Deathstalker Honor d-4 Read online

  Outside Parliament, things were getting really violent. Realizing too late that Parliament had seized the only real political ground, the various remaining factions had taken to deciding quarrels between themselves by brute force. The body counts rose every day, as swords, guns, bombs, and poison decided who was currently on top. The authorities had stopped even trying to enforce the peace, except during the morning and evening rush hours. Both sides bandied the word terrorist freely, while plotting atrocities of their own. Owen and Hazel had considered getting involved, and killing lots of people until the others got the point, but Jack Random had quietly talked them out of it. No one wanted to risk giving the factions the only thing they might actually unite behind; namely the assassination of Owen Deathstalker and Hazel d'Ark.

  The only real competition Parliament had as a governing body were the ongoing war trials, presided over by leading figures from the various rebel undergrounds. Under Lionstone's corrupt rule all kinds of atrocities had become commonplace. People could disappear for any or no reason and never be seen again. Torture and murder had been everyday matters of state under the Iron Bitch. Once she fell, and the rebel leaders had access to the Palace records, the names of these vile murderers and torturers became known, and a long-delayed vengeance began. The underground put their faces on holovision, along with their addresses, and they were dragged from their rich apartments or hunted through the streets. Many met bloody and awful ends, and the rest hurried to surrender themselves to the authorities. They still thought they could cut themselves deals by betraying each other, and realized too late that they were to be shown no more mercy than they had shown to their countless victims. The war trials had begun within hours of Lionstone's fall, and were holovised every day in full so that the people could see justice being done. The trials went on and on, and there seemed no shortage of the accused, no matter how fast the courts hanged them. The public hangings attracted huge, mostly silent crowds, as though the people needed to see the bastards die for themselves before they could believe it to be true.

  The courts released details of the victims' fates as fast as they could. There were just so many of them.

  Parliament was more than a little jealous of the war trials, both for the power they wielded and the attention they took away from Parliament's sessions, but they knew better than to interfere. Even more than justice, the people needed vengeance.

  Owen and Hazel came to the great Chamber, the last room before entering onto the floor of the House itself. The Chamber was separated from Parliament proper by an ancient massive oaken door that by long tradition was only ever opened from the inside. The MPs used this privilege to keep people waiting as long as possible, to remind them of their place in the new scheme of things—a practice they'd borrowed from Lionstone, though that of course was never mentioned. As always, the great room was packed, and the noise was deafening. Everyone was looking for contacts, trying to make a deal or talk up some new opportunity. There were no holo images; everyone had to be there in person. In these days of clones, aliens, and Fury imposters, people liked to be sure of exactly who they were talking with. Esp-blockers were installed in hidden locations just to keep everyone honest, and to hell with whether it upset the espers.

  When Owen and Hazel made their entrance, everything stopped. All eyes turned in their direction, and the gabble of voices died quickly away to nothing. Owen and Hazel looked calmly about them in the silence and inclined their heads politely. Everyone turned away, and the babble of conversations resumed. No one was interested in talking to the Deathstalker or the d'Ark woman. It wasn't safe. For all kinds of reasons. Owen and Hazel moved unhurriedly forward into the Chamber, and everyone made room for them.

  "The usual warm greeting," said Owen, not caring if anyone overheard.

  "Ungrateful bastards," said Hazel, and looked hopefully to see if anyone present was stupid enough to take offense.

  "They do have their reasons for not liking us," said Owen more quietly. "Heroes and role models are supposed to be pure and unsullied. I fear we came as something of a disappointment."

  "My heart bleeds," said Hazel. "I never claimed to be a hero. For two pins I'd walk out of here and Parliament could whistle for its report. Hell, for three pins I'd burn the place down as well before I left."

  "Steady, steady," murmured Owen, smiling unconcernedly so everyone could see. "Don't let them get to you. They'd take it as a sign of weakness."

  Hazel sniffed. "Anyone sees me as weak and tries to take advantage of it, they'll be carrying their lungs home in a bucket."

  "Get your hand away from your sword, dammit. You can't kill anyone here. Duels are forbidden. You even start to draw your sword, and half a hundred guards will appear from everywhere. Even we're not exempt. I do wish you'd keep up on the changes here, Hazel."

  "Ah, you know you love a chance to make speeches to me. Besides, I could handle half a hundred guards."

  Owen sighed. "Yes, you probably could, but that's not the point. We are trying to make a good impression."

  "Since when?"

  "Since we failed to bring back Valentine Wolfe for trial yet again."

  Hazel shrugged. "Is it okay if I just half kill someone?"

  "If you must. Only try to do it when the holovision cameras aren't looking. We really don't need any more bad publicity."

  Hazel looked about her. "Don't think I've ever seen so many cameras here before. Either Parliament's got something really juicy lined up, or someone told them we were coming. Hello, I spy a familiar face."

  And she plunged off into the crowd, shouldering people out of her way if they didn't move fast enough. Owen followed after, murmuring polite apologies as he went. It was a practice he was growing increasingly used to. The familiar face turned out to be Tobias Shreck, accompanied as always by his cameraman Flynn. Owen joined Hazel in greeting them, smiling genuinely for the first time since he'd entered the Chamber. Toby Shreck had been a news reporter during the rebellion, and had demonstrated an uncanny ability to turn up in just the right place at the right time, with Flynn always there at his shoulder to broadcast it all live. They'd covered a lot of the fighting Owen and Hazel had been involved in, and had even been there when the rebels finally threw down the Empress Lionstone and destroyed the Iron Throne forever.

  Toby looked much the same as ever, a fat, perspiring butter-ball of a man with slicked-down blond hair and a ready smile. He was wearing fashionable clothes of the very finest cut, tailored to disguise as much of his great girth as possible, but they didn't suit him. He was more used to the easy casualness of combat fatigues, and it showed. Flynn was the same tall, gangling sort, with a deceptively honest face. A quiet, retiring sort in the field, he tended to fade into the background when working, a useful trait when people were firing guns all around you.

  His private life was another matter entirely.

  "Looking good, Toby," said Hazel cheerfully, poking a playful finger into his more than ample stomach. "Lost a few pounds, have we?"

  "I wish," said Toby. "Ever since I allowed myself to be promoted to management, I spend most of my time sitting behind a desk instead of getting out in the field where I belong."

  "Leave it out," said Flynn calmly. "You used to spend all your time in the field whingeing and grousing about all the comforts you were missing."

  Toby glared at him. "Straight speaking like that is why you're still a cameraman, while I am now management. And don't contradict me again in public or I'll have someone in accounting take a really close look at your expense claims for last year."

  "Bully," said Flynn.

  "You're looking very smart, Toby," Owen said quickly before they could fall into their usual bickering. "Right on the cutting edge of fashion."

  "Don't you start," said Toby. "I know what I look like. Why do you think I always wore fatigues in the past? Every time I wear something good, I look like I stole it."

  "So what's management doing here?" said Hazel. "Parliament planning something specia
l, is it? Something perhaps we ought to know about?"

  "Right," said Owen. "What do you know that we don't?"

  "Volumes," said Toby airily. "But for once I'm as much in the dark as you. I'm really only here because I felt a desperate need to get out in the real world for a while. I've been feeling really bored just lately, to tell you the truth. It's all so different these days. My work with Flynn during the rebellion has already been hailed as classic material, and at any given time it's a safe bet that somewhere some station is still running it. The public can't get enough of it. The royalties are coming in faster than even I can spend them. So much money that even the company accountants can't hide it all. Flynn and I need never work again if we don't want to. But…"

  "Yeah?" said Hazel.

  "But we're too young to retire," said Flynn. "I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

  "Right," said Toby. "And I can't help being haunted by the horrible suspicion that perhaps I've already done my life's best work. That everything I do from now on is bound to be second best. That's a hell of a thing to feel at my age. I need a real story, something I can get my teeth into. Something that matters."

  "We are rebuilding a whole Empire pretty much from the ground up," said Owen. "Our whole political and social structure is changing day by day. I can't believe you can't find a story worth covering."

  "Oh, there's no shortage of news. History in the making and all that. But it's all so bloody worthy and open and honest and dull. Where's the fun in that? Where's the drama? Even the villains are second-rate nowadays."

  "No," said Owen. "I wouldn't say that. Valentine Wolfe is still out there somewhere."

  "Ah, yes," said Toby. "I'd heard you'd had another run-in with him. I'm looking forward to hearing your report on that. At least you two are still around, making waves. Everyone else has pretty much disappeared. Jack Random is too busy playing politics to get into any real trouble, and Ruby Journey rarely leaves her house these days. Though word has it they may be making an appearance here today. Maybe they've heard something. God, I've got some great footage of the four of you in action during the rebellion, stuff that never saw the light of day. Maybe when we're all safely dead…"

  "Yeah," said Hazel. "Maybe. But until then I think some secrets should stay hidden. People don't need to know everything that went on."

  There was a certain amount of shared nodding. Nobody mentioned the fake Young Jack Random, who'd turned out to be a cyborg working for the rogue AIs of Shub, but they all knew they were thinking of the moment when Flynn's camera had caught the machine's unmasking. And there were other, darker, secrets too. The rebellion hadn't been nearly as straightforward as most people thought.

  "So," said Toby briskly, breaking the awkward moment, "have either of you thought any more about my offer to make official documentaries of your lives? You don't have to worry about the writing; we have people for that. Just talk into a recorder, and we'll arrange the material and dig up footage to go with it. We can fake some linking material to cover the areas you don't want to talk about. All you'll have to do is narrate over the final footage. Easy money. Get it while it's going; who knows how much longer people are going to stay interested in you?"

  "The sooner everyone loses interest in us, the better," said Hazel. "No biographies, Toby. We have little enough privacy as it is. Besides, most of my life story isn't suitable for a mass audience anyway."

  "I can quite believe that," said Owen. "Let us change the subject rapidly. How's your life, Toby? Doing anything interesting?"

  "Him?" Flynn sniffed loudly. "He doesn't have a life outside of his work. First in, last out, and takes work home with him. Typical management. I work the union-approved hours only, and once I clock out, I don't even think about work again till I clock on in the morning. You should have stayed a working grunt like me, boss. Far less pressure."

  "You never did have any ambition," said Toby.

  "Damn right, and proud of it. Ambition just gets you into trouble, and takes over your life. Which is why you have bags under your eyes and incipient ulcers, and I have a wonderful new lover in my life." Flynn beamed at Owen and Hazel. "You really must come around and meet him sometime. His name's Clarence, Clarence DuBois. Works as a researcher for the MP John Avon, one of the few marginally honest Members in Parliament. My Clarence does all the real work, of course, so Avon can look good on the floor of the House, but that's the way of the world for you. He's very handsome and a marvelous cook. The things he can do with a fresh joint and a few vegetables. Trouble is, he has size-twelve feet, and you wouldn't believe the problems we've been having trying to find stiletto heels that will fit him."

  "Love seems to agree with you," said Hazel. "It's made you positively chatty."

  "Don't I know it," said Toby. "I've been hearing about bloody Clarence for weeks." He grinned maliciously at Owen and Hazel. "And how are you two lovebirds getting on, hmm?"

  "If you find out, let me know," said Owen.

  "We're taking things day by day," said Hazel firmly. "How about you, Toby? Anyone special on the horizon?"

  "I have been considering a Clan marriage just lately," Toby admitted reluctantly. "On the grounds that I'm not getting any younger, and my Family's been putting the pressure on about where the next generation of the Family's going to come from. With Uncle Gregor forced into hiding, Grace an avowed old maid, and Evangeline disowning the Family, the line pretty much ends with me. But who'd marry a Shreck? Thanks to dear Uncle Gregor and his appalling ways, the Family name has become mud in all the circles that matter."

  "Now, now, none of that, boss," Flynn said firmly. "You're Toby the troubador, rich and famous journalist of note, not just a Shreck. Work is all very well, but in the end there's no substitute for getting out and meeting a nice girl. Or boy. Or whatever."

  Owen was so busy watching Toby glow bright red with embarrassment that he didn't notice the approaching young aristo till the man was practically on top of him. Hazel noticed. It took a lot to distract Hazel. She tapped Owen surreptitiously on the arm with one hand, while the other fell to the gun on her hip. Owen turned unhurriedly and stopped the approaching aristo in his tracks with a steady gaze and a raised eyebrow. The young man bowed formally, keeping his hand well away from the sword at his side. He was dressed well but unimaginively, his long metallic hair already out of fashion. His blandly handsome face was studiously unreadable.

  "Sir Deathstalker, my apologies for imposing on you, but there is someone nearby desires to make your acquaintance."

  "Then that makes him pretty much unique in this company," Owen said easily. "Who might this someone be?"

  "It is the lady Constance Wolfe. She wishes to speak with you urgently, on a matter of some importance to you both. May I lead you to her?"

  Hazel frowned. "Constance Wolfe? Don't think I know her. What relation is she to Valentine?"

  "Technically speaking, she's his mother," said Owen, letting the aristo wait. "She married Valentine's father, Jacob, late in his life. With Valentine on the run, Daniel missing, and Stephanie discredited, Constance runs Clan Wolfe these days. I've never met the woman; can't think what we might have in common. Still, I'd better go see what she wants. Never know when you might learn something useful."

  "Watch your back," said Hazel. "She's still a Wolfe."

  Owen grinned, nodded goodbye to Toby and Flynn, and allowed the increasingly impatient young aristo to lead him through the crowd to where Constance Wolfe stood waiting. As always she was surrounded by male admirers, from the highest in Society to the merely very rich. Constance had only just entered her twenties but was already a breathtaking beauty, on a world noted for its beautiful women. She was tall and blond, with the body and grace of a goddess, but for all the cheerful chatter around her, her perfect face remained cool and unresponsive, her occasional smile merely a matter of form. She looked up as Owen approached, and he thought for a moment he saw something very like relief in her deep blue eyes as she made her excuses to her admirers
and drifted forward to meet him.

  Owen bowed, and she curtsied, and then they stood for a moment looking at each other. Without turning her head, Constance dismissed her messenger with a brief wave of the hand. He bowed stiffly and moved reluctantly away to join the small army of admirers, who immediately began a quiet but animated discussion, while glaring openly at Owen. He chose to ignore them, knowing that would irritate them the most. Constance sighed.

  "That was Percy Furey. He adores me, and I take advantage of it disgracefully. But then so many men have declared their undying love for me since my Jacob died that I find it hard to take any of them seriously. When you're as rich and well appointed as I am, it's amazing how adorable one becomes. I have only ever loved one man, my dear Jacob, and his death has not changed that. But a woman alone cannot hope to survive long in this changing Empire without powerful friends and supporters, so I let them cluster around me, and reward them with the occasional smile or encouraging nod. As long as they still think they have a chance with me, they'll make my enemies theirs, and thus I have a certain amount of security, if not safety. I trust I don't shock you with my frankness, sir Deathstalker?"

  "Not at all," said Owen, charmed in spite of himself. "Such honesty is refreshing in this day and age. Perhaps you could continue the openness and explain precisely what I can do for you. I confess I'm not entirely sure what you might have in common with a man who's sworn to kill your son."

  "Valentine? Kill the degenerate, with my blessings. He brings shame to the House of Wolfe and always has. I have reason to believe he murdered his own father."