Manufactory-East exclaimed, “All? Isn’t that enough?”
“I suppose it would be, if it were true,” Lisinthir said lazily.
“This is ridiculous,” the Worldlord said. “What proof have you found, Manufactory-East?”
“The lander he arrived on. It is of freak make.”
“Yes?” Lisinthir said, folding his arms.
“You do not deny it!”
Lisinthir grinned. “Why should I? It was a perfectly good prize. I decided to keep it.”
Manufactory-East’s eyes narrowed. “So, it has no relation to the alien ship we caught sneaking in the system?”
“What?” Deputy-East squawked.
“You caught an Alliance ship?” the Worldlord said, stepping forward.
“Where did you berth it?” Deputy-East demanded, advancing on Manufactory-East. “Why wasn’t I told? System security is my arena!”
“He didn’t tell you,” Lisinthir said, watching Manufactory-East, “Because he didn’t capture it. ‘Catching it sneaking’ implies a great deal, you-my-lesser. Say what you mean: you thought you saw something on your instruments but have not yet apprehended your little sensor ghost.”
Manufactory-East froze. “What… do you call me?”
“Enough about that,” Deputy-East said. “Do you have this ship somewhere? Where!”
“He doesn’t.” The Worldlord’s contempt was patent. “He has come here with a baseless accusation and the hope that it would rattle a male he dislikes enough to inspire a confession. One which, you’ll note, the Sword has not made, Manufactory-East, because it is blatantly ridiculous. An Alliance spy! Really. Why would a spy come here?”
“To gather information on the muster!” Manufactory-East stabbed a fingertip toward Lisinthir again. “That ship was not a sensor ghost! We have it recorded! It is a military vessel from the freak’s navy!”
“Even if it was here, and I’m not promising I believe it, what does that have to do with the Sword?” Deputy-East’s tone was acid. “Did you really come here with no proof at all beyond circumstantial evidence? And honestly, if I was a spy attempting to learn something about the muster, I wouldn’t have planted myself here. I would be on the Naval base, where I could actually learn something useful!” He scowled at the Worldlord. “Has the Sword been using the skein from any of your terminals?”
“No,” the Worldlord said. “Not that I know of.”
“That you know of!” Manufactory-East said.
“Go fetch the Steward,” the Worldlord said to one of his own guards. “Quickly. The faster we’re done with this, the better.”
“Oh, have I interrupted something?”
“Be quiet,” the Worldlord hissed. “I have had enough of your rudeness, Manufactory-East. I invited you to my home where you damaged my property, abused my guests, and are now making a scene in my front hall. My patience with you is not limitless, no matter your position.”
“And what are you going to do about it when I run it out?” Manufactory-East smiled lazily. “I remind you I’m on the moon in orbit, Worldlord. With all the weapons? You don’t want to be on my list of questionable males.”
“You don’t want to be on mine.”
This escalation was interrupted by the Steward, who arrived at a jog. “Worldlord?”
“Steward. Have you noticed the Sword using our computers for anything?”
Perplexed, the Steward replied, “No, Worldlord.”
“That only proves he has something on him!” Manufactory-East said. “Scan him! He probably has an implant!”
Deputy-East put a hand to his brow. “Is there no end to this? Manufactory-East, enough! The Sword annoys you, we know it. He’s humiliated you. If it bothers you this much, then duel him and be done with it. But spare us the creative stories about his evil plans to destroy the Empire.”
“Better yet,” the Worldlord said in a voice colder than any Lisinthir had heard from him, “Leave. And don’t come back.”
Manufactory-East looked from Worldlord to Deputy-East, found no sympathy or quarter in either of those gazes. He drew his lips back from his teeth. “This is a mistake. You’ll regret it.” He began to turn.
…which was precisely the wrong moment for his slaves to finally make their trembling way into the hall under the coaxing guidance of Emlyn. Manufactory-East stopped, mid-whirl, and spread his wings. “Did you send for my slaves so they could accompany me home? No, I would have heard you call for them, wouldn’t I? I heard you send for the Steward.” He arched his neck toward the Worldlord and bit off each successive phrase. “So what. Are they doing. In this hall?”
Behind him, Lisinthir said idly, “I’m taking them.”
“You’re doing what?”
“I’m sorry. That must not have been clear,” Lisinthir said. “Let me make it plainer. I am stealing them from you.” He drew his sword. “Worldlord, did you mean what you said yesterday?”
“I… yes,” the Worldlord said, and lifted his chin despite the rim of white encircling his irises. “Yes.”
“Very good.” Lisinthir grinned at Manufactory-East. “You have no idea how much I have longed to kill someone since stepping foot on-world. I must thank you for finally giving me a target to take that frustration out on.”
Manufactory-East sneered at the sword. “Oh, so you will bring freak weapons to an honest duel? What’s wrong, Sword? Afraid I’ll win if you don’t distract me with props?”
“If you want to do this claw to claw, that’s fine,” Lisinthir replied. “I’ll enjoy ripping your throat out with my own hands.” He undid the belt and turned to set both swords in the Knife’s hands, the leather warm in his grasp. Their fingertips brushed as the Knife looked past his shoulder.
No spoken warning would have been fast enough. But the shock of alarm that burned Lisinthir’s fingers came accompanied with the image seen through the Knife’s eyes… of Manufactory-East drawing his weapon and aiming it. Lisinthir grabbed the Knife and flung him against Laniis, sending them both tumbling to the ground. He whirled and commanded his opponent’s body for just a heartbeat, long enough to keep him from making good on his next shot, but not so long that the onlookers would realize something untoward was happening.
That was all the time he needed. Imthereli’s sword rang free of its sheath with a sound like music. Two leaps and a lunge and its blade ripped through Manufactory-East’s throat. The guards that had accompanied him began to move; Lisinthir tripped them with the mind-talent, giving the Worldlord’s security time to reach and subdue them.
Manufactory-East was still alive, though bleeding copiously enough for that state to be very temporary. Lisinthir crouched beside his head and framed his face with his hands. He had never chosen to ungently search someone’s mind; perhaps in some other circumstance, he would have harbored misgivings. But not now, when he needed to know if Manufactory-East truly had captured the Silhouette. He plunged in, ignoring the male’s horror, and rifled through his memories. The vessel Lisinthir had taken to the surface… impounded, then destroyed. Petty vengeance, and a way to remove evidence that was not damning enough. The sighting had been real, but the Silhouette was still at large. Manufactory-East’s staff was searching for it with all the avidity of hunters too long idle.
The escape attempt would be… invigorating. Possibly fatal. Unless he had allies…
Lisinthir dropped Manufactory-East’s head and gripped one of the horns instead. “I’ve done this before,” he said conversationally to the Chatcaavan as he choked on his own blood. “Rest assured, I’ll make it slow.” He put a boot against one of the horns and took a grip on another. It was easier this time than it had been with Third; his fingers were not so slippery. Still, time was wasting, and he had little of it to waste; he contented himself only with one symbolic crack, then vented the last of his vengeance by slicing the wing vanes open.
“There,” he said, straightening. “That’s done, then. Deputy-East, I believe you owe me a ride.”
B
oth of the Sword’s huntbrothers were staring at him.
“Is it true?” the Worldlord said softly. “Are you an Alliance spy?”
“It’s true that I’m more than I seem,” Lisinthir said. “But I am here to save the Empire, Worldlord. I am not your enemy. Now… if we are to get your Gentle to facilities that might save her, I suggest we move swiftly.”
“Right,” Deputy-East said. “I’ll bring an air van around.” He eyed the Sword. “And yes, I’ll add my own offerings to your… exodus.”
“Excellent!” Lisinthir said. “How delightful to be able to rely on you.”
Deputy-East snorted and padded to the door. That left the Eldritch to face Andrea. “Is all in readiness?”
“Absolutely, alet.” She wore her most determined face but there was a light in her eyes, and it was joy. “We don’t need the third stretcher. Claudia says if she’s leaving, she can go on her own two feet and as fast as we need her to.”
Lisinthir chuckled. “Good for her. Allow Laniis to direct you, please?”
“We’ll do that. To the front of the hall, everyone.”
Facing the Worldlord, Lisinthir said, “I trust this will not cause you undue trouble?”
The Worldlord glanced at Manufactory-East’s body and grimaced. “I hope not to fail in that trust. But no, Sword. Deputy-East and I will contrive somehow. And it needed to be done.”
“So it did.” Lisinthir saw the impulse moving the other male and held up a hand. “Do not.”
“What?” the Chatcaavan said with a faint smile. “Wish you well?”
“Not so permanently, no. We will meet again, you and I. Though you might not recognize me.” He grinned. “I’ll bring a stalker pelt as a token of proof.”
The Worldlord chuckled softly. “I believe you will, at that. Go on, then, Sword. Until that day. And… Gentle…”
“Everything that can be done for her, we will do.” Lisinthir inclined his head.
Deputy-East had already arrived with the van when Lisinthir exited the Worldlord’s estate into a morning gone dull and damp with clouds. He glanced up at the sky once, then joined the others entering the vehicle. Andrea, Laniis and Emlyn were helping the other rescued slaves buckle into their seats, so he headed fore. There was a conveniently empty chair alongside Deputy-East, who was on the comm, so he dropped into it, strapped the harness on, and rested his cheek against his knuckles, waiting.
“You’re leaning on the fuel gauge,” Deputy-East complained. “And stop looking so smug. I don’t know how long the Worldlord can keep Manufactory-East’s death a secret, even with the guards he brought in custody. And the moment that leaks, everything will go to hell on a downdraft.”
Lisinthir tsked. “Such pessimism.”
“Realism,” Deputy-East answered curtly. “That’s everyone, we’re leaving.” As the air van rose under his deft control, the male said, “Do you have a way to get off-world anymore, now that your vessel’s been confiscated?”
“Destroyed,” Lisinthir said. “Manufactory-East destroyed it.”
Deputy-East glanced at him, then gritted his teeth audibly. “I’m guessing he didn’t find anything in it worth keeping, then.”
“If there had been anything worth keeping, would I have left it behind?”
“No. No, you wouldn’t have. Many things you are, Sword, and most of them I don’t know and make me nervous. But a fool you certainly aren’t.” Deputy-East was grimly silent as they sped toward the port. “I am guessing I will have to get you to your ship, then. Is it still in orbit?”
“That… I don’t know,” Lisinthir said, consulting the roquelaure.
“You don’t know?” Deputy-East glared at him. “How can you…” He trailed off, then swore. “Don’t tell me that sensor ghost is your ship…!”
“I’m impressed,” Lisinthir said, mischievous. “I was certain your drinking habit would have long since deprived you of this level of abstract thought.”
“I have an enviable liver.” The Chatcaava shook his head. “You swear to me you’re the Empire’s friend?”
His passion for the Emperor—his fear over what would come of the galaxy if a polity this size dissolved into unprincipled division—his longing for the Queen, and for a future where Empire and Alliance could live in some kind of accord… he let it surface into his voice and spoke, low. “Deputy-East… I am the Empire’s staunchest ally.”
Deputy-East glanced at him again, then made a low noise in his throat and focused on the sky. “You could be a liar.”
“I could. But I’m not.” Lisinthir smiled a little. “An expert at misdirection and omission of truths, perhaps. But a liar… no.”
“Misdirection! Yes. I’ll say that.” Deputy-East sighed. “Fine. I’ll fly you out. But Dying Air help you if you’re playing me false. I’ll… I’ll…” He grimaced. “I’ll try to set all my forces on you before you kill me in a single swoop.” He managed a smile. “You’re handy with claws and that fancy stick you stole from your Alliance friends.”
“Friends,” Lisinthir murmured.
“As you noticed, I may be a drunkard, but I’m not stupid.”
Lisinthir laughed. “Not at all, no. We’ll see how well you do, then, huntbrother.”
At the spaceport they landed in a private lot dedicated to Deputy-East’s staff, and there tarried in the van until that male arranged for the arrival of one of his personal ships. After that, the transport of the Pelted was done in haste to prevent too many eyes from espying the transaction. Lisinthir oversaw the transfer, noticed that the Emperor allowed himself to be taken by stretcher though he was awake… awake, and from the look on his face, watching everything with a solemnity and attention that struck Lisinthir powerfully as a sign of… something. Something he couldn’t name. Except that he had seen an expression like that on the Emperor’s face only once, after Lisinthir had suffered the torture that had prompted the Chatcaavan’s epiphany.
What was he thinking? What was he making of the captivity he’d suffered here?
Deputy-East’s new ship had a crew of five males, none of whom asked any questions. If a man could be judged by the quality of his subordinates’ obedience, then the courtesy and professionalism of those crewmembers spoke highly of Deputy-East, particularly when paired with the lack of tension in their wings and hands. They did not fear their master, and they were proud to do their jobs well. Hopefully, he would not have to kill them if Deputy-East decided to renege on his trust.
Lisinthir took a seat in the back of the abbreviated room that served as a bridge, watching the launch sequence and listening to the staccato patter of the Chatcaava communicating with both port and orbital control. His eyes strayed to the sky seen through the windows. Not long now, he thought. One way or another, it would be decided soon. And then, perhaps, he could finally stop suffering the roquelaure’s incessant demands. He smiled a little, rueful.
Sky gave way to stars. No one stopped them on their way off-world. It took too long and yet Lisinthir was conscious of an easing of some weight in him he hadn’t known he was holding.
“So,” Deputy-East said heavily. “We’ve left orbit. I’m heading for the last known location of your ghost, which was off in the asteroid belt… probably an unavoidable choice, if not the smartest given that being Manufactory-East’s jurisdiction. What now?”
“Now, we hail them,” Lisinthir said. “If you’ll permit? I need the name of the vessel.”
“As if I had a choice,” Deputy-East said, irritated. “It’s the Severance. And added over his shoulder, “We really don’t have room for more people.”
The Knife said, “He wanted to see.”
“This is not a tourist ship!”
“Let him stay,” Lisinthir said, meeting the Emperor’s eyes. Then he turned to the comm board and let the Chatcaava open a general broadcast channel for him. Uuvek had given him an innocuous comment to send out, did he find himself in the position to need one, so he obliged and said, “There. Now we wait, I imagine.”
“And just float here,” Deputy-East growled.
The indicator on the bottom corner of Lisinthir’s vision suddenly snapped green. “Not long.” In his ear, he heard a high chime and the quiet words: Connection established.
He responded, silent, We are on the vessel Severance, which has just sent out the signal.
The comm panel on the ship lit. “We have a response,” the male there said, surprised. “Coordinates, sir.”
“Head that way then.”
“Aye, sir.”
Deputy-East eyed him. Lisinthir tilted his head.
“Not an ambush,” Deputy-East said.
“So long as you don’t go in firing first?”
“Uhgn!” Deputy-East scrubbed at his face. “Fine. The sooner we get rid of you the better.” And squinted. “Is it an Alliance ship?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“No. Yes. No.”
“Pick one?” Lisinthir suggested.
Deputy-East opened his mouth, then choked on a laugh. “How can you stay so calm no matter what anyone throws at you?”
“Practice,” Lisinthir said. “A great deal of practice.”
The flight to the Silhouette’s location needed the better part of two hours. The Emperor remained standing for it, wrapped in the stalker pelts and staring fixedly outside, only occasionally letting his gaze flick to the Chatcaava at their stations. The Knife remained at his side, a stubborn honor guard also wrapped in fur, if more convincingly; he had not yet abandoned his Seersan shape. Deputy-East dropped himself into a chair, cheek cradled in one hand, and occasionally snipped at Lisinthir in an attempt to bleed off his agitation. Lisinthir let him, and returned the jibes with the sort of elegant barbs he’d learned at the Eldritch court. The other Chatcaavan found them amusing.
But eventually they did arrive, only to find nothing… as Lisinthir had expected. For the ship to unDust would have been an unnecessary risk. The roquelaure woke, whispered in his ear: We place your body aboard this vessel. Is that correct? And shot him a picture of it that blotted out the upper corner of his vision, along with statistics on the ship class, size, and name.
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