Deathstalker Coda (53 page)
Authors: Simon R. Green
“Let’s take things in order,” he said flatly. “The Emperor is no longer our main enemy, and can no longer be the main target of our energies. He has his own problems, so we needn’t worry about him. All our old plans and strategies are hereby scrapped, or at least postponed indefinitely, until we’ve dealt with the menace of the uber-espers. Diana, let’s start with you. Tell us about Delta City.”
“The whole city has fallen,” said Diana. She looked and sounded smaller than usual, beaten down by the things she’d seen, and couldn’t prevent. “The girls and I watched it happen, from a safe distance. The city’s population is now either dead or possessed. No one got out alive. Anyone too old, too young, or too sick to walk was butchered on the spot. That’s what the uber-espers will do to us, when they come here. We can’t negotiate, even if someone was dumb enough to suggest it, because we don’t have anything they want that we could use to buy them off. And I don’t know that we’re strong enough to keep them out. The best we can hope for is to hold the thralls off long enough for the uber-espers to get impatient, and turn up in person. There are a few things I could try then. If they were stupid enough to put themselves at risk. Which they aren’t.”
“You sound scared of them,” said Stuart, frowning. “I didn’t think you were scared of anyone. I mean, you’re Jenny Psycho! One of the legends of old Empire!”
“Aren’t you a bit old, to be believing in legends? The last time the uber-espers ganged up on me in an ambush, over a hundred years ago, they killed me.” Diana shuddered suddenly. “They didn’t even leave enough of my body to bury. And they’re even more powerful now.”
Everyone stirred uneasily. Nina fixed Diana with a thoughtful look. “You never did explain how you came back from that.”
“No,” said Diana. “I didn’t, did I?”
“What are our options?” said Douglas. “Speak up, people. I’ll listen to anything that even sounds halfway sane.”
“We stay put,” said Tel Markham, hovering at Douglas’s side, as always. A dark, grim presence, in clothes he kept spotlessly clean. “We let the uber-espers’ army enter the Parade of the Endless, and then watch safely from the Rookery as Finn’s soldiers go head-to-head with the thralls. With any luck, they should weaken each other considerably. We put armed guards on our barricades to keep everyone out. We don’t have the room or the resources to support any more refugees. When the worst of the fighting is over, we go out and hit the survivors with everything we’ve got. The thralls might have the numbers, but they don’t have our weapons, or our knowledge of fighting. We should be able to push a weakened force back out of the city, and then take over the Parade of the Endless for ourselves. Finn will be too weak to stop us.”
“And then?” said Stuart.
Tel grinned. “We wait for the Deathstalker and his fleet to turn up and save the day. They can’t be far off now.”
Douglas looked at Nina, who shrugged. “Sorry, lovey, but as long as the fleet’s still in hyperspace there’s no telling how far off they are. They could be here today, tomorrow, next week. We won’t know till they’re practically ready to hit orbit.”
“And in the meantime,” said Stuart, “we’re supposed to let everyone else in the city die, or be possessed? While watching safely from behind our mental shield? To hell with everyone but us? About what I’d expected from you, Markham.”
“The safety of the Rookery must come first!” snapped Tel. “The King must be protected!”
“No,” said Douglas, and everyone looked at him. “We go out into the city, and protect the people. This is our city, and they are all our people. Stuart, talk with our strategy groups and start putting together some possible courses of action for me to consider. We have resources none of the other cities had, and I want to use them all, to the full. We can do this. We are going to hold this city against everything the uber-espers can throw at us, and prove they’re not unbeatable.”
“Who are we supposed to be proving it to?” Nina said quietly. “Our best information is that every other city on the planet has already fallen. Smaller towns are being ignored, for now, but . . . We’re all that’s left, Douglas.”
“Then we prove it to ourselves,” said Douglas. “After all, someone’s got to be here to welcome Lewis home.”
The uber-espers summoned their armies from all over Logres, and pointed them at the Parade of the Endless. Millions of possessed bodies tramped away from the ruins of cities, all wearing the same smile on their faces. Millions upon millions of thralls, moved by five all-powerful minds, heading towards the last free city in the world, to tear down the Emperor Finn Durandal and his people, and then move on to the final prize: the various tasty minds and souls of the Rookery. The dessert at the end of a very satisfying meal. And the chance for revenge on one of their oldest enemies. Life . . . was good. The thrall armies filled the roads and the skies, all heading in the same direction, with mayhem and murder on their minds.
In his usurped palace, in the Parade of the Endless, the Emperor Finn Durandal contacted every other world in the Empire, and demanded help and support and military reinforcements, and every single world turned him down flat. Even the staunchest fanatics of the Church Militant and Pure Humanity laughed in his face, and warned him not to send any ships to their worlds. Any ship traveling from Logres would be blown apart on sight, for fear of infection. And that very definitely included any ship the Emperor might be traveling on. Everyone was more scared of the uber-espers now than they were of Finn. He no longer had the power to compel their obedience.
The Emperor stalked back and forth in his private chambers, thinking furiously, and making note of certain names for future retribution. He had no doubt there would be a future. He was confident he could beat this problem, as he’d beaten so many others. There was always a way. One idea arose almost immediately, but it took a lot more pacing up and down and heavy scowling before he was ready to embrace it. If he was going to beat these esper freaks, he would have to make an alliance with his most hated enemy, his old friend and comrade in arms, Douglas Campbell. It left a nasty taste in the mouth, but Finn had always been able to do the tough, necessary thing. With the forces of the Rookery joined to his clone army, he could go head-to-head with the thralls, and not have to worry about fighting on two fronts at once. Douglas would hate the idea, but he’d agree. Because he still believed in things like duty and honor and responsibility. Finn just believed in survival.
Finn’s armed forces were much reduced, especially after the second disastrous invasion of the Rookery. All he had was his clone army, some scattered troopers and peacekeepers, and his own personal following of hard-core fanatics—the ones that worshiped him as a god. They were always saying they were ready to die for him—now they’d get a chance to prove it. The vast majority of the Church Militant and Pure Humanity on Logres had fallen away from the faith in recent times—the quitters—especially after the execution of their nominal leader, Joseph Wallace. Finn had no doubt he could persuade and cajole most of them to crawl out of their holes and fight on his behalf; he’d always been a great public speaker. But given current conditions, he’d probably have to promise them all kinds of things. Still, promises were all very well, but wait until the thralls were defeated and the city was his again, and then let the poor fools come crying for what they’d been promised. A bargain that cannot be enforced is no bargain at all.
Finn had to stamp out the threat of the uber-espers before Lewis Deathstalker appeared with his damned fleet. Finn had to be seen to be in charge of his city, if not his world, so that he could negotiate from a position of strength. And once Lewis was down on Logres, and within reach, all kinds of things might happen . . . Finn scowled. He was short on time. The fleet could turn up anywhen. No. Concentrate on the matter at hand. Make his deal with Douglas, combine their forces against the uber-espers and their thralls. At least that way he could be reasonably sure that a whole lot of his enemies in the Rookery would die in the fighting, instead of comfortably sitting it out behind their precious shields. Finn smiled suddenly. Douglas was really going to hate this, but he wouldn’t let his pride and personal feelings get in the way of defending his beloved city. And just maybe, in the press of the fighting . . . a knife in the back of an old friend, when no one was looking . . . Ah yes. Every cloud has a silver lining.
And so the Emperor Finn Durandal sent an emissary to the Rookery, to discuss terms. Agreeing in principle was one thing; both sides insisted on strict conditions for their own protection. After a certain amount of verbal fencing over very secure comm links, it was agreed that Douglas would meet with one man from Finn’s inner circle, at his hotel in the Rookery. (Finn hadn’t suggested a meeting at the palace; he didn’t feel like being laughed at.) The Emperor sent Mr. Sylvester, who was well known to the Rookery. Finn had found him there, a long time ago. Mr. Sylvester was a forger, computer hacker, confidence trickster, agent provocateur, and first-class ruiner of reputations. Finn had found a use for all his dubious talents at one time or another.
Mr. Sylvester was searched extremely thoroughly at the border to the Rookery, including a full body scan for weapons, comm bugs, or implanted suicide bombs. Because you never knew with Finn—and, just because the Rookery guards felt like giving Mr. Sylvester a hard time. People who had worked willingly for Finn in the past were no longer popular in the Rookery. The guards also searched the silk-masked figure who accompanied Mr. Sylvester, but he was clean too. One brave soul took a peek at what the man was carrying in his glass jar, under a cloth, and then had to go away and vomit up everything he’d ever eaten.
Mr. Sylvester and his associate were marched through the Rookery by a full company of soldiers, at least partly to keep onlookers from throwing heavy pointed things at their prodigal son. Mr. Sylvester stared straight ahead, smiling professionally, ignoring the threats and insults from the crowds he passed. His masked associate flinched and jumped at every word. The soldiers finally ushered Mr. Sylvester into Douglas’s hotel room, while insisting the masked man stayed outside. The deal had been for one emissary only. Mr. Sylvester looked calmly about him, holding his great leonine head proudly high. He flicked his heavy velvet cloak back over his shoulders, to better show off his cloth-of-gold waistcoat, and smiled at the grim faces before him.
“Dear Sirs and Madam, it is a pleasure and an honor to be here, in such august company. Douglas Campbell—legendary King of Thieves and hero in exile. Stuart Lennox—brave and canny Paragon from Virimonde. Finn sends his best wishes. Nina Malapert—beautiful star and vibrant personality of the rogue news sites.” Mr. Sylvester raised a painted eyebrow at the last man present. “And Tel Markham—my dear fellow. I had no idea. We all thought you were dead.”
“I don’t die that easily,” Tel growled, sticking very close to Douglas, who sat in his chair as though it was a throne. Tel looked Mr. Sylvester over unhurriedly, and then sniffed loudly. “I can’t say I’m surprised Finn sent you, Sylvester. You always were good with words, especially when treachery was required. But I have to say, I barely recognized you. You’re carrying a lot of weight these days. Good eating at Finn’s table?”
“Oh, always.” Mr. Sylvester patted the waistcoat straining over his great stomach contentedly. “You know me, Tel. I always land on my feet.”
“I’m surprised you can still see them. And yes, I do know you, Sylvester. You lie like you breathe, and the truth is not in you. Who’s the masked man outside? You were told to come alone.”
“A gift to the King, from Finn. But that can wait.” Mr. Sylvester turned the full force of his smile on Douglas. “My dear sir, I have the honor to represent the Emperor Finn, and am empowered by him to enter into all necessary agreements, on his behalf. My word shall be binding on him.”
“Hold it right there, Mr. I-never-met-a-pie-I-didn’t-like,” said Tel, grinning harshly. “First, Douglas, you need to understand just who and what Mr. Sylvester is, and what he did, to you and your friends. This man forged letters and planted false files in computers, all to destroy the reputations of Lewis and Jesamine. He planted stories in the media, started whispering campaigns, and did everything he could to separate you from the people you trusted. Everything bad you ever heard about Lewis and Jesamine originated in this man.”
Mr. Sylvester bowed modestly. “You’re too kind, Tel.”
“Did you really do all that?” said Douglas, and his voice was dangerously cold and quiet.
“Well, yes,” said Mr. Sylvester, studying Douglas uncertainly. “That is my work, my business, my calling. It wasn’t all that difficult. A letter here, a hidden file discovered there, and the whole picture of a man’s life can be changed. In Jesamine’s case all I had to do was exaggerate and make public already existing material. The Deathstalker was more of a challenge. There was so very little to work with. Good and honest and noble . . . boring, boring. But in the end, that actually helped; people are always ready to believe the worst of those who seem to be better than they are.”
“Was none of it true?” said Douglas. “All the things I condemned him for?”
“Well,” said Mr. Sylvester, maintaining his smile with some difficulty. “It did turn out he really was having an affair with your wife-to-be. That did help.”
“How was I ever fooled, by such a thing as you?” said Douglas, and Mr. Sylvester flinched at what he heard in the King’s voice.
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