Rock of Ages

by Walter Jon Williams

  “Sure. Shall I tell the pot to warm it up again?”

  “By all means.”

  Conchita sat next to Maijstral on the couch and gave the pot its instructions. Maijstral stretched and yawned.

  “I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve slept.”

  “You look tense, boss. Why don’t I give you a massage? It’ll perk you up.”

  “That would be nice. Thank you.” Maijstral offered her his back. Conchita’s small hands proved surprisingly strong and effective in finding the knots in Maijstral’s muscles and dispersing them. He straightened, his back tingling with pleasure.

  “Thank you,” he said. “That was very considerate.”

  He glanced up, saw her looking at him.

  “Oh,” he said. After a moment’s thought, he put his arms around her.

  “It’s about time you noticed,” Conchita said. “I haven’t been hanging around in your air ducts just for the fun of it.”

  “Sorry,” Maijstral said. “But I’ve been distracted.”

  “I’ll forgive you,” she said, “if you’ll kiss me right this second.”

  “Very well,” Maijstral said, and did so.

  In the matter of being Captain of his fate, he thought, perhaps he could just leave the tiller unattended for a while.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Let us review your sins, Dornier.

  Excuse me?

  Your sins, Dornier, your sins!

  Oh for gracious sake. Why do you keep repeating yourself?

  Because you don’t seem to comprehend your position!

  Oh, I understand it perfectly well I’m in this, ummm, Hell place, and I’m supposed to, to . . . oh, what is that word again?

  Atone, Dornier! Atone!

  Oh yes. That’s it.

  I call to your attention the League for Imperial Youth.

  Ah yes. We had the most jolly meetings.

  An attempt to corrupt the children of the Constellation with alien ideas!

  Oh, what rot. You talk the most amazing brand of stuff, do you know? Stuff and . . . what’s the other word?

  I’m here to force you to confront your past! To admit that you conspired against the Constellation by corrupting its children.

  We had sing-alongs at our meetings. And nice little cakes that Miss Ginko sent up from the bakery.

  You conspired, Dornier! Conspired!

  Lovely little cakes with strawberries on them. And those creamy sort of buns that have that, you know, filling. And then the kind with the little nuts on them. I wish I could have a taste of them now. . . .

  Confess your crimes, Dornier!

  . . . What are those nuts called again?

  Never mind the nuts, Dornier! You must confront the reality of your crimes and confess!

  I can almost taste those buns . . . You wouldn’t have one or two in the pantry, would you?

  No! You’re dead and in Hell! There’ll be no more buns for you!

  No buns? What a pity. Perhaps a little biscuit with jam, then?

  You’re dead! You’re dead! You can’t have a biscuit!

  Oh that’s right. Sorry.

  Now, Dornier. We’ll begin again. And pay attention this time.

  If you just keep repeating yourself, my dear fellow, I don’t see why I should.

  I’m not your dear fellow!

  Well, yes. That’s obvious enough, I should think. But there’s no reason not to be polite, even in Hell.

  *

  “The guards are dispersing. You’ll be able to leave in another moment.”

  “Fingo all right, boss.”

  “I’ll call Roman and have him bring me out in the flier. It looks as if he and I will have a busy morning. But I want you to get started on breaking the code of the Elvii right away.”

  “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

  Beat.

  “Conchita?”

  “Yes?”

  “You wouldn’t mind answering a question, would you?”

  “Only too, boss.”

  You’re not planning on marrying me, are you?”

  “Why? Are you about to pop the question?”

  “Frankly, no.”

  “Well, that’s only sensible. You should get to know me first. Besides, I think I’m a little young for all that.”

  A smile. “Ah. Thank you.”

  “No prob, boss.”

  Maijstral smiled. “No, as you say, prob.”

  *

  Darkness loomed. It was a darkness that yearned to be broken by a flash of lightning, or perhaps by a stabbing organ chord, but instead it was broken by a voice.

  Not, one must admit, a nice voice either.

  “Drexler, you may as well admit you’re awake. The neuromonitors make that clear enough.”

  Drexler’s eyes, which had been determinedly shut, now shifted to determinedly open. “I want a doctor,” he said. “I’ve been injured.”

  “What makes you think I’m not a doctor? You find yourself on a standard surgical table, with all the appropriate restraining straps, blood gutters, and so forth. You will observe I am wearing a doctor’s apron—a bit spattered, unfortunately, from the last operation, but it’s still perfectly functional.”

  “If you’re a doctor, why are you wearing a mask and electronically altering your voice?”

  “Because if you refuse to cooperate with me, I may be compelled to commence a surgical procedure that the Medical Association might not sanction. You will observe that I have my instruments sharpened and ready.”

  Drexler’s body gave a leap within its restraints. “Aagh! What are those?”

  “Custom instruments. My instruments. Nice instruments.”

  Drexler stared. “Nice?”

  “This is my favorite—you will observe that it is a pair of scissors designed to cut outward, not in toward the center. And this instrument, originally designed for pulling teeth, but which has been found perfectly suitable for extracting, well, just about anything.”

  “Let me up! Let me up!”

  The masked figure put out a calming hand. “Not until you’ve had your operation, Mr. Drexler.”

  “What operation? I don’t need an operation!”

  “It’s best to let doctor decide, don’t you think? I believe we need to extract something. Either information, or something else.”

  “What do you want to know? I'll tell you!”

  “Why are you conspiring with Alice Manderley against your employer?”

  “Because I was paid, of course! It more than made up for the money that Maijstral cost me!”

  “Cost you? How did Maijstral cost you money?”

  “On Silverside, I was working for Geoff Fu George. Chalice and I had a bet against Gregor and Roman about whether Fu George or Maijstral would steal the Shard first. I bet all I had, all my savings, and I lost. I wanted to start my own career as a burglar whenever Fu George retired;, and I couldn’t. Now let me up!”

  “I don’t believe your operation is quite over yet.”

  “Put that thing down!”

  “Doctor knows best, Mr. Drexler.”

  “Just put it down! I’ll tell you what you want to know!”

  “Very well. Who was it that contacted you?”

  “A human named Commander Hood. He’s a free-lance leg-breaker, works the circuit.”

  “When did he first contact you?”

  “About three months ago, just after I’d started working for Maijstral. On Kobayashi.”

  “Who did he say he was working for?”

  “He didn’t.”

  “I’m not certain I believe you, Mr. Drexler. . . .”

  “Put that down!”

  “But if you won’t let me extract the truth, I’ll have to extract . . .”

  “I’m telling the truth! Put it down!”

  “I think I’ll just leave the instrument right here where you can see it. Now what exactly did this Commander Hood tell you to do?”

  *

  “Drake! Welcome back
.”

  “Thank you.” Sniffing Roberta’s wrist. “I hope your Aunt Batty is well?”

  “Oh, she’s fine, thank you. Just tired. The hospital will be releasing her later this morning.”

  “Splendid. Any news?”

  “Well, that short person—the one with the hair—flew in about an hour ago, demanded a room, and has been at work ever since.”

  “Very good.”

  “And I just finished watching Tvar’s interrogation of Drexler on a video link.”

  “And . . .?”

  “Drake, it was most uncanny thing I’ve ever seen. She put on Savage Simon’s apron and became another person. She was terrifying.”

  “She got results, I take it?”

  Roberta shuddered. “Yes, but . . . you know, I think she’s been around all these macabre objects far too long. They’ve gone to her head.”

  “I recall her remarking to the effect that when Khosali go bad, they go really bad. I’ll have to take care never to get on her wrong side. What did Drexler say?”

  “He says he was hired by someone named Commander Hood.”

  “Hood? I’ve met him—he got into a scandal years ago and was thrown out of the navy. Since then he’s been making a living as a thug for hire. No style at all—couldn’t ever get into a sanctioned form of larceny.”

  “Drexler claims he doesn’t know who Hood was working for.”

  “Fortunately we do, so that doesn’t matter.”

  “Drexler admits that it was he who put Joseph Bob’s pistol in the air duct, but otherwise he just transmitted intelligence to the other side, telling them where you were going to be, and what defenses you’d installed. He gave us the number he’d called to report, and it is registered to a Mr. Hood.”

  “Does Drexler know where they took my father?”

  “He said not. I am inclined to believe he was telling the truth.”

  “Well.” Maijstral’s heavy-lidded eyes closed to slits. “I have a pair of tasks remaining for Drexler—perhaps I had better ask Tvar to keep wearing Savage Simon’s apron so that he will perform them willingly.”

  “What do you have in mind for him?”

  “First, I want him to call Commander Hood and tell him that I’ve decided to flee to Tasmania and go into hiding.”

  “To allay their suspicions.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And the other is to transfer his—sixty novae?”

  “Sixty. Yes.”

  “Transfer it into my account. There’s no reason why he should be allowed to profit from all this. And anything else in his account should go as well.”

  “I commend your sense of justice.”

  Maijstral bowed. “Thank you.”

  A door banged open. Roberta jumped.

  “Boss!”

  “Conchita. You have met Her Grace of Benn, have you not?”

  Conchita barely spared Roberta a glance. “Last night, yeah. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve broken the code and we can get into Graceland anytime. How many coded badges will you need?”

  “One for me, one for Roman, one for yourself . . .”

  “And for me.”

  “Thank you, Roberta. It’s not necessary, of course.”

  “I think I would enjoy being in on the kill, so to speak. And Kuusinen will come, too.”

  “Five copies, then, Conchita.”

  “Right, boss.”

  “And then go into Memphis and purchase five holographic Elvis disguises.”

  “You bet, boss. Is that all you need?”

  “For the present, yes.”

  “Right, then. Bye.”

  The door banged again. Roberta frowned. “Roberta. You seem puzzled.”

  “I am marveling at the breadth of your acquaintance, Drake. I was barely aware of the existence of people such as Miss Sparrow, and now it would seem I am involved in an adventure with her.”

  “You should broaden your circle, Roberta. After all, there are far many more of Conchita’s sort than of yours, or mine. I hope you will consider the experience an enriching one.”

  “I am dubious as to the nutritive value of this brand of enrichment. Why are you smiling?”

  “A private thought, regarding enrichment. Nothing with which to concern yourself.”

  *

  An image flickered to life. A shifting image, difficult of aspect. “Miss Manderley?”

  “Who’s that? I can’t see. Are you wearing a darksuit?”

  “Let me adjust the angle of the camera. There. Is that better?”

  “Ahh! No! What is he doing to Kenny?”

  “Dangling him upside down over the Grand Canyon, Miss Manderley.”

  “Tell him to stop! I’ll pay anything!”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell him to stop just yet, Miss Manderley.”

  Alice Manderley shrank back into her seat. “Why is that Khosalikh bald? Why has he painted himself all red like that? He must be mad!”

  “He’s just a bad molter, Miss Manderley.”

  “Nobody is that bad a molter!”

  “Kenny will not be harmed if you agree to our demands.”

  “Anything!”

  “Within the next minute, I want you to step into the flier that just landed on your front lawn. You will not carry any arms, communications equipment, or locator beacons.”

  “Yes! Yes! Just don’t hurt him!”

  *

  “Miss Arish?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Copac. The Prince of Quintana Roo has sent me to—wait! Come back!”

  * * *

  The flier’s door hissed closed. Earth spiraled below as the machine took flight.

  “Take me to Kenny!” Alice demanded.

  “Not just yet.”

  “Drake!”

  “Now, now, Alice,” Maijstral pointed out from behind the controls. “I am wearing a darksuit and am camouflaged. You don’t know who I am, nor do you know my companion, likewise disguised, who is pointing a pistol at you.”

  “Who was that freak who was dangling Kenny off the canyon wall?”

  “An acquaintance of mine who can be trusted to fling Kenny to the gravitational constant if you should disobey my instructions in the least iota.”

  “Well.” Muttering. “You’ve obviously got the goods on me.”

  “Exactly. And what I require is the absolute, perfect truth.”

  “Fine. Just don’t hurt Kenny!”

  Behind his camouflage, Maijstral smiled. “Firstly, how long have you been engaged in this conspiracy?”

  “With those fanatics? Virtues, it seems forever—but they first contacted me a few days ago, after I got off the liner from Qwarism. By that point Kenny had acquainted me with the results of his financial speculation, and I desperately needed the money they were offering.”

  “Who contacted you?”

  “Major Song. What an unpleasant woman.”

  “That has been my impression.”

  “She just ranted on about the Empire and some conspiracy of which you were supposed to be a part. I didn’t take any of that seriously, of course, but her money was good, and—well, I didn’t have any choice. I was desperate. I tried to keep Kenny away from her, though, when he suggested having her finance one of his productions.”

  “I recall that.”

  “Her fiancé, that Captain Whatsisname, isn’t a part of the plot, by the way. I was told never to mention it in front of him.”

  “So when he challenged me, he was doing it all on his own?”

  “Absolutely. Song was appalled.”

  “Where did you take my father?”

  “They ordered me to take him to Graceland.”

  “What did they do with him then?”

  “I have no idea. They paid me off, took possession of the coffin, and then I called for a flier and left.”

  Maijstral thoughtfully twisted his diamond ring. “So you didn’t even try to keep the coffin in your possession until midnight tonight? It will never be y
ours legally, and you can be prosecuted for the theft at any time?”

  “Well—yes.”

  “That’s awfully careless of you.”

  “You weren’t supposed to find out I’d done it.”

  “Ah. Sorry not to have been killed in a duel as planned.”

  “I apologize, Drake; I truly found this job distasteful, and my employers appalling. I’ve been motivated by fiscal desperation, not by any personal animus toward you.”

  “Ah. And I suppose it never occurred to you that once I’m out of the way, you’ll have a better shot at being rated number one?”

  Silence.

  “Do you have any idea what they intend to do with my father?”

  “No, not really. Major Song babbled about a vengeance that would last an eternity, but she talks like that all the time, so it’s hard to say whether or not it was hyperbole. She’s truly insane, you know. It’s lucky for her that someone else was planning all this, I don’t think she’s capable.”

  “Wait a minute. This wasn’t all Major Song’s idea?”

  “No. Not at all. She’s following someone else’s orders. She has it all written down for her—otherwise she’d forget something.” Alice shuddered. “She’s not a very rational person, Drake.”

  “Who’s behind this?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t want to know. But whoever it is, he hates you with the most perfect hate of all time.”

  *

  “Mr. Maijstral.”

  Maijstral looked up from the table where he’d placed his gear. Pistols, knives, restraints . . . .

  “Mr. Kuusinen,” he said. “Please sit down.”

  Kuusinen did so. “I’ve been thinking. I think your father is still, ah, intact, and still at Graceland.”

  “I’m pleased to hear you say so. May I ask your reasons?”

  “If Major Song and her cohorts intended to destroy the coffin and its contents, there was no need to take it to Graceland in the first place. They could much more easily have built a bonfire out in the countryside somewhere, and destroyed the coffin in perfect privacy. I imagine it would be difficult to find a place even in such a large place as Graceland where a burning coffin would not go remarked.”

  “Yes. I follow.”

  “So they took your father to Graceland for a reason. I must admit I have not discerned what that reason may be, but possibly it is related to the upcoming Memphis Olympiad. Perhaps Major Song wishes to use the coffin in her act—I’ve never known Elvis impersonators to use anything so eccentric as a coffin in a performance, but I gather she is an eccentric person.”