Deathstalker War

by Simon R. Green

  “Good evening. I’m looking for Donald Royal. I understood he was still living here.”

  “He’s here, but I don’t know if he wants to be bothered right now. I’m his partner. I don’t let people bother him without a good reason.”

  “I’m Jack Random. I’ve come to talk to him about planning the new rebellion against the Empire.”

  The woman smiled suddenly, and her eyes warmed. “That’s . . . a good reason. I’m Madelaine Skye. Come on in. Pardon my caution, but we don’t get many legends around here.”

  She stepped back, and Random bowed politely before moving past her into a narrow, gloomy hall. He hung up his coat and his sword belt without having to be asked and allowed Skye to lead him down the hall and into a cosy sitting room. Oil lamps provided the only light, suffusing the room with a soft buttery glow. Thick leather-bound books lined three walls, the last wall being covered by a display of well-used bladed weapons, from slender daggers up to a huge double-headed ax. Below them lay a large fire, crackling contentedly in its grate, surmounted by an elaborate mantelpiece of dark wood, carved into blocky Gothic shapes. On top of the mantelpiece, a large clock was set into the belly of a carved wooden dog with an ugly face. Its eyes and lolling red tongue moved to and fro as it ticked. Sitting beside the fire in a large padded armchair was an old man with vague eyes. He’d been a large man once, but the great muscles that had packed his frame in his youth had slowly wasted away down the years, and now his clothes hung loosely about him. Long strands of wispy white hair hung down about a gaunt, bony face. Madelaine Skye stood beside the chair, hovering protectively close.

  “We have a visitor, Donald.”

  “I can see that, woman. I’m not blind yet. Or senile. I assume he’s someone important, or you’d have sent him on his way with a flea in his ear.” He looked at Random for a long moment, and then frowned. “I know you from somewhere. Never forget a face.” And then his gaze cleared, and he rose suddenly out of his chair. “Dear God, it can’t be. Jack? Is that you, Jack? Damn me, it is.” He grinned broadly and reached out to take Random’s proffered hand in both of his, the large wrinkled hands enveloping Random’s. “Jack Random, as I live and breathe! What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Looking up old friends,” said Random, smiling. “Been a long time, Donald.”

  “You can say that again. Too damned long. Sit down, sit down, and let me take a look at you.”

  Random pulled up the armchair on the other side of the fire and sat down, politely pretending not to notice as Donald Royal lowered himself carefully back into his chair, with just a little help from Madelaine. Donald studied Random with sharp, weighing eyes. There was nothing vague about him anymore, as though the memory of the man he used to be had recharged him. Madelaine moved away to give them some privacy, but stayed by the door, leaning casually against the doorjamb. It hadn’t escaped Random that her hand was still resting near her gun. He smiled warmly at Donald.

  “Nice place you have here. Comfortable. I like your clock.”

  “Do you?” said Donald. “Can’t stand the bloody thing myself. But it was a favorite of my late wife’s, and I haven’t the heart to throw it out. You’re looking good, Jack. Must be twenty years since I last saw you, sitting in this room, in these same damn chairs. You were a firebrand then, so young and alive and full of hope and vinegar that I couldn’t resist you. Gave you all the gold I had on me, and the names of everyone I could think of who might listen to you. I’d have gone with you myself, but even then I was getting a bit too old and fragile for adventuring. You had the gift of words, Jack, and I never could resist a plausable rogue.”

  “You were one of the first people to really believe in me,” said Random. “I never forgot that. Though it’s just as well you didn’t come with me to Lyonesse. Things went badly, from start to finish. I was young and inexperienced, still learning my way. We had some victories, but in the final battle we were thrown back and routed. I had to run for my life, while good men and women died to buy me time. But we still stuck a blow for freedom, and made the Iron Bitch afraid, if only for a moment.”

  “I remember Lyonesse,” said Madelaine from the doorway. “Your army was cut to ribbons, one in ten of the population was hanged for supporting treason, and the survivors had their taxes doubled for the next ten years. There are those who might say Lyonesse was better off before your rebellion.”

  “Don’t mind Madelaine,” said Donald. “She doesn’t believe in luxuries like optimism and virtues. She’s never happy unless she’s seeing the dark side of things. She persuaded me to come out of retirement to work with her as private investigators. I provide the brains, and Madelaine sorts out the bad guys. I have to say, I’ve felt more alive this last year than I have for ages. I was never meant for retirement. She still insists on acting as my bodyguard, even though I haven’t forgotten how to use a sword.”

  “I’m sure she’s very proficient,” said Random. “Donald, I need to talk to you.”

  “Of course you do, Jack. We have a lot to catch up on. Twenty-two years since I last saw you. I’ve followed your career as best I could. News takes a while to reach Mistworld. You haven’t changed a bit, Jack. Unlike me. How have you stayed so young? You must have been in your late twenties when I first met you, and you don’t look as though you’ve aged a day since then.”

  “I have several heavy-duty regenerations to thank for that,” said Random. “And a little cosmetic surgery. People won’t follow an old rebel. It’s no secret that I’ve been pretty badly messed up on more than one occasion. I may be young on the outside, but my bones know the truth. But I’m still me. Still the professional rebel, ready to fight for truth and justice at the drop of a hint. My cause hasn’t changed in twenty-two years, Donald, and just like then, I need your help.”

  Donald sighed, and settled back in his chair. “Afraid my help’s rather more limited these days, Jack. I’m still on the city Council, but I don’t take much interest in politics anymore. Which means my influence is pretty much nonexistent. I stick my oar in now and again, just to remind them I haven’t died, and I try to do my own small bit for truth and justice as a private investigator, but truth be told, on the whole the important life of the city just passes me by. I can give you names and addresses of some people who might be willing to listen to you, but my name isn’t the recommendation it was the last time you were here. Times have changed, Jack, and not for the better. Mistport is a colder and far more cynical place than you and I remember.”

  “You can still vouch for me to the Council,” said Random. “There seems to be some question as to whether I really am who I say I am. If you were to speak up publicly to confirm my identity, it would help a lot.”

  “No problem there,” said Donald. “I may not be as young as I was, but there’s nothing wrong with my eyes or my memory. You’re Jack Random. No doubt about it. I’d stake my life on it.”

  “Don’t be so quick,” said Madelaine. “Looks aren’t everything. You said yourself he looks far too young. How do we know he isn’t a clone?”

  “A gene test would answer that,” Random said easily.

  “Unfortunately, we don’t have access to tech like that here in Mistport,” said Madelaine. “Convenient, that.”

  “Hush, Madelaine,” said Donald. “Easy enough to test the man. There are things only Jack and I would remember. Things we talked about, people we knew, back then. Right, Jack?”

  “Of course. Let me think for a moment. It was a long time ago.” Random pursed his lips and rested his chin on his fist. “I remember some of the people you sent me to. There was Lord Durandal, the adventurer. Count Ironhand of the Marches. Is either of them still around?”

  “No,” said Donald. “They’re both gone now. Ironhand drowned, saving a child who’d fallen into the River Autumn. He was a good swimmer, for an old man. Got the child to safety. But the shock of the icy waters was too much for him. He knew it would be, but he went in anyway. He was that sort of man. Durandal di
sappeared into the Darkvoid, years ago, on some damn fool quest to find the Wolfling World. Don’t know if he ever found it. He never came back.”

  “Pity,” said Random. “I admired them both. I was hoping they’d vouch for me, too. We still need some proof, don’t we? How about this; you gave me all the gold you had on you, twenty-two years ago. And that was exactly seventeen crowns. Am I right?”

  “Exactly right!” said Donald, slapping his knee. “I remember now. Seventeen crowns. No one else could have known that, Madelaine.”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “An esper could have got it out of Jack’s head, or yours.”

  “Oh, don’t mind her,” Donald said dismissively. “She was born suspicious. Had her mother’s milk tested for steroids. You’re the real thing, Jack; I can feel it in my bones. I’ll vouch for you. And maybe this time you’ll listen to me before you go haring off to fight for truth and justice with too few troops and no proper backup.”

  “I’ll listen this time,” said Random. “I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

  “You’ve had enough opportunities,” said Madelaine, but both Donald and Jack ignored her.

  “We’ve got a real chance this time, Donald,” said Random, leaning forward. “An army of clones and espers, and powerful allies beyond anything you’ve ever dreamed of. I won’t throw it away because of my pride.”

  “Good man,” said Donald. “Get your people together and set up a meeting with the Council. Madelaine and I will be there.”

  “Thank you, Donald. This means a lot to me.” Random rose smoothly to his feet, then waited politely as Donald struggled up out of his chair. They clasped hands again, and Random strode out. Madelaine followed him to the door, to be sure he didn’t steal anything, and then came back to stand in the doorway and glare at Donald.

  “You think he’s a fake, don’t you?” Donald said calmly, as he eased himself back into his chair.

  “Damn right I do. He’s too good. Too perfect. Great-looking, muscles to spare, and all the right words and phrases. Like a popular hero designed by a committee. And I don’t buy that regeneration story for one moment. I mean, technically speaking I suppose it’s possible, but where would a rebel on the run gain access to that kind of tech? Last I heard, regeneration machines were strictly for the aristos. No, Donald, you only believe in him because you want to. Because he’s one of the few good memories from your past that’s still around.”

  “Maybe,” said Donald. “I don’t believe he’s telling us everything, or that everything he told us was true. But every instinct I have says it’s him. He’s just the way I remember him. A larger-than-life hero and a plausible rogue, all in one. He’s passed the only tests I could think of. What else does he have to do to convince you, walk on water?”

  “If he did, I’d want to check his boots afterward,” said Madelaine.

  Jenny Psycho made her way through the streets of Mistport, the crisp snow crunching under her steady stride. Her breath steamed thickly on the air before her, but she was pleasantly warm inside her furs. Heat and cold and other vagaries of the world had lost all power over her. According to her briefing, the espers’ union had their own hall in Guilds Quarter, but she needn’t have bothered with the directions. She could feel it in her mind, like a great searchlight stabbing up from the center of the city. There were people bustling everywhere she went, but they all gave her plenty of room, even if they weren’t always sure why.

  The hall itself turned out to be modestly sized, set back in its own grounds. Jenny was a little taken aback to see it standing plainly sign-posted and apparently unguarded. Anywhere else in the Empire such a gathering of espers was punishable by death or mindwipe, depending on how valuable their services were. The simple openness of the espers’ union cheered her greatly, and she strode up the graveled path to the front door with something like a swagger. There were no visible guards anywhere, but she hadn’t expected any, even in a cesspit like Mistport. Espers had their own, subtler ways of keeping watch and seeing off the uninvited. The great front door looked imposing and impressive. Jenny looked for a knocker or bellpull, but there wasn’t one. She raised her hand to knock, and the door swung open before her. A tall slender man in formal evening wear filled the doorway, staring haughtily down at her. His head was clean-shaven, showing small surgical scars here and there, and his eyes were just a little too wide. His smile was formal and entirely meaningless.

  “Come in, Jenny Psycho. We’ve been expecting you.”

  “I should hope so,” said Jenny. “Now, are you going to let me in, or am I supposed to teleport past you?”

  The doorman, or whatever the hell he was, stepped back gracefully, and Jenny strode past him with her nose firmly in the air. Start as you mean to go on. The hall was open and airy, the air sweetened by vases of blossoming flowers in every nook and cranny. Jenny would have liked to ask where the hell they found flowers like that on a freezing, inhospitable rock like Mistworld, but she kept the thought to herself. Asking questions could be taken as a sign of weakness, and it was vital she appear strong. The butler took her furs and hung them up. He looked pointedly at her boots, dripping melting snow onto the thick carpet, but she ignored him. Bare feet might be taken as a sign of informality.

  “I take it your precogs told you I was coming,” said Jenny, casually. “They are supposed to be the best in the Empire, after all. But did they tell you why I was coming?”

  “Not yet.” He closed the door firmly and turned to smile at Jenny. She didn’t like the smile. It was too confident by far. The flunky strode off down the hall without waiting to see if she was following, allowing his words to trail back over his shoulder. “We know who you are. We could find out why you’re here if we wanted to, but we’d rather hear it from you directly. This way. Someone will see you shortly.”

  Hell with this, thought Jenny Psycho. Things were getting out of hand. These people needed reminding who and what she was. She reached out with her mind and drenched the flowers in the hall with her esp. They erupted out of their vases, growing at a tremendous rate, flowers budding and blossoming in a moment as vines and branches sprawled across the walls like runaway trellises. They filled the hall from floor to ceiling, rioting on the walls, pushing each other aside for space to display. The scent of flowers was overpowering, rich and glorious. The servant looked back at Jenny, his face impassive, but only just.

  “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “There’s lots about me you people don’t know. Now find me someone in charge to speak to, or I’ll turn this entire house into a shrubbery.”

  “They said you’d be trouble,” said the butler, or whatever the hell he was. “If you’d care to wait in the study, someone will be with you soon.”

  “Very soon,” said Jenny.

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised. And for your information, I am not the bloody butler, I am the Chancellor of this lodge. This is the study. Try not to break the furniture or set fire to things. Some of these books are very old and a great deal more valuable to us than you are.”

  “That’s what you think,” said Jenny. “Now beat it, Chancellor. And don’t keep me waiting too long or I’ll act up cranky.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it for a moment,” said the Chancellor, and ushered Jenny into the study. The room was large and brightly lit, with large comfortable furniture, gleaming wood-paneled walls, and an inviting, well-banked fire. The whole study had a calm, relaxed atmosphere that Jenny didn’t trust for a moment. They probably just wanted to put her off her guard. Jenny quietly probed the surrounding rooms and had to hide her surprise when her mind bounced harmlessly away from powerful psionic shields.

  “Please don’t do that,” said the Chancellor. “We have many private places here, mentally shielded to protect our more sensitive people from the clamor of the world. And occasionally to protect the world from some of us. I advise you to respect their privacy. For your own sake, if not for theirs.”

  Knowing a good exit line
when he delivered one, the Chancellor bowed briefly and left Jenny alone in the study, shutting the door firmly behind him. Jenny waited to hear the sound of a key turning in the lock, but it didn’t come. Presumably the espers’ union thought it had other ways of stopping her if she decided to leave. More fool they. She sniffed angrily and threw herself into the most comfortable-looking chair. She’d been held in Wormboy Hell and survived, and there wasn’t much left that could intimidate her now. She glowered around her. Looked at closely, the study was a bland place, with no style or personality of its own. More like a stage set than a place where people lived and worked. Probably set up as neutral ground, a midway place where espers could meet with emissaries from the outside word.

  Jenny sank grudgingly back into the comfort of her chair and tried to relax. Nerve and passion and a sense of destiny had brought her this far, but for the first time she wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to do next. It all depended on how seriously the espers’ union took her. She was no longer used to dealing with people who weren’t awed or at least impressed by her presence, or what she’d become. But this house held the greatest minds on a planet of espers. They weren’t going to impress easily. And she couldn’t just threaten them. The underground needed their wholehearted support and approval. Besides, it might not work. Jenny scowled sulkily. When in doubt, stick to the script. The underground had spent some time drilling her in all the proper words and phrases, till she could have recited them in her sleep. It helped, too, that she believed passionately in the arguments. Still, these people had better learn to treat her with respect. She had been touched by the Mater Mundi, and she was so much more than she used to be.