Deathstalker Return (42 page)

“Well?” It was Jesamine from outside, but he jumped despite himself. “Can we come down too, Lewis? Is it safe?”

“Seems to be,” he said quickly. “Come on down. I don’t see any sign of a welcoming committee.”

“Understandable,” said Jesamine. “They didn’t know I was coming.”

She dropped lightly through the opening, easily keeping her footing on the sloping floor. Rose had to lower Brett through, and then quickly came in after him, sword and gun in hand. Saturday and Guide had to widen the gap some, but finally they squeezed through and joined the others. Lewis flashed his torch beam around, trying to pick a direction, but there was just the darkness and the cold stone, and no sound at all apart from what they brought with them. The air was dry and dusty, tickling the back of his throat. He felt like a tomb robber.

And then there was a sudden lurch, as though the whole castle had shuddered, stirring in its sleep. The floor pressed up against their feet, and then settled itself, and suddenly they were all standing at the same angle as the floor. One at a time the lights came on—gleaming silver half spheres set into the ceiling. A great stone corridor appeared around them, stretching away in both directions. And somewhere, far away and deep below, they could feel as much as hear a massive power plant starting up, energizing the castle after many long years of hibernation.

“It’s alive,” whispered Brett. “The whole place is waking up. It knows we’re here.”

“Lights and artificial gravity,” said Jesamine. “Not bad, after a major crash landing two hundred years ago. I am officially impressed, darlings.”

Lewis turned off his torch and put it away. “This is the original Deathstalker Standing,” he said quietly. “It was already a thousand years old when Owen first found it here, on Shandrakor, and woke it to life once more. They built to last, in the old days. And now here we are, looking for help against injustice, just like Owen. It’s like . . . we’ve wandered out of history and into legend. Into a place where dreams come true, and miracles can happen . . .”

“We don’t belong here,” said Brett, still whispering. “This is a place for heroes, and warriors. The kind of people who belong in legends. Not like us. This is all just . . . too big, too important . . .”

“Why are you whispering?” said Rose.

“Don’t you have any respect?” said Brett. “No, of course not, silly question.”

“Come on, Brett,” said Lewis. “I never knew you to be lacking in ambition before. Think of the treasure!”

“Yes,” said Brett, after a moment. “That does help.”

 

 

In the end, Lewis chose a direction at random, and led the way down the wide, long corridor. Jagged cracks sprawled across the corridor walls, and here and there large clumps of stone had fallen away to litter the floor. Sometimes the floor rose and buckled, and sometimes the overhead lights didn’t work. There were hanging tapestries, and faded portraits of people dead for centuries, and mounted displays of ancient weapons. There were outcroppings of high tech, much of it smashed or blown apart or melted down. But there was no dust, no cobwebs, no signs of invading vegetation or wildlife. The corridor could have been deserted yesterday.

“This wasn’t impact damage,” said Lewis. “This is the result of the castle’s last battle, against the Recreated and the rogue AIs of Shub. Must have been a hell of a fight.”

“It’s hard to remember that Shub were once the official enemies of Humanity,” said Jesamine.

“Not for us,” said Guide. “Here, we suffer the results of their torments every day.”

“That was a long time ago,” Jesamine said weakly.

“Not for us,” said Guide.

The corridor finally branched, and then branched again, and they wandered through many passages, stairways, and intersections, gradually losing track of time. The castle was huge, with many floors, but somehow Lewis always found the way that led deeper into the castle, heading towards the great hall at its heart. Part of his certainty came from recognizing landmarks, from stories he’d been told since he was a child, and some of it came from suggestions murmured in his ear by the AI Ozymandias, who had been there before with Owen; but a lot of it seemed like instinct, as though the old castle was part of his blood, his inheritance. As though he belonged here, and always had. The slow, solid roar of the power plant below was growing louder, growling beneath their feet as though in warning. Guide was becoming increasingly spooked, swiveling his bulging head back and forth.

“It’s definitely getting colder in here,” said Brett, shuddering dramatically.

“The cold of the grave,” said Rose.

Brett glared at her. “You’re really not helping, Rose.”

“Castles are difficult to heat,” said Jesamine. “Everyone knows that. But if I see the butler, I’ll pass on your complaints.”

Brett yelped in alarm as a tall, dark figure came stalking suddenly down the corridor towards him. Rose stepped quickly forwards to put herself in front of Brett, covering the newcomer with her disrupter. Lewis just had time to take in the figure’s old-fashioned clothing, and then it was gone, disappeared between one moment and the next. He opened his mouth to say something, and then stopped as more people appeared, men and women in various battle armors, crowds of them flickering on and off as they hurried silently up and down the corridor. Some of them walked right through Lewis and the others, and he didn’t feel a thing, not even a cool breeze.

“Holo images,” said Jesamine. “Computer records from the past. Probably security camera footage. Our presence must have activated them. Or maybe . . . they’re just random images given off as the computers come back on line again.”

She broke off as the word
random
echoed on the air in whispering voices. A single holo figure appeared, wrapped in a battered old cloak, limping slowly towards them out of the past. They all knew his face. The cloak swung aside for a moment, and they saw he had one hand clapped over a bloody wound in his side. His face was taut and strained, but quietly determined.

“Jack Random,” said Brett softly, all the color dropped out of his face. “Great-grandfather . . . what happened to you? I didn’t think anyone could hurt
you.
”

Random seemed to look at Brett for a moment, and then he was gone, with nothing to show he’d ever been there.

“Ghosts . . .” said Brett.

“Holo images,” said Jesamine. “That’s all, Brett.”

“No! No . . . it’s the past, coming back to life, haunting the present. The dead are still alive here . . . Right. That’s it. I am out of here. No treasure is worth this. I’ll go back and guard the entrance.”

“There’s no reason to be scared of the dead,” said Rose.

“What if they don’t know they’re dead?”

“I’ll protect you, Brett,” said Rose. “You’ll be safe with me. Even the dead have enough sense to be scared of Rose Constantine.”

Brett looked at her for a moment, and then a sharp bark of laughter burst out of him. “Jesus, Rose, we’re going to have to work on this whole comfort concept.” He glared at Lewis. “All right, I’ll stay. But I’m not happy.”

“I’ll try to live with the disappointment,” Lewis said magnanimously.

“You shouldn’t let this place get to you,” Saturday said unexpectedly. She’d hardly said a word since she entered the Standing, except to snort and swear quietly every time she bumped her head against the ceiling. She’d had to walk hunched over all the way, and it hadn’t improved her disposition one bit. “This place is big, yes, but size isn’t everything. My kind had castles, once. We had cities and technology and all the other things that make you weak. We outgrew them, and left them behind. They got in the way of enjoying the world, of savoring its bloody pleasures, and letting it test us to our limits. There’s nothing here for me, Lewis. I think I’ll go back to the entrance, and stand guard. Just in case.”

“All right,” said Lewis. “Are you sure you can find your way back to the opening?”

“Of course,” said Saturday. “Reptiloids don’t get lost. We always know where we are.”

“Pity,” muttered Brett. Rose slapped him across the back of the head.

“While we’re busy in here,” Lewis said to Saturday, “no one else gets in. No exceptions. Got it?”

“Got it,” said Saturday. She turned and headed back the way they’d come, the flat top of her head brushing against the high ceiling. Guide waited till she was out of sight, and then flexed his multijointed legs briefly.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m glad she’s gone. She is just too weird, even for Shandrakor.”

They pressed on, still heading inwards. Lewis could almost feel the massive weight of the castle, all its many floors and walls of solid stone, all its weight of history and legend and responsibility, pressing down on him. As though he’d never really understood what it was to be a Deathstalker, until now. He’d grown up in his own Clan’s Standing on Virimonde, a tall and proud castle hundreds of years old, but it had been nothing compared to this. Men and women who had made themselves into legends had walked and lived and fought and died in this place, this Standing. And others had fought and died here too, in the defense of Humanity, their names and reputations lost to Robert and Constance’s need to remake history into legend.

Owen would never have approved. He’d always been proud of his modest skills as an historian.

History was soaked into the walls of this Standing, impressed by the weight of centuries, though no one knew exactly how many. The Empire was old, far older than most people were comfortable remembering. Little now remained of the legendary First Empire, declined and fallen long before even this ancient castle’s time, but according to Family legend, some things from that distant time were still to be found here, preserved in stasis fields, like insects trapped in amber—which made Lewis wonder what else might be preserved or trapped here, unwillingly awakened by his intrusion.

Brett paused to admire a sword displayed on a simple wall plaque. He didn’t know why it caught his eye particularly. There was nothing on the plaque about its history, just the name, Morgana. It looked like a good sword, and Brett needed a new weapon after losing his last one during his panic attack in the jungle. So he took the sword off the wall, and slipped it into the scabbard at his waist. It was a comfortable weight, like it belonged there. He looked quickly at Lewis, bracing himself for a stern lecture on the evils of looting, but the Deathstalker was clearly preoccupied with his own thoughts. Brett decided not to disturb him.

And finally, they came to the great hall. The heart and center of the very first Deathstalker Standing. It was vast, a long hall with massive stone walls, the raftered ceiling mostly lost in shadows high above them. It was also completely empty. No furnishings, no trace of occupants, not even any carpeting on the stone floor or decorations on the stone walls. The party’s footsteps sounded loudly in the quiet as Lewis led his people slowly forward into the hall. There was nothing and no one there to greet them, after their long journey into the interior of the castle. Lewis called out a few times, but no one answered. They stood around for a while, wondering what they should do next, all of them feeling a definite sense of anticlimax, and even betrayal. In the end, Lewis just said they should all sit down and wait, and get some rest. Let the castle computers wake all the way up, and notice they had visitors.

Brett growled something under his breath about at least they weren’t being shot at, or given the bum’s rush, and then he went over and sat in a corner, so he could have his back to two walls, and watch all the entrances. Rose sat down next to him, cross-legged, balanced her sword across her leather-clad thighs, and began cleaning and polishing the blade with a piece of rag. Guide went off into a different corner, to be by himself. Perhaps because he didn’t feel worthy to be a part of the great Deathstalker’s party; perhaps because he knew the others still found his appearence disturbing; and perhaps because he didn’t entirely trust what his insect instincts might push him to, when there was nothing else going on to distract him.

Lewis sat down before the great empty fireplace, its interior blackened with many layers of ancient soot. Jesamine sat down beside him, leaned against his shoulder, and sighed heavily.

“Tired?” said Lewis. “Feeling sorry you came?”

“Absolutely bone-dead weary, darling, but . . . no. Not sorry at all, really. I’m changing, Lewis. I can feel it. The more I have to fight and protect myself, the better I get at it and the better I feel. I haven’t felt this self-sufficient in ages. Reminds me of the old days, when I was just starting out, and the only way to get your money out of the club manager at the end of an evening was to put a gun to his head and threaten to listen to see if it was loaded. I hadn’t realized how soft, how limited I’d become. And how
bored . . .
I mean, at least part of why I agreed to become Douglas’s Queen was that I had nowhere else to go in my profession, except down. The trouble with achieving all your ambitions is, what do you do for an encore? To tell the truth and shame the Devil, sweetie, I’d been coasting for years. Taking on roles and shows I knew weren’t worthy of me, just to keep my face in front of the public. But now . . . I’d forgotten how good it feels, to be faced by challenges and overcome them. So, I’m glad we did this together, love. I feel so
alive
with you. More alive than I’ve felt in years.”

“Does that mean you won’t be moaning and complaining anymore?” Lewis said solemnly.

Jesamine snorted with laughter. “Darling! I have an image to maintain, even here.”

They laughed quietly together. Lewis put an arm around Jesamine, and they snuggled up together. But Lewis had his own private thoughts. He approved of the new Jesamine. It was good to see her grow and blossom. But deep inside, where he thought the dark thoughts he didn’t care to consider in the bright light of day, he worried that there might come a day when Jesamine would be so strong, so self-sufficient, that she wouldn’t need him anymore. And that if she didn’t need him, then she might not want him anymore either. And then the only way to keep her . . . would be to break her spirit, make her dependent on him again. He knew that for a selfish thought immediately, and pushed it aside. He wanted what was best for her. He did. He’d always known that sometimes loving someone meant having the strength to let them go, when they outgrew you. He hoped that wouldn’t happen. But here in the ancient Standing, he couldn’t help but remember the oldest saying of his Clan.