Deathstalker Coda (13 page)
Authors: Simon R. Green
“Yes, they’re celebrities,” said Stuart. “And that’s why they’re never going to follow two masked bravos from nowhere. We’re good fighters, and perhaps even local heroes now, but so are most of the Bastards. All they care about is fame and money, and we can’t offer them either.”
“They care about who they are,” Douglas said slowly. “More importantly, they care about who their ancestor was. Give them a chance to be heroes and legends like the glorious Jack Random, give them a chance to follow an outlawed King into battle against a corrupt Emperor . . . to live the lives they’ve only dreamed about . . .”
“Douglas, you can’t!” said Nina. “Trust me, dear, this is a really bad idea. You show the Bastards your real face, and they’ll be lining up to betray you to Finn for the reward!”
“Damn right,” said Stuart. “They may be Random’s spawn, but they know nothing of honor. And if there’s anything they hate worse than an ex-King, it’s an ex-Paragon. Or have you forgotten you spent most of your earlier career putting these scumbags behind bars?”
“The enemy of my enemy is my ally, if not my friend,” Douglas said calmly. “We just have to demonstrate to the Bastards that Finn is much more of a threat to them than they realize, and that we’re the only people who can lead a rebellion against him. I’ve always found inspired self-interest to be a great motivator.”
“You’ll be a dead motivator the moment you take your mask off,” growled Stuart.
“We are going to see the Bastards,” Douglas said firmly. “Have faith, my children.”
“I’m taking my really big gun,” said Nina. “And my best pair of running shoes.”
So, a few days later, Douglas and Stuart and Nina—two masked bravos and a demon girl reporter—attended the next scheduled meeting of Random’s Bastards. It wasn’t difficult to track them down. This wide selection of men, women, and not a few alien hybrids, who claimed to be descendants of the legendary professional rebel Jack Random, always came together once a month to boast and brag about all the marvelous things they’d done, and argue fiercely over their various claims to lines of descent from Jack Random. Their favored rendezvous was a squalid little tavern down on Hell Street, the Three Cripples. An appalling place in practically every way, but the drink was cheap and the owner was prepared to overlook the inevitable bad behavior in return for the regular booking.
Douglas and Stuart and Nina looked distastefully at the stained walls, slumping roof, and windows that were blacked out for extra privacy, and stepped carefully over the bubbling open sewer to get to the main entrance. The place was already packed wall-to-wall, and the bouncer at the door tried to glare them away. Nina showed him her really big gun, and the bouncer decided there was room for just a few more after all.
Inside, the smell was worse, if anything. The air was thick with a smog of various illegal smokes, and there wasn’t a chair or a stool to be had for love nor money. The crowd jostled together amiably enough, shouting at each other to be heard over the awful din. Nearly all of the men, women, and humanoid creatures were armed with weapons of some kind. The waitresses were all Madelaines (a popular clone franchise knockoff), and they circulated as best they could through the heaving press of bodies, dispensing drinks and bar food of dubious provenance. Douglas and Stuart forced their way through the crowd with heavy scowls and vicious use of the elbow, while Nina brought up the rear.
“How the hell are we going to get their attention?” said Stuart, shouting right into Douglas’s ear.
“Same way we did with de Rack,” said Douglas. “Nina, if you wouldn’t mind . . .”
Nina didn’t mind at all. Grinning broadly, she kicked a few people in the shins to make some room, raised her very big gun, and blew a hole right through one wall. The clamor broke off abruptly as everyone present fought to draw their weapons or locate the nearest exit. Nina carefully lowered her gun. Douglas jumped up onto the nearest table and smiled calmly about him.
“Everyone relax, it’s not a raid. Some of you may recognize me and my two friends as the ones who killed de Rack and broke up his protection racket. We did it because . . . people shouldn’t have to put up with shit like that. Just as you shouldn’t have to put up with shit like this. Look at you—the descendants of a hero, a legend, and you’re reduced to hiding out in the Rookery, denied your true destiny, unable to fulfill your potential. Unable to prove yourselves worthy of the legend of Jack Random. I’ve come to show you a way out. A way to change your lives forever.”
And he took off his leather face mask. For a long moment no one moved, held in a shocked silence, and then a great roar went up from the crowd as they recognized Douglas Campbell. One thought was in all their minds as they looked on the ex-Paragon and ex-King, and that thought was
Money!
The massive reward Finn had put on Douglas’s head, preferably no longer attached to the body, would enable them to live like Kings. (There was another, smaller reward on Stuart’s head. Finn could be sentimental that way, sometimes. He didn’t want Stuart to feel left out.)
Money!
The massive reward Finn had put on Douglas’s head, preferably no longer attached to the body, would enable them to live like Kings. (There was another, smaller reward on Stuart’s head. Finn could be sentimental that way, sometimes. He didn’t want Stuart to feel left out.)
The whole crowd looked at Douglas with hungry eyes, and then surged forward as one to drag him down. Stuart and Nina defended both sides of the table with kicks and punches and the occasional head-butt. Nina in particular proved especially adept at dirty fighting. Douglas looked calmly out over the uproar, not even bothering to draw his sword or his gun, even when the clutching hands came very close to his legs. He raised his voice again, and almost despite themselves, the Bastards quieted to hear what he had to say. He was Douglas Campbell, after all, and his reputation went before him.
“You must know my friends and I will kill a hell of a lot of you, before you can drag us down. I was a Paragon and a warrior long before I was a King. My friends are warriors too. You’re ready to fight and die for money, but not for your freedom? What would Jack Random think of that? He was the professional rebel; you’re just professional lowlifes. And not very successful ones, of late. Either you find the guts to fight back against Finn’s unjust rule, or pretty soon there won’t be any Random’s Bastards. He’ll pick you off one by one, and your heads will decorate rows of spikes outside the palace as an example to others. And Jack Random’s extended line will die with you. I never gave you any reason to love me, but at least I respected you. Finn’s law is harsher on you than I ever was. He’ll kill you all, because of the legacy of freedom and justice you represent. Your only hope lies in rebellion, and for that you need a leader everyone will follow. And that’s me.”
A slow murmur moved reluctantly through the packed crowd.
He’s not wrong. Times are bad. Bloody Church Militant everywhere. Can’t make a decent living anymore. Finn’s a swine, all right. Probably couldn’t trust him to pay the reward anyway. When the Campbell was a Paragon, you always knew where you were with him. He was vicious, but fair.
He’s not wrong. Times are bad. Bloody Church Militant everywhere. Can’t make a decent living anymore. Finn’s a swine, all right. Probably couldn’t trust him to pay the reward anyway. When the Campbell was a Paragon, you always knew where you were with him. He was vicious, but fair.
“You have to do this,” said Douglas, and the muttering stopped at once. They were all listening now. “You have to do it, for your pride and your freedom. I know there have been uprisings before, and Finn stamped them out with cruel, terrible tactics. He doesn’t have to care about being popular anymore. But those earlier rebels were a bunch of amateurs. No common cause, no discipline, no leader. You are all practical, professional rebels, and practiced fighters, and . . . you have me to lead you. You only have to look around you to see what the world has become—what the Rookery has become. You were always rogues, but you had your pride. Now look at you, reduced to preying on each other for pocket change. You don’t have to be like this. You don’t have to live like this. You are Jack Random’s legacy, a part of the legacy of the Great Rebellion, of Owen Deathstalker and his allies. And now the time has come for you to be worthy of them. Don’t wait for the Durandal to send his fanatics in here to clear the place out; be the rebels you were born to be. Rise up!”
And Random’s Bastards roared their approval and cheered him till the room rang with the power of it. Stuart and Nina couldn’t believe it. Hardened criminals who’d steal the gold teeth from their sleeping grandmothers, who’d worked every con and scheme known to man, stamped their feet and hammered their hands together till they ached. It probably helped that most of them were broke and bored and more than ready for a little action, but Douglas had offered them their pride back again, and maybe, just maybe, there was some of Jack Random in them after all.
Douglas got down off his table, and introduced Stuart Lennox and Nina Malapert to the crowd. The Bastards nodded respectfully to the ex-Paragon, and to Nina’s gun, but really they had eyes only for Douglas. He carried on talking long into the evening, mixing the inspirational with the practical. Declaring a rebellion was all very well, but there were details to be worked out. Luckily between them the Bastards knew everyone in the Rookery, or at least everyone who mattered. They knew exactly where Douglas should go next, to best spread the message beyond the Three Cripples. They were all quick to reassure him that there were lots of people in the Rookery who hated the way things were, and were only waiting to be given a focus and a leader. They wanted their old devious lives back, and were ready to fight for them. The Rookery had always been full of fighters. They would follow Douglas because they knew him—as a Paragon and as a King, and as one of them, brought low by the hated Finn Durandal.
More meetings followed, at carefully chosen venues all across the Rookery, followed by open rallies attended by first hundreds and then thousands of eager listeners. Everyone wanted to hear Douglas speak, as he rallied and cajoled and inspired them with thundering words and the power of a simple truth: that they had the power to change their lives, if they were only strong enough to seize it. Douglas reminded them of how far they’d fallen under Emperor Finn, and they roared their rage. Their anger had been silent and diffused for so long only because no one had dared to stand up and put it into words. Douglas gave them back their pride, and they loved him for it. And finally he stood on a simple stage in an open square, facing hundreds of thousands of eager listeners, and he knew it was time.
“Let the word go out!” he said, his voice echoing in the silence of devout attention. “From now on the Rookery is a no-go area for all of Finn’s creatures! His authority has no power here. His overbearing and unjust rule stops at our borders. Any one of his people comes in, they don’t get out again. No more taxes without representation. No more executions without trial. No more Church Militant bullyboys telling you how to run your lives. No more Emperor Finn sneering at you because he thinks he doesn’t have to be afraid of you anymore. He thinks he’s broken you. It’s time to prove him wrong. We’re kicking his people out and taking the Rookery back! Then the Parade of the Endless! And finally all of Logres!
“Because if not us, then who?”
And after that the cheers and roars of approval and determination were so loud, Finn must have heard them, even in the dark heart of his usurped palace.
One man in particular felt his life change forever when he saw Douglas Campbell reveal his true identity in the Three Cripples that first night. Tel Markham, who had once been a member of Parliament and a mover and a shaker in any number of secret organizations, but who now washed dishes for a living in the filthy back kitchen of the tavern. He ate scraps of food left on plates, and fought the rats and other vermin for it too. His once proud clothes were filthy rags, and he slept in a doss-house, standing up in a line of men supported by ropes under their arms. The doss-house owners packed them in, for greater profit, and often the shared warmth of the packed bodies was all that kept the sleepers alive through the cold nights.
Tel received a small remittance from his mother every month, supplied on the understanding that he wouldn’t try to contact her, or come home. He had made the family name a disgrace, she said, and he had failed to look after his brother Angelo. (He’d always been her favorite.) It had been Tel’s refusal to murder his brother on Finn’s orders that had brought him low. Tel was aware of the irony, but he didn’t have much use for humor these days. His mother’s money kept him alive, just. He had to stay alive. There were people he had to be revenged upon.
Seeing Douglas alive had filled him with new hope. He followed the Campbell from rally to rally, listening to the man speak, and watching the crowds. He needed to be sure Douglas was the real thing. And finally, when he heard the crowd roar at that last great rally, he hugged himself tightly in his rags, and laughed and laughed. He decided it was time to introduce himself. He went to the Lantern Lodge hotel one evening, slipping in through the kitchens because there was no way they’d let the likes of him in through the front door. There were guards posted, but he dodged them easily enough, and sneaked up the back stairs to Douglas’s room. And then he hesitated at the door, afraid to knock. He’d fallen so very far from what he once was. And even when they were both men of power and influence, King Douglas had never had much time for the member for Madraguda. How would Douglas react to this shrunken thing of rags and tatters at his door? Tel shuffled his feet uncertainly, raised his hand to knock and then let it fall again. He started to turn away and then the door swung suddenly open, and a large fist grabbed him by the shoulder of his filthy tunic and dragged him inside.
“Told you I heard someone sneaking about,” Stuart said cheerfully. “Probably a spy or informer. Though now I’ve got him, I’m not sure what to do with him. I just hope my inoculations are still working.”
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