The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4)

by Zachary Rawlins

  Of course, that address was on the other side of town, not terribly far from where they had started. They found Lóa Thule and her guard in a deserted alley, some three blocks from the main thoroughfare, so close to where they entered town that Renton suspected they had watched them drive past.

  ***

  The meeting with Edvard Koss was short and perfunctory. Aside from the fact that Anastasia had disliked Edvard since early childhood, the issues between them were overwhelming. Making nice with Edward meant forgiving his mother, the Lady Koss, for being a zealot and a terrible bore, as well as disregarding issues of theology (Orthodox), geography (the Koss Family favored New York, even in the summer), and romance. Not to mention ignoring events in her recent family history, particularly the brutal social slights paid to Anastasia’s mother by the Koss family before her ascent to power. Beyond all this, however, was the one immutable truth that made Anastasia cold inside – Edvard Koss was her father’s candidate.

  Anastasia met with the Koss family out of courtesy and respect for her father, but the conversation was short and heavy with formality. Edvard sullenly refused to meet her eyes while proclaiming his willingness to wed her, and his mother sneered with each compliment she delivered. The reception they received would charitably be called frosty.

  Anastasia saw them out after grudgingly granting Edvard the fourth dance. After they left, Mai chided her for the curt reception, but really, Anastasia fumed, who in this day in age was seriously expected to marry a distant cousin?

  Unless the cousin in question was Timor Zharova, of course, Anastasia amended, daydreaming and ignoring Mai’s gentle criticism. That was another matter entirely.

  ***

  “Oh, Mr. Hall. All men are beasts, but you are particularly bad, aren’t you? All those nasty ambitions you have.” Lóa Thule’s expression was smug and superior within the circumference of her fur-fringed hood. “My uncle knows all about it, naturally. From your evaluation at the Academy.”

  Their words turned to fog as they left their lips. There was no light in the alley aside from the diluted Edinburgh afternoon sun, and their guards eyed each other with hands resting on the butts of their guns. There was a slight buzz in Renton’s ears, like an electrical transformer was located nearby.

  “Violating my privacy in the name of winning my trust? That’s a poor start, Lóa.”

  “That’s not all, Renton. My uncle knows what you want. The indecent dream that has lived here for years.” Lóa Thule touched his chest lightly with oxblood nails. “The girl you want. Gaul Thule knows every bit of it.”

  Renton slapped her hand away, and her bodyguard very nearly shot him. Only a sudden glare from Lóa prevented it. The speed with which she turned about was uncanny, but like every other Operator who had interacted with her, Renton could not detect signs of telepathic manipulation, or the telltale physiological distortions of the Alacrity Protocol.

  “So?” Renton yawned. “You mean to blackmail me with that? The Mistress of the Black Sun knows all my secrets, Miss Thule. Even the most regrettable.”

  “Everyone knows, Mr. Hall,” Lóa said. “Trust me.”

  “I can live with that. If your intention is not blackmail, then…?”

  “Wish fulfillment. That’s the business my uncle has me on today. We can make it happen for you, Mr. Hall. I can make all sorts of things happen.”

  He felt sick and hot. Renton could have sworn that he had a dream like this, once, and woke up feeling bad with a racing heart.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what I said. Agree to our proposal, and we promise you Anastasia Martynova; health, virtue, and dignity intact. Exactly as compliant as you wish her to be. She can be yours on delivery, or you can work it out between the two of you.”

  “I’m not sure what to say. This is entirely…”

  “…too good? Or are you simply not ready to admit what you feel?” She was close to him again, batting hateful, mocking eyes. “Think about it this way, if you prefer – Miss Martynova’s prospects are extremely bleak in the short and long term. If she should survive her ascension and then the process of consolidating the Black Sun, she will still face a unified Hegemony under Gaul Thule. By intervening at a chosen moment, in an invisible manner, you would be saving her a much more odious fate.”

  “I have heard enough!” Renton pushed her away, heedless of the nervy Pakistani telepath serving as her second. “What kind of nonsense is this?”

  “Alluring nonsense, Mr. Hall. There is no need to lie. We offer you that which you can have no other way.”

  “Is that all? Did you come to me without an offer for my Mistress?”

  “Of course I have an offer for her! After the death of her father and the downfall of her cartel, I offer her the possibility of being delivered – after a gentle confinement and debriefing, of course – to a loving servant, a survivor of the fall of the cartel.” Lóa tapped her lip speculatively. “Or, perhaps a rescue would be better? We could arrange for you to liberate Miss Martynova from one of our facilities, after all hope has been lost. Imagine arriving as a hero to save her from the very worst, Mr. Hall. A real-life rescue of a princess! I’ll be frank – as a single lady who played a great deal of Nintendo, I’m a bit jealous.”

  Renton shook his head in disbelief.

  “You…I don’t have the words, Lóa.”

  “I’m sure you do, but it’s polite of you not to say them.” Her toothy grin and the incessant background buzz had conspired to give him a headache. “Maybe you don’t want to be a hero, then? Perhaps you prefer to persuade her yourself, by charm or otherwise? Whatever your ideal, we can facilitate it.”

  “This is all quite sick, Lóa. I’ve heard the rumors about the Thule Cartel, of course…”

  “Degenerates?” She said it with pride. “Lunatics?”

  “…but I never imagined you would stoop to this sort of nonsense. If that is all…”

  “It is. Consider it, Renton,” she suggested, motioning for her second. “Perhaps while you watch your Mistress dance with other men tonight?”

  “…if that is all, as I was saying, Lóa,” Renton said, giving her a once-over, “perhaps we could talk this over?” He grinned. “In private?”

  Lóa was very close, suddenly, giving him a knowing look. Renton leered back.

  “I have your interest, then, Mr. Hall?”

  “My interest is the least that I have to offer, Miss Thule. Shall we?”

  ***

  Maxim Pashkevich came alone, surprising no one. His mother Lady Pashkevich was in none too great of health after producing an even dozen children.

  Maxim arrived in formal attire with the accents allowed only to his cartel, nearly striding on the heels of the maid who led him in. Broad in the chest and tall enough to duck his head as he entered the door – though not actually tall enough that the move was required – the Belarusian was surprisingly nimble, offering her a bow with a finishing school flourish, and then taking his proffered seat.

  “Maxim,” Anastasia said fondly. “It has been some time.”

  Maxim nodded, tight-lipped.

  “Yes, Lady Martynova.” His face contorted, like he found difficulty fitting the title in his mouth. “Pardon me, but this is ridiculous! I’ve known you since we were both children. I was wondering, could I…?”

  “Address me familiarly, in the manner of children?” She didn’t bother to keep the scorn from her voice. She felt that it would help Maxim, in the long run – better from her, then from one who did not wish him well. “Are we here on the business of children, Maxim?”

  He hung his head, like a massive, shaggy dog; resilient brown hair already fighting off the constraint of gel and intense styling to protrude every which way.

  “No, milady.”

  “If you are here as a man, then I’m afraid I must insist that you address me properly.”

  “Of course. How foolish of me, Lady Martynova.” He gave her such a contrite look that Ana
stasia nearly laughed. “Could we began again?”

  “Oh, my dear Maxim,” she said, with a forgiving smile. “We need not. I consider your correction an obligation born of my fondness for you. How is your mother?”

  “Unwell. She rarely leaves her bed for any length of time.” Maxim grimaced. “She sends her apologies – and would be here, if she could…”

  “Now, now, Maxim. We both know you told her not to come.”

  He froze like a guilty child.

  “It was what was best, yes? For her and for yourself.”

  He nodded reluctantly.

  “Perhaps, Mistress. I would be heard, for better or worse, and my mother…”

  “Marina is a delight,” Anastasia said, with a laugh. “She is also very loquacious. Do send her my regards. Does she require anything? Doctors, or perhaps empaths? The Black Sun Cartel stands at the ready to provide your family with anything needed.”

  “Thank you. My mother requires nothing but rest, though she will certainly be encouraged to hear that you spoke kindly of her.”

  “Always. Maxim – you said that you would be heard. What have you come to say?”

  He looked like he would have rather been anywhere else, though that judgement was unfair to Maxim. He was a capable administrator within the Minskaja-Brest Voblast, and a careful and ruthless Operator in the field. Western Belarus had a reputation for being plagued by ghoul infestations until Maxim’s early ascendency to the head of his cartel. Two years of determined operation, and the wretched creatures were scarce west of route E-30.

  Maxim was an Operator in the mold of his father, who had died in a car accident when he was young. He was simply uncomfortable at the prospect of a party.

  “I would present myself, but that seems a bit ridiculous.”

  “It does, does it not? While I might stand on propriety, I have no fondness for formalities. Dispense with presentation, Maxim.”

  “Very well.” He took a deep breath and squared his hips. “Lady Martynova, you debut tonight.”

  Anastasia nodded.

  “You know what is expected of me,” Maxim said. “You are aware of my familial obligations.”

  “Yes, Maxim.”

  “What you do not know – forgive me, Mistress – are my feelings on the matter.”

  Anastasia was intrigued.

  Maxim was three years her elder, so their overlap at the Academy had been minimal. His mother’s health had prevented him from maintaining a residence at Central even during his schooling, reducing their interaction further.

  The Pashkevich family had been firmly in the Martynova family orbit for two generations, and Maxim’s father had served as a senior advisor and portfolio manager within the Black Sun. Lord and Lady Pashkevich had been at her Chrismation and all her birthday parties. Lord Pashkevich was a capable equestrian, a passion shared by Josef Martynova along with Anastasia’s late mother, and was therefore a frequent companion at the dacha or summers in France or Malibu.

  “I understand what my duty is, to my cartel, my family, the Black Sun – and to you.”

  Lord Pashkevich had been a bear of a man, like Maxim, with a bristly auburn beard as untamed as the mop of hair on his son’s head. He had spoiled the children of all the allied cartels, but Anastasia had been his favorite for as long as she could recall. Lord Pashkevich had never attempted to impress her with acts of extravagance or largess like the rest of her father’s associates. He had instead provided her with a consistent supply of handmade dolls from around the world, candy (carefully vegan sourced, after she converted), reckless tossing of her person in the air, and crippling bear hugs. His funeral was held with full Black Sun honors and regalia at her insistence, and she wept over his coffin.

  “I’ve never wasted time thinking further about it. My mother and father made sacrifices for me, and I never harbored illusions about my purpose. I was happy, in a way, to know what was expected of me.”

  Anastasia nodded, to show that she was listening.

  “Somewhere along the years, though, that changed…”

  She smiled through an increasing sense of wariness. Had Mai perhaps erred, she wondered, in clearing this one to be among her suitors?

  “I realized something.” Maxim looked up and met her eyes with an impudent frankness. “I have managed my cartel’s affairs for two years now, and I have not yet found my measure, in commerce or in the field. I discovered that I aspire to more than simply pleasing my mother, or fulfilling my duty to my cartel and to the Black Sun. My ambition is too great to be sated by such petty goals.”

  “An admirable quality, within limits. Do go on.”

  “Limits are my failing. I would have all of it, you see. The Black Sun first, and all the rest in time. I would offer you Central as tribute. I would see the world at your feet and myself at your side.” The way the words spilled out of Maxim, Anastasia suspected that this was a rehearsed speech. “I make no attempt at deception – I do not love you, in the manner of a man to a woman, nor do I think you would find me acceptable. Forgive my presumption.”

  “I will not – but continue.”

  “I have no taste for an arranged marriage, but I understand the benefits of such. To presume further, I suspect that you might feel the same way. What I would suggest is this – be my wife in name, and my ally and confidant in truth. I am your dedicated servant – allow me to remain such, and I will masquerade as Lord to your Lady.” Maxim looked at her with such unaccustomed gentleness that Anastasia was moved, and somewhat embarrassed for both of them. “I will never try and rule over you or usurp you. I will never betray or constrain you romantically, because there will be no romance between us. I will not take you to my bed or lay an unwanted finger upon you, save for appearances sake.”

  “I see. What of children, Maxim? Do you not think I will be expected to provide an heir to the Martynova family and the Black Sun?”

  “There are many ways to solve that problem. Children can be procured. Medical solutions are available. Of course, should it be required of me, I will serve you in any capacity.”

  “How very honorable of you, sir,” Anastasia said, with a smirk. “An intriguing, if irregular and potentially treasonous offer.”

  “Yes. I understand the consequences of my suggestion.” He finally looked way. “Do you wish me to leave? Turn myself over to Mr. Hall and his apparatus?”

  “Neither, but I do wish that you might be a touch less dramatic, Maxim.”

  “Yes.”

  “And please do use the honorific, just on occasion, to remind me – and yourself – of your place.”

  “Of course,” he said, with a grimace. “Milady.”

  Anastasia smiled.

  “I suspect we are both occasionally in danger of forgetting.”

  Maxim looked dazed, though by all rights she should have been the one perplexed.

  “Something to think about perhaps,” Anastasia suggested. “Of course, there is so little time between now and the fifth dance; who is to say what can be accomplished?”

  ***

  Lóa led him a few blocks away and then up a rickety set of stairs to an anonymous third floor flat, the door missing any sort of unit or number designation. She did not need to unlock the door, and the kitchen was filled with dirty dishes and the sickly-sweet odor of rotting fruit. The living room was filled with sleeping bags and dirty clothes, and it smelled like a locker room. Lóa led him by hand to the bedroom, her eyes so full of malicious excitement that Renton trembled with eagerness.

  The bed was unmade and the sheets were sweat stained. Renton swept the blanket and pillows from the bed, and then pushed Lóa down atop the mattress. Her movements were urgent and sudden as they tore clothing off and tossed it aside. Renton pinned her wrists above her head and pushed her thighs apart.

  ***

  Mai and her legion of cheerful maids gave Anastasia approximately fifteen seconds from Maxim’s departure before bursting in.

  “Well?” Mai demanded, helping Anasta
sia up from the less than comfortable ceremonial reception chair. “What do you think?”

  “I think I am far too exhausted and mortified to go through with this.”

  “Not to worry,” Mai said confidently, nodding at a pair of maids, who charged out of the room on command. “A brief mineral soak before you prepare for your debut will cure and reinvigorate you. I have an herbal compound from Tibet; your mother brought it back after the campaign against the Mountain Witches. I have preserved it for just such an occasion.”

  Anastasia perked up slightly, and allowed herself to be led from the room.

  ***

  Renton spent four hours tearing his hair out, waiting for an apport from Glasgow back to Harbin, having missed the original rendezvous. He was convinced he would miss the Ball when Svetlana arrived, looking like death warmed over. Before he could offer thanks or complaints, she snatched him by the arm, apporting them both back to the estate in Harbin. She then proceeded to collapse into the arms of waiting medical staff, while Renton looked on and offered telepathic encouragement.

  After Sveta was settled, Renton hurried back to his personal quarters to prepare for the ball. He had an hour or so to shower and dress, and that would have to be enough time to get his story straight.

  The only real problem, as Renton saw it, was making his day of work relevant to Anastasia, while saying nothing about Lóa Thule at all.

  That was a whole other thing, Renton thought, running hot water over his hands in the sink, and he really did not want to get into it with Ana. Not tonight, and not ever – if it could be avoided.