"I wouldn't say no."
Toby hit the intercom switch. "Miss Lovett, a cup of tea for Mr. Flynn, please."
Flynn raised a plucked eyebrow. "Since when are you so formal?"
Toby shrugged. "They expect it from the boss. I tried being relaxed and informal when I first moved in here, but it just made them uncomfortable. I suppose it's hard to be easy and spontaneous with someone who can fire your ass just because he came in with a headache that morning."
The door opened, and a young woman with hardly any dress on and a quite astounding amount of cleavage tottered in on impossibly high heels. She smiled widely at Flynn, displaying perfect teeth of dazzling brightness, and presented him with a steaming cup of tea.
"Thank you, dear," said Flynn graciously. "Do you know, I just love your earrings. You must tell me where you found them."
"You wear them to the office, Flynn, and you're fired," said Toby. "Thank you. Miss Lovett. That will be all for now."
The young lady giggled for no apparent reason, heaved her cleavage in the direction of the door, and tottered out again. Flynn looked at Toby.
"She's my secretary," said Toby defensively. "She takes dictation."
"Yeah," said Flynn. "I'll just bet she does. I would also bet good money that she has a room-temperature IQ and the personality of a piece of string."
"All right, she's a bimbo, I admit it. I have someone else to do the actual secretarial work. Miss Lovett is more in the nature of… an office ornament. Something I can use to distract the union bosses when they come in with their latest wage claim. Upper management gave her to me. They thought it might keep me in the office more. Truth be told, she gets on my nerves something fierce. She has a voice that could frighten sheep, no talents you can discuss in polite company, and a laugh that could strip wallpaper off walls. Took me two weeks to train her to make a cup of tea. I'd fire her, but it would break her heart."
"Life is tough at the top," said Flynn.
"It is!" said Toby. "All I want is to get some work done. Some real work. I can't just sit around all day, Flynn, ticking the right boxes and signing where indicated. It's not in my nature. I need to be doing something. Something that matters. I always thought that with this job's authority I'd finally be able to cover the kind of important stories I'd always wanted to go after. But it never works out that way. I may be the boss here, but I still have to answer to my bosses, the people who own Imperial News. And they'd be just as happy running a gossip show, as long as it didn't affect profits. Every time I suggest a good target to go after, the word comes down from above: don't make waves.
"They were happy enough to take risks when they were only a minor company, desperate to do anything to grab viewing figures away from the big boys, but now they are one of the big boys, they've gone all nervous on me. They have something to lose these days. You know, Flynn… I should be happy. I've made it! I've got the job I always wanted! I run Imperial News! They don't even challenge my expenses anymore. But I am bored, Flynn. Terribly, mind-numbingly bored."
"You know the answer, chief. Do what you did the last time we had this conversation. Pick a story and cover it yourself. Get out in the field and see how close to the wind you can sail this time. I'm always available to be your cameraman. For the standard rates. Plus danger money."
"I'd like to, Flynn, but… Oh, the hell with it. Stuff them all. If I stay in this room much longer, I'll start putting down roots. I can always leave my deputy in charge for a while. Not too bright, and scared stiff of anyone who raises their voice to him, but I swear he actually likes shuffling papers. Come on, Flynn. Let's get a move on. We have a story to cover."
"What, right now? I was think of somewhen tomorrow. I can't go with you now. Clarence will have a hot-pot dinner waiting for me."
"Tell him to stick it back in the oven," said Toby ruthlessly. "What I have in mind can't wait. There's a couple of targets I've been trying to get to for weeks, but my reporters keep being turned down and intimidated. Let's see what I can do. After everything I went through in the rebellion, they couldn't intimidate me with a point-blank disrupter cannon."
"I have a terrible feeling I've started something that can only end in tears," said Flynn. "Lead on, boss. Where are we going first?"
"To see the Speaker of Parliament his own slippery self: Elias bloody Gutman."
Getting in to see Gutman turned out to be easier than expected. They didn't bother with an introductory call requesting an appointment, because Toby knew very well Gutman wouldn't agree to one. So instead he and Flynn went straight around to Gutman's luxurious townhouse, in one of the very best neighborhoods, and got in by bribing the footmen. Once inside, Toby worked his way through the inner security levels and ranks of flak catchers in a grandstanding performance of sheer perseverance and bloody-mindedness that Flynn found a joy to watch. This was the Toby Shreck he remembered—an unstoppable force of nature that talked its way around most obstacles and walked right over the rest. Leaving Gutman's people wondering what the hell had hit them, Toby and Flynn followed the head butler to Gutman's inner sanctum.
The butler, a tall and haughty personage in an old-fashioned frock coat, with frosty manners and just a little understated makeup, who winked at Flynn when he thought Toby wasn't looking, finally came to a halt before a massive pair of intricately carved wooden doors. He knocked politely and then threw them open with a practiced flair, announcing Toby's and Flynn's names in a carrying voice. Toby strode straight in, with Flynn right behind him, camera hovering over his shoulder. The butler took up a position just inside the doors, in case he was needed.
Gutman's quarters were surprisingly tasteful, but all that meant was that he could afford a decent interior designer. There were shelves of books along one wall, expensive leather-bound editions, but Toby would have bet good money Gutman hadn't read any of them. Probably bought them by the yard. Gutman himself was reclining at his ease in a technological marvel of a chair that did everything but wipe his nose for him. He didn't bother to get up when his visitors entered, so Toby didn't bother with the bow and polite greetings that formality would otherwise have demanded.
"Get rid of the flunky, Gutman," Toby said brusquely, starting as he meant to go on. "You aren't going to want a witness for some of the things we're going to discuss."
"Ah, the famous Shreck charm," said Gutman heavily. "That must be how you got past my guards. Most of whom will be drawing unemployment tomorrow. It's all right, Jobe, you can go. I'll ring if I need anything."
The butler bowed, gave Flynn a last lingering look, and left. Toby fixed Gutman with his best piercing gaze. "So, Elias, how are the hemorrhoids?"
"Compared to your presence, nothing at all. You're the only real pain in my ass these days. What do you want at this late hour?"
"What I always want, answers. Starting with how a slimy wheeler and dealer like you ended up as a revered elder statesman."
Gutman shrugged easily. "Through my many and varied business enterprises. Over the years I have amassed many influential contacts, in all walks of life. I've never believed in keeping all my eggs in one basket."
"You've never believed in declaring them for taxes either," said Toby. "Come on, Elias. Everyone knows that you had a hand in every dirty deal going. Your reputation was marginally worse than the Hadenmen's. How did you end up as Speaker?"
"Much to my surprise," said Gutman. "I came to rebuild my Family, which had been so weakened during the war they were even glad to see me back. And as a man of means and prospects, I found position and responsibility pressed upon me."
"Just like that."
"Pretty much. I hate to disappoint you, Toby, but I was elected Speaker because the majority wanted it. No backroom deals, no bribes, no blackmail, no secret promises of favor or influence. I got the job because everyone knew me and distrusted me equally. And if they were dumb enough to offer me the post, I was certainly dumb enough to take it."
"You're living very well," said Toby, retreating for
the moment to safer ground. "A big house, in the best part of town. An army of servants and all the luxuries. And if that obscene portrait on the wall is what I think it is, it alone cost more than your yearly salary as Speaker. Where's the money come from these days, Elias?"
"I never knew you had an eye for art, Toby," said Gutman easily. "And yes, it is an original. Erotica is very collectable these days. I acquired it as payment for an outstanding debt. My money comes from investments, all of them open and aboveboard. My finances these days are a matter of public record. I'm squeaky clean. I can afford to be. It was a good war for me in many ways."
"If you're so clean, why did you settle for Speaker? You could have been a Member of Parliament. Hell, you could have been Prime Minister."
"I prefer to be the man who chooses the Prime Minister. The power behind the throne, so to speak."
"But just what are your politics these days, Elias? Where do you stand? What are you after? You seem terribly chummy with just about everyone, including all the extreme fringe groups that no one else would touch with a barge pole. There isn't a political gathering of whatever persuasion that doesn't have you on its guest list. Oh, I'm sorry, was that supposed to be a secret? I've studied the footage from the stuff that doesn't make it to the screen, and it's amazing how often you crop up. No matter how extreme the cause, or how distasteful, or even how opposed, there you are, right in the middle of things, smiling and pressing the flesh and making friends. Everybody's buddy. Care to comment on that?"
Gutman had stopped smiling. "You're on dangerous ground, Shreck. Back off."
"If it's all so innocent, why don't you want to talk about it? You just said you're squeaky clean these days. Why is everyone always so glad to see you, Elias? What are you offering them in those private little backroom meetings that no one else gets to see?"
"I think it's time you were leaving," said Gutman flatly. "I have nothing more to say. And don't think you can use any footage of this conversation. I have hidden security devices that jam all recording equipment."
"That's what you think," said Flynn. "I've made modifications."
Gutman glared at Flynn and then at Toby. "I could have my people destroy that camera."
"No, you couldn't. It would cause too many awkward questions." Toby smiled at Gutman. "Unlike you, people believe what I tell them."
"I'll speak to your bosses," said Gutman. "And then they'll tell you what to say."
"I am the boss," said Toby.
Gutman smiled coldly. "One of my investments is in communications. I own forty percent of Imperial News."
Toby smiled coldly right back at him. "Do you think that'll stop me? There are always other companies. I'm red-hot these days. Everyone wants me. Time we were going, Flynn. Don't bother with the flunky, Elias. We'll find our own way out."
They left in somewhat of a hurry, just in case Gutman decided he didn't care about his public image just this once. Out in the street again, in the cool air of the evening, Toby and Flynn looked at each other thoughtfully.
"Well," said Flynn, "that was interesting."
"Yeah," said Toby, rubbing his hands together. "I told you there was a story here. Just wish I knew what the hell it was. We're going to have to do some more digging in records and archives. See if we can find more footage on exactly who he's been cozying up to just recently that Elias doesn't want us to know about. Might be interesting to see if there's anyone he isn't talking to. That might tell us something as well… Strange, though, I was expecting him to put up more of a fight. And the threats were so… obvious. He used to be more subtle than that." Toby gave Flynn a sharp look. "Were you bluffing about your camera? Do we have any of that conversation recorded?"
"Depends," said Flynn. "I upgrade my camera regularly, but the main players make a point of always having state-of-the-art security. I won't know for sure what I've got till I get back to the lab."
"Well, that will have to wait," said Toby. "We have another visit to make yet. A Family affair this time: my dear aunt Grace, currently the head of my Clan in the detested Gregor's absence. She's been running the Family and doing a very good job of it, by all accounts. Which is interesting, because the Grace I've known for most of my life wouldn't say boo to a goose if it was crapping on her boot. A shy, retiring creature, Aunt Grace, immersed in a remembered past when things were simpler. Gregor had to bully and intimidate her just to get her to turn up at Court. But of late dear Grace has emerged into the limelight with a vengeance, becoming a major social figure. Something's finally kicked her awake, and I want to know what."
"But… isn't this change a good thing?" said Flynn. "Aren't you pleased she's come out of her shell?"
"She's still a Shreck," said Toby. "And we never do anything without at least one ulterior motive."
"Oh, yeah," said Flynn. "Then what's yours for this visit?"
Toby smiled. "My cousin Clarissa. She's been staying with Grace ever since the Deathstalker freed her from her servitude as one of Lionstone's maids. A pretty young thing, very sweet. I thought I might see how she was getting along."
"You old softy," said Flynn. "Wait a minute. I thought she was your sister?"
"Half sister and cousin," said Toby, shrugging easily. "It's that kind of Family."
It wasn't far to Grace Shreck's town house; she lived in the same salubrious area as Gutman. Private security systems monitored the streets, keeping an electronic eye on anyone who looked as though they didn't belong there. Flynn on his own would have been immediately stopped, but everybody knew Toby Shreck. The Shreck town house had been in the Family for generations, and looked it. The old stone walls were discolored by age and pollution, and the once impeccable gardens had been left to run wild. Long-established mats of ivy crawled across the frontispiece of the house, left alone out of a sense of tradition, and a sneaking suspicion that the ivy was the only thing holding some of the stonework together. The windows were one-way only, showing blank, uncaring eyes to the outside world. And Toby knew for a fact that there were hidden guns all over to discourage unwanted visitors. This was a Shreck establishment, after all.
Once the house had been home and sanctuary to the majority of the Shreck, but with the building of the pastel towers, it had declined into just a town house, somewhere to stay for short periods for those of the Family who were currently out of favor. Now the great four-winged mansion was home to Grace alone, plus a small army of servants. Grace was a great believer in keeping up appearances.
"Most of the rooms are empty now," said Toby as he and Flynn waited more or less patiently outside the main drawing room. The butler had just gone in to announce them, and was apparently taking his time. Toby wouldn't have thought there was that much to announce. But he couldn't just barge in as he had with Gutman. This was Family. "Bit of a waste, really. Given its location, we could sell this place for a tidy sum, but Grace won't give it up for as long as she lives. It's her home."
"And very impressive it is," said Flynn. "If I'd known we were coming somewhere this posh, I'd have nipped home to change into my best frock and real diamonds. A girl likes to look her best."
"Don't even mention that in front of Grace," Toby said firmly. "She's a bit old-fashioned, and easily shocked. If we're going to get anything out of her, I need her to be relaxed and at her ease."
"That's a bit cold-blooded, isn't it? I mean, she's your aunt."
Toby grinned. "But we're both Shrecks. Don't let your guard down in there, Flynn. She could tear you apart if the mood took her."
The butler, in formal frock coat and powdered wig, returned at last to usher them into the main drawing room. It was big enough to land a ship's pinnace in, and crowded with antique furniture and priceless works of art of the kind normally only seen in museums. Huge Family portraits covered the walls, generations of Shrecks in a variety of styles, with the same frowning faces and identical cold eyes.
It made Gutman's place look positively rustic.
"Wow," said Finlay quietly. "How the oth
er one percent lives. I never knew you and your Family were this rich, boss."
"We're not," said Toby just as quietly. "We just used to be. There are individual pieces here that could pay off the Family's debts for a decade, but Grace won't part with any of them. As long as she can still surround herself with all this stuff, she can still convince herself that Clan Shreck is still what it used to be, and nothing has really changed."
"Still," said Flynn, "I'll bet this room is hell to dust. They must work in shifts."
And then, finally, they were brought into the presence of Grace Shreck. Toby and Flynn both bowed formally. Grace inclined her head regally from the depths of a huge, very comfortable-looking chair set just the right distance away from the roaring fire in the great fireplace. The butler gestured to two hovering servants, also in frock coat and powdered wig, who hurried forward bearing two antique chairs and set them down just the right distance away from Grace so that Toby and Flynn could sit facing her. They settled themselves carefully onto the delicate-looking chairs, which proved to be even more uncomfortable than they looked. Grace smiled at them both and then, without looking around, gestured to the butler. He and the two servants left the room, backing out all the way. Grace waited till the door had closed behind them, and then sniffed disparagingly.
"Servants… it's so hard to get good help these days. You have to be ever so careful what you say in front of them. In my young days a Family servant would never have dreamed of repeating a confidence, or anything they might have heard of their master's business, but no one has any sense of loyalty anymore. They're always looking for some gossip they can peddle to the scandal shows. Never mind whether it's true or not, as long as it makes a good story, that's their attitude. I do hope that camera of yours is not operating, young man. I take my privacy very seriously."
Deathstalker Honor d-4 Page 40
