Shadow of the Swan (Book Two of the Phoenix Legacy)

by Wren, M. K.

  “I sympathize, Amik, but existence is in itself an expensive undertaking. Sixty-five hundred, then.”

  “Sixty-seven fifty,” he rejoined firmly.

  Alex seemed to consider the sum, but it was Amik’s tone and attitude he was assessing. Finally, he nodded.

  “Very well. Sixty-seven fifty. And the rest of the terms are agreeable? The equipment, the computer input, the Cave of Springs, and a temporary work force of forty men?”

  “I prefer the other figure. Thirty men.”

  “Compromise again? Thirty-five?”

  The Lord of Thieves laughed. “No, by the God! Forty it will be. I won’t have it said I lay too close a bargain.”

  “Who would ever say that of you, Amik? We’re in agreement then?”

  “Agreed.” Amik extended a hand to seal the bargain.

  And with that handshake, Alex allowed himself an inward sigh of relief. “When can I start on the Cave of Springs? When will the equipment be available?”

  “The total will take some time to . . . uh, acquire, but the construction machinery and your work force will be available as soon as the Ivanoi Egg is in this room in actuality, not just in image. Your impatience might serve to get it to me all the sooner.” He gave the Egg one last look, then turned off the holojector and closed the drape. “Now, would you share some bragnac with me to toast the bargain?”

  Recognizing this as part of the ritual, Alex nodded. “Thank you, Amik. That would be a pleasure.” He sat down at one end of a couch, and while Amik poured Marsay Cabray with obvious anticipation, he waited, trying to keep his thoughts in rein, to think ahead to the Cave of Springs, not ahead to a wedding.

  Perralt should be calling Ben this afternoon. A tenuous and indirect link—what could be said through two people?—but for now it must suffice. He roused himself and called up a smile as he took the tiny glass Amik offered.

  Then Amik sank into his chair with a sigh and lifted his glass in a salute. “Fortune, brother.”

  Alex echoed the gesture. “Fortune, Amik.”

  They both lapsed into silence while they sipped the bragnac, Amik’s eyes closed in delectation. But a moment later, they snapped open and fixed on the console beside him on the table, his attention called to it by a soft chime. He irritably touched a button.

  “What is it, Yuba?”

  Alex could hear the responding voice only indistinctly. Names, undoubtedly Outsiders; someone awaiting audience with the Lord of Thieves.

  “The oval room, Yuba,” he replied curtly. “Tell them to wait for me there.” Then he cut him off.

  “Amik, we can continue this another time if—”

  “No, no, I won’t rush Marsay Cabray for anyone.” He took time to savor another sip, which apparently restored his good humor. “It’s not a matter of imminent importance, anyway. A preliminary TacComm meeting, so to speak. One must plan ahead. Good planning is ninety percent of the battle, so they say.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow, surprised at Amik’s casually revelatory tone; it seemed to invite inquiry.

  “Is the Brotherhood about to embark on a war, Amik? That seems a highly unprofitable venture.”

  He laughed at that. “Indeed. Not a war; only a campaign of sorts.” He held his glass to catch the light, smiling to himself. “In exactly seventy-seven days Helen will be host to a veritable horde of Elite, along with their ranks of servants and techs, not to mention the Broadcasting Guild contingents. A cornucopia, my friend, and don’t think the merchanters up in the Inside aren’t designing their own campaigns on that flow of ’cords. It behooves me, as Lord of the Brotherhood, to see that some of those ’cords flow into our coffers, does it not?”

  Alex was hard put not to stare at him, and the only question in his mind was why? The occasion of the arrival of those Elite hordes was the wedding of Karlis Selasis and Adrien Eliseer.

  Amik knew his identity; this couldn’t conceivably be inadvertant or purposeless. Was it simply a flaunting of that knowledge or a sardonic testing? No doubt Amik enjoyed playing games, but games of such a sadistic nature?

  Amik seemed blithely lost in contemplation of the golden contents of his glass. Alex wasn’t deceived. He said evenly, “You’d be derelict in your duty not to take advantage of this cornucopia, Amik.”

  “Exactly, and I’d be especially derelict not to relieve Lord Bane-Eye in particular of some of his bounty. That’s what the Brothers call Orin Selasis. They think the patch hides an eye capable of malevolent power. I call him Lord Cyclops.”

  There was a purpose in this. Selasis hadn’t been introduced randomly.

  “Very apt, Amik. Why do you have such an antipathy for Lord Orin—other than his complaints to the Directorate about your depredations on his ships?”

  “Oh, my dear Alex, that’s to be expected, not despised.” Then his eyes hardened into cold, black slits. “He’s a man totally devoid of honor. A man who hasn’t the faintest conception of it on any level. His word is so much sand in the wind. And a short-sighted man, our Lord Cyclops, with a tendency to excess. I suppose you find that amusing—the Lord of Thieves, surrounded by indulgences, casting stones of contempt at a man born to his comforts.”

  “I recognize the infinite variations in excess.”

  Amik’s furred robes quivered with a rumbling laugh, but after a moment that faded to be replaced by a slight frown and a long, studied sigh.

  “I find I have mixed feelings about this wedding. I can’t regret the promise of replenishing the Brotherhood’s coffers, but on the other hand, I am, whether you believe it or not, a sentimental man. It seems unfortunate that a young woman of Lady Adrien’s caliber should be married to Karlis Selasis, a contemptible smug who inherited none of his father’s audacity, but all his taste for excess.”

  Perhaps it was sadism. To Alex, in his stunned bewilderment, that seemed the only answer. Anger enabled him to maintain self-control; he wouldn’t give Amik the satisfaction of the slightest discernible reaction. He remained outwardly relaxed, his expression one of polite agreement, but not relaxed enough to trust his voice.

  Amik went on casually, “I got the impression from Jael—by inference and guess, be assured, not from anything he actually said—that the Phoenix also regrets this marriage.”

  Alex held on to his anger and the cold self-control it afforded him.

  “The Phoenix shares your antipathy for Selasis, Amik. We consider the marriage a disastrous union in terms of its effect on the balance of power in the Concord, and the future of Centauri.”

  “Well, it would tend to put Centauri in Orin’s pocket. I suppose the Phoenix has tried to circumvent this union.”

  “Of course, and obviously without success.”

  Amik nodded, idly tipping up his glass. “If this dilemma were mine, I’d take the obvious solution. After all, a marriage can’t take place without a groom. But I gather the Phoenix balks at taking the obvious solution in matters of this sort.”

  Alex said tightly, “It balks at assassination.”

  “Ah. A gentlemanly attitude, and honorable. Now, you know I honor honor, but I recognize it as an expensive virtue.” His smile was enigmatic, yet equivocally pensive. “Strange, isn’t it, that in the history of crimes and deception attributable to Selasis, no weapon can be found to put an end to his history. But, of course, he’s a devious man.”

  “Lord Orin leaves no tracks. At least, none that can be proven to be his.”

  “And you must have identifiable tracks, since you’re too honorable, or too much a gentleman, to simply fell the beast before it leaves more tracks.”

  There was no sarcasm in that; it seemed only a recognition of existing limits. Alex was again perplexed by the direction of the conversation, and that blunted his anger.

  “Identifying the beast with its tracks is one way to fell it.”


  “Ah. Well, fortune in that, my friend. Now, if I were seeking a weapon against Selasis in this gentlemanly manner, I’d look into recent Selasis history.” A weighted pause, then, “I’d take a close look at Karlis’s illness of last year.”

  Alex’s silence now was only a product of surprise, which sent him delving futilely into memory in pursuit of any reference to a recent illness suffered by Karlis Selasis. Ben and Erica had never failed to give him all available information on the Directorate Lords, and particularly on the Selasids. Karlis had suffered an illness SI didn’t know about? It seemed impossible.

  Then his eyes narrowed. Still no memory of an illness, but something about an absence, a trip of some sort. . . .

  He was on his feet, pacing, no longer concerned about withholding his reactions. Whatever Amik’s intentions, Alex realized now they weren’t sadistic.

  Karlis had been away from Concordia a full month. That had been soon after Janeel Shang Selasis’s death, and the public rationale was grief. The Phoenix had taken the more cynical view that Orin simply wanted Karlis out of sight so his evident lack of grief wouldn’t become an embarrassment.

  A month—where? One of the private House retreats. . . .

  Alex turned to face Amik. “The Lima retreat. Karlis spent a month there after his first—Janeel Shang’s death. And he was ill?”

  Amik sent out two spaced puffs of smoke, smiling beatifically.

  “Extremely. But don’t be chagrined that you didn’t know about it. As you say. Orin leaves no tracks, and the main reason is that he has Bruno Hawkwood to cover them. Now, there’s a remarkable man. The Master of Shadows. You’ve heard that appellation? Yes. Perhaps the Concord is fortunate Bruno wasn’t born into Orin’s place, because he is a truly dangerous man. Religion. I never trust a religious man. And I know something about the Order of Gamaliel. That’s why I mistrust Bruno. It gives him admirable self-discipline, yet deprives him of conscience with that fatalistic molly-doddle. ‘Whatever is must be, because it is ordained to be by being.’ Pah!”

  Alex managed a fleeting smile. “And you say Hawkwood was assigned to cover the tracks of Karlis’s illness?”

  “Indeed. The moment it was discovered, Karlis was entrusted to Bruno’s loving care.”

  Alex went to the one uncushioned chair and forced himself to sit quietly in it. “What kind of illness required Hawkwood’s ‘loving care’?”

  “Yes, that’s the point, isn’t it? And I must admit I didn’t learn the entire story until after the fact, so to speak. Now, Karlis, as I’ve noted, has his father’s tendencies to excess, much to the delight of some of my associates in Concordia. Inevitably, one of his excesses is . . . pleasures of the flesh, shall we say. I can’t simply say women: his tastes are too catholic. He also has a tendency to carelessness.” Amik took a long pull on his cigar, looking directly at Alex, who waited, motionless and intent.

  “Well, my friend, Karlis’s illness was in the nature of a venereal disease, and an extremely virulent strain. He recovered, obviously, although that was for a time in grave doubt, but he didn’t come through the experience unscathed.” Amik couldn’t resist a slight pause for effect. “Karlis Selasis, sole heir to the First Lordship of Badir Selasis is . . . impotent. And more. He’s sterile.”

  Alex came to his feet, too stunned to move further, and it seemed that behind his eyes, his brain had suddenly been reduced to a gelid mass incapable of coherent function.

  “Holy God . . .” That he could speak at all seemed only raw reflex. “Arc you sure? How do you know?”

  “My agents in the House could tell me very little, actually, although I was aware that Karlis was ill before he was whisked away to Lima, but the Lima retreat was sealed without a crack. Karlis, however, needed a doctor, and one of the house physicians was chosen, although for the records he was assigned to the Pars estate. Dr. Levit Monig. Now, the good doctor wasn’t a stupid man, and once he diagnosed the disease and its effects he realized he was in a very precarious position. Our Lord Cyclops isn’t one to trust people, particularly not someone possessed of knowledge that could destroy him. The Board of Succession wouldn’t pass off sterility of the sole heir if it were brought to their attention. So Dr. Monig saw Karlis through the worst of his illness, then somehow—I’m not exactly sure how, and it was a remarkable feat—escaped the retreat and managed to reach the city of Lima, where he fled into the Outside.”

  Alex nodded. “Then that’s how you learned about him?”

  “Yes. Bruno Hawkwood made it known in the Outside that Monig was worth five thousand ’cords to Orin, and when the Brotherhood clanhead in Lima found him, his first thought was to collect the reward. Monig, however, had filled his medical case with loose valuables before he left the retreat, and it was enough to offset the temptation of the headprice. The Brothers are inclined to avoid dealings with Bruno unless absolutely necessary. When the clanhead heard Monig’s story, he immediately notified me, and I invited the doctor to come to Helen as my guest.”

  “He’s here, then? Amik. I must talk to him! A tape—if I could get his testimony on tape . . .”

  It was the slow, solemn shaking of Amik’s head that stopped him. He asked the question because it had to be asked, but he had already read the answer in Amik’s face.

  “Where is he?”

  “In the Heavenly Realm, if you believe in such things. He’s dead, Alex. He wasn’t a young man, and he suffered from chronic hypertension. The circumstances of his escape naturally enough put a great deal of strain on him. The very day he was to be brought here, he suffered a stroke. We maintain infirmaries in every clan HQ, but his situation was beyond human remedy.”

  Alex, stood with his hands clenched at his sides. “But isn’t there—the clanhead, didn’t he record anything Monig said? For the God’s sake, he must have realized . . .” But Amik was again shaking his head in somber silence, and Alex turned away, aching in every muscle, body chilled, it seemed, to the bone.

  A weapon against Selasis that came like a gift from the God, made impotent—that word! The cruel irony in it now—because there was no proof, nothing to present to the Board of Succession, to force an investigation, to force the physical examination that would provide the proof.

  Hearsay evidence from a Brotherhood clanhead? That would never even reach the Board. Monig’s death? That proved nothing, and undoubtedly was on record as having occurred in Pars.

  Karlis was sterile, yet that didn’t stop Orin Selasis from arranging a marriage for him. Selasis would have an heir, and genetically it might be Karlis’s; it wasn’t unusual for Lords to maintain sperm reserves. The Board of Succession would under no circumstances accept “unnatural conception.” but the risk of discovery was too remote to curtail the practice. And if this marriage couldn’t be stopped—

  The weapon was Karlis’s sterility, and yet, unless it could be used, it was also Adrien’s death warrant. If this marriage couldn’t be stopped, there was no way she could avoid learning the deadly secret that Monig had recognized as his own death warrant. Selasis would let her live holding that secret only until she provided an heir.

  And if she tried to reveal the secret before she gave birth to an heir? She would be discouraged from that by any means imaginable to a dishonorable Lord and his conscienceless minion, but if all else failed, she would be disposed of, and another wife found for Karlis.

  A voice reached him finally from a long distance; from a few meters away; now and here, in this room.

  “Alex, if I had the proof, I’d give it over to you willingly. No tax on that, brother. But the proof was snatched from my hands, and all I can offer is knowledge. Still, in the right circumstances, knowledge is as powerful as proof.”

  The words seemed blurred at first, although Alex understood them. But only two loomed into comprehension. I offer. . .

  That was the purpose of this inv
oluted game of Amik’s. A gift. No tax, brother. The gift of knowledge.

  Alex turned slowly and looked down at the Lord of Thieves, cushioned and swathed in silks, brocades, and furs, all bought with the profits of illegal and even corrupt and corrupting enterprises, and at his waist, in its fancifully embellished sheath, the knife that symbolized his Lordship by the very fact that it had not always remained clean.

  And yet—I offer. . .

  Alex said softly, “Thank you, Amik.”

  “I told you, the debt is between you and Jael. I take no part—”

  “No, Amik, this one is between you and me. Now, you have people waiting for you. I can’t ask you to delay that longer.” He didn’t add that, for himself, he could no longer delay some time to be alone.

  As Amik maneuvered his bulk out of the chair, Alex went to the table by the couch where he’d left his glass, found a swallow of bragnac left in it, and turned, lifting it in a salute.

  “Fortune, brother.”

  Amik laughed, then said pointedly, “Thank you.”

  5.

  “Good evening, Dr. Radek.”

  “Hello, Maya. Good to see you up and about after that virus siege.”

  The woman smiled pleasantly, but didn’t break step.

  “Thank you. It’s good to be up.” That ended the conversation; they were past each other now.

  Erica continued down the corridor, crowded as the section dining hall disgorged its sated throngs. Two months ago, she’d have stopped to talk to Maya Bezain. A thesis had just been published at the University in Leda on anxiety translation processes, a subject of particular interest to both of them. But, except for pleasantries in passing, they didn’t talk openly now. Maya was a loyal, and Erica didn’t want to call Predis Ussher’s attention to her. He kept both Erica and Ben under constant surveillance, and one object was to identify loyal members. Anyone seen too often in their company was suspect, and that was why the only conversations Erica indulged in outside her work, or in the strictist privacy, were with those members she knew to be uncommitted, or those she knew to be Ussher converts. And that was why she passed by old friends in the dining halls and sat down to eat with the “safe” uncommitted or converts.