And the only person to volunteer had been… Nina Malapert.
The reporter was where she said she'd be, her camera bobbing above her shoulder. She smiled and waved brightly to Emma as she descended on her gravity sled into the quiet side street they'd agreed on. Nina was a bright young thing, with an open happy face and a towering pink mohawk. She was wearing a clutter of pastel-colored silks and carrying a large leather shoulder bag decorated with images of pretty flowers. She wore far too much makeup on her somewhat pointed face, and had on entirely unsuitable shoes. Emma looked at her for a long time.
"You do realize we're going into the Rookery today?" she said heavily. "Into the most dangerous and evil part of the city?"
"Oh, yes! Absolutely looking forward to it, darling! Don't worry, I've got all my gear. Whatever happens, we won't miss a thing! This really is terribly exciting! Now, tell me, before we start: is it true you're a vegetarian?"
"Yes," said Emma, frowning slightly.
"An exclusive!" Nina did a little dance of celebration right there on the spot, punching the air with one fist.
"Get on the sled behind me," said Emma.
Nina hugged Emma tightly round the waist as they flew over increasingly narrow streets, heading into the center of the city and the criminal underworld of the Rookery. Nina let her chin rest on Emma's shoulder, and chattered happily in her ear all the way there.
"I really am so glad you chose me for this gig, Emma. Honestly, darling, the competition was… well, everyone else was very busy, but even so… Oh, I just know we're going to get on famously! I've read all the files we have on you. Well, not all of them, obviously, because there are an awful lot of them, but I skimmed the precis of most of them… We really are frightfully high up, aren't we? I don't normally get to do the crime stuff, you know. Mostly I do gossip. Who's been seen dining with who at which new nightspot, who's dumping who, that sort of thing. I was the one who proved Treasure Mackenzie is allergic to cats, even though she swore she wasn't. Of course, she hasn't talked to me ever since I thrust that cat in her face at a premiere, but then, she wasn't talking to me anyway, the snotty cow. And sometimes I do the horoscopes, when there's no one else left in the office. But this is the real thing! Real reporting! No more gossip for me, I'm going to be a genuine journalist at last. Mummy will be so pleased! Why did you choose me, Emma?"
"Because you were the only one dumb enough to agree to accompany me into the Rookery," growled Emma, without looking round. "And more and more it's seeming like a really bad idea. Now keep the noise down, and pay attention. Is your camera running?"
"Oh, yes, Emma. Has been ever since you showed up. We are totally live, as you requested."
"Well, we've just entered a part of the city that doesn't officially exist. This is where most of the crime that happens in this city is plotted and financed. This is where the really wild animals are. So stay close to me, do what I say when I say it, and for God's sake don't try to interview anyone. They don't take kindly to being asked questions around here."
"So how do you find out things?" said Nina.
"Mostly I beat it out of them. Now one of my more reliable snitches got a message to me about a meeting between one of the main agent provocateurs and his secret patron. The agent is apparently threatening to go public over their dealings unless he gets more money. The patron doesn't normally come here in person anymore, so this could be our one chance to nail him. And if it turns out to be who I think it is, you are in for the exclusive of your life."
Nina squeaked loudly with excitement right into Emma's ear, and Emma winced. She wasn't ready to mention the Durandal's name yet. Not till she'd caught him in the act. But if he was stupid enough to meet with one of his creatures personally, then live coverage of the two together, in the heart of the infamous Rookery, should finally be enough to cast serious doubt on his goody-goody image. The problem was, she had to get solid evidence against Finn or it wouldn't stick. Just meeting an agent provocateur wasn't enough. He might still talk his way out of that. She needed coverage of the two of them discussing what they'd planned and done together—whatever that might have been. Emma sighed. Maybe she'd get really lucky, and the Durandal would implicate himself and then gun down the agent to silence him. Let Finn talk his way out of cold-blooded murder, broadcast live.
"Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions? Just till we get there?" said Nina in that open happy way of hers that made it clear nothing short of murder was going to stop her. "I mean, there's still so much the people don't know about you, Emma. Like, do you have a steady boyfriend? What's your favorite recipe? Do you have any special makeup tips that you'd like to share with our viewers? You are a fashion icon, after all, even if it is a rather… severe look. What's it like, being a woman and a Paragon? What do you do for fun?"
Luckily they reached the designated meeting place before Emma decided that she really had to kill Nina. Emma glided the gravity sled down into a shadowy square leading off from a particularly squalid and underlit street. It was all very quiet, with no one about, both of which were highly suspicious. There was always something going on in the Rookery, day or night. Emma stepped down from the hovering sled and glared about her. She'd already checked the overlooking windows and rooftops for snipers on the way down, but it didn't hurt to check again. There was nothing obvious to be seen, but the whole situation felt wrong. Nina stepped gingerly down from the sled, and then made a highly distressed noise as she realized what she'd just stepped into.
"Oh, God, darling, this is disgusting! This whole neighborhood needs a good fumigating. With a flamethrower. I just know I'm going to catch something I'm going to have a hard time explaining to my doctor. Honestly, it smells like something died here. Very recently. Though admittedly, I have paid absolutely extortionate cover charges to get into supposedly fashionable clubs that smelled even worse. But at least they had a bar… Is that supposed to move like that?"
"Hush," said Emma. She'd come deeper into the Rookery than she normally liked, now that she could no longer depend on peacekeeper backup, but the snitch's tale had been just too tempting. Even if the Durandal didn't turn up, the agent provocateur would have to know all kinds of useful things, which she was sure he could be persuaded to talk about. Though she might have to do the persuading discreetly off camera. There had been mention of Brett Random and Rose Constantine, and the things they'd done for Finn before they abandoned him to follow the Deathstalker. What could the Durandal be up to, that two such hardened scumbags had run away from it? Emma was close to answers now, she could feel it.
She also felt very much that she'd just walked into a trap, even if she couldn't see it yet.
"Where exactly are we supposed to meet this informer of yours?" said Nina, looking unhappily about her. "Tell me it's somewhere where they've at least heard of the basic rules of hygiene."
"We are going to Mother Molly's Kitchen," said Emma. "Where they probably couldn't even spell hygiene. I hope you've had all your shots. Stick close to me, don't smile at anyone, and above all avoid the bar snacks. Especially the Long Pig Munchies."
Emma led the way across the deserted square, checking every shadow and opening for unfriendly eyes, but everything was unnaturally still and quiet. Not even a stray dog rooting in the piled-up garbage. Emma strode along confidently, her head held high. There had to be observers around somewhere, and it wouldn't do to let them think they could get to her. Nina scurried along beside her, peering about wide-eyed like a tourist. The entrance to Mother Molly's Kitchen was literally a hole in the wall, with a door propped against it. There was no sign above the door, and no doorman, either. If there had been, he'd have been outside throwing people in. Emma grabbed the door and muscled it to one side, revealing a gloomy interior full of several kinds of interesting smoke. Nina took one sniff of the various aromas that drifted out and made discreet gagging sounds. But she still followed Emma in, muttering the word exclusive under her breath like a mantra. The floating camera bobbed uneasily
over her shoulder.
Inside the drinking den, it was dark and crowded and very quiet. An anticipatory sort of quiet. The twenty or so customers were leaning against the walls, smiling unpleasantly. They were all heavily armed. Set on a card table in the middle of the room was the severed head of Emma's snitch. From the lack of blood, he'd clearly been dead for some time. Nina swallowed audibly.
"I'm assuming that isn't a good sign…"
Emma ignored her, raking the room with her best intimidating stare. "So, a trap and an ambush. Twenty-to-one odds. Am I supposed to be impressed? I'm Emma Steel, from Mistworld. Right, you are all under arrest, for being criminally stupid in a built-up area. Drop your weapons, and I'll take you in alive."
No one moved. The Durandal had clearly found some real hard cases to send against her this time. Trained killers. Emma did her best to radiate confidence. She just might have bitten off more than she could chew, but she couldn't let them believe that, or the fight would be over before it even started. At least they couldn't use disrupters in such a confined space, for fear of hitting each other. So, just twenty experienced swordsmen, against one. Not good. Not impossible, but definitely not good. Emma gave them her best disturbing stare.
"All right, gentlemen, let's dance. Nina, stay in the doorway. You don't want to get blood on your clothes."
"Oh, hell with that, darling."
There was a flash of blindingly bright light, and a roar like thunder, and seven of the swordsmen and half the wall behind them disappeared in a moment. Emma shook her head to clear it, and looked behind her. Nina was holding the biggest and nastiest handgun Emma had ever seen. Nina smiled brightly.
"Well, really, you didn't think I'd come into the Rookery unarmed, did you, darling? My great-uncle Flynn picked this up during the Great Rebellion. He was in the news business too, and he always believed in being prepared. Shall I shoot some more of them?"
The would-be ambushers were already disappearing through the great hole in the wall, and fighting each other to get out first. They weren't being paid enough to face guns like that. Emma could have grabbed the last few, but she didn't see the point. They wouldn't know anything. Finn undoubtedly hired them through a series of cutouts. She turned to Nina, who was slipping her oversized gun back into her shoulder bag, and smiled at her for the first time.
"Nina, how would you like exclusive rights to follow me around on patrol, day to day?"
"Gosh, really? A whole series with my name on it? I could write my own ticket!" She stopped abruptly and looked at Emma. "What's the catch?"
"The catch is, you'll probably get killed, hanging around with me. But if you're game, I promise you exclusives like no one else has ever seen."
"We're going to be partners? Comrades in arms? Best chums?" Nina grabbed Emma in a fierce bear hug. "Oh, Mummy is going to be so proud!"
In the House of Parliament, King Douglas sat slumped on his throne, not really listening to the lackluster debates on the floor. No one noticed his lack of interest or involvement, or if they did, no one cared. The Speaker had been bypassed, made irrelevant, and everyone knew it. But behind his disinterested facade, Douglas was doing some hard thinking. He was quietly plotting how best to wrest his power back from those who'd usurped it. He couldn't do much on his own, which meant he needed allies. His first thought had been to turn to his old comrades, the Paragons, but most of them were still scattered across the Empire on their great quest. And the few who had returned were… different. Altered. Strange. They showed no interest in taking up their old duties, and their general conduct was appalling. What had happened to them, alone out there in the dark? Douglas had to wonder if their failure to find the blessed Owen had broken their spirit in some way.
There weren't many MPs left he felt like trusting, the espers had retired to the floating city of New Hope and battened down the hatches, and Shub… went its own way, as always. The few people he'd considered friends had either betrayed him or distanced themselves from what everyone saw as a broken force. Being too close to the King was the kiss of death these days, in politics or Society. That left just the clones and the aliens. The clones were tied to Finn, and the aliens had troubles of their own. The King had been isolated.
Douglas was also very concerned that he still hadn't been able to get any news about his father. House Campbell was strictly off-limits to everyone, very definitely including him. Finn kept promising the media the full story of William's treachery, but he was in no hurry. No one had seen the inside of House Campbell since Finn's raid. The continuing silence worried Douglas almost to distraction, but he didn't let anyone see it. He just worked doggedly on his plan to break into House Campbell, rescue his father, and get him somewhere safe. If he could just hold himself together long enough. And if his father was still alive…
Douglas suddenly realized that Meerah Puri was speaking to him directly from the floor of the House, trying to get him involved in the debate. Douglas deliberately slumped down a little further in his throne, and just nodded vaguely to her. Meerah Puri was one of the few politicians left in the House that he still approved of, and he had no doubt she meant well, but Douglas had to play his role of the beaten man in public. He needed Finn and his people to believe that he was beaten; that the King was no threat to them or their plans, so that they wouldn't see him coming until it was too late. But Meerah Puri persisted in addressing him, so he reluctantly sat up and paid attention.
"Your Majesty, it is the express will of this House, and of the people, that the King needs a Queen. The people need a King and a Queen. So the honorable members of this House have, after… lengthy discussions, finally made a decision as to who should be your new wife and Queen."
Douglas gave her a hard look. He couldn't believe they'd slipped this past him. "This is the first I've heard of this."
"Yes, but you were… incommunicado for some time, Your Majesty."
"So I was. Well, I see the necessity, I suppose. Who have you chosen this time?"
There was a great blare of recorded trumpets, and beaming brother James came striding onto the floor of the House, on his arm a very beautiful and entirely voluptuous woman dressed in the very height of revealing fashion. She was extremely blonde, utterly devastating, and if she'd been any more curvaceous there would have been two of her. Douglas recognized her immediately. Treasure Mackenzie, lead actress and star of the Empire's most popular vid soap, The Quality.
So, thought Douglas just a little cynically, they've gone for beauty rather than brains, this time. Probably just as well, really.
Treasure and James came to a halt before the throne, and Douglas came down to greet them. Treasure curtsied very low, in a graceful rustle of silks, showing off more cleavage than Douglas had seen in one place in his life. James actually blushed and looked away, and couldn't let go of her arm fast enough. Douglas bowed to Treasure, and reached out to take her tiny hand in his.
"Please rise, my dear. That's better. You look delightful. This is your will, to be my Queen? You understand the responsibilities you will be taking on?"
"Oh, yes, Your Majesty," said Treasure, in her trademark breathy voice. "I couldn't be happier about this. Are you… happy about this, Douglas?"
He smiled at her. He couldn't say no, in front of everyone. It would have been like disappointing a child.
"A King must marry. I've always known that. And you seem to me… a perfect choice."
"And I'm to be the best man," said James.
"Of course," murmured Douglas. "You always are, James." He looked across at Meerah Puri. "I approve the House's choice. Set a date for the Royal Wedding."
And while the House cheered, and James applauded loudly, and Treasure beamed and dimpled becomingly, Douglas smiled and nodded and considered his position. He couldn't say no to a Royal Wedding—the people needed it too badly. They wanted to put the bad business of Lewis and Jesamine behind them, and they needed something good to look forward to, to take their minds off the coming Terror and the Parago
ns' continuing failure to find Owen. Treasure seemed a safe enough choice. Typical actress bimbo, mouthful of teeth and a bra full of talent, too dim to make political trouble. It would be a marriage in name only, but he was sure she knew that.
He'd already given his heart to another, and nothing had happened to change that.
Afterwards, Treasure Mackenzie looked in her mirror and smiled her true smile. It had all gone much better than she'd expected. But then, only a very few people present had known that she was also Frankie, Dark Mistress of the Hellfire Club. She laughed aloud. She couldn't wait to be Queen.
CHAPTER THREE
MY RED HEAVEN
On the bridge of the hijacked yacht Hereward, Brett Random and Rose Constantine were doing their best to kill each other again. They stamped back and forth in the confined space, slamming their swords together with vicious strength, each trying to catch the other off guard. They circled slowly, breathing heavily, their eyes intent and focused, their faces wet with the sweat of their exertions. Rose was grinning, Brett was cold and grim. They sprang at each other again, cutting and blocking and reengaging almost too quickly to be followed. Rose had been the undoubted champion of the Logres Arena, never defeated in any of her many matches, but Brett was holding his own, and more. They'd been dueling nonstop for almost forty minutes now, and neither had managed even to touch the other—which was a whole new record.
Rose had determined to teach Brett how to fight after witnessing his miserable performance against the attack troops on Unseeli. Brett knew how to defend himself—you couldn't grow up in the Rookery without acquiring a working knowledge of most weapons—but he was no fighter, and would be the first to admit it. Too softhearted, he would have said, with a smile and a shrug. Brett firmly believed that there wasn't a problem in the world or off it that couldn't best be solved by running away from it. He also believed in letting other people do the fighting whenever possible, while he hung innocently round the edges, keeping an eye out for any tasty items that were just asking to be picked up and pocketed by a nimble-fingered fellow. Brett was a thief, a con man, and a devout coward, and he figured that was enough professions for any one man.