The Scoundrel Worlds: Book Two of the Star Risk Series

by Chris Bunch

  “And of course, you think he would cheerfully authorize the bonus check from the escrow account,” von Baldur said.

  “Um,” Goodnight said. “Probably not.”

  “Certainly not,” Grok corrected. “We might as well resign ourselves to proving Maen innocent before we see all those credits. Besides, we still haven’t found the real Torguth agent, and that is still piquing my curiosity.”

  “Speaking of morality,” Riss said, “which I wasn’t, how much would you like to bet that young Sufyerd here, as soon as he comes too, starts bitching at me for not letting justice take its course, and that now his reputation is forever clouded. Even odds? Six to five? Two to one? Ten to one,” Riss tried in desperation.

  Even at that, nobody was willing to bet against her.

  Two hours later, Sufyerd, fully recovered, indignantly confronted von Baldur about now being a fugitive, and that he would never be able to hold his head up in front of his fellow officers.

  “Aw, shaddup,” Goodnight said rudely. “At least you’re going to have a frigging head.”

  That quieted Sufyerd. But only for an hour or two. He didn’t stop sulking until the patrol ship had landed at one of Montrois’s more secluded airfields, one of Fra Diavolo’s pilots had picked him up and taken him to a certain location even Star Risk didn’t know about, and reunited him with Cahamla and his children.

  FORTY-SIX

  Riss idly stirred the bowl of unset precious stones called theones that Goodnight had, somewhat grumpily, given to “the cause.” He didn’t bother to explain that the “King of Thieves” had given him a bum steer when it came to recommending a fence. The address turned out to be a vacant lot, and Guayacurus had disappeared from his usual haunts.

  Goodnight, knowing how closely they were watched, couldn’t figure out another, absolutely safe way to get rid of the gems, and so decided to go for the good will.

  As she stirred, Riss considered the screamer headlines floating in front of her.

  The headline read: TRAITOR ESCAPES. The deck continued: TORGUTH FREES DEATH ROW AGENT.

  The com buzzed, and since Riss was watch officer, she fielded it. “Star Risk,” she said cheerily.

  L’Pellerin of the DIB filled the screen. His face was cold, hard. “I wish to speak to von Baldur,” he said.

  “A moment, sir,” Riss said, muted the call, and buzzed von Baldur, who was investigating the kitchen for the possibilities of a feast.

  “Freddie, it’s the secret cop.”

  Von Baldur took the call.

  “I assume,” L’Pellerin said without preamble, “that you have an alibi for yesterday.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You were nowhere near the orbital fortress Maen Sufyerd was confined in, correct?”

  “Good god, man,” von Baldur said in utter astonishment, “of course I was not. Nor were any of my people, after Miss King’s visit earlier in the day.”

  “Of course you weren’t,” L’Pellerin said. “You, and the rest of your hierarchy, are directed to turn yourselves in to my Dampier Information Bureau’s Central Headquarters, for questioning. Bring your passports, for if no charges are pressed — which I doubt — you and your entire crew will be subject to immediate deportation.”

  • • •

  The five Star Risk heads were met at DIB headquarters by armed guards and ushered through a side entrance into a medium-sized chamber, bare, with stained walls, a single bench along one wall.

  There was a high desk, and behind it were two DIB plainclothesmen. Two others, equally goonish, stood on either side of the desk.

  “You will surrender your papers,” one said. The five obeyed.

  “You are being held for questioning in the disappearance of Legate Maen Sufyerd, a condemned prisoner of this system. Due to you all being offworlders, bail will be denied to you, even after appropriate charges have been filed. I advise all of you to offer full cooperation, to avoid possibly uncomfortable circumstances.”

  “What rights do we have?” Goodnight asked.

  “Those,” one of the plainclothesmen on the floor said, “we choose to give you.” He looked at both King and Riss, and smiled a very unpleasant smile.

  “Frigging goons are the same all over,” Goodnight said, and his grin was no less dangerous.

  “Chas,” von Baldur said mildly, “there is no need to be hostile. I am sure there is a simple explanation to our problem.”

  “There is,” one of the goons agreed. “Full cooperation.”

  “Even when we know nothing?”

  “I was told you were unlikely to be cooperative.”

  Goodnight looked at Grok, nodded slightly. Both imperceptibly braced for a response. One of the plainclothesmen looked nervously at the towering Grok, reached inside his jacket.

  Goodnight was about to put pressure on his right jaw and go bester, when the door they’d just entered came open, and a tall, balding, red-faced man entered. Behind him were ten uniformed policemen, all in riot gear, all with heavy blasters at port arms.

  “Good afternoon,” the man said. “I am Deputy Guy Glenn, of Parliament’s Upper Chamber. I am also a lawyer, licensed to practice in front of all Montrois courts, from military to Supreme.”

  “I know who you are,” one of the men behind the desk grudged. “A damned Independent and one of Reynard’s toadies.”

  “Excellent,” Glenn said, unbothered by the insult. “Then there shall be no problem in your accepting this document, which frees these five beings, nor this one, which, filed in the Tuletian Supreme Court, also restrains you, or any other member of DIB, or any other justice official, from putting these beings into custody again, or in any way restraining their right to practice their chosen profession.”

  There was utter silence in the room.

  “You can’t do this!” one plainclothesmen said, his hand continuing toward his gun.

  “Ah, but I just did,” Glenn said. “Further …” and he snapped his fingers. The blast rifles came down from port arms, were aimed at the DIB officers. The sound of their blaster safeties clicking off was very loud.

  The Star Risk operatives sidled left, out of the line of fire.

  “I … I must summon L’Pellerin,” one DIB managed.

  “Please do,” Glenn said, in a voice as smooth as his smile. “That will ensure proper understanding of the situation at the highest level, to prevent a repetition of this parody of justice.”

  • • •

  L’Pellerin read the two documents Glenn had brought, twice. He looked up.

  Von Baldur slightly admired him, for the only sign of his rage was a slight twitch to the right side of his mouth.

  “This is totally illegal.”

  “But it is not,” Glenn said. “Or are you accusing our Supreme Court of criminal practices?”

  “In front of witnesses?” L’Pellerin said. “I’m not a fool.”

  “Then we shall be on our way,” Glenn said, turning to the Star Risk operatives. “If you would accompany me?” The five obeyed.

  L’Pellerin waited until they were at the door. “Tell Reynard he will bitterly regret what he did this day.”

  Glenn smiled, nodded his head, and the sixteen left. Outside, Riss nodded to Glenn. “Thanks. I really wasn’t looking forward to a good rubber-hosing.”

  “Or worse,” King said grimly.

  “Or worse,” M’chel agreed. “Freddie, I was wondering who you called before we left the mansion.

  “Mr. Glenn, I owe you.”

  “No,” Glenn said. “My brother happened to be a bit of an anarchist, and the DIB picked him up and worked him over very thoroughly. He still walks with a limp, and his mind wanders.

  “No,” he said again. “All this was my pleasure. Now, if I could only live to see L’Pellerin rotting in chains; and this building, and the goons it houses, destroyed; and the land, perhaps, sown with salt.” He caught himself, and became the smooth politician once more.

  • • •

&nbs
p; “If you would hold on for a moment, Chas,” von Baldur said, making sure the operations room door was secure, “I think it is time for a caucus of our own.”

  “I always like to get a little drunk every time somebody springs me from jail,” Goodnight said. “Especially when it’s a secret policeman’s jail.” But, obediently, he replaced the decanter on the sideboard.

  “I would like everyone’s tentative opinions as to who you think the real traitor might be,” von Baldur said. “Chas?”

  “I still don’t know where that damned Caranis gets his money from,” Goodnight said. “Otherwise, just out of general pissoff, I’d vote for that goddamned L’Pellerin, not being a fan of dungeons and such.

  “It would’ve been easy for Ceranis to know about the Belfort defense plans, and to pay that idiot mailboy to swipe them for him. I go for Caranis.”

  “But what about Kismayu’s murder?” King asked. “We’ve agreed he probably isn’t the sort to play assassin.”

  Goodnight made a face.

  “Jasmine’s right,” Riss said. “We know there’s at least some DIB men in the Masked Ones … or maybe the other way around. And those idiots wouldn’t mind a little wet work, even if poison’s a little neater than their crowd-control methods.

  “I see a hole in our work,” Riss said. “We don’t really know squat about the Masked Ones. Maybe I should do a little investigating on those idiots.”

  “Let me remind all of you,” von Baldur went on, “that starship that tried to hijack Sufyerd obviously knew of his sickness and that he was to be taken groundside, which means someone else who was privy to the basic military code at the very least. This person … or group … also knew enough about the medical ship to use its call letters.”

  “Caranis, maybe,” King said. “L’Pellerin could also be the one. Or some other high-ranker that we haven’t uncovered yet.”

  “Good,” von Baldur approved. “Thank you for keeping the options open. Let me add another spice to our stew that you might have forgotten. L’Pellerin told me at that dinner we had that, once Sufyerd was convicted, all his operatives were removed from the operation.

  “Yet there were operators, many of them, dogging both the late Elder Bracken’s Jilanis church and the Sufyerd family. When M’chel attempted to extract them, the military was instantly involved in an attempt to stop her, and either recover or kill Sufyerd’s family.

  “Possibly Caranis could still be our villain, although I question whether he has the necessary clout to keep that many soldiers on standby.

  “Even more to the point, could Caranis, after the operation’s failure, be able to completely suppress any reports of what happened, including the names of the casualties, of which there were more than a few?”

  “L’Pellerin definitely could do that,” Grok said. “Or someone very, very high-ranking. I don’t think ex-Premier Ladier is our traitor, even though he is proven to be close to the Torguth. Very seldom does a successful politician get that close to the action.”

  “Yet another interesting piece of information,” von Baldur said. “This from Ladier’s letters. When he wondered about Sufyerd’s guilt, who reassured him but Mr. L’Pellerin. That I find quite interesting by itself. Either the head of DIB is a cocky fool or … or something else.”

  “I’ll vote for L’Pellerin,” Riss said. “It’s real easy for me to get pissed at some asshole who wants to pull my fingernails out.”

  “I have a question,” King said. “Assuming, for the sake of argument, that L’Pellerin is the traitor, why? He’s got as much, probably more power, than anybody else in the Dampier Systems, scandals in his files that are enough to keep from getting thrown out, and is behind the scenes enough to be almost assassination-free. Why is he risking everything?”

  “There’s a story I read once, about a guy who was the head secret cop for some dictator,” Riss said. “All he wanted was to be made … I don’t remember what … a star marshal or a nobleman or something that would give him a public triumph. The dictator turned him down, shocked as all hell, saying that secret policemen never get made noblemen or have parades in their honor.

  “According to the story, that crushed this guy, so much so that he tried to betray his boss the first chance he got. Maybe something like that happened to L’Pellerin.”

  King considered. ‘Or maybe,” she said finally, “it’s something as simple as people who want power never, ever can get enough. But what could Torguth be offering him?”

  Riss shook her head. “I dunno.”

  “Let’s continue with our straw vote. I, too, pick L’Pellerin,” von Baldur said. “Although we should not forget Caranis. Chas, would you devote considerable energies to investigating him?”

  “Cheerfully,” Goodnight said. “Now, can I have a drink?”

  “You may,” von Baldur said.

  “The problem,” King said, “assuming our theorizing is correct, and L’Pellerin is the traitor, is that we will now be proving that the head of the secret police is a double agent. And, by the way, I’m going to reserve my vote for the moment.”

  “It shall be a task,” von Baldur admitted. “Mr. Goodnight, would you pour me a dram? Perhaps alcohol will lubricate my few remaining brain cells.”

  FORTY-SEVEN

  “Things are going quite well indeed,” Fra Diavolo said. “First — and I’m sorry, M’chel, to sound unsentimental about poor Sufyerd’s continuing problem — is that we have toppled Ladier and the Universalists. Or, more correctly, Ladier committed political suicide. The only people who should save their letters are the innocent. If there is any such animal.

  “Then we have a Torguth traitor within Ha exposed and murdered by his own people.

  “And, in your eyes most importantly, Maen Sufyerd is freed and with his family. When circumstances are right, we shall arrange for another trial, an honest one this time.

  “The only thing I find displeasing are the Torguth mobs on the Belfort Worlds, obviously trying to stir things up, and Torguth itself, which also seems to be flexing its muscles toward a fourth confrontation with Dampier. But there appears little I can do about that at the moment.

  “I am having a perfectly lovely time with my pamphleteering, hoping to guarantee that the Universalists don’t stand a chance of being returned to office, although, to be honest, I’m not that convinced that Reynard and his Independents are much better — although, at least, they don’t appear to be in bed with Torguth.

  “Star Risk may not have been directly responsible for all this, but you surely have acted as a catalyst.”

  “I thank you, sir,” Riss said, lifting her wineglass. She still didn’t entirely trust Diavolo, but had at least downgraded him from roué to old, gentlemanly roué. “You … and your people … have been of great help.”

  “And I would suspect,” Diavolo said, smiling slightly, “that you’ve come out to my estate for more than a dinner.”

  “Correct.”

  “Let me ask what you need, before we start contemplating the meal. Tonight we are having a seafood salad, sweetbreads, and a torte, with cheeses and the appropriate wines. I would rather not be worrying about whether I’m going to be able to provide what you need, and think about my digestive system.”

  “I need a former Masked One,” Riss said. “One who’ll talk … or one I can make talk. By preference, someone who’s blown out of the organization in a decent state of pissoff.”

  “Oh my,” Diavolo said mournfully. “You don’t ask for the easy things, do you?”

  “If I wanted something easy,” Riss said, “I wouldn’t need to come to you.”

  “Flatterer.”

  • • •

  Chas Goodnight eased into the mansion, looking most pleased with himself.

  “Did you finally find someone who’ll listen to your wily ways?” Jasmine King asked.

  “Nope,” Goodnight said. “I’ve been doing good deeds.”

  “Such as?”

  “Visiting our next-door neighb
or, who’s a wonderful little old lady. I spent the afternoon listening to her talk about the old days, when there weren’t all these horrid politicians and good homemade bread was a tenth of a credit a loaf.

  “Naturally, I didn’t believe her for a minute. She never bought a loaf of bread in her life, but sent the servants round.”

  “But you stayed with her,” Grok said, peering around a corner. “Because you found out she doesn’t have a will.”

  “You’ve been around too many cynics too long,” Goodnight said. “Actually, I was apologizing to her for the loud bangs we’ve had go off around here, even though they’re hardly our fault.

  “She didn’t mind them at all. Said it made life a little more interesting, which is all you can ask for when you’re her age.”

  “That was the only reason you went to talk to her?” King asked suspiciously.

  “Of course,” Goodnight said carelessly. “There might have been two or three other items we touched on, but hardly anything of importance.”

  Grok and King exchanged utterly unbelieving looks.

  • • •

  It took almost two weeks to find an appropriate Masked One, which didn’t surprise Riss. Someone who’d left or been thrown out of the Masked Ones would most likely be lying very low, afraid of retribution not only from the citizenry, but from his former fellows.

  The one Diavolo’s scurrying minions located ran a small store on one of Montrois’s islands, and reluctantly agreed to talk to the person Diavolo sent. Riss took Grok along for backup.

  The weather was cold, misty, and the buildings on the island were gray, forbidding, and wet.

  The storekeeper was small, but wiry-muscled. He said his name was Givoi, and turned a CLOSED sign on the deserted store’s entrance. Then he ushered them into a back room, frequently giving Grok’s immensity a frightened look.

  M’chel didn’t know what had convinced the man to talk to her, but from his behavior, suspected it was blackmail rather than a bribe or a desire to unburden his conscience. Riss hadn’t seen many people in the Dampier System who seemed overly troubled by conscience.