Mistworld

  "Assuming everyone reports in, maybe a dozen; but that'll be most of our reserve."

  "I'll take them. We're looking for a rogue esper, a very powerful Siren. You shouldn't have much trouble recognising her; she was responsible for the strange readings your people picked up from the Balefire. Report back to me as soon as you've found her, but no one's to approach her until I give the word. This rogue is dangerous. Got it?"

  "Yes, Director."

  "Is the shield secure?"

  "For the moment. The Empire ships are in stable orbit, but keeping their distance. They know what will happen if they try anything."

  "Stay with it, lad," said Steel gruffly, and John Silver grinned.

  "With our shield or on it, Director."

  The monitor screen cleared. Steel looked in surprise at his last piece of candy, melting forgotten in his hand, and popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully, his hands clasped across his belly. "The port espers scanned every man, woman, and child leaving the Balefire. There's no way the rogue could have got past them."

  Topaz shrugged. "Empire agents must have got to her first, and spirited her off the landing field. This whole thing has been very carefully planned, right from the beginning."

  "It's starting to look that way. But how far back does this thing go, Investigator? Did the Empire really scorch Tannim lifeless just to make sure we'd accept the Balefire's refugees? A whole world?"

  Topaz looked at him steadily. "They've done worse, Director. Much worse."

  They sat in silence a while. Steel knew there were things he ought to be doing, but somehow he just couldn't seem to raise the energy. "Do you think they'll find the rogue, Investigator?"

  "A dozen espers, to cover an entire city? They might get lucky, but I doubt it. We don't even know her name."

  "Call her Mary."

  "What?"

  "Typhoid Mary. It's an old name for a fugitive carrier of disease." Steel smiled at Topaz's open astonishment. "A Port Director has to study many fields, Investigator."

  He steepled his fingers and tapped them together thoughtfully. "As from now, I'm promoting you to Watch Commander. With the Bloodhawk missing, I need someone on the spot I can trust. You're probably the only one in the Watch who really understands what we're up against. Get all the Watch out on the streets and search the city, sector by sector. If you come across any espers apart from the rogue, I want them escorted here under full protection. We can't afford to lose any more espers. At least here we should be able to offer them some security."

  Topaz nodded. "Sounds logical. Just one thing; what are my men supposed to do if they find the rogue?"

  "They can't afford to take chances," said Steel steadily. "Keep her under surveillance, but don't approach her. I'll send men armed with disrupters."

  "You're not going to give her the chance to surrender."

  "No. I can't take the risk."

  "With this many Watch out on the streets, we're going to need a cover story."

  "Right. If the truth gets out there'll be a panic. Put a bounty on the rogue's head and tell everyone she's a plague carrier. It's true enough."

  Topaz smiled slightly. "That should keep people off the streets. I'll lead a patrol into Thieves Quarter. I know the area."

  "No! You're an esper, Topaz; I can't risk losing you to the rogue."

  "I'm a Siren, Director. I may be the only real chance you've got of stopping her."

  Steel hesitated, and then nodded curtly. He turned away and studied his computer console, and after a moment Topaz left the cubicle. Steel scowled at the blank screen before him. Damn fool woman was going to get herself killed at this rate. He wondered why that bothered him so much. He sighed wearily, and indulged in a long, slow stretch. He was so tired even his bones ached. He'd done everything he could, but he had a strong feeling it wasn't going to be enough. The Empire had been planning this for a long time. They wouldn't have left anything to chance. He blinked in surprise as his monitor screen suddenly lit up again.

  "Yes, duty esper. What is it?"

  "Hob hounds, Director! They're pouring into the city through a breach in the Guilds Quarter boundary. First reports are confused, but it seems clear there are hundreds of the beasts. The Watch on the spot are falling back, street by street. Without reinforcements, it's only a matter of time before they're overrun."

  "Of course," said Steel. "The Empire can't risk us finding Mary too soon, so they provide a distraction. Logical."

  "Director?"

  "Take as many Watchmen as you need, but I want those hounds contained. It's vital they be stopped where they are."

  "We've only got so many Watch, Director. We can't block off the hounds and maintain a city-wide search for the rogue esper."

  "I know. Just . . . do the best you can."

  "Yes, Director."

  "What are the early casualty reports like?"

  "Bad. The hounds are slaughtering everything that moves. The Watch are slowing them down, but that's all. Still, it could have been worse."

  "I don't see how."

  "At least the Watch was there, Director. If you hadn't posted men to watch the boundaries, the hounds would have taken us completely by surprise. There's no telling how many they would have killed, running unstopped through the city."

  "Yes. I suppose so. We've got Councillor Darkstrom to thank for that. I take it there's still no sign of her or the Bloodhawk?"

  "Not so far, Director."

  "And Donald Royal?"

  "Still missing, sir."

  "That just leaves me. The last Councillor. Ironic, in its way, I suppose."

  Steel sat in silence for a while, staring at nothing, his eyes far away. John Silver waited patiently.

  "Duty esper."

  "Yes, Director?"

  "I'm going home. Re-route any messages, and . . . let me know if anything happens."

  "Of course, Director. Not much else we can do now, is there?"

  "No. You look tired, lad."

  John Silver smiled. "I think I'll stay a little longer. I couldn't sleep anyway."

  Steel nodded. "I'll see you later."

  "Goodbye, sir."

  The screen went blank. Steel rose slowly to his feet and looked about him. Beyond the glass walls, the technicians sat unmoving at their posts, tense and silent. Steel looked away. He'd done everything he could. "I did my best," he said softly. He hesitated a moment, as though waiting for an answer, and then he turned and left without looking back.

  * * *

  Twelve espers lay side by side on comfortable couches, and spread their thoughts across the city, searching.

  Tarpaulined barges drifted down the River Autumn, steel-lined bows breaking through the newly forming ice. Outleaning timbered buildings bowed to each other like tired old men, upper stories no more than a hand's-breadth apart. Watchmen patrolled the lamplit streets, shivering in their furs. Cats darted along the low stone walls of a back alley, appearing and disappearing in the thick fog like dusky phantoms.

  The espers found Mary in less than an hour, and made contact with her mind. She killed them all.

  Typhoid Mary had been programmed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Heroes and Villains

  The building itself was quiet and unassuming, almost anonymous, and the sign above the door said simply blacksmith. Donald Royal smiled grimly. He knew better. During his many years on the Council he'd read a great many reports on Dr. Vertue's body bank. It was one of Donald's old familiar angers that he'd never been able to raise enough evidence to close the place down. He should have tried harder. If he had, Jamie might still be alive today.

  Donald sighed quietly and pulled his cloak tightly about him. The fog was thick and heavy, the snow had been falling for hours, and it was still barely morning. It was going to be a hard winter. Donald glanced at Madelaine Skye standing next to him, unrecognizable as usual in her thick fur cloak with the hood pulled well forward. She seemed calm enough, but Donald could tell from the set of
her shoulders that her right hand was resting on her sword hilt. He wasn't surprised. He'd heard the open rage in her voice on the few occasions she'd spoken of Dr. Vertue.

  "Well," said Donald. "This is the place."

  "Yes," said Skye. "I know."

  "You've been here before, then?"

  "Yes."

  Donald waited a moment, and then sniffed when he realised Skye wasn't going to say any more. He had a strong feeling there were things going on that Skye wasn't telling him about. It didn't really matter. If it was important, Skye would tell him eventually. Vertue was all that mattered now. Donald Royal looked at the closed door and felt a slow, cold anger build within him. Leon Vertue knew how and why Jamie had died, and one way or another Donald was going to learn the truth. He glanced quickly at Madelaine Skye.

  "Ready?"

  "Ready."

  "Then let's do it."

  Donald stepped forward and tried the door. It wasn't locked. He pushed the door open and moved cautiously forward into a quietly tasteful lamplit hall. Skye stepped quickly in behind him and pushed the door shut. It felt good to be in out of the cold. Donald pushed back his hood and beat the snow from his cloak as he looked about him. The short, narrow hall was completely empty, and ended at the only other door. Donald started towards it, Skye at his side. He took off his gloves and tucked them into his belt. He flexed his hands slowly. Gloves just got in the way when you used a sword. He checked the walls unobtrusively as he passed. He couldn't see any security cameras, but he assumed they were being monitored. Both the walls were covered with ostentatiously expensive paintings and tapestries. Donald smiled suddenly as he recognised a forgery. He knew it was a fake, because he owned the original. His smile slowly faded. At least, he'd always assumed he owned the original. He arrived at the end door in a thoroughly foul state of mind, and scowled fiercely when the door handle wouldn't turn under his hand. He hammered on the ironwood door with his fist and waited impatiently. There was a hiss of static from a small comm unit set into the door frame.

  "Dr. Vertue thanks you for calling, but regrets to announce that he is unavailable today. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause."

  "Get that recording off the line and talk to me," growled Donald. "Or so help me I'll call in a company of the Watch and have them turn this door into kindling. I am Councillor Donald Royal, and I have business with Dr. Vertue."

  There was a pause, and then a hesitant female voice issued from the comm unit. "I'm sorry, Councillor, but the doctor left strict instructions that he wasn't to be disturbed for any reason."

  "Your boss is already in trouble," said Donald coldly. "Unless you want to join him, I suggest you open this damned door. Now."

  The door hummed quietly to itself, and then swung smoothly open. Donald smiled grimly, and stalked forward into the doctor's reception area. So much for the first line of defence. A gorgeous redhead was rising nervously from behind a huge steel-and-plastic desk. Donald nodded briskly to her, and glanced about him. There was no sign of Vertue. Highly polished ironwood wall panels gleamed richly under the overhead lightsphere, and the carpet was thick enough to hide a good-sized snake. Any other time Donald might have been impressed, but right now he wasn't in the mood. He had other things on his mind.

  "Vertue," he said bluntly. "Where is he?"

  The secretary tore her eyes away from the bulky, fur-wrapped figure of Madelaine Skye, and glanced quickly at the closed door to the right before answering Donald. "I'm afraid you can't see him just at the moment, Councillor; he's in conference. He was most emphatic that he wasn't to be disturbed. If you'd care to wait . . ."

  "He'll see us," said Donald, and headed for the right-hand door.

  "I'm sorry Councillor," said the secretary, and something in her voice made Donald stop and look back. The secretary had a disrupter in her hand, pointed carefully midway between him and Skye. Donald stood very still. The secretary had them both covered, and he had no doubt she'd use the gun if she felt at all threatened. He thought about the throwing knife in the top of his right boot, and then thought better of it. He needed a distraction . . .

  The secretary looked quickly from Donald to Skye, frowning thoughtfully. "If you really had a company of the Watch, you'd have brought them in with you. And if you don't have the Watch's backing, that means you don't have a warrant. So I can throw you both out any time I feel like it. But you wouldn't have come on this strong if you didn't have something you thought you could hurt us with. I don't think I can afford to take any chances with you, Councillor. Or your mysterious friend. Unbuckle your sword belt, Councillor. Slowly, and very carefully. And you, in the furs; push back that hood and let me take a look at you. I'm sure I know you from somewhere."

  Donald fumbled at his sword belt, taking his time about it without being too obvious. The secretary seemed more interested in Skye than she was in him. If he timed it just right . . . He knelt carefully down and dropped his scabbard onto the floor. The secretary's eyes flickered from Skye to him and back again. Skye slowly lifted her hands, and then jerked her hood back to show her face. The secretary's eyes widened with horror, and her gun hand started to shake.

  "You can't be. You can't be! I saw your body in the tank!"

  Donald pulled the knife from his boot and threw it underhand, putting all his strength behind it. The knife slammed into the secretary's shoulder, spinning her round. The disrupter fired, discharging its energy harmlessly into the ceiling. Skye stepped quickly forward, sword in hand. The long blade flashed once, and the secretary fell limply to the floor. Skye knelt beside her to be sure she was dead, and then sheathed her sword. Donald picked up his sword belt and buckled it on again.

  "Nice throw," said Skye.

  "Thanks. Why did she spook like that when she saw your face? And what did she mean . . ."

  "I'll explain later. Come and take a look at this."

  Donald sniffed, and moved behind the desk to crouch down beside Skye. His knees protested loudly, but he ignored them. Skye gestured for him to study the secretary's face. He did so, frowning, and then reached out to gently touch the flawless skin with his fingertips. It was just a little bit too taut, and he could feel the telltale little scars behind her ears and under her chin. Somewhere along the line, the redhead had undergone extensive skin grafting in order to retain her stunning good looks. Donald wondered briefly what had happened to the woman who'd donated the skin, and then he grimaced as he realised he already knew the answer. He took a firm hold on the hilt of his throwing knife, and pulled it out of the secretary's shoulder. He wiped the blade clean on her blouse and slipped the knife back into his boot. He had a strong feeling he might need the knife again before the morning was over.

  He rose awkwardly to his feet, wincing as his knees protested again. There were days when he wondered just whose side his body was on. Skye moved over to the right-hand door and tried the handle. It was locked. Donald reached into his pocket for his lockpicks.

  "Don't waste your time, Donald," said Skye. "It's an electronic lock. Vertue thinks of everything." She scowled thoughtfully at the tiny security camera built into the door frame. "We can't afford to waste any more time. We've probably set off all kinds of alarms, and there's no telling how long they've been watching us. Try the desk; maybe there's a hidden switch or something."

  Donald nodded, and searched the desk drawers one by one. It didn't take him long to find a simple remote control unit, hidden in an empty candy box. He tried the various buttons at random, and after he'd turned the lights on and off a few times, the right-hand door hummed loudly and swung open revealing a long, narrow passage. Donald tucked the remote into his pocket, and moved quickly over to stand beside Skye. He noticed she'd pulled her hood forward to cover her face again, but he decided not to say anything. She'd tell him when she was ready.

  The corridor stretched away a good thirty feet and more before turning a sharp corner. Lightspheres had been set into the ceiling at regular intervals, but only one was working
. There was a strong smell of antiseptic. Skye moved slowly forward into the corridor, and Donald followed her. He couldn't see any security cameras, but he knew they were there. Their footsteps were eerily loud in the quiet, echoing hollowly back from the bare, featureless walls. There was a quiet rasp of steel on leather as Madelaine Skye drew her sword. Donald couldn't help noticing that her hand was shaking slightly.

  Leon Vertue glared at his master, standing calmly before him on the other side of the reclamation tank. He'd been shouting and blustering at the man for the best part of an hour, and little good it had done him. Nothing that Vertue could say seemed to have any effect on Count Stefan Bloodhawk. I should never have got involved with the Empire, thought Vertue sourly. Once they get their claws into you, you're theirs for life. He fought hard to hold on to his temper. Mistport was going to hell in a handcart, Blackjack was dead, Investigator Topaz was on his trail, and now some damned fool had let Hob hounds into the city. One way or another, his life here was finished; he had to get off Mistworld and start again somewhere else. It didn't matter where. There was always a demand for body banks. What did matter was how much of his stock and equipment he could take with him. He had to take some of it, and it was up to the Bloodhawk to help him. The Empire owed him that much. Vertue glared at the Bloodhawk, who stared calmly back at him.

  "You've got to get me out of here!" snapped Vertue. "While you've been hiding safe and sound in the outer settlements, that damned esper of yours has gone crazy; she's been mindblasting everything that moves! I don't know what happened between her and Royal, but that rotten bitch of yours has been out of control ever since she got here. You never told me she was so powerful! She'll destroy the whole city before she's through."

  "Do stop whining, my dear doctor; it doesn't become you in the least." The Bloodhawk brushed an invisible fleck of dust from his sleeve. "The lady in question is not out of control; she's doing exactly what she was supposed to. She did make her start a little earlier than was intended, I'll admit, but that was your fault. You should have told me this Jamie Royal was unreliable."