It was cold now, deathly cold. Their breath fogged on the air before them. There was something up ahead now, something bad. They could both feel it. A sense of something spoiled and awful, and only partly human. Emma and Nina pressed on, trusting Diana's esp-blockers to protect them. Whether she was Diana Vertue or Jenny Psycho, being dead for over a century didn't seem to have slowed her down much.
The last tunnel finally came to an end in a rusted metal grille. Emma peered through first, while Nina fought stubbornly to squeeze in beside her, before finally admitting defeat and pressing her camera right against the grille. Beyond and below was a great stone chamber, hundreds of feet in diameter. Stalactites and stalagmites thrust down and up. Emma looked at the camera, and then back at Nina, who nodded quickly and silently breathed the word Recording. Emma settled herself in before the grille, ready for a long wait.
She had to admit, it was a great location to eavesdrop from, set right up by the high roof of the cavern. In Emma's experience, even the most paranoid people rarely looked up—even powerful uber-espers. So as long as the esp-blockers held out… Emma took in a sharp breath and pressed her face flat against the rusted metal grille as the first of the uber-espers appeared, teleportmg into the great stone chamber. More arrived, forcing reality aside to make room for them. Their combined presence was spiritually disturbing, on an almost primal level. Emma and Nina could feel each other shuddering, as the need to run or scream or vomit hit them in a deep atavistic layer of the mind. The uber-espers were monsters, in every way.
The first to arrive were the Spider Harps: two withered humunculi with opened skulls, their fruiting brains expelled in a great connecting web of pink and gray brain tissues. They'd somehow brought part of their own lair with them—a great expanse of gauzy brain webbing stretched away much farther from their corner of the cavern than should have been possible. The Spider Harps had physically joined two different locations, by the power of their will. They sat still and silent in their chairs, their sunken faces dead and empty, save for their dark malevolent eyes. They held hands, the joined flesh fused together long ago.
The Shatter Freak was the next to arrive. His physical existence had been shattered and scattered across time and space by some old psionic trauma. His patchwork body was composed of different parts from different times, from past and present and future, somehow combined in one constantly shifting construct. The details of his torso, limbs, and extremities were always changing; appearing and disappearing, growing and shrinking as they quickly replaced each other. His various parts clung together as though for comfort, somehow functioning as a whole, as young, old, and in-between pieces passed briefly through the present. The Shatter Freak's face flickered and twisted as features dropped in and out, from child to ancient, with only the eyes remaining constant, full of rage and pain, sorrow and horror. Part of him was always dying, and always being born.
Emma Steel frowned, as she realized she was understanding things about the uber-espers that she couldn't have known. It seemed Diana Vertue had left a reservoir of information behind in her head, to be triggered as necessary. Emma didn't feel at all comfortable about that, but since it made her job easier she just shrugged mentally and went along with it. She concentrated on the monsters below, while in the back of her head someone else's voice whispered to her of things she needed to know.
In order for the Shatter Freak's mind to function at all, he had to hold it firmly in the present, concentrating on the now. Memory and planning were both difficult for him, but sometimes future happenings stuck in his head for a moment, making him an oracle of sorts. He was the most powerful telepath ever, and only his fractioned consciousness kept him from accessing and dominating all other minds in his proximity. No one could keep any secrets from him, not even his fellow monsters, but they trusted him because they all knew he couldn't retain any knowledge for long.
Blue Hellfire looked very much like the Ice Queen of children's stories: tall and slender, she was wrapped in diaphanous silks, revealing blue-white flesh beneath. Her short, spiky hair was packed with ice, and hoarfrost made whorled patterns on her corpse-pale face. She looked like she'd been buried in the permafrost for centuries and only recently dug up. She was always cold—icy cold—and most especially also in her emotions, because everything that touched her burned. Just her presence was enough to set the world on fire. She left a series of burning footsteps behind her as she strode slowly across the stone floor, and none of the other uber-espers could allow her to get too close. She was the source of the genetic material that the Empress Li-onstone's scientists had used to create the Stevie Blue clones. Blue Hellfire had hoped the research might uncover a way for her to control her own fires, but she had become far too powerful for science to tame. Her face was utterly blank, with no discernable identity or character of her own, and features so androgynous as to be almost generic. She could have been any age, or anyone. She could burn down a city with just a thought or an emotion, but mostly she didn't care. Sometimes she made people have sex with her, just to watch them burn to death in her arms.
Screaming Silence was gargantuan: a woman of such vast size and substance that she seemed always to take up more than her fair share of space. Easily eight feet tall and almost half as wide, her body was grossly distorted, burying her human characteristics under huge rolls of fat. She was always hungry, in all ways, her various appetites never satisfied no matter how much she indulged them. Her wide face was gaudy with slapped on colors, her cold eyes burned deep in her face, and her mouth was pursed into an endless rosebud through the constant pressure of her cheeks. She had a great dandelion blossom of gray hair, and wore nothing but lengths of steel chain, wrapped around and around her, the steel links puncturing her flesh here and there to hold the chains in place. She stank of musk and sweat and foulness.
Wherever she was, she sucked all the energy out of a place, and in particular she absorbed sensory perceptions, savoring them like sweets at a banquet. Around her, voices became quiet, scents faded away, colors became shades of gray, mouths became dry and empty, and hands became numb. With a moment's effort she could leave a city screaming in total sensory deprivation. Or she could broadcast telepathically everything she'd stored—every sense and sensation simultaneously, like a living mindbomb—overwhelming the senses of everyone around her, for miles and miles and miles.
And finally, there was the Gray Train. He no longer had a body as such, and existed now only as an individual entity by an extended ongoing effort of will. He manifested in the meeting place as a cloud of gray flakes in a more or less human form, composed of dust and detritus gathered together from his surroundings. He was only the memory of who he used to be, and if his concentration ever slipped, he wouldn't even be that. He looked even vaguer than usual this day, a gray ghost in a stone chamber, weakened by what had happened on Shandrakor.
The Gray Train had always been a possessor—the first of the uber-espers to be able to thrust his thoughts into the mind of another, and take control. Under his will, his slaves become mere bodies for him to live through, to vicariously experience a world now lost to him. It was the Gray Train who taught the disaffected rogue espers how to become ELFs—because it amused him. So it was only natural that he should choose to possess the thirteen Paragons sent to Shandrakor. But the First Empire technology of the old Deathstalker Standing had destroyed his hold on those bodies, and thrust him forcefully from their minds, attacking and destroying his thoughts with strange energies. The Gray Train was still recovering.
The uber-espers. The spawn of the Mater Mundi. Powerful beyond reason, crippled beyond hope, driven to live like rats in the walls of society.
The last monster to arrive, because he always had to make an entrance, was of course Finn Durandal. He strolled in through the only door, looking smart and splendid in his black leather Champion's armor, and looked casually about him as though he saw such grotesque visions every day, and wasn't in the least impressed. He smiled easily about him, like
a perfect prince among his courtiers in some children's story, and then he leaned calmly against the stone wall and folded his arms across his chest.
"Well, well," he murmured. "It seems the gang's all here. The secret Kings and Queens of the Empire."
"How did you know about this place?" said Blue Hellfire in her cold, cold voice. "Which one of us betrayed this location to you?"
"Oh, none of you," Finn said easily. "But I have many useful allies. The AIs of Shub, for example. You'd be surprised at some of the things they know. They know about you, and they know about this place. They were only too happy to spill the beans, in return for a detailed report on you and this meeting. They do so love to collect data. Now, if we could please proceed to the matter at hand? I'm sure none of us wants to be here any longer than we absolutely have to. The ELFs have told me that they are on the verge of losing control of the Paragons. And we can't have that, can we? So, someone here is going to have to take control of the remaining Paragons for a time, so that the ELFs can get a little rest."
"Impossible," said the Gray Train immediately. He had a soft sighing voice that was barely audible, like the echo of a thought. "It is all I can do now to maintain my own identity. The old science hurt me, banished me, diminished me. I am not what I was."
"Give them to me," said Screaming Silence, in her fat oily voice.
She licked her great lips and slammed her massive hands together, sending shock waves rolling slowly through her great body. "The more the merrier, that's always been my motto. We'll have such fun… But now, sweet Finn, darling traitor, we must have words. We will not speak with the ELFs directly. We have moved beyond them. You shall be our voice to them in all things, and theirs to us. But never forget, Durandal: you are our figurehead, nothing more. Our human face in the human world. And everything you do is but an extension of our will; everything you think you own is really ours by proxy. We allow you a certain autonomy because it suits our purposes, but in the end… we own you."
"You keep on thinking that," Finn said generously. "And we'll all see what the future brings."
"The Terror," said the Shatter Freak in a child's voice. "The future brings the Terror. Devastation and horror and planets burning in the dark. The death of Princes and of Kings are always marked by great events."
They all waited, but he had nothing else to say. His features slipped back and forth like melting wax on his face, young and old and young again, and he mumbled and muttered like an old man in his dotage.
The rest of the meeting was really nothing more than an extended squabble over what, if anything, the uber-espers should do about the coming of the Terror. Emma decided she'd heard enough. She signaled silently to Nina, and the two of them quickly and carefully wriggled back away from the metal grille. Nina shut down her camera to save power, and they slowly made their way back down the narrow stone corridor. Emma frowned harshly, thinking hard. Now that she had her evidence of Finn's guilt and collaboration with the uber-espers, who could she safely present it to? The King was a broken force, Parliament was corrupt and at odds with itself, and the one man she would have trusted implicitly, the Deathstalker, was outlawed. And she couldn't just give the recording to the media, even if she could find a station Finn didn't directly or indirectly control. She needed someone to support her, to give the evidence authenticity. Only one name suggested itself… and even then, making contact would be difficult. Emma frowned so hard her forehead hurt, and quietly followed Nina back to the surface—and sanity.
Finn Durandal was hardly back at his desk in his office in the House, when he had a delightful if unexpected visitor. He smiled charmingly and came out from behind his desk to kiss the proffered hand of Treasure Mackenzie, famous and beautiful star of vid soap The Quality. Treasure allowed him to. She was dressed for business, in a formfitting gown of midnight blue, cut low at the front to reveal plenty of cleavage, and cut high at the sides to reveal even more thigh. Her great mane of silver hair had little pink bows tied in it, and her black stiletto shoes had heels high enough and sharp enough to be classified as deadly weapons. She looked stunning, but then, she always did. That was her job. Finn saw her comfortably settled in the visitor's chair, and then sat down behind his desk again.
"So, Treasure, this is a pleasant if somewhat unexpected honor. What can I do for you? Is there some problem with the plans for the Royal Wedding? I'm afraid I don't really handle such matters myself, but…"
"Cut the crap, Durandal," said the woman who wasn't really Treasure Mackenzie. "There's no audience here, so neither of us has to pretend. And if you've got the good sense God gave you when you were born, you'll turn off all the recording devices you've got hidden in this room."
Finn regarded her thoughtfully for a long moment, and then pressed a hidden stud on the floor with his foot. "So," he murmured, "all masks are off, are they, Frankie?"
The gorgeous woman with the suddenly harsh face leaned back in her chair and smiled unpleasantly. "You do know. We weren't sure, but given that you've infiltrated or suborned so many other supposedly secret societies, I suppose it was inevitable that you'd have someone in the Hellfire Club. But we know things too. We know that your precious James Campbell is just a clone. And we can prove it, if we have to. Dear du Katt is one of us, and has been for some time now."
"I can see I'm going to have to have a serious little talk with dear du Katt," said Finn. "Still, it pleases me that the Hellfire Club has finally come to talk with me. You are almost the last unaligned power in the Empire. But you must know you can't afford to stand alone any longer. Great things are happening, the whole character of the Empire is changing… and if you're not part of the process you must expect to be left behind."
"Funny," said Frankie. "We were thinking the same thing about you. You've stretched yourself too far, Durandal. You're trying to juggle too many forces and keep them all balanced, any one of which would leap at the chance to tear you apart if you even look like faltering. You need us, because we're everywhere. We're in all the other societies and movements you think you control. Join us, and help the Hellfire Club achieve its rightful destiny. You don't have to be alone. There are many comforts, and many pleasures, available to all members of the Hellfire Club."
Finn laughed at her. It was a harsh, ugly sound. His face was cold, even vicious. "You have nothing I want, and you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you. That's why you came to see me. And the very fact that your masters sent an overweight cow like you to talk to me just shows how desperate you people have become. Was I supposed to be blinded by your beauty, seduced by your rather obvious charms, into giving up everything I've gained? I don't think so. I really don't. Go back and tell your masters to send me someone I can respect, and then maybe we can do business. You're going to be Queen, Treasure. Settle for that."
"So the gossip is right," said Frankie. "No heart, and no balls. A nice package, but nothing inside it."
"Good-bye, Treasure," said Finn. "Don't let the door hit your overpadded arse on the way out."
Frankie rose up out of her chair with icy dignity, and stalked out of his office, deliberately leaving the door open so someone else would have to close it. She strode off through the corridors of the House, seething furiously behind her usual practiced smile, and for once not even the most ardent of fans came forward to press her for an autograph. Treasure Mackenzie was clearly on her way somewhere important, and no one had the nerve to get in her way. She dismissed Finn Durandal from her mind. If one plan didn't work, move straight on to the next. That had always been her way. The next target was Douglas. He wasn't nearly as broken-spirited as he liked people to believe. She'd tried seducing him and that hadn't worked, so this time she'd try cold reason. The King had no friends left, and no allies, but if she could bring him into the Hellfire Club, then the new King and Queen would be in an excellent position to maneuver power away from Finn. And Douglas had a whole bunch of reasons for wanting to see Finn Durandal brought down.
Tel Markham, honor
able member of Parliament for Madraguda, and Finn Durandal's official whipping boy, went to see his brother Angelo Bellini, the celebrated Angel of Madraguda, in his luxurious office in the great cathedral of the Parade of the Endless. The visit wasn't Tel's idea. Finn had given him strict instructions. Tel was to talk with his brother on some very specific subjects, and either bring Angelo very firmly back under Finn's control or… kill him and make it look like natural causes. No other options available. When Tel objected, Finn had smiled his disturbing smile, and said it was either Angelo or Tel. If he followed instructions, and it became necessary to kill his brother, then Tel would become the new head of the Church Militant. Under Finn, of course. But if he didn't have the balls to do what had to be done, then Finn would have Tel killed, and replace him with someone who would get the job done.
You should be grateful I'm giving you this opportunity, Finn had said. At least this way you can make sure your brother doesn't suffer.
Tel walked alone through the great halls of the cathedral, taking his time, blind to its charms and sense of peace, and wondered what the hell he was going to do. He'd never actually killed anyone before, though he'd always known that someday it might prove necessary. And as the head of the official Church he'd be a power in his own right again, and able to treat with Finn more as an equal. He'd be back in the game again, a player, and no one's whipping boy. He'd never liked Angelo anyway.
Not really. He could do it. He had a poison dust concealed in a secret cache in his sleeve. Angelo would never have his own brother searched. Easy enough to slip the dust into a drink, and then Angelo would be dead in seconds. Apparent heart attack. There wouldn't be much of an investigation. Finn would see to that. And besides, Angelo wasn't at all popular these days, even among his own people.