Scorpio Assassin

by Alan Burt Akers

  “You don’t,” he said, continuing his line of thought, “appear alarmed that you were nearly assassinated.”

  “I was just thinking that you were a pretty cool customer yourself.”

  He smiled at that, showing even white teeth. “It’s a trade.”

  “Oh?”

  He shook his head at my tone. “No, no. I’m not your ordinary run-of-the-mill assassin.”

  “I can’t say I care for the breed, myself.”

  “I understand perfectly what you mean. But, you must admit there are people in the world who’d be better off out of it.”

  “Yes,” I said, thinking among others of Shang-Li-Po.

  “There you are then.” He really had an attractive smile. “I must be off. This first sitting won’t take long then I’ll come to see you and Mevancy at the Mishuro villa. The Everoinye made it quite clear you needed other hands.”

  Chapter nineteen

  “Other hands! You mean to say, cabbage, the other hands belong to an assassin?”

  “And a very smart well set-up young fellow he is, to be sure.”

  “Caspar Del Vanian? What kind of name is that, for the sweet sake of Gahamond?”

  No doubt the good Vallian name sounded odd down here in Loh, she was just making a fuss because she’d been surprised. People of Kregen are well accustomed to hearing and using all manner of weird and outlandish names.

  “He must come from some country to the north. You’ll have to ask him when he gets here.”

  “By Spurl! I’ll ask him a lot more than that!”

  Her color glowed in our sitting room. Carefully, for she was running this show — was she not? — I said: “No doubt he will make it look like an accident. But in any event Chandro must—”

  I had not been careful enough.

  She flared up, in a way different from but reminiscent of the way Leone had flared up in her throne. “How many times must I tell you, cabbage? Leave the thinking to me. Of course we must not let San Chandro find out this Del Vanian’s profession. D’you think I’m an onker?”

  “There’s no answer to that, pigeon.”

  “Oh, you!”

  “All the same, when Shang-Li-Po is out of the way, however this Caspar manages it, Chandro will have to seize his chance.”

  The ramifications here extended hazily so that any attempt to foretell what would happen was completely useless. Chandro had been insistent that any violence between or against the dikasters would result in catastrophes within Tsungfaril. If Caspar simply knocked Shang-Li-Po over that might precipitate the disasters. My feelings were that the Star Lords would not choose anyone less than totally expert at their craft to serve them. And this, mind you, after my meetings with other kregoinye who had amused me.

  In this little silence as my thoughts twined around, Mevancy had clearly been thinking along parallel lines.

  “If Shang-Li-Po dies of an accident or of apparently natural causes, then San Chandro must pounce at once. I shall tell this Caspar that he is not to assassinate Shang-Li-Po like any common stikitche.”

  “Oh, he’s not common.”

  “I shall go and put on some nice clothes.” She gave me a sudden and dazzling smile and in that smile she was truly beautiful. “After all, it’s not every day I have my portrait painted by an artist who paints the queen!”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t bother,” I shouted after her, feeling devilish. “He’ll probably want you to take all your clothes off.”

  She swung about, leveled her right arm and in the next heartbeat one of her bindles flew past my ear and stuck quivering in the plaster. “Crude,” she snapped. “That’s all you are, Drajak, crude.” And, with that, she stuck her nose in the air and swept out. That, by Krun, is the only way to describe her decisive exit.

  Perhaps I ought to have elaborated on the circumstances of my meeting with Caspar Del Vanian, stikitche extraordinaire. After all, if that damned fellow in black waiting for me in the corridor meant business on my account then he might have friends contracted to deal with Mevancy. Llodi the Voice came in to say that Wr. Caspar Del Vanian had arrived and was waiting to be admitted. I nodded and in a twinkling there was Caspar, still dressed in the ochre robes, half-smiling, walking forward.

  “Lahal, Drajak. Mevancy? Is she here?”

  “Lahal, Caspar. She is under the impression you are about to paint her portrait.” I couldn’t help adding: “No doubt using the very same brushes and paints as those you used to paint the queen.”

  “Capital!” he exclaimed. “A splendid idea!”

  “Ah — yes,” I said, all the wind knocked out of my sails.

  When Mevancy joined us the wait was well worthwhile. She looked marvelous. She wore a light chiffon costume of some exotic kind, with, very naturally, heavier material looped along her arms. Her hair was brushed and shining. Something cunning had been done to her face. There was absolutely no doubt that cosmetics had been applied, but so expertly that I could not swear to detect them. The result was that she glowed. By the time I realized that I was feeling very pleased for her the lahals had been made and she and Caspar were engaged in a lively and bantering conversation. All the same, some of the smartness and alertness seemed to me to have deserted Caspar. Why?

  “What’s up, Caspar?” I interrupted. “You look as though you’ve lost a zorca and found a calsany.”

  He shook his head, frowning. “No, Drajak. Quite the opposite.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, by Vox. I’ve lost the damned calsany and found a beautiful zorca.”

  At his bitter words I felt uneasy. Mevancy rattled on ignoring what we mere men discussed, saying: “I do hope there will be time for you to paint both portraits, Caspar. It must be so wonderful to have such a divine talent.”

  “Talent,” he said, trying to rouse himself. “And hard work.”

  “Oh — of course!”

  “The queen has commanded me to wait on her in the morning. We have the rest of today and tonight to decide how best to go about it.”

  As he had brought no painterly equipment with him I judged he did not intend to begin on Mevancy just yet. We sat down and stood up and walked about, helping ourselves to light refreshments from the side table as we talked. Mevancy wanted to know all about Caspar.

  He told her that he intended to recoup his fortunes. He painted portraits of the high and mighty ones of those lands he visited. He had strayed a long way from home following various commissions and, I guessed, at the commands of the Star Lords. He said with vehemence: “I detest the lot of them — well, almost the lot of them. My real work lies among the poor folk, in the warrens, the souks, the aracloins. There I find so many subjects that I regret every moment I must spend painting some fat fool of a lord or lady.”

  He was a real painter in the sense he wished always to be trying something new, attempting to capture the most difficult subjects, trying to put down on canvas the inner truths that his eyes saw.

  In the next instant he showed how much I underestimated him. He had not brought easel and palette and brushes. Instead from his robes he took a sketching block. The paper was very good quality; it was not the paper milled and distributed by the Savanti. He eyed Mevancy keenly. He used a stick of charcoal and began quickly sketching.

  She said: “How do you wish me to pose, Caspar?”

  “Oh — just continue as we are. I wish to catch as much—” he stopped. Then: “It must look like an accident.”

  “That is true,” I said.

  “And,” he went on. “How can that be achieved? I was informed of the situation here, as you know. I am the other hands required. But if the dikasters are to be defeated the corpse must receive the full rites of the Kaopan. That sounds disgusting to me. But the Everoinye command. The corpse’s disfigurement will clearly disprove any idea of an accident.”

  I felt a whirl of bewilderment. Mevancy gasped.

  “But Shang-Li-Po is not a paol-ur-bliem! No one will question his death if it is accidental.”
<
br />   He looked up from his sketch pad. His face looked abruptly haggard. “Shang-Li-Po, Mevancy?” He shook his head and the stick of charcoal snapped across with a crack. “No. My target is the queen.”

  I stood absolutely perfectly stock-still.

  Mevancy opened her mouth, said nothing, clamped her lips.

  Caspar went on heavily: “The Everoinye wish Kirsty to be queen.”

  On the wall hung a pretty picture of the river with boats and the twin sunsets. I looked at it. I could say nothing.

  Now I knew why Caspar did not look so jolly.

  And, also, I knew without the shadow of a doubt he would kill Leone, disfigure her body in the rites of Kaopan, and obey the Star Lords. This, after all, would be the quickest and simplest way of crowning Kirsty as Queen of Tsungfaril.

  At last Mevancy got her breath. “No,” she said. Her voice shook. “There has to be another way.”

  I did not tell her; but I knew another way. This bright spark of an artist would have to be put out of the way first. That was all.

  “If another way could be found then I would be happy.” He was perfectly genuine. He might go around assassinating people on the orders of the Star Lords. The people he disposed of needed that treatment and left Kregen smelling sweeter by their absence.

  I said: “I have not heard of the Everoinye employing a kregoinye in this fashion before.”

  “I am not a kregoinye—”

  “But you must be!” flashed Mevancy.

  “I am a kaogoinye.”

  The aptness of the name was not lost on Mevancy or me. Kaogoinye.

  “There must be another way,” repeated Mevancy.

  I felt sympathy for her. Damned Star Lords! They were putting her in an impossible situation, yet one which, by the very nature of the Star Lords, could not be impossible. What they commanded would be done.

  The Star Lords had once been human. That was a long long time ago. I believed I had detected remnants of humanity, a sense of humor, even, as I had come to know them better. And, now, this. As was perfectly obvious, to achieve their ends meant putting Queen Leone out of the running and this agent of theirs, this kaogoinye, was the simplest answer.

  Caspar had stopped sketching. “The problem is not insoluble. Afterwards, people must think the queen met with an accident and some other hand inflicted the rites of Kaopan. Will that succeed?”

  “Hardly.” I spoke so that Caspar swung sharply to stare at me.

  “Then you have a better idea?”

  I didn’t say: “Yeh! Tip you in the river for the stranks.”

  Anyway, if that happened the Star Lords would send someone else. Also, they would punish me. They’d hurl me back to Earth, four hundred light years through empty space, contemptuously fling me down all naked in some benighted spot. Then they’d leave me to rot. They’d done that to me before. I’d spent twenty-one awful years on Earth before clawing my way back to Kregen. Oh, no! I wasn’t going to let that happen to me again.

  I said: “Yes. But Chandro will have to be brought into the plot. We have no influence here in Tsungfaril; Chandro can arrange what is necessary.” I bore down on them with a stare. “The details are going to be unpleasant.”

  “But Leone—” began Mevancy.

  “I regret the necessity,” put in Caspar.

  “Nobody is going to hurt Leone,” I said. “She may be a silly little girl, but she has courage. All this paol-ur-bliem nonsense may be true. Either way, nobody is going to chop Leone up.”

  “That is for the Everoinye—” began Caspar, somewhat stiffly.

  “Aye. And what goes on here is for us.”

  “Hadn’t, cabbage, you better tell us this marvelous plan of yours?” Her voice shivered with icicles. “I remember your last plan.”

  “A fair hit,” I acknowledged. Indeed, a palpable hit. “We must first get hold of the body of some poor dead girl and that’s where Chandro will come into the plot. Llodi will help, Kuong too.”

  “I see. And we substitute some poor dead trollop for the queen?”

  “Yes.”

  “You cretin! You onker! Don’t you think anyone will see the difference?”

  “Kaopan.”

  “Oh!” she said, on a gasp, and was silent.

  I turned to Caspar. “I suppose the precious Everoinye told you how to carry out this disgusting procedure?”

  “Of course.”

  I suppose, being Dray Prescot, I couldn’t have stopped myself on two worlds from saying: “Sooner you than me.”

  He nodded, his frank open face sheened with sweat, set hard. “It is the necessity only, you understand.”

  When Chandro and Kuong joined us, Llodi was sent for. The atmosphere of anxiety, subterfuge and defiance enclosing us seemed almost palpable in the room. Chandro was horrified that anyone could dream of harming Leone, let alone disgustingly preventing her from entering Gilium in the fullness of time when her punishment ended. We knew he drew the line even at dealing with Shang-Li-Po. When he heard the details of the plot within a plot he shook his head, his narrow face like a sparrow’s, turning from side to side as he sought a different solution. In the end he had to agree. There was no other acceptable way.

  I refrained from suggesting to Mevancy and Caspar that perhaps the Star Lords were watching and listening to us. What would their reaction be? To my way of thinking, if we achieved the result they demanded then how we did it was up to us. Certainly, that had been my experience.

  Nervous and tense with forebodings though we were we managed to eat a bite like good Kregans. Llodi, armed with a note from Chandro, went off with an escort to the city watch tower some distance away. You will understand the fraughtness of the situation and my feelings when I say that had Llodi taken to the profession of Burke and Hare, which was as well known on Kregen as it was on Earth, I would not have been surprised.

  The dreadful thought occurred to me that were the girl alive that would make it much easier to bring her along with us. For the sake of sweet Opaz rather than any Makki Grodno curse! Corruption can eat the soul.

  That thought, banal though it was, brought me to a fresh realization of the cunning lethality of the punishment given to the Accursed. Surely, the idea must have gone, a person can commit enough sins in one lifetime to make hazardous their entry into Gilium. How much harder, therefore, to enter Gilium having to run the gauntlet of a hundred lifetimes open to all the sinful temptations that will drag the sinners down to the Death Jungles of Sichaz.

  To keep her mind occupied in something other than fretting over the hazardous task that lay before us, Mevancy began to ask Caspar the questions she had promised.

  “Home?” he said, trying to be polite. “Oh, I’ve strayed a long way from home.”

  “Vanian,” she said. “I’ve heard of Varnion, where the mussels come from. Although by the time they reach here they’re mostly inedible.”

  “Vanian is the family name, not my location.” He sat down opposite Mevancy and leaned forward. “No, my home is in Vallia.”

  “Vallia! But that’s dwaburs away north — right over the equator.”

  “We use airboats to fly vast distances.”

  “So I have heard. You must tell me about them and about the emperor.” Her voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper. “And is the empress as beautiful as word has it? The most gracious lady—”

  “Drak and Silda. Yes, I have painted both their portraits. I admire them both vastly—”

  “I have not heard of Drak and Silda. Are you sure? You are not confusing Emperor Nedfar of Hamal?” She was just like any empty-headed girl listening to gossip about the great figures of the world. “I thought the emperor and empress of Vallia were called Dray Prescot and Delia.”

  “Oh, they were, they were. But they abdicated. Opaz have them in his keeping.”

  “What on Kregen would they do that for?”

  “The latest information is that they are to be rulers of all Paz.”

  “We here are in Paz,” interj
ected Kuong who had been listening. “How can they claim to rule us?”

  “Oh, they don’t claim it, trylon. The task is being thrust upon them by forces no one can resist. The Force of Destiny, if you will.”

  “That’s all very well—”

  I said: “The point is all the islands and continents making up Paz have got to stick together to fight the Shanks. And it would seem some poor pair of idiots have got to be elected figureheads.”

  “Cabbage! You shouldn’t speak so disrespectfully of Dray and Delia Prescot! Why, if you’d read all the books about them I have, you’d understand!”

  This surprised me. Of course, any Vallian bookseller would be only too happy to sell his wares overseas. There were many stories about me circulating in various gaudy guises, most totally untrue. Also, Mevancy didn’t come from this cut-off part of the world.

  Feeling mean and devilish at the same time, I said: “You must lend me one some day.”

  “Oh, no!” she snapped. “I don’t lend books. They never come back.”

  “You can say that again,” said San Chandro.

  “Figureheads,” said Kuong. “We-ell, it makes sense.” Then he proved he was a most sensible man by saying: “It’s certain sure I wouldn’t want the job!”

  Presently Caspar got onto more interesting details of Vallia, to which Mevancy listened fascinated. Kuong was interested, too. I lapped up a deal of news I was grateful to learn. Drak and Silda were keeping the old country on an even keel, thanks be to Opaz.

  When the next glass had been turned Chandro stood up. “I am for bed. There will be a great deal to do and I need my rest.”

  He was right.

  In a splatter of mutual Mellow Moonlights, we all trailed off to our bedchambers, the Mishuro villa having ample accommodation for all.

  About to get my head down I sat up sharply in the bed.

  A blue haze shimmered against the opposite wall.