Deathstalker Return (64 page)

Anne got up and bustled around her office, chatting lightly as she got the tea things together. Emma took the lid off the biscuit barrel, and rooted inside for something with a really thick chocolate coating. And Anne picked up the heavy crystal paperweight from her desk and hit Emma on the back of the head with it, as hard as she could. The force of the blow bent Emma forwards in her chair. She cried out hoarsely, one flailing arm batting the biscuit barrel away. Anne hit Emma again and again and again, putting all her strength into every blow. Blood flew on the air, and the sound of bone crunching and splintering was clear, even over Anne’s heavy breathing and Emma’s groans. Her hands reached for her gun and her sword, but her fingers were spasming helplessly. Anne hit her again and again, shrieking
Why won’t you die! Why won’t you die!
Emma fell forwards out of her chair and crashed onto the floor. She tried to crawl towards the door, and Anne moved with her, leaning right over to hit her again and again, even though her arm was aching fiercely. There was blood all over her hand and her arm now, and some had sprayed across her distorted face.

Finally Anne realized that Emma Steel had stopped moving. She knelt down, still clutching the gore-soaked paperweight in her hand, and checked the pulse in the Paragon’s neck. There was nothing there. Emma wasn’t breathing, and her eyes were fixed. Anne straightened up, and let the dripping paperweight fall from her hand. She was panting for breath, as though she’d just run a race, and her head was swimming. She noticed there was blood on the front of her dress, and brushed at it absently, making it worse. Anne looked at the blood on her hand for a while, and then at the dead body before her. Blood was soaking into her carpet, ruining it. Finn. She had to call Finn. He would know what to do.

She went over to the comm unit, giving the body plenty of room, and called Finn on their special security line. He was busy, as always, and didn’t want to be bothered, but somehow she managed to make him understand how serious the situation was, without going into details. Dazed as she was, she still knew better than to speak openly on a comm channel. Finn said he’d come immediately. Anne sat in her chair, and waited, trying not to look at the body. She tried to wipe the blood off her hand and arm. Her breathing didn’t want to slow. She felt giddy, and sick. It seemed to take forever until Finn finally came. He had to knock and say his name several times, before she roused enough to unlock the door and let him in. He was very surprised to see the dead body. He made Anne tell him everything that had happened. Anne explained what she’d done and why, in a mostly calm voice, and Finn was very reassuring. When she finally finished, he put his arm around her shoulders.

“Now you’re not to worry, Anne. You did the right thing. And you did very well, taking out a Paragon, all on your own. And Emma Steel, too. I’m impressed, Anne. Really. I didn’t know you had it in you. I shall see you in a whole new light from now on. But you’re not to worry about a thing. I’ll have my people come in and clean up this mess. No one needs to know Emma Steel was ever here. Now, she told you she had evidence against me. If she didn’t bring it with her, she must have left it with someone, as insurance.”

“She mentioned a reporter she’d been working with,” said Anne. “But she wouldn’t reveal the name. I did try . . .”

“I’m sure you did. We’ll track down whoever it is. Someone always knows. You’re not to be upset, Anne. You did well. You saw a threat to us, and you stamped it out.” Finn laughed suddenly, and took both of Anne’s hands in his. “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to make you my Queen! I can’t think of anyone more suited to reign at my side. King Finn and Queen Anne; what a team we’ll be!”

 

 

The streets were crowded all through the Parade of the Endless, for James’s funeral procession. Sobbing crowds lined street after street as his coffin progressed slowly through the city, borne on a gun carriage, with mounted ceremonial guards going before and after. Wreaths adorned the coffin, and the people threw flowers into the road before it. The man who should have been King, betrayed and slain by his own jealous brother. The media was full of it, on every channel. Cameras broadcast the slow solemn procession live, to every world in the Empire. To have lost him once was bad enough, all those years ago; to lose him twice was unbearable. To many, James’s unexpected and miraculous return had been a sign that things were changing for the better, an omen of better times to come. That there was still hope, in the face of the Terror.

And now that hope had been snatched away from them, by a man they’d once admired and adored. It was almost too much to bear.

One person alone in the streets of the city didn’t give a damn for poor dead James. Nina Malapert, anonymous in the ubiquitous mourning black, her pink mohawk subdued under a heavy black cowl, shouldered her way through the packed crowds, not even glancing at the street. She was on her way to the public mortuary, where Emma Steel’s body was being held. No public procession for the Paragon Emma Steel, even though she deserved it more. No, Emma was condemned as a traitor now, her body destined for the city incinerator, her ashes for the city dump. Not even a stone with a number on it, to mark her resting place. Nina was damned if she’d let that happen.

She had to bribe her way into the mortuary, but it cost less than she expected. Perhaps the big gun she let the man glimpse on her hip had something to do with that. The attendant let her into the cold room, told her she had ten minutes tops, and then went back to watching James’s funeral procession on the viewscreen in his pokey little office. Emma was lying on a metal slab, identified only by a number. She was wearing a regulation white shift, and a cloth to cover the damage done to her head. Nina trailed her fingertips across Emma’s cold brown cheek. She’d meant to say so many things to Emma, promises of revenge and retribution and more, but now . . . it all seemed so small, in the face of death.

Emma seemed smaller, diminished, like an exquisite doll that had been carelessly handled and crushed. Something infinitely precious, forever ruined. She should have been left in her Paragon’s armor, at least. She’d earned the right to lie in full honors. But by attacking Anne Barclay, she’d been condemned as just another traitor. Just another Paragon gone bad. Nina couldn’t believe it, when the news came into the media office where she was trying to get some work done, while waiting for Emma to come back. Anne Barclay? There really wasn’t anyone you could trust, after all.

“They struck you down from behind,” Nina said finally, her voice small and lost in the overpowering silence of the cold room. “It was the only way they could have brought you down. They always were afraid to face you. But they’ll pay for this, Emma, all of them. With your help.” Her hand went to her sleeve, and the hidden Paragon’s skeleton key that Emma had left behind, along with her handwritten notes. “I have a plan, Emma. A simple plan, perhaps, but then I never was a very complicated person. I’m going to tear down Finn’s rotten regime, and dance on its ashes. All for you, my darling Emma. All for you.”

 

 

Stuart Lennox was chained to the wall of his holding cell with heavy steel chains that clinked loudly every time he moved his wrists. He was waiting to be moved to maximum security, but no one was in any rush. He was supposed to be doped to keep him quiet, but the prison doctor had said he was too frail yet. It didn’t matter. They all knew a broken man when they saw one. They’d left him a protein cube and a cup of water, but he hadn’t touched them.

He was too busy thinking.

Even after all that had happened, up until today he’d still clung to his belief in Finn. Belief that deep down, the man cared for him. Loved him, in his way. It was hard to realize he’d been such a fool. The day’s events had been like a shock of cold water in the face, waking him from a self-indulgent dream. Well, he was awake now, and his mind was sharp and focused again. Sooner or later they would come for him, and seeing only a frail broken man, they would be relaxed and careless. They would make a mistake, give him an opening, and then . . . Stuart Lennox would show them all that he was still a Paragon.

He picked up the protein cube, took a firm bite, and chewed hungrily.

There was a commotion outside his cell, and Stuart looked round curiously. There was scuffling and shouting, and the sudden sharp sound of an energy gun firing at close range. Stuart was on his feet in a moment. Something was happening. He could feel it. He took hold of his chains in both hands, ready to use them as a weapon if necessary. The lock on the heavy steel door snapped open, and Stuart braced himself, ready for one last chance at escape or revenge. Or at least a chance to die bravely. The door swung open, and a young woman in black—with a tall pink mohawk, a really big gun in one hand, and a Paragon’s skeleton key in the other—grinned at him cheerfully.

“Hi there! I’m Nina Malapert, demon girl reporter. Emma Steel was my partner and my friend, and Finn’s people killed her. So I thought maybe you and I could get together and do something about it. What do you think, sweetie?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Stuart. “Unlock these chains and just point me at the bastards.”

Nina flashed him another brilliant smile, and used her skeleton key on his chains. She had to support some of his weight as they left the cell. Stuart hadn’t realized just how weak he’d become. Outside, the reception area was trashed, and there was a dead guard behind the main desk, and another lying on the floor. Nina hurried him past them.

“Sorry about the mess, but they weren’t as open to reason and bribes as I’d hoped. Gosh, there isn’t much of you, is there, lovey? I’ll have to feed you up when I get you out of here.”

“Where are we going?” said Stuart, keeping an ear open for the sound of approaching reinforcements as he reached down to snatch up a guard’s gun.

“The Rookery,” said Nina. “Emma kept a place there, for emergencies.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” said Stuart.

And they both laughed quietly as they left the lockup and disappeared into the indifferent city, plotting their revenges.

 

 

Anne Barclay watched James’s funeral procession on her office monitors. She had considered going in person, but she was never comfortable in crowds. People made her nervous. She’d always preferred to view the world at a distance, through her monitors. It gave her a necessary illusion of control over the proceedings; and keeping the world at arm’s length made it much harder for the world to hurt her. Get close to the world, get close to people, like poor dear Jamie . . . tears welled up in her eyes, even though they were already puffy and sore from crying. James had been the only one who ever really cared for her, and now he was gone, and she was alone again.

There was a new carpet on her office floor. They couldn’t get the bloodstains out of the old one. Anne didn’t think about Emma Steel. Didn’t think about her at all. She slept perfectly well, after a few sleeping tablets.

There was a knock at the door. Anne carefully checked who it was on the corridor monitor before unlocking the door and letting Finn in. He saw what she was watching on the monitors, and sank easily into the chair next to hers.

“Well, if nothing else he got to go out in style. Not bad, for a few cell scrapings with delusions of grandeur. Look at the peasants, lapping it all up. They do love a good show, and a good cry. They’re always much fonder of their heroes when they’re dead. Still, James served his purpose. He brought Douglas down.”

“What are we going to do about Douglas?” said Anne, still looking at the monitors.

“I don’t think we’ll take him to trial just yet. Let him stew for a while in Traitor’s Hall, while we encourage public indignation to simmer and grow ugly. Then, a very public trial followed almost immediately by a very public execution. Something slow and messy, I think. A good show will help to take the people’s minds off . . . other things. Perhaps I’ll duel Douglas to the death in the Arena! Yes, I like that. Finally, a chance to prove that I’m the better man, and always was.”

“Why do you hate Douglas so much?” said Anne. “He was your friend, once. You were always together; you and Douglas and Lewis. You seemed happy enough. Now it’s like there’s no room in you for anything but hate. Why, Finn? You’re not like me. You’ve always had everything you ever wanted.”

“No,” said Finn. “I never had what I really wanted. I was never their friend, not really. We were just colleagues, with things in common that no one else could understand. So we hung out together . . . but it always felt like I was just going through the motions. Most of my life felt like that, back then. And anyway, friendship wasn’t what I wanted. All my life I desperately wanted love to be real, and it never was, for me. No matter who I was with. I think perhaps I’m not capable of it. I tried sex, as a substitute, but even that didn’t feel real, for me. Passion has always been a stranger to me. All my life I’ve wanted to know . . . what every other man knows. To feel, just once, what everyone else feels. And I never have. There’s only ever been me. So, if I can’t have love, all that’s left is hate, and to be a monster.”

Anne looked at him. “We’ve been close. Done things together. We could . . .”

“No,” said Finn, not unkindly. “Because it would mean something to you, and it wouldn’t to me.”

“Are you happy now? As a traitor and a villain?”

Finn considered the matter carefully, and then smiled. “Yes. I’ve never been happier. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m on my way to see Douglas. Why don’t you come with me? It’ll take your mind off James. Trust me, there’s nothing like gloating over a defeated foe to brighten up the darkest day.”

“Sure,” said Anne. “Why not?”