"I saw Treasure's body," James said conversationally. "You really did a job on her, Brother. Can't say I'm terribly upset. She was always too loud and too obvious—and frankly, she scared the crap out of me. But even so, that was rather over the top. What is the matter, Douglas, can't you get on with any of the wives we choose for you?"
"What do you want, James?"
"I want you to behave, Douglas. I want you to be a good little boy. Happy as I am to see you once and for all removed from the public eye and favor, your continuing bad behavior has a nasty habit of rubbing off on me. And I can't allow that. I'm going to be King, Douglas, and I won't have you spoiling it for me. In fact, if you do anything further to embarrass me, like pleading not guilty at your trial, for example, I will personally see to it that those you care for are made to suffer. Your father William is still under arrest at House Campbell. He can always be made to pay for your disobedience."
"Your father," said Douglas. "Interesting. You didn't say our father. Just one more indication that you're not really my brother. And this pathetic attempt at blackmail and intimidation only confirms it. The real James had far too much style, and pride in himself, to stoop to such tactics. So what are you, some actor Finn hired, and coached to play the part? I don't suppose it matters, really. I've had my fill of you, James. Or whoever the hell you really are."
He surged up from the floor impossibly quickly, catching James off guard. Douglas hit him once, with professional skill and personal venom, and James was unconscious before he even knew what was going on. Douglas caught the body before it could hit the floor, and stood very still for a moment, listening. But either the guards hadn't heard anything, or James had bribed them to ignore any suspicious sounds of violence. Douglas smiled fleetingly, and then lowered James carefully to the stone floor. He then stripped James of his clothes, and exchanged them for his. With the cloak's hood pulled well forwards, he should look more than enough like his supposed brother. He propped James up against the wall, with his head turned away from the door. Good enough to fool a quick glance.
Douglas took a few deep breaths to calm himself, and then knocked imperiously on the door. It opened immediately, and Douglas swept out, head down, hood well forwards. He growled something at the guards, and kept going. His back tensed, his muscles crawling in anticipation of a shout or a blow, but all he heard was the sound of the lock turning in the door behind him. Douglas allowed himself a smile. He'd been waiting for someone to make a slip, and knew his moment had come when James boasted about turning off the security camera in the cell. Amateur night…
Douglas pulled James's hood a little further forwards, and strode swiftly through the palace corridors, doing his best to radiate Back off and don't talk to me through his body language. It seemed to work. People bowed and curtseyed to him as he passed, and no one tried to talk to him. Physically, Douglas and James were very similar, and everyone just reacted to the familiar clothes and attitude, and not the man within. Douglas made his way unchallenged through the palace and out onto the private landing pad at the back of the building. He chose the fastest pleasure craft on the pad, opened the locks with his voice override (Finn apparently hadn't got around to deleting it—very lax), and then he took off without bothering to file a flight plan. No one challenged him. Royalty had its privileges.
He pushed the craft as fast as its engines would allow. He needed to put as much distance as possible between himself and Finn. He knew where he was going; he'd had a lot of time to think about what he was going to do once he broke out of the palace, and James's threats had only furthered his resolve. He was going home, to House Campbell, to free his father. It was a pretty predictable plan, as plans went, but Douglas didn't give a damn. He'd had enough of playing the beaten man, playing for time; it was time for action. He'd hoped he'd have won some allies by now, but events hadn't worked out that way. He was alone. So he was going to rescue his father, and to hell with the consequences. Let Finn and all his people try to stop him; Douglas was in the mood to kill a whole lot of people. It wasn't like he had anything left to lose. He couldn't save the Empire, he couldn't save Humanity from its own follies, but he could still save his father.
He shot across the Parade of the Endless, the city glowing bright and cheerful below him in the gathering gloom of evening. Douglas was careful to follow all the traffic codes and regulations. He couldn't afford to be noticed and stopped. There wasn't a lot of traffic in the high air lanes at this hour, mostly just freight. Occasionally he had to fall to a lower lane, to make way for the really big rigs, and then he saw signs of unrest and even open fighting in the streets below. Douglas didn't even slow to look. The people's problems would have to wait.
The city quickly fell away behind him, and he headed out across the open countryside. It all seemed very calm and very peaceful, as though what happened in the cities was of no concern. The craft flew on, and no one called or challenged him. He checked the gun and sword he'd taken from James. Good enough for rough work. No doubt there would be new guards at House Campbell, answering only to Finn Durandal. Douglas had to assume they had orders to keep out everyone who didn't have evidence of safe conduct from Finn. Douglas also had to assume that they had been given sufficient weaponry to enforce those orders. He hadn't come this far just to be shot out of the sky because he didn't have the right code words. So even though his spirit ached for the comforts of open confrontation, Douglas decided not to take any chances. He swung wide around the borders of Campbell territory, and brought his craft down in a narrow valley some distance behind House Campbell. According to all the maps and documentations, the valley had nothing to do with the Campbells, but secretly the family had owned the land for generations, through several intermediaries.
Douglas locked the ship behind him, and set off up the valley. It was getting dark. He kept a watchful eye out, but no one appeared to challenge him. It took him a while to locate a certain opening in the cliff face behind House Campbell, marked by a large and distinctly colored boulder. He'd never had to use the secret entrance before. No one had, since before Lionstone's time—bad cess to the woman's memory—but the secret had been handed down through generations of Campbells, from father to son, just in case it might be needed. Put not your faith in Kings and governments, the Campbells always said. Only family can he trusted.
What looked like a crumbling cave mouth actually led into a narrow tunnel, carved out of the earth long and long ago, and reinforced with concrete and steel. After a while, overhead lights came on, activated by Douglas's presence. The air was cold and stale. Douglas hurried along the tunnel, gun and sword in hand, ready for any sign of new guards or booby traps. If Finn knew about the tunnel, it might even be sealed off. But only William could have told him, and the old man would rather have died than betray family secrets.
Eventually the tunnel came to an end, curving sharply upwards to a simple trapdoor, leading to one of the cellars in House Campbell. The whole system was a relic of the bad old days, the time of Family feuds and vendettas, when one never knew when he might have to leave in a hurry. No one had used the trapdoor in centuries, but it still swung open smoothly at Douglas's touch. He pulled himself up and into the cellar, and looked quickly around. He was alone, at the back of the old wine cellar, surrounded by stacks of ancient vintages lying at their rest in dusty bottles. Again, the lights had come on automatically, reacting to the presence of a Campbell. Douglas padded quietly across the cellar, scowling at the signs of recent damage. There were broken bottles everywhere, and splashes of spilled wine on the stone flaggings; precious vintages wasted and destroyed, just for the sake of it.
Douglas came to the cellar door, listened for a moment, and then eased it open. He peered around the door, but no one was about. Presumably Finn's people were busy guarding the more obvious ways into House Campbell. Douglas shut the door quietly behind him, and then set off through the familiar halls and corridors. Everywhere was a mess. Broken furniture, slashed portraits on the walls, al
ong with crude graffiti. Food and drink had been ground into the carpets, along with urine, and everywhere there were scattered pieces of treasured heirlooms—broken just because they could be. The guards, marking their territory. Douglas seethed with silent anger. Another score to settle with Finn and his people.
He drifted through the old House like a silent ghost, easily avoiding the few guards that showed themselves. They didn't look like they were expecting trouble. Douglas finally found his father in what had been an abandoned storeroom. He almost missed him, but was alerted by a door that was locked when there was no obvious reason why it should be. Douglas used his old Paragons skeleton key to open the door, and found his father William lying on a bare mattress on the floor. His clothes were a mess, his face was emaciated and unnaturally pale, and he wasn't moving. He wasn't manacled or chained, and Douglas's heart thudded painfully fast as he thought for a moment his father was dead. But then he saw William's chest move ever so slightly, and he hurried forwards to kneel at his father's side. Up close, he could see bruises and dried blood on the old man's face. Douglas swore under his breath as he checked for a pulse in his father's neck. It was there, but only just. A small bottle of pills on a tray next to the mattress provided the answer to William's condition. The old King had been drugged to the gills, to keep him from making any trouble.
Douglas shook William's shoulder hard, and called his name as loudly as he dared. There was no response, and Douglas tried again.
He should have anticipated this. He should have brought… something, to help. William's eyes flickered slowly open, and focused on Douglas. He smiled slowly, tried to lift his hand, and couldn't. Douglas took the withered hand in both of his and clasped it firmly.
"Hold on, Dad. I'll get you out of here."
"Took you long enough, son." William's voice was little more than a whisper. "The food's terrible here. And the service is appalling."
"Yeah, well, I've been busy. Come on, time to go. Let's try not to attract anyone's attention; I didn't bring any money for a tip."
He hauled William to his feet by main strength. The old man hardly weighed anything. Douglas half led and half carried his father out the door, looked out, and then set off back through the House to the trapdoor in the cellar. His father was so weak he could hardly help at all, but right then Douglas was so angry he felt he could have carried his father forever. He was only halfway there when a guard stepped unexpectedly out of a doorway. He opened his mouth to yell, and Douglas shot him. The guard fell dead to the floor, but the sound of a disrupter firing brought more guards running. Douglas cursed briefly. He'd had to put his sword away to carry his father. He set off for the wine cellar again, but he could hear running footsteps behind him. Douglas set his father down with his back against a wall, drew his sword, and turned to face his enemies.
A whole crowd of guards came charging round the corner, only to slow and stumble to a halt as they saw Douglas waiting for them. Something in his face and in his eyes gave them pause, for all their superior numbers. This was King Douglas, once Paragon of Logres, one of the most famous fighting men of his time. Douglas laughed harshly—a brief, dangerous sound—and then he threw himself at the guards. Up close energy guns were useless, so it all came down to steel. The rage that burned in Douglas drove him like a whip, his sword flashing in short, bloody arcs. He cut his way through the guards as though they were unarmed, and the few cuts he took he didn't feel at all. A dozen men fell screaming before him, before the remainder just turned and fled. They weren't being paid enough to take on Douglas Campbell.
He stood for a moment, savoring the sight of dead enemies as he got his breathing back under control. It was always possible that the guards had been good men, just doing their job, but Douglas didn't care. Just being here made them guilty. He could have killed a hundred of them, for what had been done to his father and his home, and never felt a twinge of mercy. He hauled William to his feet, and set off again for the wine cellar.
More guards appeared to block Douglas's way, and he killed them all. And every time he killed a man he saw Finn's face, and smiled.
Along the way, he came across a gravity sled, and laid his father out on it to act as a stretcher. They made quicker time after that. William lay unnervingly still and silent on the sled as Douglas pulled it along, running full-tilt now for the cellar. He could hear a growing clamor behind him. He came at last to the cellar, pulled the sled inside, and then locked and wedged the door shut, before guiding the sled and his father down through the trapdoor and into the tunnel. And so father and son left what had once been their home, heading for freedom and an uncertain future.
Douglas headed his craft back towards the Parade of the Endless. Not because he thought it would be safe there, but because his father clearly needed medical treatment fast. And once it was clear what Finn had done to the old King, Douglas was pretty sure he could get his side of the story heard. Even Finn couldn't control all the news feeds; there were just too many of them. And if it all did go wrong… there was always the Rookery. They didn't care who you were, and all kinds of care and protection were available, for the right price. There were people in the Rookery who owed Douglas, from his Paragon days, and he was of a mind to call all his old markers in. He heard William stir beside him, and looked across at the copilot's chair. William sat there limply, held upright only by the crash webbing.
"Where are we going, Son?"
"To get you medical treatment. And then to drag Finn down and stamp on him."
"Sounds like a plan. James isn't your brother. Not this James. He's a clone."
"Ah, right. That would have been my second guess."
"What? Don't mumble, boy, it's a bad habit. They desecrated his grave, Douglas. Took cell tissues from James's body. And laughed at me when I tried to stop them. They killed all my people, all my old retainers. Just because they could. And it was Finn behind it all, Douglas! Finn! Your old friend… I couldn't believe it. You and Finn and Lewis were always so close… honored guests at House Campbell, many times. You were all so happy, then… You were all Paragons, and heroes. What happened?"
"I don't know," said Douglas. "But I don't think Finn was ever anyone's friend. Not really. Now you get some rest. We'll be back in the city before you know it."
"Won't do any good. I'm dying, son." William's quiet voice held some of his old authority. "All that dope they put in me, it's a wonder I lasted this long. I think I was just… waiting for you. I knew you'd come. Never doubted you for a moment. Get the truth out, boy, that's what matters. Tell it to Parliament, and the media, and anyone who'll listen. Finn has to be stopped."
"You're going to be all right, dad," said Douglas, staring straight ahead and fighting to keep his voice steady. "I'll get you to a hospital, and everything's going to be all right."
They flew on, Douglas pushing the craft's speed till the engine complained, and then pushing it even harder. He didn't like the sound of his father's breathing. They'd barely crossed the boundary of the city before Church Militant gunships came screaming in to surround him. Douglas looked immediately for a weapons console, but of course there wasn't one. This was a pleasure craft, after all. But the other ships didn't open fire either. Finn must have given orders for them to be taken alive—for a show trial, knowing Finn. The gunships closed in around Douglas, dangerously close, trying to force him down, but Douglas had been a Paragon and knew more about close flying maneuvers than they ever would. He gunned his engines for all they were worth, sweeping in and out of traffic. The other ships stuck with him. His comm unit spoke briefly, ordering him to land. Douglas told it to go to hell, sweeping in so close to the side of an office building that he could see horrified faces looking back.
"Land now, or we'll blow you out of the sky," said the comm unit in a cold, impartial voice.
Douglas laughed at it. "You wouldn't dare. I'm still your King, and Finn would have your balls."
"I have new orders, Your Majesty. You are a murder suspect, and a
fugitive from justice. Land now, or we open fire."
Douglas considered the matter. They might just mean it. "I have my father with me. King William. He is guilty of no crime, and is in urgent need of medical help…"
Three ships opened fire on him. Energy beams targeted his engine, punching easily through the pleasure craft's very basic force screens. Alarms blazed and warning lights flashed all over the cockpit, and then the craft fell out of the sky like a stone. Douglas kicked in the reserve power, and fought the descent all the way down with every trick he knew, but in the end all he could do was turn the crash into one he could walk away from.
The craft hit hard, slamming Douglas back and forth in his seat. The crash webbing cut into him cruelly, and he hated to think of what it was doing to his father. Smoke filled the cockpit, and he could hear flames crackling. Douglas hit the emergency release on the crash webbing, and somehow got himself and his father out of the cockpit, and then out of the crippled ship. He lowered his father to the ground, and looked around him. He didn't recognize the area, but it looked to be mostly warehouses. A good area to do something you wouldn't want seen or talked about. Douglas put a hand to his head. He ached all over, and he could feel blood on his face. He tried to call for assistance through his comm implant, but all the channels were being jammed. He checked his father. William was unconscious again, breathing harshly and unevenly. He looked back. Gunships were descending all around the crash site, systematically blocking off any escape attempts. Armed guards spilled out onto the streets as soon as the ships touched down, and approached the crash site cautiously, guns at the ready. Douglas put up his hands and tried to sound reasonable.
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