King's Sacrifice (40 page)

"Brother
Daniel will simply have to watch out for himself," she muttered,
reaching out for the ring on level four and pulling herself to a
halt. "Or else You'll have to watch out for him," she
added, glancing heavenward.
"I'm
certainly not going to!"

The fourth
level, the top of the dome, had only one room. Maigrey eased herself
out of the gravator, stood in a narrow corridor, lit by dim, recessed
ceiling lights. At the end of the corridor was what appeared to be a
blank wall, devoid of decoration except for a single,
hieroglyphic-like eye.

Maigrey waited
until everyone had joined her before proceeding down the silent,
empty corridor. She came to stand before the eye, stared into it. A
beam of light shot out, scanned her eyeball, shut off. The wall
vanished, replaced by pitch-darkness. She stepped into it. A light
flashed on, revealing a small, round room with a domed ceiling. A
round table stood in the room's center, surrounded by a round,
comfortable sofa. On the table was a vidscreen and a globe of light,
identical to the globes they'd seen in the Cafe below.

The four
squeezed into a room—a tight fit. When all had crowded inside,
the door shut and sealed behind them.

"Cozy,"
Maigrey said, pressed against the wall. She motioned everyone to
stand back. "Don't anyone sit down yet. Agis, check for
listening devices.

The centurion
drew out a hand-held scanner. He activated it, stared at it,
narrow-eyed, listened to its faint humming.

"Clean, my
lady," he reported.

Maigrey nodded.
"Carry on then."

To Brother
Daniel's intense astonishment, Sparafucile pulled out a nuke light,
dropped to his hands and knees, and proceeded to crawl under the
table. Agis jumped on the sofa, poked and prodded at the ceiling
panels, that were firmly fixed in place.

"What are
they doing? Looking for dust?" the priest asked with an
incredulous laugh.

Maigrey didn't
answer. Agis knocked, pushed on each steel wall panel, endeavored to
shove his hand between the sofa and the wall. He shook his head,
stepped down.

Brother Daniel
looked confused. "But, my lady, I thought you said this place
was private, secret—"

Hammering and
rattling noises, from beneath the table, interrupted the priest,
indicated that the assassin might be attempting to tear the furniture
apart. Then they heard a grunting sound, the noise ceased.

Maigrey's
expression grew grave. The shaggy head and misshapen features of the
assassin emerged back into the light. Sparafucile placed on the table
what appeared to be a small, round, smooth rock—green stone,
streaked with red.

Maigrey felt the
strength drain from her body. She sat down, suddenly, on the sofa,
stared at the rock.

Brother Daniel
started to say something. Agis cast him a warning glance, shook his
head. Sparafucile lifted the rock in his hand, closed his palm over
it. There came a cracking sound, as of a walnut being crushed. The
assassin opened his hand. Green dust mixed with bits of rock fell
from his grasp, like sand falling through an hourglass, to form a
small mound on the table.

"
Him,
Starlady
," said the assassin. "Same device as I find on
Laskar. Furniture is bolted to floor. Rock was wedged good and solid
back in corner formed by table's base." Sparafucile dusted off
his hands.

"Not a bad
try," murmured Maigrey. "Considering he didn't have much
time—between when we first said we wanted this room and our
coming up here. Damn, damn, damn!" She sighed, stared at the
rock dust.

"Surely, my
lady, you expected this," said Agis gently.

"I did. It
was why I looked for it. But that doesn't make it any easier. So much
for security. I should demand my money back."

"The
mind-dead go where they will. Few can stop them," intoned
Sparafucile.

"And no one
would believe me anyway." Maigrey shrugged, smiled ruefully.
"After all, what was it? A rock. Nothing more."

Brother Daniel
caught onto a word. "Mind-dead. My lady, you told me that those
monks . . . with the eyes, the terrible eyes . . . were mind-dead.
Are you saying that they are here?"

"Yes. And
sent by him—the one called Abdiel," the half-breed
answered. "Does the priest know of him?"

"Yes,"
said Brother Daniel in a low voice, his face pale. "I know of
him. ..."

The assassin
grunted again, shook himself like a mongrel dog. Maigrey touched
gingerly, with the tip of her finger, the mound of rock dust.

"What was
that thing?" Agis asked. "Obviously not technological,
since it didn't show up on the scanner."

"It isn't.
It is what it appears to be—a rock, known as bloodstone. Years
ago, the Blood Royal used these stones to communicate, one with the
other. The stone acts as a focus for the psychic powers or some such
notion. It was a toy, really. Normal communication routes were easier
and required less mental discipline. Lovers exchanged bloodstones,
that sort of thing. But the mind-seizers came to realize that the
stones had a far greater potential.

"The Order
of Black Lightning discovered that they, with their enhanced mental
energies, could use the stones to spy, to overhear conversations.
They could even, so I've been told, use the stones as another eye, to
see events transpiring far, far away.

"Through
this simple stone, Abdiel could hear me, see me, and, if he chose,
perhaps even read my thoughts."

"He knows
we're here, then. Will he try to stop us?" Brother Daniel asked,
glancing about the room fearfully, as if he expected to see the old
man emerge from the walls.

"No. That
isn't his purpose, his intent. He knows I'm coming to him. He
wants
me to come. But he doesn't want to be taken by surprise. He
would like very much to know
how
I'm coming and
when.
Do you think this room is safe now?" she asked Sparafucile
abruptly.

The assassin's
misaligned eyes narrowed. "I think no place safe from him,
Starlady."

"I agree.
And now, gentlemen," she continued briskly, "if you will
sit down, we will get on with our business."

How long do you
stay fresh in that can?

The Cowardly
Lion to the Tin Man, from
The Wizard of Oz

Maigrey ordered
drinks: a vodka martini, straight up, olive, not a twist, for
herself, water for Agis (Sagan's men, like Sagan himself, did not
consume alcohol), a pot of hot tea for Brother Daniel, and an
impossible-to-pronounce concoction for the half-breed.

"The waiter
will bring them," said the hostess. "Anything else I can do
for you?"

Maigrey assured
her there wasn't, sank back into the sofa cushions, thinking that a
martini would be extremely welcome, wishing she could enjoy it. She
watched idly the assassin flick through images on the vidscreen,
switching from one table to another, from one face to another, with a
rapidity that made her dizzy.

At last he
grunted—this seemed to be his primary form of communication—and
swiveled the computer screen around for her to view.

"This good
man, lady-mine," he said, having undoubtedly come up with that
appellation from hearing Agis refer to her as "my lady."

"He do work
for Sagan Lord."

Maigrey saw, by
the white light of the globe on his table, a human male of
indeterminable age—an old thirty or a young fifty. He was
completely bald, his face and scalp were mottled with white
splashes—acid burns, Maigrey recognized. Dark, brooding eyes
were almost hidden in the shadow of an overhanging forehead. He had a
drink on the table in front of him. Two hands rested near the glass.
One hand was made of flesh and bone and blood. The other was metal.

"Cyborg,"
said Sparafucile.

"What
percentage?"

"Over
seventy. Left side. Hand, leg, foot, face, skull, ear, eye."

"A class
job. I wouldn't have guessed the face. Why didn't he get a natural
hand to match?"

"That hand
of his—special design. Does many special things, lady-mine. And
then, it is his way. He does not try to hide what he is."

"No,"
Maigrey murmured. "He flaunts it, in fact. He looks promising,
but he's not for hire. His light's not green. Obviously, he's not in
need of work."

"Him never
in need. " Sparafucile grinned. "People come to Xris. He
not go to people. But cyborg always willing to listen."

"Xris, you
said his name was."

"Xris."

Maigrey reached
out, touched a button, saw the cyborg's gaze shift, focus on the
screen before him. Otherwise, he did not move.

"I'd like
to buy you a drink," Maigrey said.

The cyborg's
hand, the real one, shifted to the glass in front of him.

"Thanks,
sister," he said in a voice that had a faint mechanical tinge to
it, "but I haven't finished this one yet."

"Too bad.
If you change your mind, I'm in the upper room," replied Maigrey
with a smile.

The glittering
eyes were momentarily hooded. The cyborg lifted his drink, drained it
in a gulp, and rose to his feet.

Maigrey removed
her portable computer linkup from its case, connected it with the
computer aboard her spaceplane.

"Sagan's
files. Mercenaries," she commanded.

The computer
complied.

"Xris,
cyborg."

The computer
brought up the file swiftly. Maigrey studied a long list of
references, then read the single-sentence remark— Sagan's
personal comment—at the end. She smiled, sighed.

A tap on the
door, a voice sounded through the commlink.

"Waiter."

Agis drew his
lasgun. Sparafucile's hand slid inside his rags. Maigrey quit the
file, touched a control beneath the table. The door slid aside. A
figure, fantastic in dress and appearance, entered, pushing a
floating tray bearing glasses, a cup, and a teapot. Maigrey stared.

"Raoul,
isn't it?" she said.

The beautiful
Adonian bowed gracefully in acknowledgment, flashed her a charming
smile. Deftly, he placed the glasses on the table, one in front of
each, handing the correct drink to the proper person. When he had
finished, he sent the tray to wait for him near the door, and made
another low and elaborate bow. Straightening, he flipped his long,
straight, shining black hair back over his rainbow-velvet-clad
shoulders and favored Maigrey with another charming smile.

"You work
here, now, Raoul?" she asked.

"Alas, my
most gracious lady," said the Adonian, continuing to smile with
the drug-induced euphoria of the Loti, "the untimely and brutal
death of my late former employer, Snaga Ohme, forced me to seek other
gainful means of support for myself and my friend. You remember my
friend?"

"The Little
One. Yes, where is he?"

"He remains
in our dwelling place. You will understand, my lady, that this den of
thieves and murderers, present company excepted," he added, with
another fluttering bow, "is no place for the sensitive and
delicate nature of an empath."

"Yes, I can
imagine," Maigrey replied, doing her best to keep from smiling.
"Am I to take it that you are unhappy working here?" It was
difficult to tell with the Loti, whose drugged state generally gave
the impression that it was impossible for them to be unhappy about
anything.

Raoul appeared
absolutely blissful as he shook his head sadly. "It is not that,
my lady. What is happiness, after all, but the fleeting, transitory
butterfly of an emotion that is impossible to catch and hold for long
before it flies away."

He allowed a
white, delicate hand to emulate the insect of which he spoke. Then,
smoothing his hair, he returned from this flight of fancy to what
passed for him as reality. "When I saw you enter, my lady, I
knew a moment's happiness, the first true happiness I've known in
some time. I do not work here stricdy for the money. I have many
means at my disposal of earning my keep that are not nearly so
degrading or that bring me in contact with such low companions. I
intend no offense, of course, my lady. I, more than anyone,
understand how circumstances have forced you to place yourself in
this unsavory locale."

"Truly,"
said Maigrey gravely, accustomed to talking to Adonians, "we are
fellow sufferers of misfortune. Please go on."

"Thank you,
my most gracious lady," said the Adonian with a heart-melting
smile and another bow. "The Little One and I are here, you see,
for a reason. We have a vendetta."

"I'm afraid
I don't understand," said Maigrey cautiously, wondering if the
Loti knew what the word "vendetta" meant, thinking he may
have mistaken it for some type of blow-dryer.

"My late
former employer, Snaga Ohme, was a very good employer," said
Raoul. The drug-misted eyes were, for a moment, suddenly sharp and
clear, fixed on Maigrey with a purpose and conviction that was
extremely disconcerting. "A very good employer," repeated
Raoul, "and a fellow Adonian. We—the Little One and I—know
the name of my late former employer, Snaga Ohme's, murderer."

"It was not
Lord Sagan," Maigrey said.

"Oh, no.
The Little One and I never supposed that for a moment. We discovered
the truth, my lady. That is, the Little One discovered it. We saw the
murderer that night. We were close to the one known as Abdiel . . .
and to you, my lady, although undoubtedly you did not notice us. You
were . . . preoccupied."

Trust the
Adonian to phrase it delicately. "I was his prisoner,"
Maigrey said bluntly.

"Yes, my
lady, we knew. That is, the Little One knew. What with the confusion,
the report of the bomb about to go off, we were unable to stop the
mind-seizer and bring him to justice. Since that unfortunate time,
however, we have been keeping track of his whereabouts and . . ."
Raoul hesitated.