Under the Eye of God (15 page)

Sawyer shivered where he hung. “I've seen some ugly women in my time, but—oh, God, no. I wish she wouldn't do that.”

Below them, the titanic figure peeled off the last piece of armor. She wore a dingy singlet that concealed nothing of her true shape. Sawyer blanched and tried to turn his head away. “Oh, my dear God in heaven, whatever I've done to offend thee, I heartily apologize and beg thy forgiveness. Please take this abomination away from my eyes.”

“I had no idea you had so much religion.”

“I didn't—until she started taking off her clothes.” He looked helplessly to Finn. “I don't think I'll ever have the courage to touch a woman again. I—I don't think I could perform with the memory of her in my head. Some things, a man just shouldn't see, just shouldn't even imagine—”

Finn understood. “If you decide to go in for homosexual rechanneling . . . I'll understand. In fact, I might consider it myself. Murdock gives new meaning to the words
big
and
ugly
.”

“She can't have come from human stock, Finn. She
can't
possibly—”

“She must have some human ancestry. Remember, I found her with a boy.”

“The poor thing—I hope I never get either that hungry or that desperate.” Sawyer had turned quite pale at the thought.

“I think most normal men would share your reaction. Comfort yourself with this thought. Whatever she's devolved from, her subspecies can't possibly last beyond this present generation—because of the total lack of anyone perverse enough to father the next.”

“Do you think she can hear us?”

Finn shrugged. “Do you think she cares?”

Sawyer thought about it. He watched Murdock's lumbering form in horror. She scratched herself abstractedly, paused to sniff under one armpit, scratched again, tugged her underwear out of her crotch, and then waddled heavily over to another work station.

“Y'know,” Finn said thoughtfully. “I wonder if we haven't stumbled into a trap. . . .”

“Uh . . . what gave you that idea?”

“No, I mean—even the commission to collect Murdock might not have a legitimate author. The more I think about it, the more trouble I have with the idea that somebody actually wants this—this
woman
badly enough to pay anyone to track her down.”

“I agree, but maybe the local Dragon-Lord has different tastes. The contract had his seal on it.”

“I remember. This commission had the one of the largest escrow accounts attached to it we've ever seen—the single richest, fattest prize, you should pardon the expression, in the Regency. You have to ask yourself, with that kind of a price on her head, why does Murdock still have her freedom? Every tracker in the Cluster must know about Murdock. Can you imagine anyone resisting the temptation of this bounty? I can't?”

“Actually,” said Sawyer, looking doubtfully downward. “I think I can.”

Finn ignored the comment. “Soy, either no one else has the courage to come after her, or—”

“—or none of them have survived long after capturing her.” Sawyer lowered his voice. “You know what'll happen next, don't you?”

“I can imagine. This woman specializes in organ-legging and slave-trading. She sells bodies, body-parts, special-purpose bioforms, and modified androids. We'll probably leave here in pieces.”

Sawyer took a long slow breath. He called down to the mammoth woman below, “If you surrender to us now, it'll go a lot easier for you in the long run.”

Murdock ignored him.

“All right,” said Sawyer, dejectedly. “Let's go to Plan B.”

“Plan B?” Finn raised his eyebrow again. “I thought we already had.”

Murdock stepped to another console to look at the result of her scanning programs. She frowned unhappily; an avalanche of wattled flesh collapsed into a mean and squinty-eyed expression. “Not prime,” she said with audible disappointment. Her voice had a rasp like a bulldozer in pain. She rumbled deep in her chest, a volcano clearing its throat. “Not even choice. Hardly worth the trouble.”

She glanced upward, considering another idea. She assessed the two brothers dispassionately. “Cute—” She nodded appreciatively, a leviathan gesture. “No real market value. But still . . .”

Sawyer looked worriedly to Finn.
Cute?

“I think she likes you—”

“No, no. She likes you much more than she likes me.” Sawyer said it hastily. “Trust me. I know these things. She likes you. She doesn't like me at all. Really.”

Murdock studied them thoughtfully for a moment longer, ignoring their frantic gestures and denials. Eventually, whatever small spark passed for intelligence behind her pig-like features came to a reluctant decision. She discarded the thought. “No—not strong enough.” She shook her giant head in slow ponderous dissatisfaction, and turned her attention back to the screen on her console. She punched a code and a moment later began talking to someone.

“You wanted a tracker? I have two.” She listened, then answered with a laugh like a rusty gate; she wheezed. “Yeah. The same. I catch more trackers that way. They never learn. No, I'll only sell them as a set. You have to take them both or not at all. Same price. No, not two for one. Each—” She haggled a bit longer, but finally came to terms with the unseen buyer, and accepted the deal.

“To tell the truth,” she added. “I don't want ‘em nohow. They don't suit my purposes, but they might suit yours a lot better. Yeah. Yeah. They'll probably find much more happiness in your arms than in mine—” She laughed again, this time even louder and nastier than before.

By the time the Eye of God had crossed the sky and commenced settling its glory into the desolate west, Lady Zillabar's temper had eased enough for her to consider not only refreshment, but the next step of her plans. She returned to her own towers and after several precious hours of dreamtime, began summoning various of her followers, citizens, and servants. She issued orders with crisp detachment, sweeping through the ranks of her clients without regard to their individual problems or concerns. By now, the stories of her day-long tantrum—and the subsequent unfortunate death of the Captain of her personal Dragon Guard—would have gotten world-wide circulation; she might as well make good use of the resulting temerity of her subjects.

She retired to her private chambers for an informal dinner with several of her underlings, all Phaestor. All male, of course. No Dragons. Not after the events of earlier in the day. Too dangerous.

The servants had set the tables with a delicate repast, and as the evening deepened, her guests fed themselves liberally. The Vampires chatted and laughed among themselves, but all took care to keep their conversations light and noncommittal. Lady Zillabar allowed herself to enjoy the graceful beauty of Lord Drydel without, for once, wondering about either his loyalties or his ambitions. Whatever plans her evanescent consort might have laid, they would lie fallow for a long while after today; certainly long enough for her to take steps to neutralize either the plans or the planner.

She pushed the thought aside and shared a goblet of green wine with Lord Drydel. His eyes flashed with desire and she considered the possibility of a shared dream, later in the evening after the last of the guests had left. Perhaps. . . .

A servant-wasp approached to a polite distance, waited for the Lady's gesture, then presented her with a folded note. Zillabar barely lifted the card off the tray, unfolded it gracefully with one jewelled nail, glanced nonchalantly at the message inscribed inside, nodded to the servant, and dropped the note back on the plate. The servant withdrew.

Drydel looked inquisitively to his mate. She answered his look with a touch to his lips. “We have another guest.” She clapped her hands twice and the table servants began withdrawing the evening's buffet. Other servants quickly slid a set of ornate panels into place to hide that end of the room. Lady Zillabar moved to a dais and settled herself on its throne. Lord Drydel moved to stand behind her. Her guests had already taken notice; they took their places at the sides of the room to wait politely while the Lady conducted her business.

All conversation dimmed when the High Justice of Thoska-Roole entered behind the servant with the tray. Every dark eye in the room turned to study the corpulent man—a
human
, fat and filled with hot red blood.

The man wore a white toga and a black cape with a red border. The toga barely concealed his fleshy gut. Whatever his age, he wore it well, though he looked like a man in his mid-fifties. He did not seem overawed by his surroundings or by his host. He glanced around at the furnishings and the other guests with unashamed curiosity.

The servant stepped to one side and announced in a chitinous voice, “The Arbiter of the Regency on Thoska-Roole, Justice Harry Mertz.”

Mertz did not wait for the Lady to speak. He stepped forward and asked, “Do you require my services in an official capacity, Lady Zillabar? Or have you invited me to your quarters to share the quality of your table?”

What an impudent little man!
The Lady allowed herself an edge of annoyance. How dare he! But instead of demonstrating what she felt, she merely smiled, “I apologize for this late summons, I know you have many concerns elsewhere, but the business I wish to discuss with you has no place in the official arena. You honor my house by your acceptance.”

Mertz allowed himself an expansive bow. “You flatter me, Lady Zillabar. You and I both know that my credential has only a ceremonial function. I have honor without weight, glory without responsibility. The need for Arbiters
²⁸
has long since passed into history. The job has disappeared with the need. Only the title remains.”

The Lady smiled graciously. She descended from her dais and approached the Justice with easy familiarity, even though she knew that the man felt a profound repugnance at the nearness of her approach—his repugnance probably equaled hers. He concealed it well, but she could still smell the stink of fear in his sweat. She held out her hands to him. He took a precautionary step back and opened his palms in a gesture of caution. “My Lady. I know you dislike touching. I would not have you uncomfortable.”

Zillabar lowered her outstretched fingers. “People speak of your wisdom, Justice Mertz. You impress me now with your insight as well.”

“Please, Lady—may we skip the flatteries. You wish something of me? Counsel perhaps?”

“Walk with me,” the Lady invited. She gestured silently, and Lord Drydel moved up to flank the Justice on his other side.

Harry Mertz glanced from one to the other. “I cannot easily refuse this invitation, my Lady, can I?” he remarked wryly. If either of the two Vampires caught his inner meaning, neither of them showed it in their reaction.

They proceeded for a while through a shadowy arcade. After a bit, the Lady spoke. “I think you will appreciate
this
invitation, Harry—may I call you Harry?—Lord Drydel and I want to invite you to participate in a grand adventure with us. You see, now that we have restored the authority of the aristocracy here on Thoska-Roole, we intend to expand our vision to include the dynamic of the entire cluster. The aristocracy wants to reinvigorate the Regency with a strong new purpose. All of us will benefit from an expansion of our influence in the Regency. We foresee a new age of enlightenment.”

“In all honesty, Lady Zillabar, Prince Drydel, I have paid so little attention to matters that do not concern me that a street urchin would probably have more wisdom on these matters; I wouldn't presume to give you advice—”

Zillabar exchanged the quickest of glances with Drydel.
This stupid human believed that they wanted his counsel!
She returned her focus to the Justice. “We need a man of your wisdom and reputation to address another area of our concern.” She stopped and faced Harry directly. “As you must know, most humans have a deep irrational fear of the highest level of the aristocracy, the Phaestor—”

“Yes. Some humans call you Vampires.”

“We take pride in the title. We drained the life out of the predators.”

“To humans, however,” Harry said, “the name carries another, much darker, meaning. In some quarters, the word stinks like an epithet. No offense intended, of course.” Smiling, Harry bowed politely to both of his hosts.

“None taken.” Lady Zillabar smiled graciously and refocused on the task at hand. It took her a moment; this bastard had no intention of letting her proceed easily! He insisted on using that all-too-human thing they called
humor
. She didn't understand humor. It always looked like naked hostility to her. “However,” she continued, “the existence of that fear, irrational or not, gives us great pause. We wish to work as partners with
all
of the species here on Thoska-Roole.”

“I see,” said Harry.

“We need someone to speak for us, someone who has respect and authority.”

“I have neither, my Lady. Surely, you know that—” Harry grinned at her and her Prince-Consort.

Lady Zillabar found the sight of all those flattened teeth disconcerting and actually glanced away before she let her distaste show on her outer face. Turning back again, she said, “We need someone who can reassure the human constituency that the Vampire aristocracy mean them no harm. You would enjoy the privileges of the aristocracy, and as your people begin to see your partnership with us, then they will also begin to understand that they too can work with us without the enmity and rancor that has so colored so many of our relationships in the past.”

“A noble sentiment. I hope you will find someone of suitable authority and wisdom. Of course, I will do whatever I can to aid you in your search.”

“We believe that the Arbiter of Justice should perform this service,” said Lord Drydel, deliberately placing his hand firmly on Harry's shoulder.