Deathstalker Return (34 page)

Stuart looked almost pleadingly at Emma. “You have to understand; I was trained as a warrior, on Virimonde. I’ve done my share of fighting, killed men when I had to. Part of the job. And I’ve seen evil men do evil things, for money or power or just because they could. But tonight . . . tonight . . . Finn sent me to the Sangreal, alone. He needed an urgent message delivered, in person, and he had business elsewhere. I didn’t want to go, but I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to appear afraid in front of him. He laughed, and clapped me on the shoulder, and said I’d be all right.

“When I got there, the owner of the bar was making a stand. He said he’d had enough—that no amount of money was worth putting up with the Paragons’ behavior anymore. He called them animals to their faces, said they sickened him. He wanted the money he was owed, and he wanted the Paragons out of his bar so he could get his old trade back. He wanted his life back. The Paragons laughed at him. There was drink and drugs and other things going on. The bar owner said if they wouldn’t leave, he’d go to the media. Tell them everything. All the awful things he’d seen. His bar’s security cameras had all kinds of interesting footage. The Paragons looked at each other. Nothing was said, but they came to a decision. They got up and advanced on the bar owner, surrounding him. I thought they were just going to push him around, intimidate him. They took out their knives and cut him to pieces. Slowly, so they could enjoy it. He screamed, and screamed. I tried to stop them, but two Paragons came out of nowhere and grabbed me. Forced me to my knees, and made me watch the man die by inches, screaming all the way. When it was finally over, and he was dead . . . they cut him open and ate him. Ate his flesh, his organs. And they laughed. With blood running from their mouths, they laughed.”

He started to cry again, tears running jerkily down his cheeks as he spoke. “They made me eat too. Eat the flesh. I had to. They would have killed me if I hadn’t. They gave me one of his eyes, and his tongue. Said they were delicacies. Then they let me go. I ran. That was two hours ago. I went home and cleaned myself up, but I still feel dirty. I didn’t know what to do! I couldn’t go to Finn. They’re his people. They’re allowed to do anything. And then I thought of you. You’re the only one left I can trust. The last real Paragon. The only one who might be able to do
something.
”

“Dear God,” said Emma, too shocked even to be sickened. “What happened to them out there, on their quest? What did they find that could have changed them so much?” She shook her head slowly, and then looked firmly at Stuart, putting a steadying hand on his shoulder. “I’ll look into this. You go home. Lock the door and stay there. No one has to know you’ve talked to me. In the meantime, stay away from the Sangreal, and from Finn.”

“I can’t.”

“Come on, Stuart. Surely you can see now what kind of a man he is. He’s no good for you.”

“But I love him,” said Stuart Lennox, bitterly, helplessly. “I love him.”

 

 

Emma finally got him calmed down enough to leave, and then she strode restlessly back and forth in her apartment, trying to work out what to do next. The Paragons had gone too far now. The heroes of old had become monsters, and they had to be stopped. But she couldn’t just barge into the Sangreal and accuse them. They’d had plenty of time to hide the evidence. They’d call her a liar to her face, and laugh at her. No, she’d have to do this the hard way. Follow them, spy on them, gather hard evidence that couldn’t be overlooked or buried. And for that, she was going to need her new ally, the reporter Nina Malapert.

All it took was a short vid call, and a few dark hints, and Nina was on her way. She was hammering on Emma’s door in under half an hour, and swept briskly into the apartment in a flurry of garments of clashing colors, her tall pink mohawk waving proudly above her shaved skull. She and Emma embraced happily, and then Nina tore herself away to prowl around the room, oohing and aahing loudly, and making sure her floating camera was recording it all.

“Another exclusive! Emma Steel’s very own private home life! Gosh, darling, Channel Two Seventy-nine would
kill
for material like this. Not that you’d want to appear there, Emma dear. Very down-market, and
très
tacky. They’d probably want pictures of you in a bubble bath, showing your bosoms and doing something suggestive with a loofah.” She stopped in the middle of the room and looked about her, frowning prettily. “I have to say, it’s all rather spartan, isn’t it, darling? I mean, these furnishings are so last week, and you haven’t even got any little bits and pieces, to give the place character. Everyone has a few little bits and pieces. Tell me you’ve at least got some stuffed animals in your bedroom.”

“Just the one,” said Emma. “Head of a Hob hound. I shot and stuffed it myself.”

“Ooh! Ooh! A little bird told me on the way up here that you’ve had a gentleman caller. Very young and very fit, but looking totally miserable. Be honest now! Have there been tears and tantrums? Is someone on the way out? Is someone new on the horizon?
Is he a celebrity?
Tell me everything, darling!”

“Nina, calm down and sit down, please.” Emma tried to sound stern, but the young journalist reminded her irresistibly of her younger sister back on Mistworld, always eager to get involved in everything, especially when it involved scandal and excitement. “Nina, this could be the biggest story of your career, but what I have in mind is very dangerous, and I need to be sure you understand the risks.”

Nina sat bolt upright in her chair, wide-eyed and quivering with excitement as Emma laid out the bare bones of the story for her.

“Well, honestly, darling, this is . . . utterly wonderful! It’s got everything. Sex, politics, treason, and a touch of gore for the tabloid shows! We could sell the rights to this story for enough money to retire on. We’re talking miniseries here! I wonder who they’ll get to play me? Yes, yes, don’t look at me like that, darling. The wind will change and your face will get stuck that way. I know, it’s all very serious and dangerous and all that, but one of us has to concentrate on the business side, or we’ll get screwed over the contracts. It’s a jungle out there these days. So, what’s the plan? Does it involve shooting lots of people? Should I go home and change into something that doesn’t matter if I get blood on it?”

“Take a deep breath, Nina, you’re hyperventilating. This is going to be a fact-finding mission, and nothing more. What do you know about Paragons?”

“Well, absolutely
everyone
’s been keeping an eye on them recently, darling. From a respectable distance, of course. There’s all kinds of stories about the things they’ve been getting up to, since they all came home with their tails between their legs. But no one knows anything for sure. I’ve been doing some research, or rather, I haven’t but I persuaded this sweet young boy at the office to do it for me. It seems that all but a handful of the Paragons have returned from the quest now, and none of them found even a sniff of Owen or Hazel. Everyone’s been chasing stories about them doing
terrible
things, but there’s never any proof or any witnesses. Or at least, none willing to speak out, even for really impressive sums up front. The few times someone has got a piece together, one of Finn’s people would turn up and have a quiet word with the editor, and the story would be quietly spiked as not in the public interest.”

“Finn doesn’t own all the media,” said Emma.

“No, darling, but he does scare the shit out of most of it. No one’s going to risk going head-to-head with the Durandal over anything less than a totally watertight story. And that’s where we come in! I’m going to be journalist of the year! They’ll give me my own chat show for this!”

“They’ll cut your head off and dump your body in the waste pits, if we get caught,” Emma said dryly.

“Well, yes, there is that.” Nina pouted, and frowned. “According to my researcher, sweetie, all the usual Paragon groupies and hangers-on have run for their lives. Ordinary people don’t go into the Sangreal anymore, or if they do, they have a distressing tendency not to come out again. No one knows what they do with the bodies. The rest of the street have abandoned their homes and businesses. They couldn’t stand listening to the screaming anymore. And all of this is happening just down the road from the House of Parliament, with the Imperial Champion’s knowledge and support. So you see, I am taking this seriously, darling. I just believe in seeing the positive side of things as well. Like, if we pull this off successfully, we’re going to be rich, rich, rich!”

She jumped up and did a little happy dance in the middle of the room. “I think I’ve discovered a taste for real journalism, darling! No more puff pieces and horoscopes for me! So, what do we do first?”

“Well, to start with, we’re not going anywhere near the Sangreal until we’ve got a better idea of what’s really going on. These people were heroes once. The best of the best. Some were my friends. Something specific must have happened, to change them so drastically. According to your news channel, one of the last few Paragons to return from the quest, Miracle Grant, landed at the main starport just a few hours ago. He wouldn’t give any interviews, which is almost unheard of for Grant, but he did say he hadn’t found Owen or Hazel either. There has to be a connection.”

She broke off as her viewscreen chimed with an incoming call. She looked at the screen curiously. Most people knew better than to bother her when she was off duty. She accepted the call and scowled at the screen. “This had better be really important,” she growled.

The face on the screen was female, oriental, the left half covered with a series of intricate overlapping tattoos. She wore her hair in a black buzz cut, her mouth was a severe pink rosebud, and her eyes were dark and fierce. A single razor-edged throwing star dangled from one earlobe.

“I am Rachel Chojiro Random,” she said bluntly. “I’m one of Random’s Bastards. And you need to hear what I have to say, Paragon.”

Emma sniffed. “That’ll be the day. I take it there’s no point in trying to trace this call?”

“What do you think? I’m calling from the Rookery, and that’s all you need to know. Now shut up and listen. I know things you need to know.”

Emma folded her arms across her chest. “Convince me.”

Rachel scowled unhappily. “I’m a Random’s Bastard, and proud of it. Direct descent from Jack Random. Disowned by both sides of my adopted family, ever since I discovered at a young age my God-given talent for parting fools from their money. I’m a career criminal, and proud of it. But there are lines even I won’t cross. I speak for all Random’s Bastards in this. The Durandal has desecrated Random’s and Journey’s graves in the Victory Gardens. The bodies were dug up and then destroyed with transmutation bombs. Sacrilege. We’re all mad as hell, and we want revenge. We can’t take on the Durandal, but maybe you can.”

“Get to the point,” said Emma. “What have you got to tell me?”

“Miracle Grant’s come into the Rookery, supposedly to meet with Finn. Get here fast, and you’ll catch them together. Word is, they’re going to be discussing things they wouldn’t dare discuss anywhere else. Interested?”

“Give me directions, and then get the hell out of my way,” said Emma Steel.

 

 

Emma Steel and Nina Malapert made their way into the Rookery, disguised under heavy cloaks and holo faces, with just enough hints about them to suggest they were two well-off ladies, slumming it in the Rookery for pleasures unobtainable in the more civilized parts of the city. They kept to the side streets and the shadows, and avoided contact with anyone. Miracle Grant wasn’t difficult to find. He strutted through the Rookery streets as though he owned them, and everyone gave him plenty of room. No one dared to touch a man under Finn’s blessing, even if he was a hated Paragon. And besides, there was something odd about the man, something off . . . He wore his armor sloppily, and he was seriously overweight. His eyes were wild and dancing, and he laughed a lot, even when there was nothing obviously funny to laugh at. He took food from a market stall without paying, and crammed it into his mouth with both hands as he strode along. Emma and Nina followed him discreetly through the crowded streets, keeping well back.

“
That
’s Miracle Grant?” said Nina. “God, he’s really let himself go.”

“Something’s seriously wrong here,” said Emma. “The Grant I knew was always a fop and a dandy, immaculately turned out with never a hair out of place. Hell, the man was an epicure of the first rank. There’s no way he’d lower himself to eat street food . . .”

“So,” said Nina. “Are we going to drag him into a back alley and beat some answers out of him?”

Emma looked at her. “We?”

“Well, all right then, you. I have to handle the camera.”

“We stick to following him. I need to know what he’s doing here. I also want to be sure this isn’t some kind of trap. Never trust a Random’s Bastard.”

Miracle Grant went back and forth in the Rookery, talking to really unpleasant people in really unpleasant places. No one seemed pleased to see him, but no one was stupid enough to object either. He was Finn’s man, and he was a Paragon, and both were scary things these days. Finally he came to a small bar in a back street and went in. Emma and Nina watched from an alleyway on the other side of the street, but some time passed, and he didn’t come out.

Emma scowled. “We can’t risk going in ourselves. See that window on the second floor, partway open? Can you get your camera in through there?”

“Piece of cake,” said Nina. “And I have state-of-the-art stealth protocols. They’ll never hear it coming.”

She concentrated, and her camera emerged from under her cloak and flew swiftly up to the second floor window. It slipped easily through the gap, and then Nina guided it delicately downstairs until she could see into the main bar.

“Got it,” she said. “Grant’s in there with three others, all in Paragon gear.”