Deathstalker Coda

  "Probably not," Price agreed, but Tull's face had already disappeared from the viewscreen. Price looked back at Silence. "Well, Admiral. I think that went about as well as could be expected. Perhaps you'd like to take the command chair back, while I go and change my trousers."

  * * *

  And so it was that Lewis Deathstalker, Jesamine Flowers, Brett Random, and Rose Constantine went down to Mistport in an unarmed pinnace, feeling distinctly vulnerable all the way. Brett actually sat on Rose's lap when the weather made the trip a bit bumpy. But the descent was otherwise uneventful, and the Mistport control tower brought them down onto the landing pads with practiced skill. Everyone in the pinnace then waited patiently until they were given permission to disembark.

  The cold hit the four of them hard the moment they left the pinnace, freezing air numbing their faces and burning in their lungs. They pulled their cloaks about them, and huddled together for warmth and comfort. Mistport was shrouded in fog, like the rest of the world; a slowly swirling thick gray blanket that cut Lewis and his companions off from everything around them. The other ships on the pads were just great hulking shadows, and the tall control tower showed only as the vaguest of glows. It was like being at the bottom of the ocean; cold and silent and very alone. It was always winter on Mistworld, always snow and ice and mists under a pale red sun. There was no sign of life anywhere. Brett blew on his hands, and rubbed them together fiercely.

  "I hate the cold. It's unnatural, in these civilized days of weather control. I can feel my balls shriveling up."

  "Altogether too much information, Brett," said Jesamine.

  Brett carried on anyway, never one to let anything get in the way of a good moan. "I thought Silence would be coming down with us. Why isn't Silence here? Does he know something we don't?"

  "He was here before, over two hundred years ago," said Lewis, peering distractedly about him into the curling mists. "He was part of the Iron Bitch's invasion force. Mistworlders have long memories, and they bear grudges. Don't you know your history?"

  "School was a sometime thing for me," Brett admitted.

  "Well, color me surprised," said Jesamine. "Pay attention, scumbag. Back when Silence was still just a captain in Lionstone's fleet, the military invaded Mistport, slaughtered hundreds of thousands of people, and laid waste to much of the city. To us, John Silence is a legend. To the Mistworlders, he's a war criminal who got away with it. Why do you want Silence down here anyway? You know very well he can't stand the sight of you."

  "Never hurts to have a legendary fighter on your side," Brett said darkly. "Especially when it comes to negotiating."

  "Two hundred years since Silence was last here," Lewis said thoughtfully. "You tend to forget just how old he is, really. All the things he saw, and all the things he did… For him, our legends are memories. He's probably the only man left alive who actually talked with the Iron Bitch herself. He was there, during all the history that Robert and Constance had suppressed. I'll bet he could tell some incredible stories, if we could just get him to open up a little."

  "I don't think he wants to remember," said Jesamine. "I don't think he likes the man he used to be. The things that man had to do."

  "There is that," said Lewis. "Legend makes him out to be an honorable man, but even legend couldn't disguise the fact that he did… questionable things."

  Brett sniffed loudly. "Then he should be right at home here on Mistworld. They've made an entire culture out of being thieves, thugs, and outlaws."

  "They know a lot about killing, too," said Rose.

  "You are not to start anything, Rose," Brett said sternly. "Lewis, tell her she's not to start anything."

  "I wouldn't dare," said Lewis.

  "Rose is your problem, Brett," said Jesamine. "You're the one who's sleeping with her, which to my mind is the bravest thing you ever did."

  "You have no idea," said Brett.

  They stood together in the cold some more, stamping their feet hard on the landing pad to keep the circulation flowing. They were all wearing heavy furs supplied by the Havoc, but the cold cut right through them like a bitter knife. Brett was also wearing lizardskin boots, while Rose had a fine new lizardskin cape. None of them ever mentioned their erstwhile companion and proven traitor, the reptiloid called Saturday.

  "What's the holdup?" Jesamine said angrily. "They knew we were coming. Hell, they landed our ship."

  "They're probably checking us out from a safe distance, with scanners and espers," said Lewis. "Making sure we are who and what we claim to be, with no hidden weapons or forbidden implants. Mistport has reason to be wary of trojan horses; a long time ago a brainwashed esper called Typhoid Mary came very close to wiping out the whole city."

  "I'll bet you were a real swot at history classes," muttered Brett. "Look, they're keeping us waiting because they can. To rub it in that they're in charge, and we're the ones begging for an audience. It's all about putting us in our place."

  "I have never known my place!" Jesamine said immediately. "The only place I've ever accepted is the one I made for myself."

  "They must have forgotten you're a star," Brett said cunningly. "Why don't you blast them with an aria, just to remind them?"

  "For once, the squalid person and I are in agreement," said Jesamine. "I may be a rebel, but I am still a diva. How dare they treat me this way? And after I performed a special charity concert for them, only nine years ago, in that toilet they called a theater. If they don't show their miserable faces soon, I'll sing them an aria that'll shatter every window in their control tower, and make all their fillings vibrate for a week."

  "Someone's coming," said Rose.

  Everyone straightened up and looked in the same direction as Rose. The mists swirled slowly, with no sign of anyone approaching, but they all trusted Rose's instincts.

  "I can feel something," Lewis said suddenly. "Can you feel… something?"

  "Yes," said Jesamine slowly. "Like cobwebs drifting across my mind. What is that?"

  "Esper probes," said Brett. "Telepaths trying to peek into our thoughts. Not that they stand a chance against our strengthened minds. I doubt anything short of the oversoul could pry open our defenses these days. Still, we shouldn't be able to feel the probes. That is unusual."

  "So are we, these days," said Lewis. "No doubt we will discover other… abilities, as we go on."

  "Strangely, I don't feel at all comforted by that thought," said Brett.

  "Shut up, Brett," said Jesamine.

  Dark figures finally began to appear out of the drifting mists before them, forming slowly out of the endless gray. Rose's hand rested easily on the gun at her hip. A dozen men and women drew to a halt before them, anonymous in thick fur wraps and hoods. What little could be seen of their grim, unrelenting faces didn't seem in the least welcoming. They were all heavily and conspicuously armed.

  "Our espers couldn't make any sense out of your minds," one of them said abruptly. "They couldn't even confirm you were human. They said it was like staring into the sun."

  "We've all been through the Madness Maze," said Lewis. He tried hard to say it calmly, without boasting. "We're undergoing changes. Next time, ask. Now, whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

  "I'm Manfred Kramer. City councillor, and head of Mistport security. And with grammar like that, you've got to be the Deathstalker. I recognize the diva, and the Wild Rose, but who's the short arse?"

  "Hey!" said Brett. "I'm a Random's Bastard!"

  "So is practically everyone else in Mistport," said Kramer. "If the professional rebel had sired as many children here as he's supposed to, he'd never have got around to leaving. You behave yourself here, Random."

  Just for that, thought Brett, I'm going to steal your undershorts. While you're still wearing them.

  Lewis studied Manfred Kramer thoughtfully. The security head was a large, muscular man with dark, suspicious eyes and a sulky mouth. He had a death's head tattooed on one cheek, and heavy black eye makeup.

&n
bsp; "Well," said Lewis. "Here we are."

  "If it was up to me you wouldn't be," Kramer snapped. "Nothing good will come of this. Nothing good ever comes of Mistworld getting involved with the Empire. But what do I know? I'm only head of security… Follow me. The rest of the city Council is waiting to talk to you."

  "Hold it, hold it, Manfred," said a woman at his side. She pressed forward to stare intently at Lewis with cold gray eyes. "I'm Councillor Jane Goldman. Are you really a Deathstalker? We'd heard they were all dead. Murdered."

  "I'm Lewis. Once Paragon of Virimonde, now the last of Clan Deathstalker."

  "Yes, I saw you once, in the Coronation broadcast, when the King made you Champion. I thought you'd be bigger, in person. And God, you really are an ugly bugger, aren't you?"

  "Diplomacy is alive and well on Mistworld," muttered Brett.

  "I think you've pulled, Lewis," said Jesamine.

  "Never mind all that!" said another man, pushing past Goldman to stare right into Jesamine's face. "It is you! It's her! It actually is the Jesamine Flowers!" He lowered his eyes, suddenly bashful. "Ms. Flowers, I'm your biggest fan. I've got all your recordings. And your vids, and a whole bunch of your posters and… I, I brought this vid along, it's my favorite. Would you be so kind as to sign it for me?"

  "Of course, darling," Jesamine said graciously, as the fan searched inside his furs with both hands. "Always happy to meet a fan. Do you have a pen?"

  "What? Oh, yes! Yes, of course!"

  Other men and women began to produce things for her to sign, only to put them away again as Kramer glared fiercely about him.

  "Council business comes first! What's the matter with you?"

  "Later, darlings," said Jesamine. She stared coldly at Kramer. "And you don't get anything."

  "Is it true that Owen's back?" said Councillor Goldman. "Have you really seen him?"

  "Yes," said Lewis. "He's back. And he's everything the legends said he was, and more. He's gone to face the Terror. We really don't know any more than that. No doubt he'll reappear to us, when his work is done."

  That was enough to silence all of them, even Kramer. Finally he gestured for everyone to follow him, and stalked off into the mists. He set a brisk pace, and everyone else had to hurry to keep up with him. Lewis and his companions stuck close. They really didn't want to get lost in the fog. Brett sniffed loudly.

  "Why don't you buy some weather satellites, and clear up all this damned fog?" he said loudly.

  "Because we like our world this way," Kramer growled, without looking back. "The long winter makes us strong. The cold puts iron in our bones. We always knew the Golden Age wouldn't last. We've always been ready—to clear up the mess when it all fell apart."

  Lewis and the others gawped around like tourists as Kramer led them deep into the sprawling city of Mistport. Like most people, they knew Mistport only from the old stories, from the days of the Great Rebellion. So much had happened here, so many significant people had come and gone, and yet hardly anyone knew any more than that. Mistworld kept itself to itself, and didn't encourage visitors. In fact, for a while the city Council had actually posted generous bounties for the heads of those determined visitors who insisted on trying to sneak in. Mistworld could have made itself rich by trading on its legend and commercializing its fame, but had chosen not to.

  If Owen had been there, he would have found much in Mistport to recognize. The place hadn't changed that much in two hundred years. It was still mostly made up of squat, old-fashioned buildings composed primarily of stone and timber. There were unmistakable modern touches, in the bright streetlamps that pushed back the haze of the mists, and the low antigrav vehicles that moved through the narrow cobbled streets. But coal-fired barges still chugged slowly along the river Autumn that meandered through the heart of the city, and the Watchmen still patrolled in pairs because it was safer that way. There was law on Mistworld, but like Brett's education, it was a sometime thing. The people bustling through the streets in their heavy furs and cloaks paid no attention to Kramer or the people with him.

  "Hey, I've just noticed something," said Brett.

  "Then why did you tread in it?" said Rose.

  Everyone then had to stop and wait while Brett scraped his boot clean with great thoroughness. Kramer glowered impatiently, but for once Brett out-glared him. When he was sure he'd finished, Brett gestured around him.

  "I meant, where are your statues? Half the heroes of old passed through this city on a regular basis during the Great Rebellion, and I haven't seen a single statue to any of them. Not even Owen, who by all accounts saved this city single-handed half a dozen times."

  "We don't believe in them," Kramer said shortly.

  "Statues, or heroes?" said Lewis.

  "We don't need statues to remind us of what Owen and Hazel d'Ark did here," said Councillor Goldman. "We remember. We always will. We are their legacy, not some idealized piece of stone. We do have a few hospitals dedicated to St. Beatrice. But that's different."

  No one had an answer to that, so the rest of the journey passed pretty much in silence. They ended up at a simple tavern, deep in the heart of the city. It seemed a pleasant enough place, and deliciously warm and cozy after the bitter cold of the streets. Lewis and his companions headed straight for the open roaring fire in the huge stone fireplace, while Kramer talked with the inn's owner, a short fat butterball of a man dressed in cheerfully clashing colors. Lewis and Jesamine took it in turns rubbing the feeling back into their numbed hands, pulling anguished faces at the stabbing pins and needles. Brett had turned his back on the fire, and stuck out his backside to enjoy the full benefit of the heat. Rose alone seemed entirely unaffected by the cold or the new heat. The inn's other customers ignored them, not even bothering to lower their voices.

  The inn's owner led his new customers into a side room, and bustled happily about making sure everyone was settled and had a mug of something hot and soothing and deceptively alcoholic in their hand. Hot food was promised shortly, and plenty of it. He gave Rose plenty of room, but then, everybody did. Lewis and his companions sat with Kramer and Goldman at the main table, while the other Mistworlders sat together a little way off. The host asked if they had everything they wanted, and Brett raised a hand.

  "What was that animal I saw on the hanging sign over the door as we came in?"

  "That, sir, is a Hob hound. The inn is named after the creature, and a terrible thing it was, sir. This establishment has been known as the Hob Hound for over a hundred years, famous for good wines and spirits. Used to be called the Blackthorn, in my grandfather's day, but he renamed it to celebrate the death of the very last Hob hound. Nasty creatures they were, sir; killed for sport as much as appetite, or so I'm told. Anyway, they were hunted down to extinction, and good riddance to them all. It's said some damned fool wanted to preserve a breeding pair, for a zoo. My grandfather shot him, just to be on the safe side."

  He caught Kramer glaring at him impatiently, and remembered he was urgently needed elsewhere. He bustled off, and the meeting proper began. The Council of Mistport, and by extension all of Mistworld, turned out to consist of Kramer and Goldman, and another man and woman who slipped quietly into the empty seats left for them. Out of her shapeless furs, Goldman turned out to be a shapely mature woman with a soft mouth and knowing eyes. Kramer just looked even more of a thug. Then there was an old woman, Gina Caswell, who was the oldest-looking woman Lewis and his companions had ever seen. People didn't look old in the Empire these days, right up until they died. But this was Mistworld, whose inhabitants didn't believe in such fripperies. Lewis had to keep himself from staring at her sunken wrinkled face. Brett of course didn't even try, until Jesamine kicked his ankle under the table. The final Councillor, and leader, was Gil Akotai. Lewis would have known he was the leader without having to be told. Akotai was a squat heap of a man, flat-faced and sleepy-eyed, almost as wide as he was tall, but for all his air of calm relaxation, Lewis wasn't fooled for a moment. He knew a dangero
us man when he saw one.

  "There's not much of you, for a Deathstalker," said Caswell, in her sharp old-woman's voice. "I've flushed more impressive objects in my time. Did you gain any powers from the Madness Maze?"

  "I'm still finding out," said Lewis, determined to be polite despite all provocation. "But I am definitely more than I used to be."

  "That wouldn't be difficult," said Caswell.

  "I never wanted any of you here in the first place," said Kramer. "What are you, really? A disgraced warrior trading on his legendary name. A singer past her best, another bloody Random's Bastard as if we didn't already have more than enough, and the Wild Rose of the Arena, who I still say we should have shot on sight, from a distance. Oh, yes, we know all about her. We get all the entertainment channels out here. A complete bloody psychopath, and vicious with it. No offense."

  "Trust me," said Brett. "If she was offended, you'd know all about it by now. There'd be heads rolling across the floor, and entrails hanging from the lamps."

  "You see!" Kramer said to Akotai.

  "Be quiet, Manfred," Akotai said mildly, and Kramer shut up immediately. Everyone looked at Akotai, but it seemed that was all he had to say, for the moment.

  "Excuse me," said Jesamine, in that dangerously calm and even tone that Lewis had learned meant imminent trouble. "What exactly did you mean, a singer past her best? I am a diva."

  "This is supposed to be a meeting for rebels and fighters, not second-rate showbiz stars," said Kramer, and Lewis winced.

  "I was never second rate!" snapped Jesamine. "And I'm more of a fighter than you'll ever be."

  "Be silent, woman! Or I'll have you removed!"

  Oh, dear, thought Lewis.

  Kramer and Jesamine were both on their feet, glaring at each other. Lewis looked to Akotai, to see if he was going to do anything, and when it became clear that he wasn't, Lewis sighed heavily, and brought his hand down hard on the table. The heavy ironwood tabletop cracked, from one end to the other, and everyone looked sharply at Lewis. Ironwood was so tough you could usually only carve and shape it with a laser. Kramer sat down, and after a moment, so did Jesamine. The four Councillors actually seemed to relax a little. Old woman Caswell actually smiled at Lewis.