by Lee Bond
Ragar followed the Master-of-Arm’s line of sight and stiffened. “Bloody hell, I would’ve thought they wouldn’t even know how to work the elevator, let alone risk breathing in the air of regular folk.”
“Come on, squire, let’s make some haste over there, before one pompous arsehole or the other gets under the Lady’s skin and she winds up christening the ship in human blood and organs.” Marshak picked up the pace, hurrying towards Lady Mirabelle who was even that moment being braced by a gaggle of Top Level assholes.
This whole ‘join the Lady’ thing was really shaping up to be a massive pain in the keister.
***
“I say!” Darius Longfoote Arein struggled to keep his footing on the uneven ground, awfully aware of the fact that he was seemingly surrounded on all sides by the unwashed masses, all of whom were staring at him and his baggage train with crafty, thoughtful eyes. He cautioned his men –all five of them, each carrying the latest in assault rifles, plus a few other tricks and all that should these barbarians get the wrong think into their heads they'd change their minds swiftly- to ensure that an invisible barrier of no less than five feet be kept between them and … everyone else.
“I say!” Darius said louder, this time clearing his throat and doing all he could to get the attention of the … well, he supposed she was a woman if for no other reason than she was shaped like one, only … well. He opted to dismiss the gruesome facial … situation … as not even there.
Mirabelle looked over at the fancy man in his fancy clothes, surrounded by fancy warriors holding guns –Book whispered that they were called Storbari Assault Rifles, and that they were approximately two thousand years old- and wasn’t impressed. She knew this type of man very well indeed.
They were an easily identifiable breed, no matter you were Inside or Out.
“Well met.” Mirabelle dipped her head in greetings and moved closer to the man, as it were well obvious to her that e’en though she were the woman in charge, the lout in the fancy clothes were also not going to move, no matter what.
In practical terms, then, it were better to deal with the man now, rather than allow him to work himself into a tizzy. Ill-disguised frowns and narrowing of eyes at her people were understood well enough, and she wanted no part of that foolishness. When she got to the oaf, she did hold out her hand as she’d been informed people here on the Outside preferred to do when meeting for the first time.
Darius stared at the pale white hand for a moment, then rather dryly shook two of the five fingers held in his direction, noting with a start that the ruined woman’s appendage was cold as ice. Surreptitiously wiping his hand on his silk shirt, he turned and gestured to the … very big ship. “I am told that this … ship … is destined for, well, anywhere that isn’t here.”
Mirabelle nodded, then nodded again as her Chancellor and Master-of-Arms made their appearances on this small stage. “Aye, Master, mine ship does indeed intend ‘pon setting sail, ‘ere ‘tis full of those worthy of making haste to some other where. I am informed by those who know better of such things that this Stack has garnered your leader’s wrath, and that it, and therefore most of the men and women inside, are like as not going to meet the hangman ‘ere too much longer.”
Darius snapped his fingers. “I require a stateroom. One large enough for all of my personal possessions and another for my … er … men. I shall also need my own private washing area and a kitchen for my person… what’s so funny?”
Marshak looked apologetically at Lady Mirabelle, but he saw from the tugged corner of her non-ruined lip that she was perfectly at ease. Off the leash as it were, the soldier turned criminal become Master-of-Arms pointed rudely at the wealthy man and his retinue. “You. You’re what’s funny, Top Leveler. Coming down here, acting as if anything you’ve got to say or to offer is worth anything to any of us. How did you even know to come down here?”
“Top Leveler?” Darius all but shrieked the phrase.
One of his men moved closer, obviously intending to raise his weapon, but he put a stop that quick enough. He wasn’t entirely stupid, or blind. They weren’t in the best of situations. Besides, as the most loquacious amongst those who’d risked the journey downward, he’d been chosen by the other Exodites as the one best suited to negotiate passage off the Stack; the primary authorities in Zanzibar had set up blockades all over the exterior of the structure and were officially refusing any who remained the right to make their own way off. The entire Stack and everyone still alive had been deemed ‘tainted’.
In short, they were all doomed.
Unless they could get off, in this … ruined woman’s unlikely space craft. So, some tact was required, though only a bit. He was dealing with the dregs of society, after all. Best to have them in their place before they got airs.
Marshak shot the tubby rich man a flat smile. “Aye. Top Leveler. You and the rest of this lot,” he spat in the general direction of the other wealthy assholes who thought they were above the rest of everyone, “that’s what you are. Top Levelers. Find your own way off.”
“Now, now, Master-of-Arms, do be calm.” Mirabelle rest a hand on Marshak’s brawny forearm. “What then, would you prefer to be called, friend? Are you one of these … hmm … what were the word? Chancellor?”
Ragar coughed, spluttered nervously for a second, then recovered, face red as a cherry. “Exodite, my lady. A man or woman of such wealth and power that they while the days away scouring the Universe for relics both ancient and revered.”
Mirabelle nodded, well pleased. "Yes, that were the word. Exodite." The Lady of the Weeping Eye turned back to the Exodite, introducing herself as well as she were able. "I do be the Lady Mirabelle, accidental leader of these fine folk. And you would be?"
Pleased to be on the receiving end of some hospitality, even if from a woman who looked as though her face had been held against an engine for days on end, Darius sketched out the briefest of bows, feeling … odd; he and his men had observed the pale woman and her confidantes for some time before making the approach, and it'd been readily apparent right from the beginning that they were all playacting, as if she were a true Lady and this … motley crew of criminals and poor people were her court.
Following the advice of his lead security officer, the Exodite was following the rigmarole as much as he could, no matter the act was close to making him ill to his stomach.
"My name, Lady Mirabelle, is Darius Longfoote Arein, of the …"
"What do you want?" Marshak demanded, already bored of niceties. Even when he'd been on top of his game with a promising military career laid out before him, he'd had the absolute worst time dealing with pompous assholes. It was that sublime distaste that'd ultimately cost him that golden career.
But Exodites ... they were infinitely worse than any other kind of rich, influential asshole. They got right under his skin, and from the quiet muttering percolating through the assembled crowd of people, he wasn't the only one who took terrible exception to this rare breed.
"Curb your tongue, mongrel." Darius' lead officer, a man named Dvorak stepped forward, aimed his rifle at the man identified as the walking corpse-lady's Man-at-Arms. "You address the Lord Darius!"
Mirabelle eyed the soldier aiming his weapon at one of her more trusted confidantes and said, quite simply, "Lord Darius, I assure you, should your man twitch one more inch in the direction of fair Marshak, any further conversation 'tween us shall come to an abrupt, ruby ending. Following that swift reversal of fortune, you shall all be dragged by your hair towards the elevator, whereupon, depending 'pon my humor of the moment, I may allow you to journey away from here in the confines of the car, or I may simply toss you from here to top, straight as the arrow would fly. In this instance, I shall do my utmost to ensure you survive, but once my color is up, I can make no absolute guarantees. Now, as my man asked, albeit a bit rudely, what is it you wish?"
Darius licked his lips nervously. His men had done their best to piece together what'd happened on this level before they'd
made their way down, and what they'd learned boiled down to one brilliant fact; whatever else this so-called Lady Mirabelle was, she was someone who'd survived the direct attention of more than one Enforcer. "Dvorak, heel."
Dvorak stepped back and slung his rifle into neutral position, glaring at the mocking Marshak. "By your command."
Ragar fluttered his hands in between the crowd of people, urgently trying to defuse the situation before it got any worse. "Please. Lord Darius. Apologies. We've been through a trying time here in the Stack. More than you can appreciate. What is it you wish from the Clan of the Weeping Eye?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Darius wondered if perhaps this whole situation was being misread. There was simply no way this … foolish corpse could possibly be the one in charge. The one that'd been introduced as the Chancellor, perhaps, or even more likely, the scarred, scowling man who positively reeked of criminal intent. He nodded to himself. Yes, that was it. "I wish for you to take me in your ship. Out of here."
Marshak laughed. "Why should we let you come with us? You've never once done anything for any of the people in this Stack unless you benefited. You and all your lot."
Mirabelle were inclined to let Marshak have his run of the conversation for the time being; Master Darius obviously had no wish at all to speak to her, and his perfunctory dismissal of Master Ragar spoke volumes about the Exodite's haughtiness. On the other hand, Marshak's brutal bluntness and utter lack of fear -which may or may not have something to do with her immortality and willingness to teach people the sorts of lessons they did deserve- had captivated the wealthy man.
"You know nothing about me, or any of the others." Darius was shocked, mortally offended. "You make false claims against us. We've always been friends to the Stack."
"I don't need to know you, Master Darius." Marshak caught sight of his foot soldiers, moving silently, crouched low to the ground, using the brand new space craft as cover. They hunkered down out of sight of Darius' men and signalled that they were prepared, should it come to violence. "People like you, you've never been friendly to the poor, unless you decide you need to feel good about yourself. This ship is for people who deserve freedom. Climb back up to the top and pray for Trinity's lenience. We know this Stack is coming down, Darius, and we've no more time to dally."
***
"Milady." Ragar pulled on one of Mirabelle's sleeves, and when the Lady deigned to give him her attention, he whispered into her delicate ear. "I know you are perhaps more inclined to disallow this Darius person and any other so-called Exodites aboard the craft, but if I might offer a different perspective?"
"By all means, Master Ragar. You are my Chancellor. 'tis up to you to offer wisdom and insight where I am either lacking in information or blind to the truth." Mirabelle kept her bad eye on the man called Dvorak. He did seem to be exchanging words with the rest of his men via unseen communicator, and were it to come down to the wire, she were genuinely hoping to take care of the matter herself instead of Marshak's men. Too much blood had been spilled to come to this point.
"Master Darius and his breed may be odious in the extreme, milady, and, like as not, he and they will undoubtedly become the cause of more grief than they're worth, but…" Ragar licked his lips. "In the here and now, they wield considerable influence. The kind of power none of us possess at the moment. 'ere we launch your handiwork into the skies above Zanzibar, all manner of people will take interest in us. Were these fanciful men to believe they are of more import to us than they are, it would behoove them to, ah, grease the wheels, so to speak?"
Mirabelle considered Master Ragar's words as if each weighed a thousand pounds, pleased he'd chosen to speak when he had; in all honesty, she'd not considered a single thing as might happen on t'other side of Stack-walls, yet the moment he'd suggested there might be difficulties in the second leg of their voyage, it'd become an impossible thing to ignore.
She nodded her head, once, a single time, as she'd seen Queen Agnethea do on a number of occasions. "Very well, Master Ragar, I do see the wisdom ‘neath your words." The Lady of the Weeping Eye cleared her throat and re-engaged herself in dealing with Marshak and Darius.
***
“You.” Mirabelle pointed imperially at the blustering, prancing Darius Longfoote Arein, a move stolen once again directly from Agnethea. It was a trick specifically designed to make the recipient feel as if they were not only singled out, but pinioned ‘gainst the wall like a bug in some collector’s collection. “You say you wish to come with us, is this correct?”
Darius took the brief situation report delivered to him by Dvorak with a brief nod of the head; his men had detected the presence of men with weapons surrounding them on all sides and weren’t taking the news terribly well.
Darius himself didn’t understand much of what Dvorak’s concerns were as that was his area of expertise, so he chose to allow the lead security man howsoever much rope he required, though he had cautioned them against causing too much damage.
How this ship had come to rest in the middle of a much-destroyed level of a Stack, surrounded by dead Enforcers, all that was a mystery, but Darius would very much prefer it if said ship remained whole and hearty, and with at least one person capable of flying her.
“Yesss, mi… milady.” Darius bowed deeper this time, feeling completely uncertain. He gestured to himself, then to the few other Exodites who’d taken the risk to descend this low into the Stack under such pressing circumstances. For himself, he was pleased he’d taken the rumors of madmen intent on reaching this level to heart, even if it meant dealing with this … woman. “That is all we’ve wanted from the start.”
“Could’ve taken a lighter tone and a friendlier hand, oh mighty Exodite.” Marshak ground the words out, and from behind him, he did hear the muttering assent of all those who’d been with the Lady during the most trying times, not merely here, at the end, when freedom was in the offering.
“Now, now, Master Marshak, bygones and bygones and all that, hey?” Mirabelle swept closer and closer to the Exodite, until she could feel his breath on her cold flesh. He flinched a bit and she supposed that she was going to have to grow used to that, if she wanted to even temporarily ally herself with such men as this; that flinch, that look in the eye that said ‘there was no flinch’ and that unctuous smile that was supposed to drive it all home, while grating on her nerves, did show 'Lord' Darius was making great effort, therefore, so should she. “It has been brought to my attention by my Chancellor that we might be in for a spot of trouble, hey, ‘ere we wing our way free of this barren world.”
Darius thought of all the reports he’d gotten and nodded, slowly. Not only were there large numbers of local police and the few military vessels left to protect the Cradle of Humanity, there were more than a few scavenger ships, Conglomerate craft intent on reclaiming lost assets … everything and everyone had their eyes and greedy hands turned this direction. He and the other Exodites had nothing to worry about; their assets had already been launched into the sky, surrounded by some of the most expensive –and occasionally illegal- security systems and were now waiting for commands to go wherever their owners were going.
“I suppose your, ah, your Chancellor isn’t wrong.” Darius nodded, head on a spring. “Quite a few people have a vested interest in this dying Stack all the same.”
Mirabelle nodded, mind made up. She didn’t particularly care for Darius, definitely didn’t want to allow men who carried weapons not directly loyal to her aboard the ship, and had even direr misgivings about the rest of the wealthy who so wished to make their personal bids for freedom, but Book was telling her the ship were done and that it were high time they were well on their way, so, in for a cog, in for a sprocket, as they’d used to see.
“Very well, Lord Darius, I shall allow you and your ilk passage aboard our ship. Mind you,” she raised a hand and rest it on the Exodite’s shoulder, making pains to allow him to see his reflection in Book, all warm and brass-colored, “such passage is not free. You, an
d those like you, will use all your considerable influence to see that our flight from Stack 17 contains as little danger as possible. We here on the ground have been through considerable turmoil. We would like a moment or two of quiet respite, ‘ere we arrive at our destination.”
Darius felt confident enough in the needs of the other Exodites to speak for all of them. At least, in this case. Moving forward, who knew how things would shake out, but in the here and now, he was the man with the voice. “By all means, milady.” It was odd how the honorific slid more easily from his tongue the more often he was required to make it. “But, ah, I do wonder … where are we headed? Those of us, ah, purchasing our passage, and by this I mean, ah, using our influence for smooth sailing, might wish instead to go elsewhere.”
Marshak snorted so loudly some of Dvorak’s pensive soldiers twitched and reflexively pointed their rifles in his general direction. “Hain’t a cruise liner, you gormless twit. ‘tis an escape ship, ferrying thousands ‘pon thousands of people to a new place to live, hey? We hain’t swing by any other place than the one we is head to. One stop shop, you understand? The Lady’s got plans and they don’t involve taxi service to your posh apartment in New Tokyo or summat, understand?”
Now the decision had been made, Mirabelle was less inclined to be polite, so she turned back to Darius and adjusted the volume of her voice so that it would carry to all corners of the level, so that all who stood, waiting patiently, unsure and troubled as to where they were going and what they were doing would be able to find their ease.
“We travel, friend,” The Lady of the Clan of the Weeping Eye heard her voice roll through the Stack-level, quiet thunder, soft as ever, but … powerful nevertheless, “to a new place, a place ne’er seen ‘ere these days, fresh and clean and wondrous in ways I know I cannot speak of on my own. There are others amongst us, fallen poets and forgotten songwriters, who will do it the justice it deserves. There, in this new place, those of us who seek to become newer, better, aye, e’en that, healthier, stronger, happier … why, that shall be the rule o’ the day. Untainted by industry, unsoiled by progress, all who wish a home to call their own and a patch of land too. That is where we go, Darius. We go home.”
