In Dark Service

by Stephen Hunt

  Duncan was just one of many visitors on a transparent-floored gallery, the middle tier of about ten similar balconies overlooking a vast central space. It was a dizzying sight. Thousands of guests above and below, milling and circulating, slaves with trays of food and drink moving among them, the crowd’s voices joined in a single droning hum, rising and falling. Every hue of uniform and dress was on display, although Duncan didn’t doubt that below their finery the guests were as thoroughly armed as his young charge. He double-checked his footing in the transparent floor as though his feet might find a missing panel and fall through. Tall window-walls behind showed they were more than halfway up the Diamond Palace’s height, one of the tower-borne airfields below them, the lights of the fog-shrouded city just visible glimmering beyond. It was as though the rest of the capital was merely a hallucination created by and for the palace’s dreamers. Crimson-uniformed soldiers in leather masks lined the window, spindly rifles as long as lances and white ceramic shields with the wolf’s emblem adorning them. They were the same breed as the guards who had accompanied Apolleon to the Castle of Snakes’ laboratory. Hoodsmen, the emperor’s secret police. The group moved across the floor, stopping for the young princess to make small talk with other guests, Duncan checking the food from plates borne by waiting staff before he allowed it near Cassandra. Given how many hundreds of serving slaves were at work across the floor, with more emerging from service elevators every minute, and how fussily the courtiers grazed from the fare, it should have been almost impossible to ensure a specific guest received a specific serving. But almost impossible was still nearly possible. And Duncan knew enough about the house’s enemies to understand that there wasn’t much they wouldn’t stoop to in their efforts to remove Helrena and her young heir from the game of imperial politics. Duncan had grown fond enough of the young princess that he didn’t want to see her become a casualty in the perpetual struggle for the diamond throne.

  Duncan leant in towards Paetro as the girl’s attention was engaged on a richly dressed couple, a gaggle of advisors and bodyguards waiting dutifully behind. ‘Everyone else has a larger retinue.’

  ‘More people to trust,’ said the soldier. ‘More ways in.’

  ‘With all Helrena’s wealth, why doesn’t she just move to the provinces? Go somewhere she can raise Cassandra in safety?’

  ‘Her wealth depends on her imperial licence to work the sky mines, lad,’ said Paetro. ‘You move away from the capital and the influence of the court, you will discover how quickly your wealth becomes someone else’s. Without money, you cannot fund a household guard and adequate security. And you will find distance offers little protection against ancient grievances and feuds. Believe me, if you leave, you are not running to safety. Quite the opposite.’

  Duncan looked at the great crystal windows with their imposing view over the fog-shrouded city below, each pane elaborately engraved with scenes of victory triumphs from imperial history. ‘This isn’t a palace; this is a luxuriously-appointed prison.’

  ‘Perhaps it is,’ said Paetro. ‘But when you’re trapped on the board, better a knight than a pawn, eh?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked Duncan. ‘You had a choice. You could have stayed happily at home and never set foot inside the legion.’

  He shrugged. ‘My birthplace was boring. Life in the legions paid well and offered a promise of excitement. That’s where I met young Cassandra’s father. We saved each other’s lives more times than I can count. And I promised that I would look after his daughter if anything happened to him. Try and keep his wife alive too.’

  ‘What was Cassandra’s father like?’

  ‘Dangerous. He thought that rules didn’t apply to him. That he could grab the stuff of life, twist it, move it and change it. But rules are like gravity, they always drag you down in the end.’ He glanced at Duncan and frowned. ‘And when I see that look on your face, it reminds me a little too much of him. Aren’t you enjoying the party?’

  ‘That’s the trouble, I think I am.’

  ‘This is where history is made. You’re standing at the very centre of the universe. Being part of it can become addictive. This is the game… the greatest game, the only game. What would you have been at home?’

  ‘If I had stayed, whatever my father had told me to.’

  ‘I know you well enough to know that you weren’t staying,’ smiled Paetro. ‘You’re too similar to me, lad. I could have joined my brothers selling groceries in the market. Two pounds of apples, madam, or would you care for some potatoes today, perhaps? Is it time to sweep up the shop yet, or tally the stock? Every week identical to the next. That’s all you left behind. Drudgery and boredom. Yes sir, no sir. Another daily compromise on the road to hell. Instead, I cleared off over the border and signed up. In the capital you could live to see Helrena become empress one day, and Cassandra succeed her… the fate of nations forged. Having helped raise the future ruler of the world. How many people have done that? Young Cassandra as empress. Wouldn’t that be a thing to see?’

  Duncan said nothing but the pang of guilt he felt inside answered for him. It would be.

  Paetro nodded, contented. He understood. ‘Wars and plots and rebellions and intrigues on the same scale as this city.’ He stomped his boot on the floor. ‘We’re walking on glass, here, lad. And that’s always interesting.’ His eyes narrowed as another retinue approached where they stood. ‘And here’s a cure for a dull life if ever I saw one. Circae!’ He mouthed the last word like a hiss.

  The couple that Cassandra had been talking with retreated a respect­ful distance as they saw who was bearing down on them. Paetro moved to Cassandra’s back, as did Duncan. The young princess’s grandmother cut quite a figure, sweeping forward in a purple silk dress swollen by a whalebone waist frame, a moon-shaped fan behind her dark hair, raised like a tower in elaborately tied bundles. Her face was pale, as was the fashion in the capital. Only those without wealth laboured anywhere a tan could be gained. Circae looked younger than her years, but an air of haughty superiority stretched her skin taut, marring whatever beauty had survived the march of time. She led a group of at least ten courtiers and guards closely attending her train, strutting as though they were the gathering’s centre of attention. Judging by the nervous and knowing looks the retinue were given as they passed, fans raised as cover for onlookers to gossip behind, they may well have been.

  Circae halted before Lady Cassandra, her attention focused like a beam on her granddaughter – completely ignoring Duncan and the girl’s large bodyguard. ‘Ah, the newest jewel in the house’s crown. And the only one worth possessing. I am so glad to see you at court, my dear. Your mother keeps you far too isolated. We should see you here with a greater frequency.’

  ‘I will take my place at court one day,’ said Cassandra. ‘When I am of age.’

  ‘Your fate is to end up more than the caretaker of the Castle of Snakes,’ said Circae. ‘More than a gang-master to a mob of unmannerly sky miners. Half your blood is mine. And that is by far the greater half of you.’

  ‘Whenever I fail, I resolve to train more. And I know which half has missed the mark and which half has committed to fight harder.’

  ‘Do you know? I believe you may be confused,’ said Circae. ‘But in time you will understand, truly. You are not to be your mother’s creature. I will not allow it.’

  ‘I will choose as my father chose.’

  ‘Your father… my son? You did not know him, little lady. You do not know the man he was. He only had one weakness, and that was the one common to most of his gender… a low tolerance for the siren’s song. Your mother found that weakness and twisted it like a dagger until he died.’

  ‘He died because he was exiled to the legions. You stripped him of his caste,’ accused Cassandra.

  ‘His actions did that for him,’ said Circae. ‘But many men are weak. We cannot blame them too much. They look for glory on all the wrong battlefields. They look for love in the wrong hearts. I see too much
of it in my position. You will understand more as you grow older.’

  ‘I know all that I need to, now,’ said Cassandra.

  Circae smiled coldly. ‘There’s always a little more to know, to secure power. When you can admit that, you will have discovered your legit­imate blood and your true path.’

  ‘We shall see.’

  ‘You are all I have left of my darling boy,’ whispered Circae, so low that Duncan had to stretch to hear it. ‘Remember that. Any poison your mother has filled you with cannot change this fact.’

  Cassandra snorted as the old woman bowed her head and moved away, her entourage scrambling eagerly after her. The middle-aged couple the girl had been talking to previously came back, eager to hear what had been said.

  ‘Why is Circae so powerful?’ Duncan asked Paetro as they stepped back again. ‘If she has no stake in the sky mines?’

  ‘Circae is the mistress of the imperial harem,’ said Paetro. ‘If you are a minor house and you wish to become a major one, there is no faster way than having a daughter accepted for marriage with the emperor. And when the daughter sires a child, she sires a potential heir to the diamond throne. The mistress of the harem selects from among every ambitious daughter of empire who seeks to be elevated to such a position. Of course, when a woman catches the emperor’s eye, he can order her installed in the harem whether the mistress cares for the lady’s bloodline or not. And in that category, you have Princess Helrena’s mother, Mina. They were the fiercest of rivals. Circae loathed Mina for her influence over the emperor, which was beyond her control, almost as much as she hates Helrena for stealing her son from her. Mina was a great beauty, but from a very minor merchant house from the east, a recently conquered territory barely fit to be considered for citizenship.’

  ‘The mother is no longer alive?’

  ‘Mina died giving birth to a second child. The babe died shortly after, also. He would have been a younger brother for Helrena if he had lived. It was never proved, but there are strong rumours that one of Circae’s assassins arranged for a fatal nerve agent to be mixed with the drugs that were used to ease the pain of childbirth. The tampering did for both poor Mina and her child. It is an insult, too, you see, to kill in such a way. You only poison of those you consider of low born blood.’

  Duncan watched Circae and her retinue disappear, swallowed by the crowds. For Cassandra to have such an implacable enemy so young. His heart ached with the unfairness of it. The burden was a weight the girl shouldn’t have to bear at her age.

  ‘Helrena spent most of her youth narrowly avoiding being murdered by Circae’s killers,’ added Paetro. ‘That she has survived and prospered and become one of the emperor’s favourite children is, well… as tough as I am, I am not sure I could have achieved half of what Princess Helrena’s secured if our positions had been reversed.’

  Duncan nodded. The history between the two families explained a lot. ‘It is why Princess Helrena values loyalty so highly.’

  ‘She knew precious little of it during her youth, that’s for sure. She recognises the real metal when she strikes a vein of it.’

  ‘And I thought my father had rivals back in Weyland.’

  ‘The stakes are far greater in Vandia,’ said Paetro. ‘And likewise the evil our enemies will stoop to, to scoop the pot. Nothing would make Circae happier than murdering Helrena and becoming Cassandra’s guardian. It would be the culmination of her miserable, scheming life, lad. But we’re here to help ensure that never happens, eh? You catch the poison that comes her way, I’ll catch the bullets.’

  Lady Cassandra strolled over to the two of them. ‘Let’s go to a higher floor. The air here has been tainted by the imperial whore-herder.’

  ‘I think I saw your mother up there, little Highness,’ said Paetro. ‘The tribute ceremony will begin shortly and there’ll be a fine view of the diamond throne.’

  ‘Who is paying tribute?’ asked Duncan.

  ‘Why everyone, silly,’ said the girl, who found Duncan’s patchy knowledge of Vandia a never-ending source of amusement and teasing. ‘Every state that borders the imperium and all the countries in communication with Vandia who would trade with us for our wealth.’

  Duncan followed the young noblewoman to the bank of lifts. Everyone indeed.

  After they had gained the balcony’s railings, the view of the main chamber from the upper level was incomparable. An orchestra struck up a forbidding-sounding martial tune, amplified by speakers throughout the space. At the same time, a deep voice began announcing the emperor’s many titles. A bay in the wall at the far end of the chamber opened. The diamond throne and the man who occupied it rumbled forward on steel tracks, while long banner-sized screens drew down from the ceiling, one behind the throne and a screen on either side. Their purpose was to show the emperor close up in all his glory, receiving his dues from the world. Emperor Jaelis possessed a stern demeanour that even his cunning fox-like eyes couldn’t offset, a short silver beard and a bald round head that appeared to have been shaved. His large frame filled the ruby-red throne. The emperor’s throne resembled a crystalline cave that had been allowed to solidify around his body, one mineral-laced drop at a time. It twinkled and glistened from a bank of uplighters in the floor, giving the impression of Vandia’s supreme ruler being borne into the throne room on a constellation of stars.

  Emperor Jaelis looked bored to Duncan’s eyes. And somewhat out of place. As though a gladiator had been wheeled in to celebrate his arena victories; brutal power running slightly to seed, a range of expressions plucking at the edges of his ruddy face. A personal guard of hoodsmen marched alongside with their faces concealed by masks, their black shields mounted with a golden double-headed eagle. And one of the screens showed a glimpse of someone familiar. The same man who had visited the Castle of Snakes’ laboratory, demanding an audience with Doctor Yair Horvak. Apolleon Skar. He pointed into the massed ranks of dignitaries waiting to offer tribute, muttering in the emperor’s ear while the ruler nodded on his thick neck. They were faced by hundreds of ambassadors and foreign nobles assembled as neat as any legion’s formation, the regularity of the supplicants’ lines at odds with the varied cut of their multi-coloured clothes and uniforms.

  Duncan noted that Princess Helrena had appeared beside her daughter; five or six people behind her that he vaguely recognised from the castle, Doctor Horvak the only one he could name. ‘The glory of Vandia,’ announced Helrena, with a touch of sarcasm, to Duncan’s ears. She leant down by Cassandra. ‘Watch the tribute-giving. See who is eager. See which states are too generous and which stingy and sullen… like dragging metal teeth from a mouth. Their behaviour will be as good as an atlas of where we can expect to see rebellions crushed in the coming year. Where we will find parties eager to trade with our house. Who are to be our allies and who our foes.’

  ‘Only the foes outside the empire,’ said Cassandra.

  ‘Yes, I saw the harem’s witch snapping her claws at you. You handled her well enough. Circae will only ever be our foe. There is, at least, a comforting constancy in her malevolence.’ Helrena looked over at Duncan. ‘And how does the Diamond Palace and our imperial master find Duncan Landor?’

  ‘I am not a physician, but your father does not look well.’

  ‘We have Doctor Horvak for that, but you have a keen eye. The emperor has recently taken his medicine, I would say. The twitching around his cheeks gives him away.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The worst kind of sickness – one of the mind, not the body. He is forgetful and turns furious over small matters. Very unpredictable. He was always quite wild and impetuous, but this is something else again. Only Apolleon seems able to soothe his ill-humours now.’ She looked down the glass railings at the crowd of courtiers and nobles watching the emperor’s arrival. ‘They know, too. You can almost taste their eagerness, can’t you? It may be a few years away, but my father will appoint his successor… a new emperor.’

  ‘Or an empress?’

&nb
sp; ‘You should never name an ambition. You may scare it away.’

  ‘I would not want the throne, if it was me,’ said Duncan.

  ‘Then you are wise indeed. But the only thing more dangerous than having the position is not holding it.’

  Below, the booming voice on the microphone switched from announcing the imperial titles to listing the countries coming forward with their gifts. States and provinces and nations without end, all of them unfamiliar to Duncan, as was much of the tribute being offered. Supplicants proceeded down a red carpet, approaching the imperial personage, surrounded on either side by ranks of fellow grandees. A few parties had brought along samples of their gifts – mainly scientific curiosities like engines inside frames that rocked as flame boiled out of their rear, globes that projected flickering spectres in the air, or vials of new medicines held in crates that leaked freezing gases – but most contributions were too large to fit inside the palace – millions of gallons of fuel ether and thousands of tonnes of grain being promised. All conferments were offered in the same obsequious manner, however, with the nation’s representatives on the floor in front of the diamond throne, their noses rubbing against the glass floor. Then Emperor Jaelis would give a bored flick of his fingers and the next gaggle of supplicants would rush forward, genuflecting and bowing.

  So it went, until a group of purple-robed grandees ushered forward a stumbling figure. At first, Duncan thought it was a man clad from head to foot in plate armour, but as the form lurched forward, he realised that this was actually some kind of automaton. Courtiers on the balcony levels cheered and clapped the ingenuity of this device, but it seemed to react to their applause by veering off, ploughing into the waiting dignitaries, where it carved a violent path through their bodies, steel arms lashing around and breaking human skulls and cracking chests. A company of the emperor’s soldiers were soon all over it, lashing at the plating with their rifle butts and pouring fire into the automaton until its metal body stopped twitching. Emperor Jaelis leapt out of his throne, a heavily ornamented silver pistol pulled from the patent white holster that crossed his uniform. The screens showed his reactions in close-up. He waved his gun in the direction of the party that had brought the humanoid device, yelling abuse towards the visitors. Jaelis drooled and his head twitched uncontrollably as he lost his temper; an unsettling sight in someone who was meant to be absolute master of his vast dominions. A couple of ambassadors broke and ran but Jaelis shot them in the back as they sprinted down the central carpet, his pistol ejecting spent cartridges. A silence fell across Duncan’s balcony as the cartridges chinked against the floor. The remaining diplomats had fallen to their knees, begging and howling, but it wasn’t enough to spare them. Striding up to the visitors, the emperor shot each of them in the head, bodies jouncing back as they collapsed and lay unmoving, blood pooling out towards the crowds on either side. Duncan tried to turn his head away, sickened. But he found he couldn’t. The terrible theatre down below had too powerful a hold. The mighty emperor Jaelis was reduced to kicking the corpses in the ribs, purple-faced and swearing, until Apolleon caught up with Jaelis and managed to placate the brute enough for him to return to the diamond throne.