Deathstalker Coda

by Simon R. Green

  Douglas and Stuart took off their leather masks and dropped them on the table beside their plates. Their faces felt hot and sweaty from the leather, despite the early evening chill that had worked its way into the room. Douglas Campbell was still a handsome man, with his noble brow and great mane of golden hair, but more than ever he looked like a wounded lion brought down by jackals; a great man brought low by too many losses and the unbearable weight of unrelinquished responsibilities. Stuart Lennox looked much older than his years warranted. A stern young man with a drawn, almost gaunt face, his gaze was always a little distracted, and he rarely smiled anymore. And even Nina Malapert was no longer the happy, bubbling, free spirit of old. The demon girl reporter who laughed at danger and would dare anything for a scoop wasn't exactly gone, just suppressed by the weight of life in the Rookery, but it did seem she didn't smile nearly as much as she once had. Her tall pink mohawk bobbed angrily as she ladled out the meal.

  Douglas watched Nina bustle about, and tried hard to feel… something. It was difficult for him to feel anything much, anymore. His family was dead, his friends were gone, his responsibilities taken from him. He felt lost and unfocused without them. He wasn't a King anymore, or even a Paragon, but he didn't know how to be anything else. So mostly he just went through the motions, getting through the day until he could finally go to bed and lose himself in sleep. He looked at the discarded leather bravo's mask beside his plate. Sometimes he thought that was his real face now. He could feel Stuart looking at him, and stared at the mess on his plate so he wouldn't have to look at Stuart. He knew the earnest young man only wanted to help, but Douglas didn't want to be helped. He wanted to be numb, so he wouldn't have to think or feel or remember.

  According to the official media news sites, Anne Barclay was dead. Killed by falling debris during Douglas's daring escape from the court. Another old friend hurt, and gone, because of him. Nina tried to tell him you couldn't trust anything on the official sites these days, that it was all Finn's propaganda, but that was just Nina being kind. At least Lewis and Jesamine were still out there, somewhere, avoiding capture. Douglas hoped they were happy, at least. He desperately wanted somebody to be happy, out of the mess he'd made of things.

  He looked at his dinner. It wasn't up to much, but then it never was. Stringy meat and potatoes, with lumpy gravy. Douglas pushed it about a bit with his fork.

  "What's the meat?"

  "Best not to ask," Nina said briskly as she sat down next to him. "And you really don't want to know what's in the gravy."

  "Is there pudding?" said Stuart, hopefully.

  Nina gave him a withering look. "What do you think?"

  Stuart had a plate of ropey-looking vegetables, boiled within an inch of their lives. He never touched meat. The others never said anything. They knew why. Once Nina would have insisted on their saying grace first, but they had all fallen far beyond a state of grace now. The three of them sat and ate for a while in silence. It was food and it was fuel, and that was all it was. Outside in the street, there were occasional shouts and screams and sounds of violence, but then, there always were.

  "I heard a rumor today," Stuart said finally.

  "Now there's a surprise," said Nina. "This whole place runs on rumors."

  "This one was about Clan Deathstalker," said Stuart. "Word is, a handful of minor cousins escaped the slaughter on Virimonde, and might be coming here."

  "I'm sorry, Stuart," said Nina, putting a hand on his. "But I was there, remember, with poor Emma? I saw them all die. No one escaped."

  "Some of them could have been offplanet," said Douglas, not looking up from his food.

  "Perhaps," Nina said kindly. "There's always hope."

  "Poor Lewis," said Douglas, pushing his food about the plate. "The last Deathstalker. I wonder if anyone's told him yet. Can't help feeling sorry for him."

  "Even though he stole the woman you loved?" said Stuart.

  "She was never really mine," said Douglas. "I never really knew her. There wasn't time. I thought we'd have all the time we needed to get to know each other after we were married. Now… I think perhaps I only loved the image— the diva and the star. Maybe that's why she fell for Lewis. Because he was the only one who cared for the real her."

  He made himself eat the rest of his meal. Stuart and Nina would only look at him if he didn't, and he didn't know how much more of their worrying about him he could stand. He supposed there would come a day when he'd be so hungry he'd be able to wolf it all down without tasting it; but he wasn't looking forward to that at all. Nina checked they'd all finished and then bustled around the table, gathering up the plates and keeping up a stream of chatter. She was trying to be motherly and supportive, but truth be told she wasn't very good at it. Douglas gave her extra marks for trying anyway. And then he made himself concentrate as he realized she was saying something about a new step forward in her attempts to set up a viable rogue news site.

  "A whole bunch of new media people have turned up in the Rookery! First-class techs, the loveys—just what we needed. I mean, yes, I'm a reporter and all that, but I never did understand the science side of things. Up till now it's been the blind leading the deaf and trying not to electrocute ourselves. These new guys got out of the city just ahead of Finn's people, and they're keen as mustard to get some payback by helping us set up our site. Pretty soon we'll be able to tap into the official news feeds whenever we feel like it. And I'm going to be the face on the screen! Nina Malapert, presenter and superstar! Mummy will be so proud."

  "But what are you going to say?" said Stuart. "People will watch for a while out of curiosity, but you're going to need something dramatic to show them to keep their attention."

  "Well, I'll tell them how bad things are here in the Rookery!"

  "They won't care. They've got their own problems, living under Emperor Finn. You need to offer them something they don't know."

  "Like what?"

  "Hope," said Douglas.

  Nina and Stuart both looked at him quickly, but he was gone again, lost in his own bitter thoughts. Nina patted him gently on the arm, and took the dirty plates over to the far-from-hygienic sink in the corner. Stuart surged suddenly up onto his feet, glaring at Douglas.

  "Damn you, Douglas, you make me sick! How much longer are you going to sit around feeling sorry for yourself? This isn't your personal tragedy! People are dying every day under Finn. Your people! Finn murdered your father, took over your throne, and named himself Emperor! What does it take to move you? To make you a man again?"

  Douglas looked up, and what was in his eyes made Stuart fall back a step. And there was no telling what might have happened next if the mood hadn't been suddenly broken by shouting from the street outside. Someone was calling for Douglas and Stuart by name. They looked at each other, and then they went over to the window and cracked it open as far as it would go. Nina squeezed determinedly in beside them. Down in the street, the protection racketeer they'd let go earlier had returned, with a whole new crowd of friends and associates. Big, brutal-looking men, loaded down with weapons and body armor. The two bravos for hire who should have been guarding the hotel were already dead, their gutted bodies hanging from lampposts. The hotel owner, his wife, and their three small children stood inside a circle of drawn swords, clinging to each other. The ringleader of the gang was looking up at Douglas, Stuart, and Nina. A large man, a fat man, in an area where most people went to bed hungry. He wore the very latest fashions, but a thug in silks is still a thug. He was smiling cheerfully.

  "Well, hello up there! I'm Brion de Rack. These men work for me. So did the ones you killed, but I'm not one to bear a grudge. Does an organization good to have the deadwood trimmed, now and again. You have surprised me, gentlemen, and that's not easy. Now do be good boys and come down and talk with me. Or I'll kill your present employer, and his family, while you watch. Slow and nasty and very messily. What's it to be, gentlemen?"

  Douglas and Stuart drew back from the window and looke
d at each other.

  "Well?" said Stuart. "What is it to be?"

  "We don't owe them anything," said Douglas. "Don't even know them. But… if we back down from scum like these, we'll never get any peace."

  "Oh, silly me," said Stuart. "I thought we might go down because innocent people needed to be rescued. Because it's the right thing to do."

  "Don't push your luck," said Douglas. "I'm really not in the mood."

  "But we are going down?"

  "Yes, Stuart," Douglas said, smiling suddenly. "We're going down."

  "I'm going to get my really big gun," said Nina.

  "You're going to stay in the background," Douglas said sternly. "Because you never know when an unsuspected backup will come in handy."

  "Oh, poo," said Nina. "I never get to have any fun."

  * * *

  Back behind their anonymous leather masks, Douglas Campbell and Stuart Lennox pushed open the hotel front door and stepped cautiously out into the main street. Crowds had already gathered, watching from a safe distance. De Rack and his men were waiting. The thugs and bullyboys reacted strongly when they realized Douglas and Stuart both had energy guns in their hands, but de Rack gestured easily, and they quieted again. Up close, de Rack looked even bigger, and uglier. Stuart couldn't help feeling that de Rack was the one who should have been wearing a mask.

  "It really is very simple," the big man said easily. "I can't have two such excellent fighters as your good selves working as independents. Not in my territory. Might give people ideas. Dangerous things, ideas. And there's always the chance you might end up working for one of my enemies. A successful businessman such as myself acquires enemies, like a dog has fleas. So, you're going to work for me. I pay good wages, there are all kinds of fringe benefits, and you have job security for life. Because whatever happens in the Rookery, I'll always be here, taking my cut."

  "And if we don't feel like signing up with a small-time thug with delusions of grandeur?" said Douglas. "If, in fact, we say Go to hell!"

  "In that unlikely event, my men will kill the hotel owner and his family in appallingly inventive ways, set fire to the hotel and burn it down, and kill anyone who comes running out of the flames. And finally my men will torture you to death right here in the street, as an example of what happens to those foolish enough to defy me." De Rack shrugged apologetically. "A waste of good potential income, I admit, but business is business. You should feel flattered, gentlemen. I don't usually have to pressure people to work for me. But there's something… special, about you two. I can tell. Ex-military, right? Seen a lot of action, but couldn't fit in with the Durandal's new goody-goody regime? I thought so. You're not just muscle, you're muscle with brains, and I can always use people like that. I need quality, and you wouldn't believe how rare that is in the Rookery, these days."

  "Maybe you just weren't looking in the right places," said Stuart. "Or maybe you wouldn't know real quality if you fell over it. Would you really kill everyone in this hotel, just to save face?"

  "Of course!" said de Rack. He gestured expansively at the crowd that had gathered out of nowhere to watch the free entertainment. "A man is only as good as his word, and if that word is a threat, so much the better. Discipline must be maintained. But don't look on me too harshly, dear friends. I'm just a businessman, doing what it takes to get along. People… don't matter here. Only power. The strength to take what you want, when you want it, and keep it."

  "And to hell with everyone else?" said Stuart.

  "Exactly."

  "Things… shouldn't be like this," Douglas said slowly.

  "Welcome to Finn's Empire," said Stuart. "Welcome to the world he made because there's no one left to stop him."

  "Someone should do something," said Douglas.

  "If not you," said Stuart, "then who?"

  "Excuse me," said de Rack, "but I was talking. Ignore me again and I'll have my men teach you a lesson in manners."

  "Oh, hell," said Douglas. His voice still sounded tired, but somehow he seemed to be standing straighter and taller. "It never ends, does it? There's always work to be done. No matter how weary you are."

  "We can rest when we're dead," said Stuart.

  "I wouldn't put money on it," said Douglas. "Nina, you're on."

  Nina Malapert stepped elegantly out of the hotel front door, holding the biggest handgun anyone present had ever seen. And while everyone was still gaping at her, Nina shot de Rack neatly through the chest. The energy blast blew him apart like a rotten apple. Even as the charred and smoking pieces were still flying through the air, Douglas and Stuart charged forward, sword in hand, and hit the men guarding the hotel owner and his family. The thugs and bullyboys didn't even try to make a fight of it. They knew professional fighters when they saw them. Most just turned and ran, booed and catcalled by the watching crowd. Douglas and Stuart cut down those who didn't run in no time at all. And as quickly as that, it was all over. The hotel owner shook Douglas and Stuart by the hand, over and over, babbling his relief and thanks. His wife and children regarded the two bravos with wide, worshipful eyes. The crowd was applauding loudly. Some even cheered. Protection racketeers had friends only when they were on top. There was also a clear element of surprise in the applause. Heroes were rare in the Rookery at the best of times, which these most definitely weren't.

  Stuart shook thick drops of blood off his blade, and grinned at Douglas. "Feels good, doesn't it? Doing what we were meant to do."

  Douglas laughed briefly, a harsh resigned sound. "All right, knock it off. I'm back. It's time to wake up and get involved again. For better or worse, the rebellion starts here."

  Nina shrieked with delight, and did her happy dance right there in the street. "Yes! Yes! An exclusive for the new news site!"

  Back in their room, sitting around the table with their masks off, Douglas and Stuart and Nina plotted revolution. They all spoke loudly, interrupting and cutting each other off, their faces flushed with excitement and anticipation. They all felt more alive than they had in months.

  "So," said Stuart. "How exactly does the rebellion start here?

  "I thought I'd take all the people here in the Rookery and raise them up into an army I can set at Finn's throat," said Douglas. "Not the best material, I'll admit, but you work with what's available. So, I'll talk to them, inspire them, fire up a sense of grievance and injustice, and then whip them into a fury and—"

  "Never work," Nina said flatly. "In the whole history of the Rookery, no one's ever been able to get all of them to agree on anything. That's why most of them came here in the first place; because they couldn't get on with anyone else."

  "She may be loud and irritating, but she has a point." said Stuart. "Nothing less than a full-scale invasion of the Rookery by Finn's army would ever unite these people into a common cause, and Finn's far too smart to do that. He knows all he has to do is wait, and they'll turn on each other."

  "An invasion…" said Douglas. "That's what we need, right enough. And Finn just might do it, if we scare him enough. But first, we need to get the people here on our side, and under our command. I think… I'll start with Random's Bastards. They're the celebrities of this appalling place. They're fashion setters, trendsetters; where they lead, others will follow."

  "Yes, they're celebrities," said Stuart. "And that's why they're never going to follow two masked bravos from nowhere. We're good fighters, and perhaps even local heroes now, but so are most of the Bastards. All they care about is fame and money, and we can't offer them either."

  "They care about who they are," Douglas said slowly. "More importantly, they care about who their ancestor was. Give them a chance to be heroes and legends like the glorious Jack Random, give them a chance to follow an outlawed King into battle against a corrupt Emperor… to live the lives they've only dreamed about…"

  "Douglas, you can't!" said Nina. "Trust me, dear, this is a really bad idea. You show the Bastards your real face, and they'll be lining up to betray you to Finn for the rew
ard!"

  "Damn right," said Stuart. "They may be Random's spawn, but they know nothing of honor. And if there's anything they hate worse than an ex-King, it's an ex-Paragon. Or have you forgotten you spent most of your earlier career putting these scumbags behind bars?"

  "The enemy of my enemy is my ally, if not my friend," Douglas said calmly. "We just have to demonstrate to the Bastards that Finn is much more of a threat to them than they realize, and that we're the only people who can lead a rebellion against him. I've always found inspired self-interest to be a great motivator."

  "You'll be a dead motivator the moment you take your mask off," growled Stuart.

  "We are going to see the Bastards," Douglas said firmly. "Have faith, my children."

  "I'm taking my really big gun," said Nina. "And my best pair of running shoes."

  So, a few days later, Douglas and Stuart and Nina—two masked bravos and a demon girl reporter—attended the next scheduled meeting of Random's Bastards. It wasn't difficult to track them down. This wide selection of men, women, and not a few alien hybrids, who claimed to be descendants of the legendary professional rebel Jack Random, always came together once a month to boast and brag about all the marvelous things they'd done, and argue fiercely over their various claims to lines of descent from Jack Random. Their favored rendezvous was a squalid little tavern down on Hell Street, the Three Cripples. An appalling place in practically every way, but the drink was cheap and the owner was prepared to overlook the inevitable bad behavior in return for the regular booking.

  Douglas and Stuart and Nina looked distastefully at the stained walls, slumping roof, and windows that were blacked out for extra privacy, and stepped carefully over the bubbling open sewer to get to the main entrance. The place was already packed wall-to-wall, and the bouncer at the door tried to glare them away. Nina showed him her really big gun, and the bouncer decided there was room for just a few more after all.

  Inside, the smell was worse, if anything. The air was thick with a smog of various illegal smokes, and there wasn't a chair or a stool to be had for love nor money. The crowd jostled together amiably enough, shouting at each other to be heard over the awful din. Nearly all of the men, women, and humanoid creatures were armed with weapons of some kind. The waitresses were all Madelaines (a popular clone franchise knockoff), and they circulated as best they could through the heaving press of bodies, dispensing drinks and bar food of dubious provenance. Douglas and Stuart forced their way through the crowd with heavy scowls and vicious use of the elbow, while Nina brought up the rear.