenelle. ‘Just leave, William. This isn’t your home. Why should this be your fight?’
I shook my head. ‘The badge stands for something, Jenelle. As should the law.’
‘Listen to her,’ said Alice, as near to pleading as I suspected I would ever hear from my proud lady. ‘Listen to her, please, and quit my world.’
My eyes were damp with tears, my voice close to snapping. ‘That, that I cannot do.’
‘You’re just another insane fanatic from the Humanitum after all,’ growled Alice. I had finally broken her patience as she had broken my heart. ‘I am the Four, now. Your holy war will be a short one, foolish man.’
‘I see no holy war here. A war can never be holy: only peace is holy.’
Alice’s eyes narrow
ed. A flash of that beautiful fire again. How it seared me this time. ‘Let me bring you eternal peace, then.’
Her hulking robot, Link, stomped forward. Behind the brute, the warriors of Alice’s house guard activated their shields and drew pistols, a rasp of metal as steel was drawn. Daylen’s motley rebels flourished daggers, sharpened agricultural tools, and the occasional looted Watch shotgun. Lions and donkeys. But even a donkey can kick a man to death.
Mozart stepped forward, protecting my left flank.
‘I take it you’re not coming quietly, Lady Blez?’
‘No need for physical contretemps, sir,’ said Link, ‘NOT AFTER I CRACK YOUR FILTHY SKULL OPEN LIKE AN EGG!’
‘About time, eh?’ Mozart grunted at his rival. ‘Let’s be having some, big lad.’
Both machines powered towards each other, twin locomotives colliding as the Blez house guards raised pistols towards me, the rebels charging forward as a wild mob, screaming abuse with assorted blades swinging.
‘Epeius Work,’ I whispered rolling to the side, clothes stiffening as fabric reacted to my trigger word and reset for Maximum Combat Force. Buckler-sized energy shields fizzed into life as orange blurs above each of my wrists, ornamental buttons burning as brass transmuted into field projectors. My medical case ejected a palm-sized steel rod into the air for me to catch. It extended to full Bo staff-length; gravity-weighted composite, hex-edged, a tool of violence and beauty. My bucklers’ energy shields turned away the warriors’ poorly aimed initial volley.
A lucky shot struck my leg – like being kicked by Moz – but trouser fabric absorbed most of its kinetic energy and fed it into the shield circuit. Four-feet, warned my m-brain. Yes, four-feet or closer was the effective range for a .45 caliber sidearm to penetrate a stealth suit in MCF mode. Why did my augment think my Bo staff’s length measured five feet-high? Blind luck?
