Scorpio Assassin

by Alan Burt Akers

  Caspar rustled his paper. “Can we get on, majestrix?” He was perfectly the temperamental artist, absorbed only in his work.

  Shang-Li-Po watched narrowly as I gave the queen a polite if perfunctory bow and then took myself off. I let out a breath. We had not foreseen this contretemps in our planning. What, I wondered, would Mevancy have to say?

  The trouble was, I had absolutely no desire to slay the Khibil guards. They were just soldiers, earning their hire. Of course, when great affairs of state are at risk, the lives of a few cheap soldiers mean precious little. That, disgustingly, is the way of two worlds.

  I went off to the corridor and when it was empty slid past the secret panel. Kuong and Mevancy had already taken the gherimcal to pieces.

  When I told them what had transpired, Kuong said despairingly: “Then it is all for nothing. We are beaten!”

  “Not so!” snapped Mevancy. “By Spurl! We’ll just have to—”

  “Yes,” I said. “And you will not shoot your bindles. That would betray us absolutely. It is cold steel. And if we can, we will not kill the haughty Khibils. Now, let’s get the blacks on.”

  She gave me a ferocious look; but said nothing in reply. We changed into the black stikitche clothes taken from the assassins who had previously attempted us and sequestered by Chandro. Mevancy and Kuong carried the dismantled carrying chair. I carried the corpse.

  We could have left the chair by the secret panel for collection on our way out; we might be forced to take another route and so needed the gherimcal with us. My audience of Leone had been vitally necessary to discover where she was in the maze of the palace. I knew the way there in theory. In practice I took a few false turns. In the end we found ourselves in a narrow filthy passage hidden behind the wall of the room where Leone was having her portrait painted.

  Watching through a spyhole I saw the damned tall red figure of Shang-Li-Po hovering like a blood-sucking bat.

  We pulled the black masks over our faces.

  It would be three to four until Llodi and Caspar joined in.

  Sword in fist I moved up to the secret door and prepared to burst through. I just hoped we wouldn’t have to slay the guards.

  Kuong tapped me on the arm.

  “It is my duty to go first, Drajak.”

  “Uh,” I said, like a loon, completely caught off-balance. Then: “Of course, trylon. After you.”

  As he set himself, facing the panel, I had time to reflect on all the other and far superior ways we could have managed this business. There was a case for kidnapping the queen and having the disfigured corpse found elsewhere. That had seemed to us not a water-tight scheme. We were stuck with what we had — and Kuong thrust the panel wide and leaped into the room.

  Mevancy bundled me aside and jumped through second. She had to be allowed to do this, for her sake. I whistled through very quickly after her, very quickly, by Krun!

  The Khibil guards had no time to react. Their attention was centered on the gown and on the queen. Only one was slain. Kuong caught him as he swung about, and the poor devil took the blade through the guts. I saw Mevancy knock a guard down with a full blooded blow from a blatterer then I slammed the hilt of my sword into the third’s chin and whirled to the fourth to see him stagger under Kuong’s onslaught, so I hit him as he went down.

  Leone was trying to scream and emitting only choked squeaks.

  Shang-Li-Po had his own secret entrances and exits within the palace and he’d tried to scuttle off into the shadows of the far end of the room. He hadn’t moved from the spot; he was struggling and tugging, trying to tear free from the dagger that pinned the hem of his red robe to the floor. His granite face broke and shivered in terror as Kuong leaped on him.

  “A neat throw,” observed Mevancy.

  Caspar said: “I’ll have my dagger back.”

  I said: “I’ll fetch the girl — explain to Leone.”

  When I re-entered the room with that opaline radiance falling across the recumbent guards, Leone was saying: “But I am the queen!” Her voice was at once petulant and filled with bravado. I truly felt sorry for her.

  “Try to understand,” Mevancy said in a patient way. “You cannot be queen, for they will kill you, Kaopan, you understand?”

  Caspar said: “I’ll start over there, by the chair. You don’t have to watch.”

  “But I like being queen! You don’t dare kill me! I shall call the guards—”

  “Leone,” I said, and she jumped, flinching. I took her upper arm into my fist and led her across to the chair she had vacated. Caspar was already at work. “Look, Leone,” I said. “That is you.”

  I caught her as she fell.

  “At least that’ll keep her quiet,” snapped Mevancy, who carefully, very carefully, did not look at what Caspar wreaked. “You were hard on her.”

  The stink of spilled blood permeated the room.

  “There will be a lot of blood,” commented Caspar, working on.

  He had rolled his sleeves up and put on an artist’s smock. That might have been an affectation, down here in Loh; in the present circumstances it was highly practical. He covered his arms and hands with a pair of long stockings. Letting Leone gently to the floor I ripped off her shift and underthings and threw them across to Caspar. Mevancy tut-tutted at the sight of the limp naked body and took out the clothes we had brought.

  I walked over to the unconscious form of Shang-Li-Po.

  “This shint is called the Kaour.” I bent and dragged him across. “Let’s make him earn the name.”

  Caspar did not look up. “A capital notion.”

  “What—?” said Mevancy. Then: “Oh, I see.”

  The sound of heavy breathing and a clearing of a throat was followed by Llodi saying: “What about me and the artist, an’ all?”

  “Knocked over by assassins,” I said, cheerfully.

  “Oh. Right. Mebbe I’d better be the one to wake up and rush out to raise the alarm and everything.”

  “Be my guest,” said Caspar, delicately allowing blood to stain Shang-Li-Po’s robes.

  The cruel and pathetic irony for this poor girl lay in this: she had in life been one of the hungry masses, in death she was the queen.

  Caspar took his time, and finished without undue haste. I guessed he had in reality worked fast. He cleaned his knife and we arranged the tableau.

  We pulled Shang-Li-Po’s form across and dabbled his gown in the blood. We put his own dagger in his right fist — and Kuong knew he was not left-handed — and the poor dead girl’s heart in his left. We smeared all with blood. Anyone finding that revolting scene would not doubt that Shang-Li-Po had killed the queen and had then performed the rites of Kaopan upon her naked body, and as a result had been overcome. If Llodi timed it right he would bring in the guards answering the alarm at just the moment the dikaster was regaining his senses. That would be nice...

  I didn’t think we’d hang around to find out.

  Caspar took off his bloodstained smock and rolled it up carefully. I had to help him pull off the stockings. I didn’t mind a few spots of blood on my clothes if none stained Caspar’s. He arranged himself comfortably on the floor, by the easel, and relaxed. “I’m ready.”

  I remained doubtful. I studied him. I couldn’t see any obvious blood on him. Modern forensic science had not yet been developed sufficiently on Kregen to discover the blood that indubitably was to be found on his person. I said: “You sure? You’re taking one hell of a risk.”

  “That cramph didn’t see who threw the dagger. I’m safe enough. Anyway, a life without risks — who wants that?”

  I didn’t burst out: “I wouldn’t mind, by Vox!” But I felt the attractions of a peaceful life, by Zair!

  That ridiculous notion had no chance of ever becoming real, anyway, on Kregen, for me or for a whole lot of other folk. Life’s problems stuck with us. Many of us might not have to worry over where the rent and the money for food were coming from, and those problems are of the very real variety, Opaz know
s! We had the Shanks to fret over, to fear, to try to deal with. Whilst the confrontation with the reivers from over the curve of the world remained unsolved the whole of life continued risky for all of us living in Paz.

  Llodi took up his position halfway between Shang-Li-Po and the door. When the Repositer stirred Llodi would run out to raise the alarm — an’ all.

  “I can’t,” he said with an uncharacteristic loquacity, “say life hasn’t been interesting an’ everything since we met up, Drajak.”

  Mevancy snapped: “Get out of the blacks, and hurry. We don’t have all day.”

  When we were back in our ochre desert robes and the blacks and Caspar’s blood-stained clothing stowed in a bag all safe, we said a quick remberee and decamped past the secret panel into the passage. Mevancy sneezed as dust puffed up. The panel closed. Through the spyhole we could glimpse Llodi standing, poised. He gave us a cheery wave. Yes, it is refreshing and mighty comforting to have good comrades on Kregen!

  The other two carried the parts of the gherimcal. I had Leone slung over my shoulder and the clothes bag clutched in my other fist.

  By the time we reached the door through which we must exit onto the open corridor we were dusty and cobweb-smothered. It was therefore vital to clean up before venturing out. The carrying chair went together easily enough and we put the clothes bag in on top of Leone. Mevancy fussed over arranging the curtains to conceal everything.

  “All set?” demanded Kuong. With some pleasure I realized that apart from the mutilation of that poor dead girl he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

  And, too, I realized that for one of the Accursed, one who was paol-ur-bliem, the sight and remembrance of just what Kaopan meant must come as unwelcome and downright frightening.

  “Wenda!” said Mevancy, and out we went into the empty corridor.

  Retracing our steps though the palace we quickly came upon crowds of people hurrying about their business. No one spared us a glance.

  We had just entered a long gallery flanked by statues. A column of heated air rose from the nearest corner. Kuong and Mevancy padded past without hesitation. I hung back. The shimmer tried to solidify, and gusted about, wavering. I saw clearly, and for an instant only, the features of Deb-Lu-Quienyin. He was trying to get through the planes to me.

  Garbled, distorted, his voice said: “Jak! A source of weak kharrna

  [6] lies ahead. There is a strong personal animus...” The voice died and the spectral shimmer of the projected lupal image of Deb-Lu vanished.

  Instantly, I said in a penetrating whisper: “Kuong, Mevancy! Take the next turning to the right. You can rejoin the straight way out a few rooms ahead.”

  “Cabbage — what are you on about?”

  “Just go on, pigeon. I’ll see you back at the villa.”

  Kuong recognized the urgency in my voice. “Come on, Mevancy!”

  She turned her head to give me a hard look and I gestured irritably.

  “Oh, you!” she said, and perforce swung right to follow Kuong, the gherimcal swaying between them.

  If Deb-Lu said there was trouble ahead there was trouble ahead!

  No genius of deduction was required to guess what that trouble was. Na-Si-Fantong, besides having left Makilorn, would not, in my view, be a source of weak kharrna. So the troublemaker ahead had to be the court wizard, Chang-So, the fellow who nursed a grudge against me. I’d known he’d make an attempt on me. It had to develop just now, just when our scheme was coming to fruition and we were making good our escape. Still, that’s the way sand castles are washed away, as they say in Clishdrin.

  Their eyes wide and blank with fear, a parcel of raggedy slaves ran past. Chang-So could scare them easily enough. When I rounded the corner into the next gallery Chang-So in his dazzling robes and tall hat was carefully standing to the rear of half a dozen hulking bully boy guards. Quite clearly he had been apprized of my presence in the palace and was now here to exact his vengeance for the slight I had put upon him.

  The guards carried swords, lynxters, and it was borne in on me that Chang-So wanted me dead.

  I had far too much to do to allow that, by Zair!

  The guards charged. I ripped out my own blade and met their rush in a chingle of steel. They were solid professional workmen of the sword. They’d get the job done without anything fancy. They would be, I judged, only on distant nodding acquaintance with Kurin.

  All the same, there were six of them and if I was stupid they’d stick me.

  In a very real sense, as I may have mentioned before, every fight is different and every fight is the same. They circled to get at me from both sides. They were not all apim; I didn’t wait to check up on all their diverse racial stocks. I just went slap bang into the nearest, chopped him down, kicked his comrade and sliced my blade across the next and so was through, leaving the three who’d circled me gasping. I faced Chang-So.

  He had struck me as a man who gloated in the secrets he knew. Now the most important secret in his life was no longer a secret and that told him his life was no longer his life. He really believed I was about to cut him down.

  He staggered back. He lifted his arms and the fingers tried to form some magical symbol. He tried to croak words, and his tall hat shook and fell off to roll on the floor. I gave him a gentle push in the shoulder.

  Instantly I had to whirl and catch the quickest guard’s blade on my own. There was genuine regret in me as my sword slid his and sank into his body. Still, he took pay for this work and payment came in death as well as coin.

  The next hesitated, waiting for his comrade to join him.

  I reached around and got my left fist wrapped around Chang-So’s collar. I lifted him a trifle so that his heels left the floor. He was gobbling and spitting and tears streamed down his cheeks from rage and frustration and, I daresay, fear. He was not used to being treated like this, no, by The Seven Arcades!

  “Look at him, doms,” I said in my harsh way. “This is the specimen you’ll get yourselves killed for. It’s not worth it, as Tsung-Tan is my witness. Schtump! Clear off while you still have the chance.”

  Three were down and three were left. Blood ran greasily on the floor. The wizard looked to them as though he wouldn’t live long enough to pay their hire. One of them, a Fristle, spat out: “Let us take Herkin away with us. You have only wounded him. By Odiflor! You are quick.”

  “Take Herkin.” I hoicked Chang-So up and threw him bodily onto the two corpses and the wounded form of Herkin. “And take the wizard also.” With that I sprinted somewhat sharply around the next corner.

  Not a shred of doubt existed in my mind that Kuong and Mevancy would succeed. They’d take Leone to the villa, we’d all meet up, and take counsel on our next moves. If our work was over in Makilorn there was equally no doubt in my mind that the Star Lords would soon find fresh work for us.

  That work would most probably lie over to the west, trying to deal with the Shanks in Tarankar. Kuong, as Trylon of Taranik, might be very useful. And Caspar the Peaker? Would the Star Lords find someone else they wished removed from Kregen?

  The amusing thought occurred to me that in all these calculations about what might happen in the future, in which ‘we’ would do this or that, the ‘we’, the ‘us’, simply included Mevancy as a normal part of life.

  That made me realize I had a most wonderful opportunity ahead. By Vox! If only I could manage it! The Shank threat in Tarankar was so serious that I had every right to demand all the help I could summon. The Star Lords should see that. So should the Sisters of the Rose. I’d arrange for a message to go to Seg. He’d contact Milsi and she would contact Delia. Then — then this forsaken part of Loh would see what a real empress looked like!

  I was so taken up in anticipatory joy at my own cleverness that the rustling voice addressing me spoke a whole sentence before I located the speaker.

  “You, Dray Prescot, have disobeyed the Everoinye and failed to do what you were commanded to do.”

  Crouching by the corri
dor wall, a reddish brown scorpion, glinting of body and arrogant of tail, spoke to me, spoke to me directly from the Star Lords. Nothing else moved in the corridor. I breathed lightly.

  “Of course I haven’t failed! Kirsty will be queen!”

  “Nevertheless, you disobeyed!”

  “You stupid eight-legged onker! That’s nothing to do with it! Kirsty is going to be queen and she’ll see to it that Tsungfaril is defended from the Shanks. That’s the object of all this.”

  “It is not for you to tell the Everoinye the objects they pursue.”

  “Well, if they think I failed then it’s time someone told them—”

  “Enough, Dray Prescot!”

  “And another thing! You can tell your precious Star Lords it’s about time I went home.” Here I hesitated for a fear-filled fraction of time, and hurried on very very quickly: “Home to Valka! Then we can deal with the Shanks.”

  “You will deal with the Shanks, Dray Prescot.” The rustling voice like dead leaves blown scraping over gravel spoke menacingly. “Before that you will answer for your disobedience.”

  I opened my mouth to shout in baffled rage that this cretin of a scorpion couldn’t understand, and, then, I understood. Disobedience was the issue here. The blue radiance grew about me. I looked up to see the gigantic form of the phantom blue Scorpion hovering. Chill smote me. In an icy blueness, I swept away into blackness.

  About the author

  Alan Burt Akers was a pen name of the prolific British author Kenneth Bulmer, who died in December 2005 aged eighty-four.

  Bulmer wrote over 160 novels and countless short stories, predominantly science fiction, both under his real name and numerous pseudonyms, including Alan Burt Akers, Frank Brandon, Rupert Clinton, Ernest Corley, Peter Green, Adam Hardy, Philip Kent, Bruno Krauss, Karl Maras, Manning Norvil, Chesman Scot, Nelson Sherwood, Richard Silver, H. Philip Stratford, and Tully Zetford. Kenneth Johns was a collective pseudonym used for a collaboration with author John Newman. Some of Bulmer’s works were published along with the works of other authors under "house names" (collective pseudonyms) such as Ken Blake (for a series of tie-ins with the 1970s television programme The Professionals), Arthur Frazier, Neil Langholm, Charles R. Pike, and Andrew Quiller.