“No kidding.”
Parts of the puzzle were sliding into place. Ko’iron, Lars, Relli—their motivations were all transparent. Relli’s was simple: greed. He thought he had found a way of making a fortune and even when it had cost him dearly, he had refused to let go. If anything, he’d only become more desperate and held on tighter. Lars and the count both thought they could take her back to the Spire, Lars armed with nothing more than unrequited love and some harebrained scheme, Julius with pig-headed stubbornness and overweening pride. Frikkin’ nobles.
That left only one player unaccounted for. The one, she realised now, who had been manipulating them all from the beginning.
“You don’t know much about Shallej Bak do you, Relli?” Donna said casually.
“Ah, I, yes, yes I do. I have dealt with him for years, on and off. He’s always been a tremendous help in the past.”
“Well, if you’d ever thought of him as more than a hired gun you might have checked up on his background.” Donna’s voice was low but clear, almost hypnotic.
“Bak’s clan came down from Hive City en masse about twenty years ago, first as Delaque gangers and then spreading out over the years to become gun-scum, bounty hunters, outlaws, watchmen, settlers. It’s got so there isn’t a settlement in the Underhive that doesn’t have one of the Bak clan around to watch and listen.”
“What are you implying?” Relli asked, white-faced.
“It’s an open secret in many places. The Baks do ‘jobs’ for Hive City Delaques on a fairly regular basis. Among many others, they form the network of spies, assassins and saboteurs the Delaque have in place to safeguard their interests in the Underhive.”
“Naturally, the Delaque, being slimy, underhanded backstabbers, believe that all the other houses have agents in the Underhive too, including the noble houses.” Donna took a last bite of rat meat and looked at the long, greasy thighbone left in her hand.
“They think I’m an Ulanti agent, and Shallej’s been using his bounty hunter status to try and hunt me down for quite some time.”
“Whatever scheme you’re pursuing with Dead Man’s Hole, you can guarantee the Delaque won’t want it to happen. Any shift in energy generation would favour the Orlocks most out of all of the Houses, as they have the most readily available industrial capacity to use it.”
“In Shallej’s mind this all makes sense. As an Ulanti agent I would do all I could to assist a scheme that would ultimately benefit the Orlock’s biggest patrons—House Ulanti.”
“But, but why would he help bring you here then?” Relli stammered querulously.
Donna could see he already knew the answer. It was written in his fear-filled eyes, but she decided she would spell it out for him anyway. She stood up and snapped the thighbone with a crack that made Lars and Relli jump.
“So he could get us in one place and kill us all at once.”
There was the distant crump of an explosion. The deck lurched beneath Donna’s feet, and lumebulbs flickered overhead, blowing like miniature fireworks.
Thirty minutes was up.
There was blood on her hands and she couldn’t get it off. It didn’t matter how hard she rubbed them, the red streaks wouldn’t go away. She had come to the arboretum seeking water, somewhere she could wash the blood away, but now that she had found it she couldn’t bring herself to get close. Couples and families strolled past obliviously, but she knew if she dipped her hands into the fountain it would run red, and then everyone would see she was a murderer.
So she sat on a bench with her hands clasped in her armpits and rocked gently back and forth. The fantastic gown she wore rustled and sighed in time with her movements. It was comforting.
“You look a little cold there, nobledam, may I offer you my coat?”
D’onne was so surprised to be spoken to that she almost cried out. She looked up sharply at the one who had addressed her and broken her spell of invisibility. He was a youth of medium height and dark hair, with strong but not unpleasing features. He smiled uncertainly and held out his heavy brocade coat. D’onne realised that she was cold. Her bare arms and neck were like ice. She took the coat and slipped it on, luxuriating in the welcome warmth of its previous occupant. She gazed up at him again, thinking she must look pathetically grateful.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure. It is a beautiful dress but perhaps better suited to dinner in the Summer House than winter by the fountain?” His eyebrows arched inquiringly, an earnest plea for his gentle foray not to be thought too gauche.
D’onne giggled. “I didn’t intend to come here, my feet just brought me.”
“Ahh, I know that well, all too often I look up only to find myself in places I’ve reached unbidden.”
“Sire, you mock me.”
“I swear I do not. Why, only this shift past I appeared at my sweetheart’s domicile only to discover my sweetheart was my sweetheart no more and her heart was given to another. What man would consciously place himself in the path of such woes? It is all the fault of those wandering feet, I tell you, we would all be happier without them.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I did not mean to intrude upon your grief, sire, please be on your way, I should delay you no further.” She grinned wickedly at him and started to shrug off his coat.
“Oh no-no-no, nobledam,” the man said, and seated himself beside her so fast that he almost bounced. “All grief over my lost love has been eradicated by an altogether brighter star arising in the firmament. Indeed, now I give thanks for what I cursed an hour, even a minute ago.”
“Do you usually reveal your innermost thoughts to strangers so readily, sire?”
“I am moved to desperation by the possibility my new star may be a transient body, liable to leave my own sphere without warning. Hence I give my worship now while I still may, before cruel fate, and perchance cruel feet, remove her from me.”
D’onne laughed again; it was nice to be flattered. They sat quietly for a moment watching the fountain splash into its bowl. The shadows were growing longer and less people were coming by. With his eyes distant, he leaned over and murmured confidentially to her.
“I feel we share a common thread, you and I. Our paths have been brought together by circumstances beyond our knowing, forces beyond our ken.”
D’onne was wary. “Why do you say such things, noblesir?”
“Because when I saw you I sensed a kindred spirit in mourning. I saw the weight upon your shoulders that I had felt upon mine when I lost my love, though I fear cruel fate has weighed upon you even more so than it has me.”
D’onne could only nod desolately at his words.
“But it is a time for joy, don’t you understand? In seeing you here I’ve felt my heart beat again, even were we to part now and never meet again I would cherish this moment always if only for that.
“I know that to you I’m just a fool in the park but I… I burn with joy that I could even make you laugh and lighten your burden just a little. Thank you for allowing me to live again.”
The man reached out and gently took D’onne by the hand. Caught in the wonder of the moment, she didn’t think to pull away. He looked down at her hands and tutted, laying them delicately back in her lap before going over to the fountain. He returned with a moistened kerchief and wiped the red streaks of blood away without a word. He looked up at her face again and smiled.
“Would you grant me a boon to celebrate the event? Allow me to take you to dinner by the lake in spring.”
D’onne smiled back hesitantly. “That would be nice, but why there?”
“Because spring is a time of new beginnings.”
They had luncheon by the lake and it was glorious. They sat and ate and talked all the while, with D’onne expecting to be caught at any moment but not caring any more.
His name was Lars Polema. He was of the House of Greim, a minor cousin to the head family, and so little more than a well-connected employee. He was engaged in antiquarian studies of the endless rec
ords of Hive Primus from previous centuries that Greim used for its quota forecasting, and laughed about how dull it was. She simply called herself D’onne and he discretely enquired no further.
After luncheon he took her along the arcades near The Wall looking for new clothes. He gently steered her towards the most durable, understated garb they could find: a strong pair of boots and a well tailored pair of slacks, a close fitting jacket with lots of pockets and a hood.
He begged her to wait outside another store while he darted inside and she did, suddenly realising she didn’t know what else to do. With a sad feeling she understood that she had to part from him soon, because to stay with him could only bring him to harm when Sylvanus caught up with her.
She looked up to see him standing before her. He held out something to her that was so small that it was cupped in his hand. Puzzled, she opened hers to receive it. Two small white cylinders lay in the palm of her hand.
“D’onne?” Lars asked. “Have you ever gone into Hive City?”
9: DOG SOLDIERS
“If you can’t keep it, then it was never yours.”
Old Underhive saying
Relli, Lars and Ko’iron were shocked into paralysis by the detonation, jaws dropping slackly in alarm. Donna was already moving. Ko’iron recovered his wits first.
“That’s it, Relli! All bets are off, I’m taking the girl now!” blustered the count as he struggled back to his feet. The surviving lumebulbs flickered and dimmed ominously before brightening again. Donna was suddenly beside him.
“Good enough for one is good enough for both, I say,” she proclaimed and plunged the sharp end of the broken rat bone she was holding into his eye. Count Julius Ko’iron screamed and fell, the medicae unit collapsing over him like a marionette with its wires cut. Relli was backing off against the far wall, blubbering. Donna looked up at Lars.
“You better get out of here, lover,” she said. “Things are going to get messy.”
Before Lars could answer, Donna ducked aside. A blow from the Goliath bodyguard shattered the edge of the table where she had been standing a second before. She short-kicked the Dog Soldier in the crotch, and then smashed her knee up into his face as he doubled over. The Goliath roared in anger and pain, swinging his iron mace again and sending Donna skipping backwards to avoid it. He lumbered after her with a murderous gleam in his eyes.
This fight could only go one way. Without weapons Donna couldn’t hope to best an armed ganger like the Goliath—she could just annoy him for a while. Fortunately, she was not entirely without weapons. Her flat little throwing blade was still secure inside her bodice. She sidled around the table so the Goliath couldn’t rush straight at her.
The Dog Soldier’s solution was predictably direct. He leapt up onto the tabletop, scattering slime loaves and rat meat everywhere. While the Goliath was still regaining his balance she drew the blade and threw, quick as a snake.
The blade flew straight and true towards the Goliath’s thick neck but he twisted aside at the last instant, the sharp sliver burying itself in corded muscle instead of carotid artery. The Dog Soldier just grunted and swatted at the blade as if it were a biting insect. Not good.
The Dog Soldier made to leap at her but slipped in some fungus marinade and half-fell on the table instead. Undaunted, he unleashed a swing at Donna anyway, catching her off-guard with a rib-cracking strike in the chest. She tried to roll but was hurled backwards by the force of the blow. Red flashes of pain shot through her torso as she tried to breathe, a sucking void of oblivion felt close behind her skull. She shook her head groggily.
The Dog Soldier laughed. “Ahm comin’ sweet’eart, soon be ovah!” he called and slid off the table in a shower of hors d’oeuvres.
Imminent death was enough to sharpen her mind considerably. She scrambled to her feet, leaping aside from the Goliath’s charge by a hair’s breadth. An ornate chair was splintered into matchwood in her place. Out of desperation, she snatched up a sharp piece of wood and speared it into the Goliath’s arm. He just contemptuously backhanded her away and sent her reeling.
He came in again with the same right-to-left rib-cracking swing that had worked so well last time. Donna was not caught out twice. She ducked under the hurtling iron and darted inside his reach. She knew it was a risky move; he could crush her in a moment if he could bring all of his monstrous strength into play. But that was why Donna needed a weapon.
She seized the hilt of a knife protruding from the Dog Soldier’s wide belt, intending to draw it and slash him with it in the process. The damn thing was so heavy it took all her strength and most of her body weight to draw. She staggered backwards, dragging the heavy lump of metal with her, taking it in both hands to avoid dropping it altogether. The Dog Soldier laughed so hard at her that he almost cried.
“Hoo thass fair nah, you got yore weapon an’ I got mine, hur-huh.”
“Well, come and get it, fatboy,” Donna snarled. “Donna’s waiting.” The Dog Soldier’s knife might be big, unbalanced and stupidly heavy, but it had a wicked edge to it. It might just be sharp enough to carve through even the Goliath’s thick skull.
He was more cautious, despite all his bravado. No straight rush and right-left cross this time. He was still slow, only now Donna was almost as slow, even wielding the knife in both hands. She managed to parry his first blow and her arms ached with the shock of impact. She darted past him and put a slash in his flank though he cannily rolled away from it and the wound was shallow. They locked weapons again with the same result, only this time he got completely out of the way of her riposte.
Attack, parry, riposte. The pattern repeated with variations again and again. Donna’s hands were too numbed from the impacts of repeatedly parrying the Goliath’s mace to do more than simple crosscuts in return. An accurate killing thrust was impossible, so she darted and slashed at the Dog Soldier. This was exactly the kind of fight the Goliath wanted, a slugfest where sooner or later his superior strength and endurance would overcome her skill and agility. She had some successes, producing a nick here and a cut there, getting ever more exhausted in the process.
She dodged away from another swing and bumped into the edge of the table. The Dog Soldier had been backing her towards it all along, obviously not prepared to wait for his victory. The mace swung down like a plunging meteor with all the force of his bulging muscles behind it, impossible for Donna to parry with the heavy knife. At the last instant she abandoned the knife altogether, and once freed of its encumbrance she spun aside, weaponless again.
The mace shattered another chunk out of the table and flying shards of oil-glass nicked Donna’s exposed flesh. The sharp kiss gave her an idea. She threw herself at the Goliath, shoulder charging him while he was still off-balance from his missed blow. The Dog Soldier stumbled and fell, his chin crashing into the jagged edge of the table where a hundred crystal knives were waiting for him. Blood splattered spectacularly across the table, the food, overturned chairs, the rich carpet.
Despite his obviously mortal wound, the Goliath gurgled hideously and tried to get up.
“No. You. Don’t!” Donna yelled, punctuating each word with a kick at the back of his neck, driving it against the saw-toothed edge. On the third kick the head came free and rolled across the tabletop with the eyelids still flickering as the dying brain tried to focus. The torso flopped grotesquely and sprayed the rest of its contents from the gory stump. The chamber fell suddenly quiet except for the ragged sound of Donna’s breathing and the streaming of blood.
Donna quickly retrieved her weapons from the Goliath’s corpse, cursing at her cracked ribs as she bent down to take them. Only then did she think to look about her. Lars and Relli were gone. An opening that hadn’t been there before had appeared in the back wall—some kind of secret bolt-hole no doubt. Someone must have dragged away Ko’iron during the fight because he was gone too. She stepped towards the opening. As she did so, another explosion shook the deck and Donna heard the chatter of weapon fire in its a
ftermath.
The Escher were attacking just like Jen had said. If Donna didn’t help they would be massacred—she could hear the firing notch up as the quad stubber deck gun kicked in and drowned out the other gunfire. The way it was pumping out rounds made it sound like the Escher were pinned down—long strafing bursts of stubber fire were followed by a few defiant shots barking in return.
Despite her lust for revenge, Donna found her feet carrying her back to the door by which she had entered. Relli could wait for now, she reasoned, but the Escher couldn’t. The buzz-saw noise of stubber fire cut the air again, this time followed by fewer return shots.
She started running along the entry hall back towards the atrium. Power fluctuations on the ekranoplan were making the Spire-holos flicker and jump in the windows beside her as she passed.
Relli had thought he could simply tempt her into doing whatever he wanted with a few glimpses of the Spire and some empty promises, that she would be pathetically grateful enough to become his agent. The stupid, bloated egotist. She took malicious pleasure in shattering the holo shutters one by one as she ran, leaving a trail of empty blackness in her wake.
The door to the atrium was partway open, which was odd considering Relli had closed it. She slowed down as she got close to it and covered the gap with her las. Her mind was running through a list of all her foes aboard the ekranoplan and trying to rate them for threat value.
There were the three remaining Dog Soldiers, all pretty hard bastards and ready to kill her on sight. There was a good chance at least one of them was waiting for her in the atrium. There were Relli’s pit slaves, who would keep fighting as long as Relli or the Goliaths were around to tell them to, but would probably slink off if they got the chance. On the other hand, they were all trapped onboard the ekranoplan by the Escher attack, so they would probably fight like cornered rats.
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