“Something profitable, I assume? Another list?”
“Another list, but not like the others.” Her eyes twinkled. He found her behavior very strange.
In the past, the two had compiled confidential files on numerous nobles and wealthy merchants. Laderna’s research efforts, as well as his own careful surveillance, had resulted in tangible proof of highly embarrassing activities. Rather than allowing such information to be revealed, nobles and merchants paid Ishop what he called a “record-keeping fee.” It was always good to plan ahead, everything neat and tidy.
“It concerns someone we both know very well,” she said.
“Who?”
“A confidential aide to the Diadem.”
The information alarmed him. Another one? “How many does she have?” And how had Michella kept it a secret from him?
Laderna let out a tinkling laugh. “I mean you, boss.”
Something roiled in his stomach. “You dug up dirt on me? Don’t I pay you enough?” He had plenty of skeletons in his past, and now his thoughts raced as he tried to guess what she had uncovered about him, and what he would have to pay to keep her quiet. He tried to see what was written on the first page of the document, but with a teasing expression she yanked it out of his view.
“Not dirt, boss – I know how much you hate dirt. This is something else, and you would know best how to handle it.” He grabbed for the report, but again she snatched it away with a grin. She was taunting him! “One item at a time, boss.” In a coy voice Laderna said, “You’re the only surviving member of your family, right?”
“My parents are gone, but they never amounted to anything. I’m not aware of anyone else, though I suppose there must be cousins or nephews or something. No one of any importance. What did you find? An inheritance from a wealthy grand-aunt I didn’t know about? Am I rich?”
“Potentially rich and powerful – if you’re willing to do certain things.”
“I’m always willing to do certain things.” He had never seen her like this. It bothered him.
He reached for the report again, and this time she moved closer. “A kiss for the information – otherwise, you’ll have to take me by force.” He couldn’t believe she was being so bold.
Reluctantly, he gave her a peck on the cheek, aware that she must have some truly special information for her to be so daring. “I’m not going to sleep with you Laderna. We’ve already been over that.”
“I asked for a kiss, nothing more.” She stepped back, suddenly businesslike, although her smile seemed a bit more attractive now, and her brown eyes had a seductive glow he’d never noticed before. Finally, she handed him the file. “Item one. This is a set of genealogical reports on various families that I obtained from the oldest sections of the Constellation Archives.”
He glanced down. “This is ancient information. I don’t see what it has to do with me.”
Laderna continued in a rush without giving him time to read the material. “Considering the Diadem’s age, everyone is talking about the succession, so I thought it wise to keep files on all the nobles who qualify for consideration. I built a database of every one, whether or not they have any current standing in the Constellation.”
Ishop made a dismissive noise. “They’ve argued for the past decade, and Michella is no closer to retirement now than she was before. Lord Selik Riomini is the obvious successor. Everything else is just talk.”
“Yes, but an alliance or coalition could change at any time. I’ve tallied one hundred eighty-three families whose members are eligible for the diademacy – nineteen primary Crown Jewel lords plus one hundred sixty-four minor noble families.”
“That many? I’m surprised, but most of them aren’t relevant. They have noble names, but no power or influence.” Still, he paused; a noble name was more than he could ever aspire to, no matter how excellent his service to the Diadem. “I’d like to see that list.”
“I’m talking about the names, Mr Heer. The noble rolls, the upper echelon of society, whether or not they have great political influence – and I know how much it annoys you not to be included, though your service, your intelligence, and your talent warrant it.”
He frowned. He had never said such a thing aloud, but it was frightening how observant this woman could be. “The best butler on Sonjeera cannot sit in the lowliest seat at the master’s table.” He wondered what she was getting at.
Laderna indicated the list again. “Next item. The total includes noble families that fell into the dustbin of history for various reasons. Even without holdings, they still have the bloodline. Technically, they still qualify for consideration, though they will never even be mentioned as a possibility to become the next Diadem. Even so, it’s the principle that matters. You never know what might happen. I dug deep to make sure I had compiled a comprehensive list.”
“But what does this have to do—?”
“Your family is one of those, sir,” she blurted. “It’s right here on the list.”
He stopped, blinked. “You’re saying I have noble blood?” He chuckled because that was impossible. The nobles always treated him with little respect.
Laderna pointed at the printed genealogical reports. “Centuries ago, your family name was Osheer. The remaining members changed it after falling into disgrace, but that doesn’t change your bloodline.”
Ishop’s mind raced. If true, such a discovery would redefine who he was, blast a hole in the ceiling that had trapped him for years. “But how can that be? I’ve never been . . .” He fumbled for words. “My parents had no ambition at all. I ran away and made my own career in the Diadem’s palace. They certainly never acted like nobles.”
“How many nobles do, sir? I seriously doubt your parents had any inkling of their heritage, but the Osheers were once very powerful. Centuries ago, two of them even ruled the Constellation – you can look it up – but they fell into political disfavor, a group of nobles conspired to ruin them, and the remaining Osheers were exiled to Ogg.”
“Ogg . . . I was there once. A very minor, unimpressive planet, not much better than Barassa.” But he did remember hearing a folktale in a beer-hall that Ogg was the home of ancient, vanquished noblemen. Some of the pieces were indeed falling into place.
And he certainly felt like a noble, acted like a noble, had the talent and intelligence of a noble . . . more so than most of the real ones did. Unless I am a real noble.
Like an attorney presenting a compelling case, Laderna handed him another document. “As part of their banishment, the Osheer family was barred from the ranks of the nobility for seven hundred years. Hence, they were eliminated from the list of succession candidates for all those centuries, banned from holding major office. After so much time, the surviving descendants lost track, mixed in with the commoners, and they forgot who they were.” Her eyes sparkled. “But now, those seven centuries have passed! No one in the Council of Lords pays attention to ancient history, and the Osheers – the Heers – have gone entirely unnoticed.”
“Even I didn’t notice.”
She tapped the papers. “This information is only in the original signed agreements from seven hundred years ago, which I dug out of the deepest archives. I made copies for you. According to these official documents, you are entitled to reclaim your noble status whenever you like!” She gave him a quick curtsey. “My Lord.”
He read the clause she had marked in red on the copy. “Interesting.” Then he laughed as the pragmatic aspects became clear. “It’s a nice story, but what am I supposed to do about it? Produce this evidence and demand to be considered for the Star Throne above Lord Selik Riomini, Azio Tazaar, and all the other lords? Whose holding would I take over? A nobleman without an estate or power or wealth is just a man with a fancy name.”
She continued to look at him with those admiring eyes. “But the name, nevertheless, sir. You would have the title and the respect, and would be considered a noble. You said even the lowliest lord looked down on you in the Council chamber.
And I know you very well, boss – given your ambition, you would not remain the lowliest nobleman for long. I’ve already started making plans. Don’t you want this opportunity?”
His answer was automatic. “Of course I want it.”
As he hungrily scanned the names of his ancestors and the enemies who had brought about their downfall, Ishop realized that he did want something more. Because generations ago a group of nobles had banded together and caused the disgrace of the Osheer family, Ishop had been left with nothing. He saw the list of their names right there in front of him. Because of those scheming families, he – and his forefathers – had been dishonored, stripped of their titles and all the advantages that came with them. Only twelve names; that wasn’t so much.
His weak ancestors had accepted their defeat, and Ishop scorned them (as he did his parents) because they had rolled over and let themselves be downtrodden. But he would have scorn enough for them later. If he had started out life at a different level, he could have achieved so much more.
He felt a warmth spreading through his chest. “I am a nobleman! Deep inside, Laderna, I always knew that I was.”
“I always knew, too, boss. Somewhere, instinctively, both of us did. But now that we have this list, what are we going to do about it?”
From this day forth, Ishop decided he would have to live up to certain standards. He had his family honor to uphold, and he had to start somewhere. He looked down at the list of the twelve noble families that had worked in concert to bring about the Osheer downfall. Through treachery they had changed his family history. Even though it was long in the past, they had committed an unforgiveable affront against him.
This was a personal matter, a very personal matter.
Though he hadn’t known anything about the tragedy until moments ago, now it was the most important thing he could imagine. He felt soiled, damaged, wronged. “Whatever we do, Laderna, we have to be careful . . . and organized. Seven centuries ago – I trust you can find me the names of their primary descendants? The twelve nobles that brought down my family? There are certain things I have to do, and I’ll need your help.”
She had anticipated his request, because she handed him another document, this one containing modern names. “Already compiled, boss.”
He ran his gaze down the column. He saw a Yarick there, a Tazaar, a Paternos, even a Duchenet. Fascinating. “We’ve got a new project, Laderna – balancing the books, so to speak. To restore my family honor . . . or maybe to earn it, even if nobody ever knows what we’re doing.”
“It’s still important, boss. Tying up loose ends – I know how you think.”
He paced the room, breathless with the discovery, but also amused by the series of tasks falling into place in his mind like a set of tumblers and bearings. “We can’t let anyone find out what we’re doing, but I’ll know.”
“And I’ll know, sir. I’ll help you. You can count on me.”
“I would never believe otherwise.” Now he matched her smile. “This puts a whole new perspective on things, Laderna. While I lay the groundwork for announcing my heritage, I suggest we work our way through the list, check off one member from each of these offending families, whoever they are.”
“Best to be thorough about it, sir.”
He let out a long, contented sigh. “Then I can reclaim my noble title with a light heart and a clean conscience.”
“Your course of action was obvious, boss. I was already indignant on your behalf, and so I took some preemptive action.” Even though she flushed with embarrassment, her eyes had a predatory gleam. “Sorry, sir, but I just couldn’t wait.” With a smile Laderna crossed off one of the names on the list: Lady Opra Mageros. “I’ve already taken care of that one for you. It was easy, and I wanted to get a head start. That leaves eleven.”
He was stunned, but not displeased.
Using the foldaway bed in the secret office, he and Laderna made love for the first time. What she lacked in glamour, she more than made up for with earnestness. Afterward Laderna drifted off to sleep in his arms, but Ishop found himself unable to doze. While he listened to the low thrum of her breathing, remarkable thoughts filled his mind and he envisioned himself doing things he’d never thought possible.
A real nobleman! He could hardly believe it.
And revenge. He was going to enjoy this.
30
After a week of documenting uncharted grid squares, Vincent and Fernando reached a serene-looking valley surrounded by rough mountains. The east-facing slopes and cliffs were covered with a uniform fur of alien vegetation. On the valley floor, surrounded by dust and sand, three intriguing pools reflected the sky, like circular mirrors. Since the small crater-like lakes did not appear on the satellite images, Vincent wondered if they had only recently bubbled up from the ground.
Despite the devastated landscape, water was not scarce on Hellhole, though it needed to be filtered. These pools, however, did not look like meltwater tarns or drainage ponds. Chunks of black obsidian lay jumbled around them like distorted dark lenses. He guided the Trakmaster closer so they could inspect the area.
When the two men emerged from the vehicle, the air was silent, without a breeze. Vincent drew a cautious breath and went to the edge of the nearest pool, which appeared to be still and deep. Odd smell, but he couldn’t place it. This whole planet was full of odd smells . . .
Fernando looked around. “Help me find a stick.”
“You won’t find a stick – there aren’t any trees.” Despite the moisture of the pools, the furry alien groundcover had encroached no closer than the distant hillside.
The pond appeared utterly placid, but viscous, like a pearlescent tar pit; an oily sheen swirled and reflected indistinct shapes like clouds, but when Vincent looked up, the greenish-yellow sky was clear except for a distant smoke plume from a volcanic eruption.
A loud plop startled him, and he jerked backward from the pool’s crumbling dirt edge to see Fernando throw a second stone, which left barely a ripple. The liquid folded over the sinking rock and returned to its eerie quiescence. Grinning, the other man gave his assessment. “I’d say that’s no ordinary water.”
“Maybe we discovered some kind of oil,” Vincent suggested. “A clear petroleum seep.” He would have to take samples for the prospector office.
“You think the General would pay us a reward for this?” Fernando leaned over and squinted at his blurry reflection. “It’s quite a discovery.”
“It’s our job. We’re supposed to find things.”
Fernando made a raspberry sound. “There should be a difference between finding interesting things and just more of the same old boring landscape.”
Vincent sighed. “Take it up with General Adolphus when we get back to Michella Town. I’m going to check out the other pools.”
Leaving his friend, he circled the first of the strange ponds and moved to the second, which was slightly larger. Seeing no runoff channel that would have filled it, he concluded that the liquid must bubble up from some underground source. Unlike other streams and lakes they’d encountered, this liquid was devoid of algae, lichens, or indigenous weeds. At the third pool, the crater lip eased down to a shore of gravel and sand. Vincent squatted on his heels. The water looked somehow slick.
At the far end of the first pond, Fernando picked up a large chunk of obsidian and hefted it over his head. Grinning, he walked to the edge and called out, “Hey Vincent, watch this!”
Vincent was not as interested in his friend’s antics as he was in the liquid. It swirled gently with unseen currents, despite the calm air. No seismic rumbles shook the ground. Yet the water moved . . .
He heard a loud yelp, followed by a much bigger splash than he’d expected. Lurching to his feet, he saw that the edge of the pool had crumbled beneath Fernando’s feet, causing him to fall into the pool. With a groan, Vincent ran around the edge of the pond towards Fernando.
Though the pool wasn’t large, the other man thrashed and cried out with
very real panic, choking. He clawed at the crumbly shore, finally got his elbows onto solid ground, and tried to haul himself out of the slick water.
To Vincent’s shock, the gelatinous liquid crawled over Fernando, clinging, trying to pull him back into the pool. Fernando screamed again.
Before Vincent could reach him, his friend managed to scramble onto the dry ground and collapse in the dirt. The thick water oozed off him and trickled down his body, off his feet, and back into the pool, leaving him completely dry.
Vincent arrived, panting, dropped to his knees, shook the other man’s shoulders. “Fernando!”
The man coughed, squeezing his eyelids shut, then with a sharp gasp he flung his eyes open and sat up on the ground. Vincent was amazed to see Fernando’s eyes were covered with a turbulent opalescence; apparently he was blind.
Fernando reached out, waving one hand in the air. “Vincent! Vincent, are you there?”
“I’m here – what can I do? How can I help you?”
Fernando’s voice had a breathy sense of wonder, tinged with madness. “The things I’m seeing! This planet, the natives . . . all the history and memories! So amazing . . .”
He collapsed onto the dirt and began convulsing.
31
In the impact basin where the Children of Amadin had gone, the hilly landscape was studded with rough, pitted boulders from a hardened lava floe. Devon and Antonia’s Trakmaster descended the steep walls of the outer-crater boundary, toiling down loose slopes toward the wide basin of the central-impact scar. Simmering lava continued to blister the landscape, hefting smoke into the sky.
The locater ping from the three overland vehicles grew stronger. “That’s an odd spot to establish a settlement,” Devon said. “I don’t see any ready water supply, native vegetation, or natural shelter.”
“Not much of a promised land,” Antonia agreed.
Hellhole Page 20