“But she’s isn’t here,” Mech pointed out.
“No, her ship isn’t here,” said Cal. “It’s out there somewhere, just beyond scanner range. Only, her scanner is better than ours, or maybe she does have a cloaking device, or… I don’t know. Whatever. Her ship’s there somewhere, but she’s not on it.”
“How can you possibly know any of this?” Kannus demanded.
Cal spun to face him. “Because it’s literally the only way any of this makes sense!” He stood back, waiting for everyone to realize he was a genius. When they didn’t, he tutted. “You’re not getting it, are you? Vajazzle isn’t up there. She’s already here!”
The others looked around them. “Where?” asked Graxan.
“The woman can teleport!” yelped Cal. “She’s already inside the fonking vault!”
It took a moment for the significance of Cal’s words to settle in. Graxan’s eyes widened. “Where is it?” he demanded, rounding on the terrified Savvon. “Where is the vault?”
Savvon blinked rapidly, his mouthless face a picture of confusion. “Where is the vault?” Graxan roared, his teeth and claws flashing furiously.
“Uh, Dad…”
Graxan snapped his head around. “What?”
“I think we found it,” Miz said.
“How? Where? Oh!” said Graxan. “Oh no.”
There, walking towards them across the green-black shale, was Lady Vajazzle.
And also there, clutched in one withered hand, was the Bladestaff.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Cal puffed out his cheeks. “This might not be too bad,” he said. “Maybe she’s just… bringing it to you. As a gesture of peace or something.”
“That was sarcasm, by the way,” Miz muttered, her gaze fixed on the approaching assassin.
“Actually, it wasn’t,” said Cal. “But I can see why you might make that mistake.”
“Take aim!” Kannus ordered. There was a well-organized clattering as his troops raised their rifles, blaster pistols and spears in Vazazzle’s direction.
“Hold,” Graxan commanded. “Lower your weapons.”
Kannus’s head snapped around. “But… Great Graxan…”
“Do not question me, pup,” Graxan warned. He looked past him to where the soldiers were trying to decide whose orders they should be following. “Lower. Your. Weapons,” he said, and the tone of his voice made their minds up for them.
They lowered their weapons.
“Sensible,” said Vajazzle, stopping around fifteen feet away from the group. “Keep your people on their leash, Graxan. I’d hate for our agreement to fall apart on us now.”
Graxan took a step towards the assassin, nudging Kannus aside. “The Bladestaff. Give it to me.”
Vajazzle looked down at the weapon in her hand. If she stood it on one end, it would be taller than Cal by a clear foot. Most of it – the ‘staff’ part was a simple pole made of dark wood. Attached to the top end was a silver-colored blade in the shape of a crescent moon, while a corkscrew-like metal spike had been fixed to the bottom.
It was, as far as Cal could tell, nothing special – a sentiment seemingly echoed by Lady Vajazzle.
“Ah yes, the Bladestaff,” she said, giving it an experimental twirl like a baton. “I thought it would be more impressive. Not magic, of course, that would be ridiculous. Just… better. There’s nothing special about this thing, at all.”
“Then give it to me,” said Graxan, extending a clawed hand. “And go.”
Beneath her hood, Vajazzle smiled. “Now Graxan, you know that isn’t going to happen.”
“Take the Earthling,” Kannus blurted. “That’s what you want. A trade. Him for the Bladestaff.”
“Kannus!” Graxan snapped. “Keep your counsel.”
“I don’t want the Earthling,” said Vajazzle.
There was a moment of silent surprise. “You don’t?” asked Cal. He smiled. “Well that’s the first bit of good news I’ve had all day.”
“Sinclair does.”
Cal’s smile fell away. “Oh. Gotcha.”
“As for what I want,” Vajazzle continued. “I want to make an example.”
There was a sudden flurry of movement beneath her robe. Cal ducked and tucked his head under his arms as the air was filled with the high-pitched whistle of several small objects slicing through the air.
There followed a series of ‘Urks.’
Then a series of thuds.
When Cal looked up, both Graxan’s and Kannus’s guards lay on the ground, their long tongues lolling from their open mouths. Graxan, Kannus and Miz were the only Greyx left standing. Even poor Savvon, who seemed incapable of harming anyone beyond himself, lay crumpled at Kannus’s feet.
Graxan’s snout furled up. The hair on his shoulder stood on end, making him appear even larger than he was, as his fingers balled into fists. “What have you done? Our agreement--”
“Still stands,” said Vajazzle, with a dismissive wave of a hand. “The deal states only that I do not harm the Greyx. They are unharmed. Unconscious, but unharmed. You see, I am a woman of my word. When I make a deal, I stick to it.”
She hefted the Bladestaff in her hand a couple of times, feeling the weight of it. “The same cannot be said for you. Honorary Greyx?” Anger seethed below her hood. “How dare you attempt to alter our arrangement Graxan? How dare you?”
“You would be wise not to question my decisions, Vajazzle,” Graxan warned.
“And you would be wise not to mistake me for one of your groveling minions,” Vajazzle replied, shooting Kannus a very deliberate look.
“We shall see who ends this day groveling, assassin,” Kannus growled. He dropped onto his haunches, preparing to lunge, but Graxan shoved him hard on the shoulder, sending him sprawling onto the shale.
Kannus raised his eyes in shock. Graxan snarled down at him, just briefly, then turned his attention back to Vajazzle.
“I could have insisted, of course,” said Vajazzle. “I could have pointed out that our agreement does not extend to ‘honorary Greyx’ and taken them anyway.”
“You could have tried,” said Miz.
Vajazzle let out a mirthless, “Ha,” sound. “You are your father’s daughter, child. I would have succeeded. You could not have stopped me.” She exhaled slowly. “But that would not have sent a strong enough message to the others I have entered into agreements with. And I am a firm believer in strong messages.”
She nodded to Kannus as he got back to his feet and dusted himself down. “I have watched this one with interest. You have taught him well. Ruthless, ambitious – a little unruly and arrogant, perhaps, but he’ll learn. He would have made a fine king.”
Vajazzle’s robotic red eye flared in its socket. “Of course, that’s not going to happen.” She smiled across at Mizette. “Is it, dear? You have no interest in being his queen. Your heart belongs to another.”
Miz looked at Cal.
Kannus looked at Cal.
Pretty much everyone looked at Cal, in fact.
Cal, for his part, appeared to be deeply fascinated by a small patch of cloud drifting through the sky a few miles. He watched it, his cheeks reddening, until Graxan spoke and everyone turned their attention to him, instead.
“Lies. Kannus will be king. Mizette shall be his queen,” Graxan intoned.
“No. She won’t,” said Kannus. “She told me herself.”
“She is your Lifebound,” barked Graxan. “It has been decided.”
“But… that’s not fair,” said Mizette. “It shouldn’t be decided. Who decided? You? Mom? Some ancient tradition that nobody even knows how it started? It should be up to me to choose. Me. No-one else.”
“You go, girl!” said Mech. He brought his hands together a few times, trying to start a slow hand-clap. When no-one else joined in, he stopped, tutted loudly, then muttered below his breath.
“How must it feel?” Vajazzle purred, her gaze now
firmly fixed on Kannus. “Your whole life planned for you from childhood. Every hour of every day spent studying, training, learning to become the king you were born to be. And then…” She blew on her fingertips and mimed them drifting off on the breeze. “Gone. Your destiny taken from you by her. By him.”
“Hey,” Cal protested. “None of this is my… OK, some of it might be my fault, but… I forget where I’m going with this.” He cleared his throat. “Carry on.”
“You know, I almost wish this thing was magic,” Vajazzle said, holding up the Bladestaff. “He who holds the Bladestaff rules the Greyx. That’s the legend, isn’t it? I almost wish it were true.”
“You?” Graxan snorted. “Ridiculous. How could you rule the Greyx?”
“Oh, not me,” said Vajazzle. She tossed the staff towards Kannus. Instinctively, he caught it. “Him.”
Graxan nodded slowly. “Thank you for returning the Bladestaff, Vajazzle. Now, be on your way.”
Vajazzle ignored him. She spoke directly to Kannus, and this time that whispering second voice chimed in to echo her words. “I suppose it is magic, in a way. Because what is magic? Illusion. Trickery. Deception. The suspension of disbelief just long enough to make the unreal appear real.”
Kannus stared down at the staff, its curved blade glinting in the sun’s light.
“Don’t get too used to it, boy,” said Vajazzle. “It isn’t yours. It will never be yours. All you have done, you have done for nothing. All that training, that isolation, that pain. Pack it up. Lock it away. You are not king. You shall never be king.”
“Give me the Bladestaff, Kannus,” said Graxan, extending a hand.
Kannus glanced up, but then felt his eyes be drawn back down again. There were symbols scratched deep into the staff’s wooden handle. It was one of several ancient texts, back from before the Greyx was united. He was only passingly familiar with the runes, but he knew the translation well enough.
“He who wields the Bladestaff rules the Greyx,” he whispered.
“It is not yours to wield!” Vajazzle hissed. “It shall never be yours. The Earthling has seen to that!”
“Give it to me,” Graxan demanded. “Now!”
“Kannus?” said Miz, her brow furrowing in concern. “Give it to him. What are you--?”
She stopped as a spray of blood spattered across her face.
Time seemed to grind into slow motion as the crescent-moon blade of the Bladestaff emerged like a shark’s fin through Graxan’s back. Mizette could only stand. Stare. Her limbs frozen by the weight of this endless unmoving moment.
“NOOO!” she cried, her scream becoming a roar as she hurled herself towards Kannus. An invisible force wrapped around her, jerking her to a stop in mid-air.
“Down, doggy,” said Vajazzle. With a flick of her fingers, she slammed Miz against the ground, just as Graxan toppled backwards onto it.
Blood pumped from the hole in the old man’s chest. His eyes rolled, as if searching for something – anything – to focus on.
“Loren, help him. Mech, with me!” said Cal, drawing his blaster and putting himself between Kannus and the fallen Greyx king. The blade of the staff was awash with crimson. The blood trickled along the wooden handle and fell like rain on the shale. Kannus watched it, his chest heaving as his breath came in short, gulping pants.
“OK, easy,” said Cal, the arrival of Mech at his side providing a much-needed confidence boost. “Put down the staff, Kannus. Don’t make me shoot you.”
Down on the ground, Loren thrust a leg out in front of Mizette. “Claws. I need a bandage. Now.”
Miz blinked a few times, like the words were in the wrong language and she couldn’t figure out the meaning.
“Mizette!” Loren said, shaking her by the shoulder. “Cut me a bandage, or he’s going to die!”
That did it. Miz flashed her claws and tore a long, thick strip from Loren’s pants. Folding it, Loren pressed it against the wound in Graxan’s chest. Blood seeped through it and over her fingers almost immediately.
“Shizz,” Loren spat. “OK, think, think.”
Graxan’s eyes stopped swimming and, after a few false starts, focused on Loren’s face. “Thank you,” he said, the words wheezing from his mouth. “That won’t be necessary.”
With a grunt of pain, he shifted his head until his gaze fell on Mizette. He tried to smile, but coughed instead. A bubble of blood burst across his lips. “Mizette,” he whispered. “My Mizette.”
“I’m here, Dad. It’s me. You’re going to be OK,” she said, taking one of his hands in two of hers. It felt heavy and limp, like the life had already left it. “You’re going to be OK. Loren’s going to help you. Right?”
Loren’s mouth flopped open and closed. She watched the blood pumping through her fingers. “I… I…”
A sound like a burbling brook bubbled from the wound in Graxan’s chest. He shook his head, just a fraction. “It… is the way of things,” he managed.
Miz clutched his hand tighter, pressing it against his face. “No, no. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, dad. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”
Graxan coughed again. His eyes rolled back in his head as pain filled all the parts of him that had until very recently been filled with blood. “There is s-something I always wanted to t-tell you,” he said. “A secret of my own. Should have told you… long ago.” Gritting his teeth with the effort, he raised his other hand and beckoned her to him. “C-come closer.”
Miz lowered her head until there was nothing to see but her father’s face, and nothing to hear but the strained whisper from his lips.
“You were never a disappointment.”
He pressed his snout against her cheek and held it there for as long as he could. And then, before Miz could find the words to reply, his head sunk back, his arm dropped, and the last of what had been Graxan of the Greyx ebbed onto the cold dark ground.
“Father? Dad?” said Miz, shaking the hand she still clutched in hers. “Daddy?”
“I’m sorry,” whispered Loren. “There was nothing I could do.”
Miz nodded, just once. She rested Graxan’s hand across his chest. She whispered a private, “goodbye.”
And then, with the blood of her father matting her fur, she got to her feet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kannus was still looking down at the Bladestaff when Mizette stepped between Cal and Mech. The sound of her voice finally made him tear his eyes from the weapon’s bloodied steel.
“You killed him,” she said, her tone flat and hollow. “You killed him, Kannus.”
Kannus frowned, as if this was the first he’d heard of it. “He… I… It was not my intention.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have rammed that thing through his chest, in that case,” said Cal, keeping his gun trained between Kannus’s eyes. “Just a tip for the future.”
“Give me the Bladestaff,” Mizette said. The growl deep in her throat suggested this wasn’t a request.
Kannus looked down at the weapon again. He seemed even more surprised to see it than he had been to hear of Graxan’s death.
“The Bladestaff?” he said.
“Give it to me, or I’ll take it from you,” Mizette said.
“I’d do what she says, man,” said Mech. “Otherwise this ain’t gonna end well for you.”
Kannus’s lips moved silently.
“What was that?” asked Cal. “What did you say?”
Kannus’s grip tightened on the wooden handle. “He who wields the Bladestaff rules the Greyx,” he said, then he twirled the bloodied end of the weapon into a spin. There was a shink as the blade sliced through the end of Cal’s blaster.
Cal groaned as half of the gun’s barrel clattered onto the ground. “Aw man, am I ever going to get to fire one of these things?” he muttered, before Mizette knocked him aside as she hurled herself at Kannus.
She was too close, moving too fast for Kannus to react. He could only th
row up an arm and wait for the pain as her teeth and claws tore towards him.
And then, just like before, she stopped. Vajazzle kept a hand raised, holding Miz motionless in mid-air. “Kannus, control your Lifebound,” she told him. “Do not make me intervene again.”
Giving a shove, she sent Mizette bouncing across the ground. Miz yelped and hissed as she rolled clumsily across the rocky ground, then tumbled to a stop.
Growling, she leaped back to her feet, but a shout from Kannus stopped her. “Don’t!” he warned, pressing the point of the Bladestaff against Cal’s throat. “Try that again and you can say goodbye to your… pet.”
Loren and Mech moved to flank Kannus, their weapons trained. “I wouldn’t,” he told them. “All I have to do is twitch.”
“Hey, let’s just relax,” Cal croaked. He tried to swallow, but the tip of the blade stopped his Adam’s apple bobbing all the way down. He glanced sideways, searching for Splurt, but realized the little blob wasn’t perched on him anymore. He was on his own. “Nothing is completely fonked here. Kannus, you can still recover from this.”
“Recover?” Kannus snorted. “Recover from what? From being king? From taking my rightful place?” His lips curled into a snarl and he spat out the next few words. “From getting what I deserve?”
“Oh, you’re going to get what you deserve,” Miz snapped. “That’s a promise.”
“You’re right, you know?” said Vajazzle. “You do deserve to be King. It is your birthright. It is your destiny. No-one need know what happened here. They just need to know that Graxan is dead, and they will accept you as his rightful successor.”
“Except we know what happened,” said Mech.
Cal groaned. “You had to go and point that out to him,” he said, the pressure of the blade making his voice sound unnaturally deep.
“As the new ruler of the Greyx, I trust you will honor the agreement I had with Graxan?” Vajazzle said. “And that you will allow me to take these non-Greyx with me when I depart here? Without their interference, your transition to ruler should be relatively simple.”
Space Team: The Wrath of Vajazzle Page 17
