Under the Eye of God (33 page)

“I've lost a thousand brothers,” Lee said. “Every single one of them chose death rather than serve the Vampire's greed. So will I when the time comes. I won't do less than my brothers.”

Sawyer opened his mouth to reply, but a hand on his knee stopped him—Finn's. The big man looked like a wraith, all ashen and gray. “Sawyer,” he said weakly, “Please don't argue with them.”

Sawyer—almost as weak as Finn from the effects of the slop field—rolled over on his side so he could face his brother directly. “We didn't know,” he said. “We've always looked out for each other, no one else—”

“Shh,” said Finn, reaching a hand out to Sawyer. “Don't talk. Don't argue. Don't waste your strength. They have honor. We have . . . life.”

Sawyer didn't want his brother to see his dismay, so he just smiled and nodded and took his brother's hand in his own. “Right,” he said. “But no more government jobs. Never again. Okay?”

“Okay,” agreed Finn, and then he lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Noon came and went. The locator signal did not go off.

Star-Captain Campbell swore in frustration. She paced the short length of the shuttleboat like a caged animal. Lee-1169 had not shown up, and she had lost valuable time. “I never should have trusted that red-faced little weasel. Rebels! Pfah! They always think their cause has more importance than any contract. They never keep their word.”

“The Dragon Guard might have captured them.”

“I doubt that. The Dragons couldn't hit the broad side of a hanger, firing from the inside.”

“Shall we wait longer?” asked Ota.

“No. We've waited long enough.”

“I do feel some obligation to them—”

“And I feel some obligation to thirty-three metric tons of pfingle eggs—a deep financial obligation.” Campbell spoke to the computer, “EDNA? Download the latest launch and intercept course. We lift in fifteen minutes. Scan for local patrols and high-altitude interference. If necessary, I'll hedge-hob halfway around this damn rock, but I'd just as soon stand her on her tail and climb straight for the sky.”

“Working,” EDNA said politely, and then almost immediately after, “Done. I have also downloaded six alternate courses and evasion routines.”

Captain Campbell muttered something unintelligible in acknowledgment and flung herself into the pilot's chair to examine the courses on her screen. “Gito! Robin! Jen! Cycle up the main batteries. Check your weaponry. Heat the thrusters. Eject all bystanders and non-paying customers. Seal the hatches. Check for atmospheric integrity. Fasten your seatbelts and stand by for liftoff.”

In the aft of the shuttlecraft, Robin glanced over at Gito. “She loves doing that.”

“She acts like a martinet,” Gito grumbled as he sealed the hatch.

“But we chose to work for this martinet,” Robin replied, glancing down a row of green lights on her work station. “So we might as well enjoy her.”

The Captain of
The Lady MacBeth
came stamping back to the passenger's cabin, with a glowering expression on her face. She looked at Harry, Kask, Ibaka, and Arl-N, all that remained of the original band of escapees. “Well?” she demanded. “Without Lee-1169, how do you plan to pay for your escape?”

Ibaka crawled into Kask's lap and huddled there. The big Dragon glanced over at Arl-N, the spindly man. “Should we get off and wait? Without Lee-1169, who will take us to the Alliance of Life?”

Arl-N grinned at the Dragon. “Wherever we go, we bring the Alliance with us, Kask. It works that way.” He looked up at Captain Campbell. “We need to leave this planet before it kills us. The Justice has already paid his fare with an arbitration—”

“He did not!”

“Would you like to arbitrate that?” Arl-N smiled blandly. “In any case, I would like to suggest the same arrangement. Perhaps the Dragon and I have some skill or service that we can offer you in exchange for our passage.”

“I have all the crew I need, thank you.”

“Do you have contacts with the Freebooters' Circuit on Burihatin?”

Campbell hesitated. “Can you provide that service?”

Arl-N nodded. “My skill as a negotiator almost equals my fame as a poet.”

“That news doesn't fill me with confidence. I've never heard of you before.”

Arl-N spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Then you will have to take my word for it—or throw us off. The Dragon, by the way, works as my bodyguard. I don't think he'd allow it.”

“I hate negotiations like this,” Captain Campbell said. “We need to get out of here, not waste time arguing.” But she allowed herself an appreciative nod. “On the other hand, I like your style of negotiation. I'd rather have you on my side of the table than opposite. I'll take you as far as Burihatin. After that, we'll see—”

“Thank you, my lady. I will strive not to disappoint you.”

Campbell grunted and went back to the front of the boat. “All right,” she called. “Lock and lift!” She waited until the last light on her board turned green, then eased the boat gently forward and up into the air. The tiny seed-shaped craft nosed up out of the canyon, slewed around to point eastward, and began accelerating across the broken hills to the desert beyond.

The shuttleboat raced hard across the desert floor, staying low and building up speed, until at last it swung its nose upward and sliced straight out into the hard red sky.

Despite her victory, the gloom of day filled the Lady Zillabar's chambers. Only a faint pink glow seeped up from around the edges of the floor. It did nothing to dispel the darkness. The ornate panels and screenwork remained hidden in shadow, and the pale silk draperies that framed the alcoves hung motionless and looked like empty shrouds. Above, the tiny animated gargoyles and imps that prowled the upper cornices had fallen silent and still; they curled up inconspicuously into their metal shells and waited patiently for the celebrations of night to return.

Four figures stood at the dark end of the hall—two Vampires, two humans.

Lady Zillabar towered taller than the others. She wore a black velvet cloak that enveloped her completely; its hood almost completely shielded her face. Her smoldering eyes seemed to glow in the air with only blackness around them.

Across from her stood Kernel d'Vashti, resplendent in his armor and medals and jewelled ornamentation. He wore his blood-red cape slung back over his shoulders so the sculpted and polished beauty of his breastplate could gleam brightly in the gloom.

Between them stood two humans. Sawyer, the thin blond; and Finn, the heavier dark one. Both the men held themselves stiff and emotionless before the Vampires. Tension edged the air.

Zillabar looked across the space at d'Vashti. “This day has brought nothing but bad news. What do you bring me?” She looked at the two men with ill-concealed distaste.

“I bring you what you ask for. As I have always done.”

Lady Zillabar waited impassively.

d'Vashti explained. “You asked for the TimeBinder of Thoska-Roole? I have him in custody.”

Zillabar inclined her head curiously at Sawyer and Finn. “And these two men?”

“These two men performed the difficult part of that service for us,” d'Vashti explained. “You said you wanted to meet everyone responsible. Sawyer and Finn Markham tracked the enemies of the Regency—
your
enemies, my lady—and brought them back to Phaestor justice. Let them taste your gratitude.”

Zillabar's glance flickered briefly over the two humans, then returned to focus steadily on the ambitious d'Vashti. “My gratitude?” she asked in a voice like stone. “Do you know what your little escapade has cost me?” Zillabar's eyes pierced out of the darkness. “A band of armed escapees travelled south from the labor camp. They attacked and overpowered the guests at my private nest.”

“Yes,” acknowledged d'Vashti, unembarrassed. “I had heard of the difficulties.” He added blandly, “If you had let me build that nest or provide the protection, it would not have happened.” He allowed himself an outward smile. “I offer my sympathies—and I share your shock and outrage at the unfortunate discovery of the late Prince Drydel's unworthy behavior. On the other hand, perhaps you may take some condolence that you discovered his discourtesies now instead of later, when they would have caused even greater embarrassment.”

Lady Zillabar stared across at d'Vashti, astonished at the boldness of his manner. Of course, she had known of Drydel's personal tastes; she'd never told him that she knew, but she'd made her nest available to him specifically so he could pursue his boyish pleasures in a safe and secluded location and avoid the possibility of bringing shame down on his name and a reflected taint on hers.

Obviously, by saying these hateful things in the presence of their human prisoners, d'Vashti intended his remarks as a ploy to embarrass her now. He referred to the matter as a deliberate show of strength, as well as test to see what she had known and when she had known it. She didn't dare let him win this conversational battle. Only the most devastating of rebukes would do.

She let the anger flood up from her inner face and she vented it on the pompous fool before her. “You engineered the escape, didn't you? You planned the entire operation. You pointed the criminals southward. You told them of the location of the nest. And you kept away the Dragon Guards who would have intercepted them. You sacrificed Lord Drydel to your ambition, didn't you?”

d'Vashti bowed in supplication, but not low enough. “My Lady,” he said. “I wish I had the cunning that you believe. Did I have a plan for the prisoners' escape? Yes? Did they follow it? No, they did not. They found their own way of breaking the control of the slave-bands and overpowering the guards. The death of Lord Drydel has sorrowed us all. I myself must admit to some attraction to your Lord, and remain deeply grieved at his loss.”

At these impudent words, Zillabar's turned white with fury. Even d'Vashti saw it and reacted with concern. Perhaps he had miscalculated—

“I don't appreciate your insults, Kernel d'Vashti.” Zillabar said with deadly intent. Her expression narrowed. “Do you believe me such a fool as to think that I would accept this fanciful tale of human ingenuity without question?” She snorted. “No human can outthink a Vampire.”

d'Vashti's expression remained unchanged. “Nevertheless, my lady, I would rather tell you an impossible truth than a polite lie.”

Inwardly, Zillabar exulted. She had changed the subject, forcing d'Vashti to defend his own honor instead of challenging her authority.

Watching this, Sawyer and Finn exchanged a nervous glance. Sawyer began to doubt that they would leave this room alive. After letting them see such a naked display of her anger, would Zillabar really let them leave freely? On the other hand, maybe she intended to embarrass d'Vashti by deliberately upbraiding him in front of underlings. On the third hand . . . who knew what ultimate goals motivated any Vampire's actions?

Zillabar turned away from the others, her black cloak sweeping around her like a tame tornado. “I know of your ambition, d'Vashti. You may forget your dreams. I promise you, they will not happen.”

d'Vashti chose his words carefully. “I don't think I understand exactly what you mean . . . ?”

“Don't play coy with me. You know exactly what I mean. You can't possibly think that I would now name you to take
his
place as my Imperial Consort.”

d'Vashti replied calmly, “My lady, you will choose whoever pleases you. And I wish you every happiness and joy. But, if I may venture one question, however rude it may seem—who else could you find who has the appropriate rank? Other than myself, of course?”

Zillabar whirled around to stare angrily back at him. “I'd sooner mate with a human—”

d'Vashti inclined his head in a polite nod. “You may have to. Here, you may practice on these two.”

Zillabar barely glanced at Sawyer and Finn. She snarled, “Forget it, d'Vashti. You will never share my royal bed. I want a meal, not an
hors d'ouevre
.”

“Nevertheless,” d'Vashti replied, keeping his voice incredibly calm and emotionless, “There may come a day when you will choose to feel otherwise. I shall remain enthusiastically at your service until then.”

Zillabar realized abruptly that despite her anger, despite her deliberate attempt to belittle and embarrass him in front of these two miserable human wretches, d'Vashti had—by retaining his courtesy and calm demeanor—won the argument. He had embarrassed her with his oily display of loyalty. The realization only enraged her more.

Somehow—she steadied herself. She stiffened herself within her cape and reasserted her careful control over her feelings. She had enjoyed Drydel, and she had felt a deep sense of loss and betrayal at his death—she still felt it now, and would probably continue to feel the ache for some days to come—but to exercise her anger or seek undue revenge would only demonstrate that she had lost herself in the red wash of her emotions and forgetting the rigorous mastery of the Vampire dream state, the sweet delicious taste of the inner soul. The taste of blood.

Later
, she told herself.
I will deal with him later. The time will come
. . . .

Carefully, she brushed the hood of her cloak back, revealing her exquisitely shaped features. “Your loyalty touches my heart,” she said with a grim smile. “I will not forget what you have done on my behalf.”

Zillabar raised one delicate hand and spoke quietly to her Imperial Ring. The ornate seal gleamed brightly in response as she commanded, “Prepare for departure. Set a course for Burihatin.”

To d'Vashti's startled look, she explained. “You make plans, you give orders, and you think you show cleverness; but your people behave as clumsily and as nakedly as you do.”