by Mike Smith
It would take more than a band of marauding thieves to get past him.
Resigned to the fact that she had got the better of him, again, Alex watched with mouth agape, as her eyes grew heavy, her breathing evening out. Even more shocked when her head hit his shoulder, along with the soft sounds of her snoring. Not wishing to wake her, he gently withdrew the fusion pistol from his coat. Letting it rest on a side table, still easily within reach. Before reclining back in the sofa, he let her head rest on his chest. Propping his feet up on the low lying coffee table, he ran his hands through her sable locks, amazed at their softness, like silk to the touch.
Without even realising it, for the first time in many days, he let his own eyes drift shut, embracing the exhaustion that engulfed them both. Lying in each other’s arms, with the flames from the open fire sending the shadows fleeing from the room.
Chapter Ten
Interlude.
The door was thrust open so violently that it rattled on its hinges. It was promptly slammed shut, just as quickly, the emissary leaning back against the now closed door, breathing heavily.
Unblinking yellow eyes observed the scene with something akin to curiosity. The master couldn’t remember the last time that his emissary had entered with anything more than a hair out of place. But this time the air of confidence and general superiority had completely vanished, instead the man reeked of fear, and yet the master hadn’t even raised a hand against him.
The master went back to stirring the fireplace, until the flames leapt higher and higher, casting long shadows across the length of the room. The poker was white hot by the time the master withdrew it from the flames and, holding it up to his face, he could feel the heat radiating from it.
“You bring news of your search, I presume?” the master drawled unhurriedly. Based on the expression on his emissary’s face, the master doubted that it would be good news. He returned the poker to the fire, twirling it just above the flames, where the heat was hottest.
“We discovered that the intermediary withheld the initial funds from the mercenary for the contract. It seemed safe to assume that the mercenary would return for the money, therefore we laid a trap, for both of them.”
“I take it things didn’t go according to plan?” the master enquired dryly.
“Unfortunately not, my Lord. Most of your men died.”
The master shrugged, unconcernedly. Men dying for him weren’t new and didn’t particularly bother him. He’d long since found out that there were many more where they’d come from. “What of the mercenary, and the go-between?”
“Gone. Vanished. Both of them.”
The master didn’t reply for a long time, but instead tightened his grip on the poker, waving it backwards and forwards through the hottest part of the flame. He was reminded that this wasn’t the first time that his emissary had come to him, reporting failure. Intriguingly both times had involved this unnamed mercenary… “That is all you have to report?” he asked in an ominous tone. “I warned you, during our last meeting, the consequences of once again returning, empty-handed.”
“No, my Lord. I bring further news that I know will interest you. During the failed attempt on Lady Jessica’s life our man was killed, but so was another. I managed to intercede, retrieving both bodies, before High-Lord Hadley could investigate further. I personally oversaw the autopsy of both, in our own facilities.”
“You found some clue?”
“Far more than that, my Lord. I know that you will personally be interested in the results of the bloodwork.” With this the emissary took a few hurried steps forward, offering up the report to his master. He held his breath, observing his master reviewing the document, he knew that he was going to be well rewarded for this, already salivating at the prospect.
Instead the blow came from seemingly nowhere, the edge of the device catching the emissary just under the eye, before it fell to the marble floor of the surrounding fireplace, shattering. Looking up into the murderous expression of his master, the emissary realised that he’d made a grievous mistake.
“What are these lies?” the master spat, a blood vessel bulging dangerously from his forehead. “You think to come here, stand in front of me and present these falsehoods as fact?”
“There can be no mistake, my Lord. I insisted that the technician re-run the tests, three times, the bloodwork is an exact match for—”
The next blow from the master sent the emissary reeling backwards, falling to the floor near his master’s feet.
“These are lies and falsehoods, perpetrated by traitors, trying to sow conflict and discord. The punishment for either is death. I expect it to be carried out, immediately.”
“Yes, my Lord,” the emissary stammered. “I’ll see to it personally.”
“Who else knows of this?”
“Nobody. I swear, my Lord. Only the technician that carried out the test, me and you.”
“Then kill the man, his family and all of his co-workers. Raise the building where he worked to the ground. Let this be a warning to all who try and tout these kinds of lies.”
“It’ll be done, immediately, my Lord.”
“And what of you, my emissary. How can I guarantee your silence? How do I know that it’s not you that’s peddling this sort of sedition?”
“I swear my Lord, I’m your most loyal servant.” For the first time a hint of fear, and terror, crept into the man’s voice.
“In days of old, a test of will would be insisted upon, to prove a vassal’s fealty to his Lord. I believe that traditionally a vassal would walk along a bed of red-hot coals to demonstrate his dedication.” The master glanced at the floor impassively. “Obviously that is not a viable option, as the carpet is priceless and has been in the family for generations—”
“Thank you, my Lord,” the emissary babbled, grovelling repeatedly.
“—instead,” the master carried on regardless. “You’ll just have to accede to this test of commitment in another way.” The master withdrew the white hot, still glowing poker from the fire, turning it to point the tip at his servant. “Now, I would suggest that you don’t move, as I wouldn’t want you to lose an eye.”
The master raised the glowing tip until it was inches from the man’s cheek.
A bead of sweat ran from the emissary’s forehead as the man remained absolutely still, his gaze fixated on the glowing tip. The sizzle of burning flesh, mingled with his screams of pain, as the side of his cheek was forever branded with flames. Starting just under his eye, the scar ran almost to his chin.
A permanent reminder of the painful cost of his failure.
Chapter Eleven
Sergeant-Major Sanderson was the heart, soul and conscience of the 1st Battalion, 104th Space Marine Regiment.
Thus was mostly considered by all, to be totally neurotic.
—From the journal of Lord Alexander Greystone,
Planet Capella, Alpha Aurigae System
Jessica drew her thick cloak tighter around herself to ward off the chill. It was early evening, the sun having set only a few hours earlier, at least according to Alex. He had totally refused to tell her where they were.
“What does it matter?” he had replied rhetorically. “It’s not like you’ll ever be coming back here again.”
Silently she had agreed with him as the place looked forbidding, to say the least. The street they were currently standing on was totally deserted. The shops that lined both sides of the street were closed, many completely boarded up. A jeweller's window had been smashed open, and a number of gold chains and a watch lay scattered on the pavement. Other buildings just appeared empty and abandoned. The few streetlights that still worked hardly cut through the gloom, instead casting forbidding shadows. A sliver of moonlight caused her to crane her neck upwards, but all she could see were dark clouds racing overhead. As quickly as it had first appeared, the moon vanished, once again consumed by the storm clouds.
“What happened here?” she asked, shivering involuntary.
“Change,” Alex replied softly. “The passing of something old, for something new. I remember this street well, there used to be restaurants all along it, many open late into the night. Music, dancing and laughter. Now there is none of that, only stillness and this ghostly quiet. Change is rarely for the better.”
“Why, what changed?”
“An old man died and suddenly light turned to darkness, laughter to tears, joy to fear and now there is nothing left, but memories,” Alex whispered, seemingly lost in the past. “Come. It’s not safe to linger out here, monsters now stalk these streets after dark.” With that chilling warning he caught her arm, hurrying them both across the street, until they stood in front of one of the many darkened shops.
Alex rapped lightly on the glass door, but beyond the closed blinds, she could see very little. Nothing stirred. After a minute of waiting Alex knocked again, but more firmly this time.
“Perhaps nobody is at home,” Jessica whispered nervously. “We should come back later, during the day, when it’s open.”
“He’s in there all right, I can feel him,” Alex grunted. “He’s just busy debating the pros and cons of answering the door. He’s just hoping that we’ll leave before he has to make a decision.” With that he banged loudly on the door, this time hard enough to rattle the doorframe.
This finally brought a response, as the blinds twitched and a hoarse voice whispered. “Go away, we’re closed.”
“Open the damn door, or I’ll kick it in,” Alex growled.
Nothing happened for a moment and Jessica feared that the proprietor had left when, with a clunk, scrape and rattle of multiple locks, the door started to edge slowly open.
Alex obviously was not prepared to wait that long. Getting a foot between the gap in the door and then using his shoulder, he shoved it wide open. The dark portal that suddenly loomed ahead of them seemed no more welcoming than the street behind, and she hesitated, but only for a moment, as once again Alex caught her elbow, pulling her in before slamming the door shut behind them.
With the door closed and the blinds still firmly shut, the darkness inside was absolute. Jessica instinctively tightened her grip on Alex’s arm, not having a clue what faced them. She could feel Alex fumbling around in the dark, obviously looking for something, and with a faint, “Ah ha,” light suddenly materialised above them. She blinked away the bright spots that obscured her vision, and her jaw dropped open in astonishment. Of all the things that she expected to see, this had never even made the list. For she found herself surrounded by patchwork fabrics, ribbons of the brightest colours, balls of twine and buttons. It was as if somebody had sneezed and sprayed colours in every direction. She didn’t know what to say, speechless, trying to find the right words, but Alex beat her to it.
“Charming. Love what you’ve done with the place. I always told you that you were a purveyor of many things, but you’ve gone beyond even my wildest imaginings here. Are those really pink bow ties?” he exclaimed in astonishment.
Jessica blinked, wondering whom Alex was addressing, before reminding herself that somebody had let them in, so they were not alone. Her gaze finally came to rest on a short, bespectacled man, resting on his elbows behind a worn serving counter. Based on the wrinkle lines around his eyes and forehead, he appeared to be in his early fifties. With his receding hairline and hints of grey visible at the edges, he would have looked like any other shopkeeper on any other planet in the Imperium, assuming that they all worked out like he did. With his shirtsleeves rolled up above the elbows, the bulging muscles were clearly defined. Visible on one of his biceps was a tattoo of a bird swooping down, with what looked like a rocket ship caught between its talons. She had never seen anything like it before and found herself staring at it, enthralled. Realising that she had been gawking, she glanced up, embarrassed, but it was only then that she realised that the man hadn’t even noticed her, as instead his stare was fixated on Alex.
“Colonel Grey—”
“—stone,” Alex quickly interceded. “But there is no need for such formality Sanderson, after all we’re old friends, you can just call me Alex.”
“What are you doing here Sir—Alex,” Sanderson quickly corrected, after a sharp look from Alex.
“We need your help,” Jessica quickly intervened, giving the man her most charming smile. After all, if they needed the man’s help, then it wouldn’t do to antagonise him. Jessica had since come to the conclusion that Alex antagonised most people, with his presence alone. Having him speak was superfluous.
“My help?” Sanderson looked perplexed, blinking several times, confused, as if trying to place her.
“Well, you see, it’s like this, and please bear with me, as I know it sounds totally ridiculous, but it’s completely true nonetheless, that well, somebody is trying to kill us.”
“Only one?” Sanderson replied dryly. “As I could probably name at least a dozen that want Alex dead. After all he does have a rather extortionate price on his head.”
“He does?”
“I do?”
The questions came from both Jessica and Alex simultaneously, and Sanderson could only look from one to the other with mounting confusion.
“A hundred million,” Sanderson said. “Dead.”
“Should be twice that by now,” Alex muttered darkly.
“One hundred million,” Jessica echoed weakly, the world spinning for a moment and she had to reach out to a chair to help maintain her balance. “But you said that you had no idea why anybody was after us,” she turned to face Alex accusingly.
“No,” Alex shook his head. “I said that I had no idea why anybody would want you dead. I’ve got a hundred million reasons why somebody would want me dead.”
“By the High-Lords, what did you do to merit—”
“Excuse me,” Sanderson interrupted. “But just who are you?”
“Lady Jessica Hadley, eldest daughter of High-Lord Hadley.”
“—and betrothed to High-Lord Stanton,” Alex smirked.
The effect on Sanderson was immediate, and striking. For he suddenly looked in equal parts horrified and terrified, turning a sickly shade of pale. “High-Lord Stanton’s fiancée,” he echoed making it sound much like a death sentence.
“Yep,” Alex repeated jovially.
But Sanderson’s gaze kept flickering back and forth between the two of them, a crazed look in his eyes, before he abruptly cried out,
“By the High-Lords! You haven’t got her pregnant, have you?”
*****
Alex could not help but wonder which of them seemed more astonished. For Sergeant-Major Sanderson, who was neurotic at the best of times, seemed to have swallowed his tongue, while Jessica had a look of absolute horror on her face. As if she couldn’t believe that Sanderson had actually voiced that question out loud.
“What? No!” she was quick to deny. “Absolutely not.”
Alex was actually a little hurt by her swift denial. As if the thought was so repulsive it had never crossed her mind. It had crossed his mind, more than once and, grinning maliciously, he decided to throw a little extra fuel on the fire. “Not yet love, but don’t worry, we’ll just have to keep trying.”
If looks could kill, he would have been a smoking cinder right about now, so instead he turned his back on the pair, looking around the room curiously. For he had been completely accurate with his earlier observation, that it indeed was nothing like what he had imagined. Sergeant-Major Sanderson was indeed a purveyor of many different things; like eighteen hundred armour-piercing rounds, or a couple of dozen collapsible assault rifles, with no questions asked.
Pink bow ties and ribbons? Not so much.
He had once read in an old book an idiom about how a leopard doesn’t change its spots. He had no idea why a leopard would want to change its spots; perhaps it didn’t like their colour? Still, looking around this room for some reason the phrase leapt to the forefront of his mind. Obviously business was not brisk, as most of the mer
chandise was covered in a thick layer of dust, indicating that it had not been touched in a considerable amount of time—all except for one statue. Bast. An Egyptian goddess of Earth from what he remembered. He had read about her once in some obscure book on ancient archaeology, it described all the great, but now extinct Earth Empires: The Romans, the Greeks, the Egyptians.
The French.
“Why don’t I buy you a present, love? You know, to take your mind off the lack of children,” he called out over his shoulder.
“Sure. Six feet of sturdy rope would be perfect, dear,” Jessica replied nastily. “That should be just long enough for me to hang you with.”
“Touché,” Alex murmured. “So I guess the statue it is.” He had only just reached out and grasped it, when an urgent, “No,” rang out from across the room. But purposefully ignoring the startled exclamation he drew the statue closer, not in the least bit surprised to observe that it seemed to be attached to some sort of lever. With a grinding sound of stone rubbing against stone, the shelves and display tables full of haberdashery slowly retracted back into the walls, to be replaced with row-upon-row of display cabinets. Unlike the previous merchandise, there was not a trace of dust anywhere on these and they glistened like brand new, which they most probably were.
Pulling one of the rifles from the nearest display case, Alex checked the breech to make sure that it was unloaded, and then cocked it, before pulling the trigger. The well-oiled firing mechanism worked perfectly and the click echoed throughout the now silent room.
“A parallel line of business, Sanderson?” Alex enquired mildly.
“I can explain,” Sanderson quickly rallied.
“I’m sure that you can,” he replied dryly. “As I always remember you had a good explanation close to hand. I assume that you have permits for all of these?”
“Most of them.”
“Import/Export Licences?”
“Some.”
“You’ve declared all your earnings before and after tax?”