Deathstalker Return (62 page)

“Trust me, Owen, we looked,” said Silence. “We looked everywhere.”

“She isn’t dead,” said Owen. “I’d know if she was dead.”

 

 

Shub found him some clothes, and then they went to the annex containing the twelve monstrous survivors. Owen stopped while their nature and situation were explained to him. Lewis added what he’d learned in the heart of the Maze. They’d expected Owen to be appalled, but his white-hot anger surprised them. He strode up and down the aisle, staring into each cell in turn. The twelve survivors watched him silently, in their own way. Lewis shrank back a little as Owen turned his cold glare on him.

“This is intolerable,” Owen snapped. “They belong in a hospital, not a zoo! I won’t have this!”

He gestured sharply with one hand, and all the force shields closing off the cells disappeared. Jesamine shrank back against Lewis, and Rose grabbed Brett’s arm to keep him from bolting. Owen ignored them, concentrating on the twelve survivors as they emerged from their cells for the first time in two hundred years. The man and woman joined into one huge insect-like body. The one who had been turned inside-out all down one side had finally stopped crying, and was trying to smile with its half a mouth. A man who had once moved impossibly quickly slowed to a blur, kneeling before Owen. A man who had torn out his own eyes to keep from seeing, now looked at Owen with tears in his new eyes. An ever-changing shape settled for a while into an ordinary woman, wringing her hands together in joy at seeing Owen. A man who had slept for two hundred years woke up, and came out of his cell to kneel before Owen. A woman who had smiled endlessly for two hundred years sobbed quietly in relief. A great fleshy mass that had once been human threw aside his extra bulk like a shell and came out to kneel in his turn. A woman stopped fading in and out of reality long enough to kneel before Owen. Someone who looked just like Owen came out to kneel before the original. And a man who had done nothing but commit murder for two hundred years had to be coaxed out of his cell by the others. He showed Owen the blood dripping from his hands, and asked pitifully if he could stop now, at last.

“It is over?” he said. “Please, I want to go home. We all want to go home.”

“Of course,” said Owen. “And you will. None of this is your fault. Go back into the Maze, and it will heal you. Because I said so.”

He gestured with his hand again, and all twelve disappeared. Owen turned to the Shub robot. “They’ll be back out again, in time. Wait here for them.”

“We will stay and care for them, in your name,” said the robot. “Whatever comes back out. All that lives is holy.”

The others were looking at each other uncertainly. Even Silence had never seen Owen use his power so casually. Lewis cleared his throat.

“Is it going to be that easy, dealing with the Terror?”

“Beats the hell out of me,” said Owen. “I haven’t got a clue what the Terror is, never mind what to do about it. I think the first thing to do is go and get a good close-up look at it. Maybe that will give me a few ideas.”

There was a long horrified silence, followed by a loud clamor of objections from pretty much everybody, mostly along the lines of
Are you crazy?
They broke off only when the
Hereward
’s AI came through on all their comm implants.

“Sorry to interrupt, gang, but we are all in deep doo-doo. Welcome back, Owen! This is Ozymandias—or at least what’s left of him. We really must sit down and have a nice little chat in the future, assuming we have one. At the moment, I’m sorry to have to tell you that what appears to be the whole damned Imperial fleet has just dropped out of hyperspace and assumed orbit around Haden. It seems Finn isn’t taking any chances.”

Owen laughed. “Just like old times, isn’t it, Oz?”

It was the day of the Coronation, and Finn Durandal strode into the Imperial Court as though he already owned it. He was followed by massed marching ranks of Church Militant and Pure Humanity faithful, looking for all the world like a general at the head of an invading army—which, truth be told, wasn’t that far from the reality. Officially, with James dead and Douglas disgraced, Finn was being made King by popular acclaim and Parliamentary decree. Actually, Finn just said he was going to be King, and everyone else went along. The MPs held a special session in the House, and took it in turns to stand up and say
What a good idea,
and the people, desperate for a savior to rescue them from all the evils that troubled the Empire, clamored for the earliest possible Coronation. There were dissenting voices, but nobody listened to them, or at least, no one who mattered. Finn was going to be King, and that was all there was to it.

Finn stepped out across the great hall of the court at a good pace, smiling and nodding regally as he progressed down the wide central aisle separating the crowds of carefully chosen guests. Rank after rank of the finest fanatics stamped after him in perfect lock step, looking neither to the left nor the right. For them, this was a holy occasion. The anointing of the chosen one. Both the Church Miliant and the Pure Humanity representatives were carefully selected zealots of the first order, all determined to outdo each other in military precision and presentation. After all, the whole Empire was watching. Live. They did make a magnificent sight, bold and bright and utterly intimidating in their crisp dress uniforms, making it clear to everyone where Finn’s power base lay.

Finn stopped at the base of the raised dais at the end of the hall, bowed to the empty throne, and then turned to smile and wave at the guests and the cameras. He was still wearing his black leather Champion’s uniform, under the traditional cloak of Kings. He looked tall and handsome and already impossibly regal. He went to his throne, and sat down. The zealots crashed to a halt before the raised dais with one last thunderous about-turn, so that they could study the invited guests for any sign of trouble. The zealots were armed. The guests weren’t. By order.

Musicians played, trumpets sounded, the choir sang like angels, and flocks of holographic doves soared through brilliant shafts of light falling through the gorgeous stained-glass windows in the high ceiling. It was tradition and ceremony in the old style, and the sense of occasion was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. The invited guests were unusually quiet, even subdued, in their seats, and the dozens of remote cameras bobbing overhead were hard put to find anything interesting to concentrate on. Unseen in their little studios at the back of the court, the commentators were reduced to discussing what people were wearing, to fill in time until the ceremony proper began. Anne Barclay slipped through the heavy black drapes behind the throne, and came forwards to stand beside Finn. She was wearing a stunning blue-and-silver gown, expertly cut to show off her fabulous figure to its best advantage, and Anne wore it without grace, as though it belonged to someone else. She looked out over the assembled guests, and sniffed loudly.

“Look at them. Miserable bastards. Not an honestly cheerful face in the bunch. You’d think we were at a funeral, not a Coronation.”

“They’ll get into the swing of things, once the ceremony’s under way,” Finn said calmly. “These are trying times. You have to allow for a few long faces. They’ll all cheer loudly enough once I’m crowned. The guards will see to that.”

“You should have held James’s funeral first, and then had the Coronation,” Anne said bluntly.

“First things first, my dear. The Empire needs a King. And it’s not as if James is going to be impatient. Oh, do try to cheer up, Anne. I know you were fond of James, but it’s been over a week now. Excessive mourning is unflattering and self-indulgent. Now smile at the nice people, and I don’t want to hear any mention of James again. This is my big day, and I don’t want any distractions. In fact I’ve given orders to my security people that if there are any distractions, they’re to be taken outside and shot.”

“Looks like everyone’s here who should be,” said Anne. “All the usual suspects. Politicians, businessmen, Church elders and Neuman leaders.”

“Of course. All the real movers and shakers, come to pay me homage. I had to send out some guards to collect a few MPs, to make sure they didn’t get lost on their way here, but these politicians always get a little sulky when they realize they’re on the losing side. I’ve made a note of certain names, for later.”

Anne looked at Finn, sitting casually on the throne like he belonged there, and always had. “You finally got what you wanted, Finn. How does it feel?”

“It feels fine, my dear. But this is only the beginning of what I want.”

Anne decided not to follow that, for the moment, and changed the subject. “You’re still wearing your Champion’s armor. Have you given any thought as to who’s going to serve as your new Champion?”

“I shall be King and Champion,” said Finn. “I see no reason to share my power and authority with anyone else. Besides, there’s no one worthy, these days.”

Anne decided she wasn’t going to follow that one either, and so she held her peace and looked out again over the packed court. A healthy-sized gathering had turned out to see Finn’s Coronation, and there was certainly no lack of media interest, but Anne couldn’t help comparing the scene with the glorious celebrations of Douglas’s Coronation. Such golden days, full of hope and optimism. Today’s crowd seemed a much more drab affair. Mostly because there were no Society people, and no celebrities. Finn wouldn’t have them.
Parasites,
he said dismissively. And perhaps they were, but you could always rely on them to add a touch of color and excitement. Anne sighed quietly. It seemed Finn was determined to run an austere court. And of course there were no espers or aliens, to add a little charm and strangeness . . .

Is this what we’ve come to?
thought Anne.
Nothing but fanatics and puritans . . . and a King who cares for nothing but being King?

The ceremony proper commenced exactly on time, and proceeded with military precision. Everyone was in the right place, at the right time, and everyone knew their lines. Fear can be a great motivator. The crowd cheered and clapped in all the right places. The guards saw to that. Joseph Wallace, now official head of the Church Militant as well as chairman of the Transmutation Board, worked his way through the rituals with efficient if graceless thoroughness. He’d gone way overboard on the gold trimmings and face paint, but no one said anything. It was a slightly rushed ceremony, reduced in advance by Finn and Anne to the bare essentials, and they completely dispensed with Owen’s traditional warning to the people, on the unanswerable grounds that the Terror was already upon them. Wallace placed the crown on Finn’s head, and everyone cheered. The fanatics made the most noise, of course, along with certain MPs hoping to be noticed by the new King, but in the end most of the cheers were honest enough. James was dead, Douglas was disgraced, and the Empire needed a King, so why not Finn? He looked the part well enough. And at least no one would ever accuse him of being weak or indecisive.

The floating news cameras carried the scene live to every planet in the Empire, and there was much rejoicing. Only remote cameras had been allowed into the Court. No actual reporters. Finn had absolutely no intention of answering any awkward questions. He controlled an awful lot of the news media now, directly or indirectly, but you never could tell what a reporter might suddenly get it into his head to ask. A few had tried to sneak in anyway, and had been very thoroughly thrown out. All except for demon girl reporter Nina Malapert, who was there as the guest of the Paragon Emma Steel. Nina got away with it because absolutely nobody wanted to risk upsetting Emma Steel.

No other Paragons were present, not even Finn’s close personal friend Stuart Lennox of Virimonde. Paragons were not popular at present, for a variety of reasons, including what had just happened with Clan Deathstalker on Virimonde.

King Finn stood up from his throne to make his first official speech. Anne had put a lot of work into it, and Finn made it all sound suitably spontaneous. The speech was short and to the point, mostly vague but emphatic promises of better times ahead for everyone, and the announcement of Douglas Campbell’s forthcoming trial for treason, sedition, murder, and royal fratricide. There were some murmurs at that, quickly glared into silence by the watching guards. Everyone cheered at the end of the speech, King Finn smiled and waved, and then disappeared behind the hanging black drapes, and everyone went home. There was no official party, this time. Finn wasn’t a party person.

 

 

In fact, Finn’s first official visit as King was to the apartment of his close friend, the Paragon Stuart Lennox. Finn had sent an official summons, calling on Stuart to attend his new King, but Stuart wouldn’t open his door to the messenger, and his comm line was closed down. So Finn went to see Stuart. Anyone else would have had their door kicked in, and been dragged before their King in chains for such a slight, but Finn went in person. For old times’ sake.