by Wren, M. K.
“How much will it cost to line me in on Vandyne?”
A low, sardonic laugh. “No tax on that, tooky.” And his arm shot out, his hand locked on Alex’s neck.
Alex twisted free, snapped the gun into his hand, vaguely aware of a sharp prick at the back of his neck, but he didn’t understand it until he felt himself falling.
The lights went out around him, the sounds blurred into a roaring wail that died in black silence.
2.
A burning smell, sweet and rich: tobacco. Music at low volume; minor key, a heavy, insistent rhythm. His eyes were open, but they refused to focus. He waited, gathering sensory impressions. Wherever he was, it wasn’t an SSB DC.
He lay cushioned in some beautifully buoyant material, his eyes registering fragments of color that gradually coalesced into a dome of glass or plasex, a glowing mosaic of stylized floral patterns. His gaze shifted slowly downward; slowly, because his head was pounding and even the movement of his eyes set them aching, too. He lost his focus, and when he recovered it, wondered if he were actually conscious or simply dreaming. Or hallucinating.
It was a small, circular room of profligate opulence, teeming with exuberant colors, textures, and patterns. The walls were lined with fine tapestries and brocaded draperies of silk velveen in an abundance of patterns and hues, at intervals drawn back in swashes to display art pieces in ornate niches. Fanciful sconces held lights refracted in crystal starbursts, and each piece of furniture was a masterpiece of whimsy and craftsmanship, cast metal or carved wood, filigreed with exotic floral designs and beasts mythical and real. The chairs and couches were upholstered in a potpourri of colors and patterns, piled with plump cushions; the floor was rich with Ganistan carpets whose cost Alex could guess, and it was unnerving to see them layered one on the other with such abandon.
The man who lounged in the huge, cushioned chair in the center of the room, his feet propped on a footstool supported by bronze mermaids, seemed so much a part of his milieu that Alex didn’t even see him at first. It was a leisurely puff of smoke sent out from a jeweled cigar holder that brought him into focus.
A rotund jinni of a man ballooning under brocaded and furred robes befitting an elder Lord, a jowled face marked with negroid characteristics: full lips, flared nostrils, black, heavy-lidded, somnolent eyes, curly gray hair carefully coifed. He returned Alex’s scrutiny with a bemused smile, the cigar holder balanced precisely in one pudgy, beringed hand, and at length Alex realized this wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
Alex was lying on a couch as richly figured as the rest of the furniture, his head cushioned with pillows in a manner indicating some consideration. He started to rise, then groaned at the pounding ache in his head.
“Ah. He wakes at last.” The man reached for an intercom on the table beside him. “Yuba, isn’t my son here yet?”
Alex couldn’t hear the reply. He concentrated on levering himself into a sitting position, then paused to recover, cradling his head in his hands.
“You must forgive us the headache, Commander, but you might have suffered more than an aching skull.”
Alex looked up, trying to make sense of the man as well as his words.
“Who should I thank for this lesser of evils?”
The jinni-man only grinned, displaying in a brief flash a set of gleaming solid gold teeth.
“All in good time. However, I’d advise you to move slowly for a while. Ah—” He turned as a segment of drapery slid back and with it the door behind. “Here comes one with your answers.”
Alex rose abruptly, staring at the man entering the room.
“Jael!”
But now he regretted the sudden movement as the pain in his head closed in. He swayed, grateful for the ready arms that eased him back onto the couch. When his vision cleared, Jael was bending over him solicitously. And his eyes hadn’t deceived him; it was Jael, the Outsider. He straightened and went behind the couch out of Alex’s line of sight. When he returned, he had a glass of water in one hand and an enameled pill vial in the other.”
“Here, take one of these, Commander. It’s only a mild analgesic.”
Alex downed a tablet, then leaned back. “Thank you.”
Jael nodded, turning to the man in the chair.
“How long has he been conscious?”
“A matter of minutes; no more.”
“Good. Commander, I’m sorry this was—”
“Holy God, Jael, will you stop calling me Commander?” He pressed his hands to his head. “It sounds so damned pompous.”
Jael laughed. “You lay the lines, brother. I don’t suppose you’ve had a proper intro with my old Ser yet.” He gestured toward the man ensconced in the chair. “Alex, meet my father, Amik.”
Alex shifted his gaze distractedly. Amik the Thief, master of the Brotherhood, the Lord of Thieves. It could only be that Amik.
The man puffed out a cloud of smoke, golden teeth glinting in a sly smile.
“Ah, yes, Commander, Amik the Thief.”
And Jael’s father. It seemed ironic somehow.
Finally, Alex laughed. “Yes, I’ve . . . heard of you. Well, now that we’re properly introduced, perhaps you’ll dispense with the ‘Commander,’ too, and perhaps one of you will tell me why or how I’m—wherever I am.”
Amik flicked the ash from his cigar into a platinade minisyntegrator on the table.
“You’re in my HQ, Alex, at my son’s behest. It seems he was concerned for your safety and found it necessary to look to me and the Brothers for reasons that aren’t entirely clear to me.” He gave Jael a sidelong glance. “And I assume will never be clarified.”
Jael ignored that blunted barb and said to Alex, “I’m short on time now; there’s an SI staff meeting up soon and I can’t slip it. I’ll have more info after that, anyway, but Vandyne got himself pinned. He’s dead.”
Alex stared at him, then glanced questioningly at Amik.
“It’s all right,” Jael assured him. “The old Ser’s conditioned just short of a full TAB. I don’t usually make him incluse on Phoenix business, but I was up to the edge on this gim.”
“I trust your judgment, Jael. What about Vandyne? How and when did he die?”
“ ’Car accident—the planned kind—about four hours ago.”
“I see.” Alex rubbed his eyes wearily, feeling the familiar anger as he thought of his blind conversation with “Vandyne.”
“You were put up, brother. I still don’t know the whole story. I didn’t find out about the pin until an hour ago, and it didn’t come through the local SI.”
“Where did it come from?”
“Vandyne’s wife. They came into the Phoenix together twenty years when. Anyway, she saw something was out of joint and took it on her own to ’com me, and that got me a little hackled about you. I knew you were due today, but that’s all. I tapped the Phoenix in-lines to the Shads and found out they were planning a catch at the Tamborin, and since we use it for a meet, I thought it might be you they had their nets out for. Time was running close, and finding you on the ’ways wasn’t a one-man play, so I had to ring in the old Ser.” He frowned, obviously less than pleased at that. “He sent the hounds out, but it was a sticky gim. All we could tell the Brothers was to find an Insider eyeing for Vandyne in or around the Tamborin.”
“One of the Brothers was quite successful. And fast.”
Alex rubbed the back of his neck, then tensed, searching vainly for what wasn’t there.
Amik laughed, one hand moving lazily to the table. “Is this what you’re looking for?” he asked, dangling the medallion on its chain. Then he tossed it to him, his movements surprisingly deft. Alex caught it and fastened it around his neck, asking no questions.
“A lovely piece of work,” Amik commented, smiling benignly. “Interesting symbolism,
the wolf and the lamb.”
Jael took a step toward him, his face taut with anger. “Father, who made the pickup?”
“Gamor. Don’t worry; I searched him thoroughly. He also took your gun, Alex. I have it here. And your suitcase.” He reached down on the other side of his chair and pushed the case into view. “The locks are apparently untouched. I don’t think Gamor had time to open it.”
Jael’s anger hadn’t abated. “Damn it, I laid edict! I’ll have the price in Gamor’s blood for this!”
Amik only smiled patiently. “I took care of it, Jael. Personally. But, Alex, I owe you an apology. The Brothers are too often creatures of habit.”
“No apology is necessary. I owe you my life.”
“You owe me nothing. My son owes me, and you owe him. That debt you can settle between yourselves.”
Alex looked up at Jael. “All I can offer now is thanks. Perhaps the day will come when I can settle it.”
“There’s no debt between brothers.” Then, with a glance at his watch, “Alex, I’ll have to ex out now; this is one gather I won’t miss. I’ll leave you in the old Ser’s hands until I get back, and maybe I should lay you a warning.”
Amik’s eyes widened innocently. “Ah, Jael, you’ll give your friend the wrong impression.”
Jael sent his father a wry smile. “He’s a gentleman born; he might be in too deep with you.”
Alex laughed and said, “I think I can hold my own.”
“Fortune, then.” Jael paused regarding Alex soberly. “I don’t know the lay of your course, brother, but I told you once I’m on stand-by. It still holds. But we’ll line that out later. Father, remember, I call this man friend and brother.”
Amik laughed, waving him on his way. “Go with! He’s safe as a babe in his mother’s arms.”
The drapes slid back with the door, then closed after him, and Amik bestirred himself to rise from the depths of his chair with a grunting effort.
“Alex, my son has made me forget myself as a host. May I offer you some sustenance?”
“Thank you, no.” He was still feeling the drug, even though the headache was easing.
“Later, then. Your appetite will return.” Amik went to a table glittering with an assortment of crystal decanters and glasses. “And here’s balm to bring it back.”
Alex wasn’t convinced he was ready for any form of balm, but when Amik brought him a minuscule, stemmed glass filled with a pale yellow liquid, he accepted it with a polite smile. It was a heavy-beaded liqueur; the bouquet and flavor were familiar, but its name was lost to him. Elise Woolf, he remembered, had served it only on special occasions and always in small glasses such as this exquisite cut crystal.
Amik sank into his chair, then sipped from his glass, his jowled face almost cherubic with a gratified smile.
“Ah. This, my friend, is a rarity. A Medit bragnac produced only in a certain area near Marsay.”
That jarred the memory. Alex nodded absently. “Marsay Cabray, isn’t it?”
“You’re acquainted with it?” Amik raised an eyebrow, adding archly, “You are, indeed, a gentleman born, then. Marsay Cabray is generally reserved for Lords, and the like.”
Alex hesitated, then, “ ‘And the like’ covers a lot of ground.”
Amik laughed. “True enough. Well, I’ve assumed we’ll be enjoying your company for the night, at least. Suitable quarters have been prepared for you. You’re welcome to stay as long as you wish, of course.”
“Thank you, Amik.” His gaze moved around the windowless room. “May I ask where I am?”
“Of course you may ask, and I’ll even answer that particular inquiry. You’re presently under the Outside in Helen. This is my prime HQ.”
“And the prime HQ of the Brotherhood?” Then Alex quickly added, “Forgive my curiosity. I don’t expect you to answer that inquiry.”
Amik’s eyes had gone hard and wary at the question, but now he shrugged and offered a crooked smile.
“You’re surprised that the Brotherhood, which is so ubiquitous in the Two Systems, should have its central HQ on an out-of-the-way planet like Castor? Conpol would be, too, and it hasn’t always been this way. Only since I became master of the Brotherhood. I was born here; I know the ground. Besides, I find Castor’s gravity more considerate of my bulk at this point in my life.” Then he noted, “That wasn’t as careless a revelation as it might seem, to admit that this is my prime HQ. You are, in fact, six hundred meters beneath the surface at the heart of a veritable labyrinth. It would be virtually impossible for you to lead or direct anyone through it. And, incidentally, I’d advise you against trying to find your way out of it.”
Alex looked up at the glass dome with its semblance of sunlight shining through the bright mosaic.
“I hadn’t intended to do so, Amik.”
“Don’t mistake me, you’re a guest here and under no constraint. That advise is for your own safety. Even if you reached the upper levels, that would only take you into the Outside where you’re a stranger and quite vulnerable. The Shads have put you on the fugitive lists with a price on your head, and as I said, the Brothers are creatures of habit. You’ll have to be very circumspect in our halls; the face-screen always, and I wouldn’t suggest you wander about alone. At this point, no one has seen your face, nor does anyone know you’re here. I will, of course, lay edict, but the Brothers occasionally ignore my edicts as did Gamor, who is no longer capable of passing on or utilizing that information.”
Alex felt a brief chill. He had no doubt of the unfortunate Gamor’s fate; his greed had cost him his life, the “price in his blood” Jael had promised to exact, and which Amik had taken care of, as he put it, personally.
Alex sipped at his bragnac, his eye drawn to the gold-scrolled knife sheath nearly lost in brocaded folds at Amik’s waist. The knife was part of any male Outsider’s standard garb, and for Amik it was probably a symbol of authority. It was also, Alex realized, a functional weapon that had undoubtedly been many times put to the fundamental purpose for which it was designed.
Amik was studying him, eyes glinting with amusement.
“If you think I might give you over to Gamor’s fate, Alex, or be tempted by your headprice myself, ease your mind. My son called you friend and brother under blood edict. You’re quite safe from me. You can also ease your mind on what Jael has told me about you or the Phoenix. My son is annoyingly close-mouthed. He’s made me a stranger in that part of his life.” Amik frowned irritably. “But perhaps a mere father should be grateful to be told anything at all.”
“Perhaps Jael felt a mere father deserved to know anything he was free to divulge.”
“Ah. And perhaps he realized this mere father might become suspicious of his secretive activities and cause him a great deal of trouble. Now he has my very mind under cuff. Besides, he knew I might guess him out; I wasn’t totally ignorant of the Phoenix even before he joined it.”
Alex concentrated on his bragnac, wondering at that offhand statement. But he didn’t pursue it.
“Well, Amik, it’s a father’s lot, so they say, to put up with the choices of his wayward children, no matter how foolish they may seem.”
Amik laughed. “So they say, and in answer to the question you didn’t quite ask, I don’t oppose his choice of the Phoenix. Jael takes his own way, and I don’t cross his lines. If I disagree with his choice, it’s only because I’m too old and cynical to consider it anything but a waste of time. But he’s young and still susceptible to idealism. I almost envy him that. I can’t remember ever being susceptible to that particular weakness.”
“You contradict yourself by admitting envy, and Jael didn’t acquire that ‘weakness’ unaided. Your son’s qualities speak well of his father, Amik.”
“His qualities speak more of his mother, friend, if the truth were known. She was a rare wom
an.”
There was a veiled look in his eyes and something Alex recognized as grief, and that aroused his curiosity; it seemed so inimical to the Lord of Thieves.
“I can well believe that, Amik. Jael didn’t talk about her at any length, of course, when he was in—” He hesitated, stopped from speaking the word “Fina” by the momentary memory blocking of his conditioning. “—when Jael and I first met, but it was obvious she was important in molding him.”
“Very important.” Amik regarded him through a cloud of smoke with an oblique smile. “If you want to know about his mother. I’ll tell you. I’ve told few people about her.” He paused, lost in thought, then sighed. “But I’ll tell you because Jael calls you friend and brother, and it’s too late to go against her now. She’s ten years dead. But before her death, if it had been known she lived, the price on that one’s head would’ve made my headprice look paltry.”
“What was her crime that her head was so valuable to the Concord?”
“Her name was her only crime.” Amik puffed at his cigar, then, “First, you must understand that Jael’s good looks aren’t solely his heritage from his mother. In my youth I was considered the epitome of masculine grace.” He sighed, then with a shrug, “But that went the way of youth. At any rate, Jael’s mother found merit in me; she held this old thief dear, however strange it may seem.”
“Should it seem strange?”
“It always did to me. She didn’t need to take me as husband. I’d have kept her safe all her life and asked nothing in return, and she knew it, but she held me dear enough to be my wife and bear my son. Strange! My friend, it’s something to wonder at, and I never stopped wondering.”
Alex was wondering now at Amik the Thief, his hooded eyes veiled with tears. A man who could put a greedy Brother to death without a hint of remorse, yet still grieved a wife years dead. Alex could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t seem banal; he waited silently for Amik to continue.
“We had only the one child, and perhaps we did him no service to bring him into this life to be first born of the Lord of Thieves. But she wanted a child, my child, and Jael was the joy of her last years. I don’t know his destiny now, but he’s her son. He’ll make his way.”
