"I'm still thinking about it," Owen said harshly. "How did you link up with my father?"
"He made Abraxus possible. It was my idea, but his money. He saw the advantages right off, and all I had to do to repay him was make sure he got a copy of whatever information my children turned up. Your father was a visionary: never afraid to experiment."
"He was never afraid to make a profit," said Owen, reluctantly sheathing his sword. "Usually at someone else's expense. How many children have died here since you started Abraxus?"
"Too many. But they would have died anyway. I keep them alive as long as I can. It's in my interest to do so."
Owen looked at Hazel. "You're being very quiet. Don't tell me you approve of this obscenity?"
"This is Mistworld, aristo," said Hazel gently. "Things are different here. If sometimes we're hard and cold, it's because we have to be to survive outside the Empire. If we ever weaken, even for a moment, the Iron Bitch will wipe us out down to the last man, woman and child. She's done it before on other planets. You know she has."
Owen looked away, his eyes moving from one small sleeping form to another, and there was only room in him for a bitter helplessness.
"Ask them," he said brusquely. "Ask them where Jack Random is."
Chance nodded and strode slowly down the center aisle, looking from one side to the other, pausing now and then to study a particular twitching face before moving on. He finally stopped by a boy who looked to be twelve years old. The young esper was scrawny to the point of malnourishment, and his bony face was slick with a sheen of sweat. He was mumbling quickly, breathlessly, his head rolling limply from side to side. He'd somehow managed to pull the IV out of his arm, despite the thick restraining straps, and Chance put it back with practiced ease.
He knelt down beside the bed and put his mouth as close to the boy's ear as he could. He talked slowly, smoothly, and his quiet voice seemed to calm the esper a little. He stopped mumbling and shaking his head and fighting the straps. His eyes stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, or perhaps everything. Owen and Hazel moved forward, and Chance gestured brusquely for them to stay where they were. He produced a small twist of paper from his pocket, took something from it and placed it in the esper's mouth. Owen thought at first it was a pill, and only slowly realized from the movements of the boy's mouth that it had been a piece of candy. Chance put his mouth right next to the esper's ear.
"Come on, Johnny boy, you can do it. Do it for Chance. I've got another treat for you. Got it right here. Just find the man for me, Johnny. Find the man called Jack Random."
He murmured on and on, never raising his voice, never stopping, quiet but persistent, and finally the boy spoke calmly and clearly.
"You want the rebel, the name that is known everywhere, the disrupter of systems, but he is not to be found. Jack Random has another name now, and another life. The Empire's hounds came too close too often, and he went to ground. Go look in his hole, his hiding place. Go to the Olympus health spa down on Riverside, and ask for Jobe Ironhand. He won't want to talk, so it's up to you to be convincing." He broke off abruptly and turned his head to look at Owen and Hazel with his all-seeing eyes. "I see you, Deathstalker. Destiny has you in its clutches, struggle how you may. You will tumble an Empire, see the end of everything you ever believed in, and you'll do it all for a love you'll never know. And when it's over, you'll die alone, far from friends and succor."
"That's enough, Johnny," said Chance. The esper closed his disquieting eyes and turned his head away, and his words became quiet and meaningless again. Chance got to his feet and rejoined Owen and Hazel. "Don't take too much notice of that last bit. A lot of my children claim to get glimpses of the future, now and again, but they've proved wrong as often as right. Otherwise, I'd have been a rich man by now."
"I've no plans to die anytime soon," said Owen. "I've been on borrowed time anyway, ever since Hazel saved my ass on Virimonde. Let's get out of here, Hazel. This place gives me the creeps."
Chance shrugged. "Nothing keeping you here, Deathstalker. You've got your name and address, all paid for in advance. The rest of the money in your father's account will go toward keeping me quiet about your visit and your destination. I do regret the necessity, but times are hard, and an honest man must turn a credit where he can. I'm sure you understand."
He broke off abruptly as Owen reached out, took a good handful of Chance's leathers, and lifted him up on his toes. Owen stuck his face into Chance's and smiled unpleasantly. "You understand me, Chance. You breathe a word about me to anyone at all, and you'd better pray they make a real good job of killing me. Because otherwise I'll find you wherever you run and kill you by inches. Got it?"
And then, without looking round, he slowly noticed that something had changed. It was very quiet, very still, and he suddenly realized that the sleeping espers had stopped muttering. Without releasing his hold on Chance, he looked around him. The espers had raised their heads, and they were all looking at him, their faces cold and focused and entirely menacing.
"Put him down, Owen," Hazel said gently. "Please put him down."
Owen let go of Chance and stepped back. He didn't even try to draw his sword or his disrupter. He somehow knew they wouldn't be able to help him. The feeling of menace was thick on the air, and a slow power burned beneath it. Chance readjusted his clothing fussily and sniffed at Owen.
"My children protect me, Deathstalker. Always. I suggest you leave now before they decide to do something unpleasant and terminal to you."
"Time to go," said Hazel. "He's not joking, Owen. Those kids are dangerous."
"So am I," said Owen. "I'm a Deathstalker, Chance, and don't you ever forget it."
"The Empress took your name away," said Chance.
Owen smiled coldly. "It wasn't hers to take. I'm a Deathstalker until I die. And we never forget a slight or an enemy."
Chance looked down his nose at him. "That's what your father said to me the last time he was here."
"I'm not my father," said Owen. "I fight dirty."
He turned and left with Hazel close behind him. The espers on their cots watched them go, their heads turning as one.
In the cold and mists outside the bakery, three toughs with drawn swords waited impatiently in the adjoining alleyway for their prey to emerge. They'd had to pay out good money at the Blackthorn to pick up the trail on the Deathstalker and his woman, but they expected to be fully repaid, and a hell of a lot more, by the reward money on their prey's heads.
Three toughs from the underside of Thieves' Quarter, Harley, Jude and Crow. Cutpurses, back-stabbers and muscle for hire. Normally they would have had more sense than to go after a renowned swordsman and warrior like the Deathstalker, but the reward money had inflamed their minds, and anyway, they felt safe enough attacking together from ambush. With any luck, it would all be over before the Deathstalker even knew what was happening, and then they could each take turns with his woman before they killed her. They clutched their sword hilts tightly and stamped their boots impatiently in the snow. They hadn't planned on so long a wait, but then, planning wasn't exactly their long suit, any more than patience.
It was snowing again, and the mists were getting thicker. If the temperature had been any lower, it would have dropped off the bottom of the thermometer. Crow scowled. He was nominally the leader, because he talked the loudest, but he was beginning to get a bad feeling about the ambush, even though it had been his idea in the first place. It was taking too long. They couldn't just keep standing around in the alleyway with their swords in their hands. Someone would notice, even in Mistport He turned to Jude to complain about the wait in general and the cold in particular, and then stopped. Jude wasn't there. Crow blinked. Jude had been there a minute ago, large as life and twice as smelly. Crow looked quickly around the narrow alleyway, but there was nowhere he could be hiding. At least Harley was still there. Crow grabbed him by the arm, and Harley nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Don't do that! You know
I get a nervous twitch when I'm startled. What do you want?"
"Where's Jude?"
Harley looked at Crow uncertainly, and then looked vaguely round the alleyway. "I don't know. I thought he was with you. He was here a minute ago."
"I know he was here a minute ago, but he isn't here now! What's happened to him?"
"I don't know! Maybe he had to take a leak and… wandered off."
"Without saying anything to us? And why didn't we notice him going?"
Harley thought hard. It wasn't easy. Thinking had never come easily to Harley, and he rather resented Crow asking him all these questions. Harley wasn't in the gang to think. He was there to take orders and hit people. He looked hopefully at Crow, in case he'd come up with the answers by himself, and then looked quickly away again.
"I'll take a look down the end of the alley," he said hastily. "Just in case."
He trudged quickly off through the snow before Crow could ask him just in case what. Crow watched him go and growled under his breath. The ambush hadn't been started properly yet, and already it was going wrong. He glanced back at the bakery to make sure the prey hadn't appeared yet, and then looked back at Harley. Only to find that he'd disappeared, too. Crow made a small whimpering noise. There was no way Harley could have reached the end of the alleyway in the short time he'd taken his eyes off him, but there was nowhere else he could have gone. Except he had to have gone somewhere… Crow spun round in a circle twice, in case he'd missed something, but all it did was make him dizzy. He was giving serious thought to running away screaming, when a noose of thin rope dropped soundlessly over his head from above and tightened round his throat.
Crow dropped his sword and clawed at the noose with both hands, but already his eyes were glazing over. His eyes bulged as he was drawn up into the air, and he was completely out of it by the time Cat hauled him up onto the roof overlooking the alleyway. He laid the unconscious thug out beside his two sleeping friends and grinned widely. He was so smart, and they were so dumb. He loosened the rope noose from around Crow's neck, coiled it round his waist again, and looked thoughtfully at the three slumbering toughs. He couldn't kill them. It wasn't in him. But he gave Harley a good kick in the nuts anyway, for being particularly heavy. He'd nearly done his back in hauling that great oaf up onto the roof. Still, Cyder had told him to make sure that Hazel and the Deathstalker went on their way undisturbed, and he always did what Cyder told him. Partly because he loved her, but mostly because she tended to throw things if he didn't. He crouched down on the edge of the roof, almost invisible in the shifting mists in his pure white thermal suit, and smiled widely as Hazel and the Deathstalker set off down the street away from the bakery. Cat followed them, moving silently from roof to roof above them.
"Owen," Hazel said firmly, "whatever else you do or don't do in Mistport, the one thing you should never do is get an esper mad at you, let alone a whole crowd of crazy espers. There are an awful lot of ways they can make life unpleasant and suddenly short for you. If you're going to continue taking risks like that, please give me plenty of warning so I can completely disassociate myself from you."
"I don't get it," said Owen, his fingers tightening angrily around his sword hilt. "He exploits those children, burns up what's left of their lives, and yet they were ready to defend him!"
"You don't have to get it," said Hazel. "All you have to remember is to keep your nose out of other people's business, or someone will cut if off. Mistport is like that, mostly."
Owen sighed, and shook his head. "All right, where are we going now? You said the health spa we want was due north of Abraxus, and according to my internal compass, we are currently heading southwest."
Hazel looked at him. "You have an internal compass? I didn't know I was walking around with a Hadenman. What else have you got hidden in your plumbing that I don't know about?"
"Never you mind, and don't change the subject. Where are we going?"
"I want to stop off somewhere first," said Hazel. "Just in case the Random deal doesn't pan out, I'll feel happier if we've got a backup. Ruby Journey used to be a red-hot bounty hunter, and she owes me several large favors. If anyone will know how to hide and protect us, it'll be her. Unfortunately, she doesn't seem to be in any of her usual haunts, which leaves only one place worth checking. All bounty hunters on Mistworld have to be licensed, on the principle that if you can't control it, tax it; the center for issuing those licenses is just down this street and around the corner. Unless they've moved it again. People keep fire-bombing it on general principles."
Owen considered this silently as Hazel led the way confidently down the street and around the corner. He was pretty sure they were being followed, but so far no one had made any moves. He was beginning to wish someone would, just so he could react. The continuing tension was giving him an ache right between the shoulder blades. He wasn't sure how many there were out there. He kept half-seeing or hearing people, only when he looked again they weren't there anymore. Owen was seriously considering turning around suddenly and shouting "Boo!" very loudly, just to see who'd jump and where, when Hazel came to a sudden halt. Owen stopped with her and studied the new premises thoughtfully. He'd seen worse, mostly in Mistport.
The new location was definitely more upscale than the last, not that this would have been difficult. Presumably the bounty hunter business was booming in Mistport. It was a big building, with curlicued decorations and scrollwork, and people going in and out in a steady stream. Hazel strode in through the open double doors as though she owned the place, and Owen hurried after her. They were immediately caught up in the complete chaos filling the huge lobby from wall to wall. Everywhere Owen looked there were desks and tables buried under piles of paper and people running back and forth between the desks as though their lives depended on it. This being Mistport, thought Owen, perhaps they did. A large crowd of all sorts and types took up all the remaining space, shouting at the people behind the desks and each other with equal volume and tenacity. The walls were covered with overlapping wanted posters, and up on the ceiling someone had painted a series of large murals depicting the human body in some detail, and the best places to hit it with large pointed things.
The din was deafening, the air was hot and sweaty, and the smell was indescribable. Hazel ploughed right through the middle of it, making liberal use of her fists and elbows to get some room. Apparently this was common practice, or at least common enough that only a few people reached for their swords, and by then she was already gone. Owen stuck close behind her, muttering polite apologies that no one heard and glaring at anyone who didn't put their sword away fast enough. It was a good glare; Owen had had lots of chances to practice and perfect it since he'd come to Mistworld. It was a carefully balanced mixture of rage and imminent violence, with just a touch of outright insanity. By the time he was halfway through the crowd, people were backing away to avoid him.
He ended up at Hazel's side in front of a desk at the rear of the room. It had two trays, marked "In" and "Urgent," and there were piles of paper everywhere. Much of it had the rough look of cheap recycling, and Owen was intrigued to note that most of them were covered with handwritten texts. In the circles he was used to moving in, handwritten notes tended to be few and far between, being usually reserved for spies and lovers.
The man sitting behind the desk was a small, intense figure with a put-upon face and a permanent scowl. He was casually dressed to the point of carelessness, and his thick black hair stuck out at angles, as though he tugged at it a lot. Hazel smiled at him charmingly, and the clerk stared back at her with equal pans desperation and apoplexy. Hazel opened her mouth to speak, and he beat her to it in a loud, carrying voice that cut through the general din.
"I don't know! Whatever it is, I don't know and I don't care! I am up to my lower lip in paperwork and sinking fast. Go away. Come back next week. Or next month. Or not at all. See if I care. Why are you still standing there?"
"I only want one name," said Hazel.
/> "That's what everyone says!" snapped the clerk. "Do you know how much work it takes to track down just one name? No, of course you don't, and you don't care either, do you?
No one cares," he said wistfully. "No one appreciates you here. The lunch break's a joke, there's only one toilet, and the pay's rotten. I'd quit if it wasn't for the pension. And the constant chances to screw up people's lives. I see my job as a kind of revenge against an uncaring society. It's either this or planting explosives in public places, and explosives are expensive. Why are you still here?"
"Why is anybody here?" said Hazel. "Look, can we save the existentialism for later? Just find me a name and an address to go with it, and we'll go away and leave you alone. Wouldn't that be nice? And not only that, if you help us, I can definitely promise to restrain my companion here from picking up all those papers in front of you and scattering them to the four corners of the room."
The clerk grabbed the nearest pile protectively. "That's right. Threaten me. Intimidate me. Who am I? Just a clerk, a minor cog in the great wheel. I can feel one of my funny turns coming on."
"How about if we offered you a small payment?" said Hazel.
"How about if you offered a big payment?" countered the clerk.
Hazel produced a large silver coin from her purse and dropped it onto the desk before him. The clerk looked at it sadly. Hazel had to add three more before he sighed deeply and scooped up the coins with a practiced sweep of the hand.
"All right, give me the name. I'm not promising anything, mind."
"Ruby Journey."
"Oh, her. Why didn't you say? She's working as a bouncer down at the Rabid Wolf. And long may she stay there, well away from civilized people. It's been ever so peaceful around here since she moved. When you find her, remind her that her license runs out next week. I should do it from a safe distance, mind. Now go away and upset somebody else. I have papers to shuffle and civil insurrection to plan."
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