Vin of Venus (7 page)

"Fucking standoff," Charlotte said. "We don't have time for this."

She threw open the back doors and went sprinting towards the men. Her hand flashed into her pocket, came up with a knife.

Vin looked down at the pavement. It was a about a three-foot drop from the back of the van to the lot. Amir had had to hoist him in here, like he'd done with the steps outside Tony's house.

What do you think you're going to do?

He remembered his feeling of uselessness from the night before. Just sitting there and watching Tony hit Charlotte. That wasn't him. When he'd had all his limbs he'd been a man of action. Even without the bracelet to stoke his anger, to manipulate his emotions, he'd never shied from a fight. So why was he balking now?

Steeling his jaw for the impact, he wheeled himself out.

The chair struck pavement with a spine-rattling jolt. He nearly spilled out, but managed to keep his grip on the armrest. Less than ten yards away, Charlotte had closed with the five men. Tony snarled at her to stay back. She took one look at Dorian's pistol—the same one he'd pointed at Vin, days before—and let her knife droop.

Vin zigzagged towards them fast as he could.

"Who's this now?" Dorian said, squinting beneath his gold-rimmed lenses. He kept the gun trained on Tony. "You again? I'd heard you'd gotten loose from that nuthouse in Camberwell. How'd you manage to round up all these Saracens?"

Amir had let go of the rugby-player. The blond man's mouth lifted in a sneer. Perspiration beaded on Tariq's forehead and made a slow drip to the pavement. His knuckles were turning pale against the trigger, the silenced automatic still pointing at Dorian.

"Lose your tongue, too?" Dorian said.

"You're pretty calm, considering your situation," Vin said. He felt a pang of disappointment the old man wasn't squirming.

"
My
situation? You morons are accosting me in broad daylight, in one of the busiest sections of London. Any second now someone's going to happen along."

"Give me the bracelet," Tony said, "or my man will shoot you dead right here."

"Not while I have this, eh?" Dorian lifted his own gun a fraction of an inch. His gnarled hand looked steady.

"How do we know he even has this bracelet?" Amir said.

"Well, if I didn't, you lot just troubled yourself for nothing." Dorian winked. "But as it happens, I do. Would you like to see?"

The rugby-player shook his head. "Boss, why even—"

"Don't worry about it, Donny." Dorian's left hand slid back the overcoat's sleeve. There was a white shirtsleeve underneath, bulging at the wrist. Dorian's nimble fingers un-buttoned the cuff, while his right hand kept the gun pointed at Tony. Late afternoon sun glinted off the bared bracelet.

Charlotte sucked in a breath. "Bloody hell."

Tony's eyes widened. The rubies' tiny facets cast a thousand glints of red light.

Dorian swung the gun left and shot Tariq in the face.

All at once, people were moving. Tony threw himself flat. Amir leapt for Dorian's outstretched hand, but Donny caught him from behind, looped an arm around his neck while his right foot crashed into the back of his knee. Bones cracked. Amir stooped forward, unable to balance. He twisted and got a hold of Donny's torso, dragging them both to the pavement.

A sound like a loud cough.

Dorian howled. Lying prone, blood streaming from his forehead, Tariq had shot him in the foot. Dorian pointed the gun down to finish him off. In the same moment, Charlotte lunged and sunk her knife in his thigh. He whirled, striking her with the gun's barrel, but the impact knocked the weapon from his hand. It tumbled end over end and disappeared in the shrubs.

Tariq let out a death-gurgle. Charlotte dropped to her knees, clutching at her face. The blow had re-opened the cut across her forehead.

Now Tony was up, reaching under his blazer. He tore the hatchet loose. Dorian's eyes bulged. Tony grabbed his shirt with his free hand and dragged him into swinging range. "Give me that goddamned bracelet," he said through clenched teeth.

Dorian shook his head. "It's mine. It won't come off for you. Only I know—"

"It won't, huh?"

Tony pushed Dorian to the ground. Straddled him with his knees. He grabbed his right arm and pressed it flat against the blacktop. Hefted the axe. Dorian let out a scream as the hatchet whistled down and bit through his forearm. Blood spurted. Dorian's other hand fluttered to his thigh and wrenched out the knife. He plunged the blade into Tony's back. Tony fell off him, writhing.

Vin watched from his chair, unscathed. His nerves danced with adrenaline, demanding action. He saw Tariq's pistol dangling from the man's lifeless hands. Not far away. He wheeled over and stooped to try and snatch it up. Just out of reach. He snaked his foot out and touched the gun's bloodied grips with his shoe.

Amir's neck made a horrible ratcheting sound as Donny finished twisting his head a quarter-turn behind his shoulders. The big bodyguard slumped. Donny rolled to his feet and took stock: everyone else was down, wounded or dying. Except Vin.

"Gonna finish you off, son," he said, breathing heavy from his struggle. "Finish what I started in the warehouse."

Dorian moaned for help, but Donny ignored him. His skin flushed a boiling red. Blood dripped from several gouges along his forearm where Amir must've bitten him.

He's gone kill-crazy
, Vin thought. He tried to kick the gun closer. Donny saw what he was doing and lunged.

Time froze.

Vin's mind told him, with absolute clarity, that if Donny were to lay hands on him again he'd be kindling in the whole man's grasp. His only hope was the gun. He threw himself from the chair. Tariq's body helped cushion his fall. Turning, writhing like a snake, he grabbed the silenced automatic and brought it up. Donny's body loomed over him, a huge predatory bird in mid-dive. Vin's finger jerked the trigger, not bothering to aim. The gun coughed three times. Donny shuddered. A round scored his shoulder, his chest, and his groin. He collapsed over Vin. Again the snake, Vin wriggled out from under him. Donny made a half-hearted swipe at his ankle. Blood poured from two holes in his track-suit.

Vin rolled, the only way he could move with any speed. He bumped into Dorian. The doctor had turned pale as milk. He clutched at the near-stump of his right forearm. Arterial red pulsed past his knuckles. Vin saw the bracelet flash amidst all the blood, and reached for it. The gold seemed to tingle when his fingers brushed near. He made ready to pull it loose, yanking Dorian's hand off with it if necessary.

Dorian groaned: "No."

The bracelet flashed red and gold. Vin felt a scuttling pressure against his wrist, and in a moment the familiar metal encircled him again. Dorian's own bloodied wrist was bare.

The damn thing had reattached itself.

"It's mine," Dorian cried, but Vin was already rolling away, feeling strange elation the bracelet had accepted him back. And it was
feeding
him—not anger, or fear, but channeling raw determination through his gut. He rolled past the motionless Donny and Tony. One, or both of them, had loosed their bowels. He reached the chair. Got his hand around the armrest and started to draw himself back up.

"Vin."

Charlotte stood over him. A welt the size of a gun-barrel flared across her forehead. The plaster covering her previous wound had been knocked loose, and now the skin-flap drooped past her eyebrow. She held the dripping knife.

"Give me the bracelet, Vin."

He surged up and somehow wriggled back into the chair. A siren started to wail in the distance.

"We've got to get out of here," he said. "Push me. Through those hedges over there."

"You looked like a worm just now, you know that? Flopping around on those bodies. Tony's dead, and I want the fucking bracelet he died for."

"Charlotte—"

"Give it to me." Her blue eyes glinted as she drew back the knife.

Vin kicked her. The heel of his trainer landed square with her flat stomach. A kick from a one-legged man, delivered in a sitting position, but it had desperation behind it. Charlotte folded. Her head came down and he braced himself to kick again. This time his leg snapped up and his toe caught her under the chin. She reeled backwards, tripped over Donny's body. The knife clattered from her hand.

Vin didn't wait to see if she'd get up. He did his frantic one-handed chair roll, angling for the nearby curb and a narrow gap between the shrubs. Police would be swarming the lot in moments. The bracelet throbbed and gave him another surge of strength. He got both wheels over the curb. Branches tore at his face, his arms. He pushed his way through, and burst out the other side, onto sidewalk. There was a narrow residential street right across from him. Cars parked in metered spaces. Milling pedestrians.

If anyone had seen him come through the shrubs, they said nothing.

Sirens were pulling close from two directions. He saw a coffee shop at the far end of the sidewalk and made for it, moving in erratic jolts. His arm was growing numb.

"Need some help, love?"

A woman in her late fifties, with a blue kerchief tied over her head. She'd been walking behind him.

Vin could've cried from relief. "If you'd just push me to that shop up there, mum. I'd appreciate it."

"A pleasure." The woman glanced around, nervous. "Sirens. Someone must've just been mugged."

Vin pulled his sleeve over the bracelet by snagging the cuff on the armrest. At any moment he expected a bruised and bloodied Charlotte to come leaping out of the bushes, knife raised. But she didn't, and the woman pushed him with good speed.

"You've got a bit of blood on your shirt," she said.

"I fell out of my chair. This is so embarrassing. I'm supposed to be using a powered model, but my old one ..."

"You don't have to explain, love." She patted his shoulder. "You poor thing. Probably a veteran, aren't you? Lost your limbs to terrorists. Poor thing."

She clucked as she pushed. Vin remembered the phone and dug it out of the seat pocket. His hand trembled, but he managed to punch Marta's number.

She answered first ring.

"Vin, where are you?"

He read off the street name from a sign. A police cruiser came shrieking past, lights blazing, the siren drowning out his voice for a moment. "I'm going to be waiting at a coffee shop called The Savage Drip. You got that?"

"It'll take a while with traffic."

"Hurry. Please."

"That your girlfriend?" the older woman asked, after he'd put the phone away.

"Ah, yes."

"It's nice to see you have someone. Here we are."

They'd reached coffee shop. A crowd of mostly tourists stood outside, craning their necks to see what was going on. No one paid attention to Vin. The woman pushed him inside and maneuvered his chair over to an empty table by the window.

"I'm going to get you something," she said. "You look like you might be a little short, and these kinds of places kick you to the street if you're not buying."

"Well, I ..."

"Don't worry about it."

He reflected he had a sizeable fortune around his wrist, but not a pound to spare.

The woman came back minutes later with a plate of toast and an espresso and water. She laid it on the table before him. "I've got to leave now, love. But I want you to remember, some people still appreciate the sacrifices you boys have made. You remember that."

"I will."

"Good lad." She hovered for a moment, hand raised as if she wanted to tousle his hair. Only he had no hair. She gave him a smile, instead. After watching his fellow human beings shoot and knife each other just minutes before, the gesture struck him as alien. But welcome, nonetheless.

He was still contemplating it when Marta pulled up thirty minutes later.

PART II

(From the novel
Blades of the Evening Star
, by Vincent Smith. Tordaw Books, 1976)

A few precious beams of light managed to stab through the lavender foliage. Hot rain rattled the upper canopies, spattered off the spherical boles of frame trees, and seeped down in steamy wisps. One didn't trudge through these sweltering jungles so much as swim. Insects chittered all around, and giant mauve ferns jerked with sudden, hidden movement. A film of white mold was already forming on my battle-harness. In another few days the hide straps would rot through and I would be forced to wander the Southern Continent naked.

A vast slithering sound came from somewhere ahead. I dropped into a crouch, hand already reaching for the Sword of the Sea Clan's hilt. The ruby bracelet thrummed a familiar warning against my wrist. I half-expected to see the sinuous form of a Violet Boomslang come arcing down from a branch, fangs bared to strike. I'd already slain a score of such creatures since arriving here, and eaten their skinned, raw flesh. They made a pleasant change from the broad-leaf leeches that were my usual fare.

But this sound was too loud for an ordinary snake. Branches cracked. I drew my sword and parted the ferns in front of me.

What I saw made me gasp, jaded warrior that I am. It
was
a serpent—or rather a segment of one, scuttling through the undergrowth on hundreds of narrow, stalk-like legs. But this serpent's body was thick as a tree's trunk. Slime gleamed off crimson scales the size of my hand. I could only imagine what the monstrous head looked like, and thanked my ancestors it must be some distance away. Crouched and silent, I waited for the rest of the body to slide past.

And waited.

And waited.

Finally, the serpent began to taper. The creature's tail undulated by. It bore a black, curving stinger the length of a man. Venom oozed from the stinger's tip as it dragged through the muck, shriveling whatever growth it touched.

I let out a breath. Aside from the sword, I carried a large box made from
greyl
wood and bronze plates lashed to my hip. After hours of wandering, the box felt weighted with lead.

And to think: days before I'd been lounging in the relative comfort of a ship's cabin, with nothing but the clean azure of the Singular Sea rolling beyond my window. The warlord Gann Lorci had been defeated. His mainland empire lay in smoking ruins, though at a horrible price. My beloved kinsman Jaryk Coln had fallen while taking Lorci's fortress, along with half his force of brave Crimson Men. I did not have long to grieve, however. Rhadma, the newly anointed Queen of the Sea Clans, had charged me to take Lorci's head across the ocean, to the near-mythical Southern Continent. There, I was to present the trophy to Siroth Hadz, last of the mysterious Sorcerer-Priests.