And then a tall blond woman emerged silently from out of the mists. She wore the long, gaudy robes of Tannim’s patrician class, now torn and grimy and spotted with dried blood. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but pain and sorrow had etched deep lines in her face. She was still good-looking, but she’d never be pretty again. She walked slowly and gracefully through the mists, staring straight ahead with a fixed, disquieting smile. Jamie reached out to her with his mind, and a single word answered him. Mary. Jamie smiled almost regretfully, and darted out of the shadows to intercept her.
“Hello, Mary. I’m Shadow, your contact.”
She smiled at him, and Jamie shivered. Her eyes were cold and dark and very empty.
“Hello, Shadow. Mary has been programmed.”
Jamie glanced quickly around to make sure no one had noticed them. Then, taking Mary’s arm, he led her off into the swirling mists. He shot quick glances at her as he carefully retraced his path to the perimeter wall. She came with him unresistingly, not saying a word. Jamie was just as happy for her to stay that way. Her voice had been cold and unfeeling and somehow inhuman. What the hell had those Empire bastards done to her? And what did she mean, she’d been programmed? Jamie tried another mindprobe, but she had excellent shields, either her own or implanted by Empire mindtechs. Jamie shrugged, and hurried her on through the thickening fog. Vertue’s contacts were supposed to have fixed it so that the control tower’s sensors wouldn’t pick them up, but Jamie didn’t feel inclined to risk it any longer than he had to. He was beginning to get a very bad feeling about this whole operation. He glanced quickly at Mary. She was still smiling.
They reached the perimeter wall without being challenged, and Mary allowed Jamie to help her over the low stone wall. He quickly joined her in the narrow street, and then glared hurriedly about him. The mists were growing steadily thicker, and a light snow had begun to fall. Jamie shivered inside his thin cloak, and looked dubiously at Mary’s flimsy robes. The night was cold, and getting colder. He was supposed to take her straight to Vertue’s place, but the odds were she’d freeze to death on the way. Particularly if he had to waste time dodging the city Watch. Dressed as she was, Mary stuck out like a nun in a brothel. He had to get her some warm clothes, someplace where they wouldn’t ask awkward questions…Jamie smiled suddenly. The Blackthorn. Cyder was already connected with Vertue in some way via the energy crystal, so she wouldn’t talk out of turn. And the tavern wasn’t far off. Jamie took Mary’s arm and hurried her along the dimly lit street. Cyder would be bound to have some clothes Mary could borrow. She might also have a few ideas as to what the hell was going on.
• • •
The Blackthorn was moderately busy when Jamie peered cautiously in through the open door. Most of the tables were full, and the bar was lined from one end to the other. The air was thick with smoke and the unrelenting chatter of people determined to have a good time while their money lasted. Jamie took a firm hold on Mary’s arm and led her into the tavern. He wasn’t sure how the crowd would affect her in her present state. For the moment she was looking straight ahead, ignoring everything and everybody, and Jamie tried to relax a little. He made his way to the bar, looking around for Cyder, but she was nowhere to be seen. A bravo in greasy furs reached out a hand to grab at Mary. She didn’t react, but the bravo froze in place as he found Jamie’s knife hovering before his left eyeball. The bravo swallowed dryly.
“Uh… no offence meant.”
“None taken,” said Jamie courteously, and pulled Mary on towards the bar. The bravo turned back to his jeering companions and did his best to pretend nothing had happened.
Jamie found an open place at the long wooden bar, and quickly filled it with Mary and himself. He waited impatiently for the tall, cadaverous barman to get to them, and glanced warily round the packed tables. He hadn’t thought the tavern would be so full at this hour of the night. Mary’s arrival in Mistport was supposed to be a secret, and here he was bringing her into a crowd of people who’d sell her out in a minute if they thought they could make half a credit on the deal. Jamie scowled. He couldn’t take her to Vertue dressed as she was. She’d never make it. And anyway, Jamie felt badly in need of some advice. Things were getting out of hand. He looked round as the bartender finally approached, and tried for a relaxed and confident smile. It didn’t feel at all convincing.
“I’m looking for Cyder.”
“She’s out on business, Mr. Royal.”
“I’ve got to see her; it’s urgent.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Royal, but she’s not here. If you’d like to wait, she should be back any time now.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Jamie took Mary’s arm again and led her over to one of the private booths at the rear of the tavern. He sat down on one of the chairs, and then had to get up again and make Mary sit down. She stayed where he put her, still smiling gently to herself. Jamie collapsed onto his chair, and stretched out his legs. It felt good to be back in the warm again. He flexed his numb fingers, trying to work some feeling back into them, and wondered what the hell he was going to do. He couldn’t afford to wait long, but on the other hand, he couldn’t leave with Mary dressed as she was. He growled disgustedly, and silently damned Vertue to hell and back. It was all his fault, whichever way you looked at it. Jamie studied Mary thoughtfully. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t moved an inch since he’d sat her in her chair. Her face was still calm and cold, and her eyes were far away. It was as though she was… waiting for something. Jamie scowled at her. She was still smiling. He looked away. The smile was starting to get on his nerves.
“Well, Jamie Royal, I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Jamie looked up sharply, his hand dropping to the knife in his boot, and then he relaxed slightly. “I might say the same about you, Suzanne. What is one of Mistport’s leading Councillors doing in a dive like this?”
Suzanne du Wolfe shrugged, and pulled up a chair next to Jamie. “Passing through. Who’s your friend?”
“Just someone I’m minding; a business deal. Look, Suzanne, I need a favour. I’ve got to take her somewhere in a hurry, and she can’t go out in the night dressed like this. Have you got a spare cloak or something you could lend her? I was going to ask Cyder, but she isn’t here.”
Suzanne frowned. “Are you in trouble again, Jamie?”
“Aren’t I always? These days, everything I touch turns to dross.”
“Jamie… I heard about you splitting up with Madelaine. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Jamie hesitated, and then looked steadily at Suzanne. “Suze, I’m in trouble. Real trouble. I need your help.”
She smiled cynically, and leaned back in her chair. “All right. How much do you want to borrow this time?”
“No, Suze, it’s not money I need. Or at least, not just money. It’s your influence I need, your protection.”
“Jamie, there’s not a lot I can do for you. As a Councillor, I might be able to turn a blind eye to a few things, but…”
“You’re not just a Councillor,” said Jamie slowly. “You’re also a Wolfe.”
Suzanne’s face hardened suddenly. “Du Wolfe, Jamie. I’m only a Wolfe by marriage, and Jonathan’s been dead almost three years now.”
“I know,” said Jamie. “I helped hunt down the man who killed him, remember?”
“Yes. I remember.”
“I’m asking you as a friend, Suze. Once you’re made part of a Clan, you’re always a part of it. They’ll help, if you ask them. And they’re the only ones who can give me the kind of protection I need.”
“Come on, Jamie. Who could you possibly have upset that you’d need that much protection?”
“Leon Vertue,” said Jamie quietly. “He’s an Empire agent. He owns all my debts, and he had Madelaine killed.”
“Oh, Jamie, no… “
“I’ve been working for Vertue these past few days; a mercenary called Blackjack made it clear that I didn’t have any choice in the matter.
Vertue’s planning something, Suze, something big. I want out, but if I try to run he’ll send that damned mercenary after me. I’ve got to have protection, or I’m a dead man.”
“Jamie…”
“Please, Suze. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s got a real nasty feel to it.”
“All right,” said Suzanne du Wolfe. “I’ll talk to the Clan, and see what they say. In the meantime, you’d better stick close to me. They won’t dare attack you while I’m around. Now, what are we going to do about your lady friend here?”
Jamie Royal and Suzanne du Wolfe both looked at Mary, and then froze in their seats. Mary was smiling at them, and her eyes were darker than the night. Her time of waiting was over.
Cat hung by his heels from the roof’s gutter and pounded angrily on the closed shutters with his fist, but they remained firmly shut. Cat scowled, and pulled himself back up onto the roof. Cyder should have been back by now. He crouched motionless on the snow-covered slates, lost in thought. The wind whirled the falling snow around him, and he shivered even inside his thermal suit. Finally he shrugged, and padded along the edge of the roof to the drainpipe. He swung easily over the edge and slid down the drainpipe to his emergency entrance: a narrow window that opened onto the hallway of the Blackthorn’s upper floor. The shutter was always left unbolted and slightly ajar, as nobody but Cat was wiry and limber enough to clamber through it. Even so, he had a hard time of it when he tried, and Cat wondered if he was putting on weight. That was what eating regular meals did for you.
He wriggled free of the window frame, and dropped silently to the floor. He looked quickly about him, but there was no one there. The lamps burned brightly in their holders, but still there was a strange coldness to the air. He started down the hall, and then paused as a door swung open to his right. All of Cat’s warning instincts suddenly kicked in, and he faded quickly back into the shadows of an alcove. The moment he’d done it he felt ridiculous. There was nothing threatening about a door swinging open. It probably hadn’t been shut properly. But still he didn’t move from the shadows of the alcove. Cat trusted his instincts. He studied the open door carefully. No light spilled out into the landing, and Cat realised that the room beyond the door was completely dark.
Nobody came out, and after a moment the door slammed shut. Cat waited, watching curiously, and then the door opened and slammed shut again. Cat felt his hackles rise as he watched the door open and shut time and again. There was a controlled, deliberate violence to the slamming door that disturbed him deeply. He chose his moment carefully, and then darted out of his alcove and on down the hallway while the door remained shut. The door flew open as he passed, and Cat flattened himself against the wall on the far side of the door. There was a pause before the door slammed shut again, but he didn’t try to see what was waiting in the darkness beyond the door. He didn’t want to know.
He padded softly down the corridor, scowling as he began to be seriously worried. The slamming door had to be making a hell of a noise, but nobody had come to investigate it. He headed for the stairs at the end of the hall, and then hesitated as he realised there was another door between him and the stairs. It was shut, and it seemed just an ordinary door. Cat approached it warily, but it remained closed. He studied the door thoughtfully, and then glanced at the stairs. More and more he was getting the feeling that something bad had happened in the Blackthorn. His instincts were telling him to get the hell out of the hallway, but the closed door intrigued him. He glanced back, and saw that the other door was still opening and shutting, opening and shutting. He looked back at the closed door by the stairs, and worried his lower lip between his teeth. Finally he took off one of his gloves, tucked it into his belt, and placed his bare palm flat against the wood of the door. If there was anyone moving about inside the room, he should be able to pick up the vibrations. But no sooner had he put his hand to the door than he snatched it away again. The door was shuddering. Cat licked his dry lips nervously, and forced himself to try again. Gradually he realised that what he could feel was the continuous thudding of somebody beating against the inside of the door with their fists. Cat backed away, and then hurried over to the stairs that led down to the bar.
What the hell had happened in the Blackthorn? And where was Cyder?
Cat hesitated at the foot of the stairs, facing the heavy wooden door that led into the bar. He never went into the bar when it was open for business; it wasn’t safe. If the Watch ever found out he made his home at the Blackthorn, they’d never leave him or Cyder in peace again. And besides, after the two doors on the upper floor, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see what was behind this door. But he had to find some answers. Cat braced himself, and pushed the door open.
Furniture lay scattered across the tavern floor like kindling. Deep gouges stretched across the walls like claw marks. All the mirrors were cracked and shattered, and broken glass was everywhere. Cat stood unmoving in the doorway, frozen in place by horror and disbelief. He looked slowly about him, trying to take it all in. The long wooden bar was cracked from end to end. Tables and chairs lay overturned, as through a strong wind had blown through the tavern. Wine and ale lay pooled on the floor like spilt blood. All the windows were broken, and the lamps and lanterns had blown out. The only light came from the smouldering fires that burned sluggishly here and there among the wreckage. And all around, moving in strange ways, were shadows that had once been men and women. Some sat listlessly, with their backs propped against walls or overturned tables. Their mouths gaped open, and their eyes saw nothing. Others lay on their backs, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, their heels drumming against the floor. Still more lay huddled under improvised shelters, their eyes tightly shut, their mouths stretched wide by raw, rasping screams that Cat couldn’t hear. A few men and women lay dead among the wreckage, though no wounds showed.
Cat moved slowly forward. He glanced behind the bar, and winced. The bartender had died screaming, his hands pressed to his ears. Cat glimpsed a movement out of the corner of his eye and spun round, poised to run or fight as necessary. Cyder stood just inside the main door, surveying the scene in shocked amazement. Cat quickly made his way across the room to join her, stepping carefully round the various bodies. He took Cyder in his arms, and for a moment she clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder. Then she straightened up, and pushed him away. She looked around her wrecked tavern, and though her face was cold and hard, her shoulders were slumped in defeat.
“I’m finished,” she said quietly. “There’s no way I can raise enough money to put right this kind of damage. What the hell happened while I was gone? It looks like a bomb went off in here. A bomb, or a Poltergeist. Damn. Damn! Cat, you watch over the place while I go for a doctor. Maybe some of these poor souls can tell us what happened.”
Cat nodded unhappily, not liking the idea of being left in the Blackthorn on his own, but by the time he looked round, Cyder was already gone. Cat shrugged, looked uneasily about him, and sat down by the open door to wait.
In a fire-blackened booth at the rear of the tavern, Jamie Royal and Suzanne du Wolfe lay sprawled across the table, quite dead.
Typhoid Mary had come to Mistport.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
Two Warriors
DONALD Royal’s house stood near the inner boundary of Merchants Quarter, not far from the starport. When he and his wife had first moved in, their new home had been part of one of Mistport’s most desirable areas, but that was many years ago. Now the house was old and crumbling and somewhat in need of repair, and so was the surrounding area. The great households had become lodging houses and tenements, and the old Playhouse was now a covered market. The well-off and the socially ambitious had long ago moved on to other, more reputable areas, but Donald had never moved. His wife had always loved their house, and since her death there was nowhere else he wanted to be. Besides, it was his house, and he wasn’t going to leave it just to fit in with the vagaries of fashion.
Donald
Royal had always been a very stubborn man.
He sat in his chair, in his study, and glowered unseeingly at his low-burning fire. Jamie had been dead nearly three days now, and the Watch were still no nearer finding out who killed him. They couldn’t even agree on the manner of his death. His body had been badly burned, but the coroner’s report had simply said heart failure. Donald shook his head slowly. He’d always said Jamie would die young, but he’d never really believed it. He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Jamie had been his only living relation, the last of the Royal line. Donald had had such plans for Jamie, such hopes.… All gone now. One of the comforts of growing old was watching your children and grandchildren grow up, and helping guide them past the traps and pitfalls, and all the mistakes you made. There was a real satisfaction in knowing you’d done your best for them and they were the better because of it. And now it was all over. He’d outlived both his children and his only grandchild, and for what? To walk alone through an empty house, and spend the evenings sitting by the fire to keep the cold from his bones.
Donald Royal sank back in his padded armchair and let his eyes drift over the accumulated possessions of his life. Every painting and ornament, every piece of tech and stick of furniture, held its own special memory. Young Jack Random had sat in that chair opposite, when he first came to Mistworld to gather warriors for a rebellion on Lyonesse. That was more than twenty years ago, but Donald could still hear the fiery conviction in Random’s voice as he spoke on the need for men everywhere to make a stand against the tyrannies of Empire. Donald had tried to explain that it wasn’t as simple as that, but Random wouldn’t listen. He’d gathered his little army, held them together with grand rhetoric and promises of loot and glory, and led them back to Lyonesse to face the waiting Empire. Some time later, Donald heard that the rebellion had been put down. Random’s army had been cut to ribbons and the survivors hanged for treason, but Random himself had escaped, vowing revenge. Since then, Jack Random had led many rebellions on many worlds, but still the Empire stood. He hadn’t yet learned what Donald Royal had learned long ago; that it would take more than force of arms to overthrow the Empire. The people still believed in the Empire, even while it betrayed and murdered them, and until they could be given something else to believe in, the Empire would continue its bloody rule.
Mistworld (Deathstalker Prelude) Page 12