Deathstalker (23 page)

“Never heard of her,” said Owen.

“No reason why you should have, aristo. You don’t move in the same circles. Ruby’s a bounty hunter, and a damned good one. She’s an old friend of mine from way back. We mugged our first tourist together. She’ll put us in touch with the right people, provided we make her a good enough offer.”

“Not another ten percent,” said Owen firmly.

Hazel shrugged. “Up to you. But if you want the best, you have to be prepared to pay for it. Don’t worry too much about it; she’ll give you a discount because you’re with me. All we have to do now is find her.”

“Oh, great,” said Owen. “More tramping back and forth.”

“What are you moaning about now?”

“You want it in order? I’m spoilt for choice. Apart from the insanity of trusting our safety to a bounty hunter, it’s bitter cold, I haven’t a clue where we are, I can’t feel my hands anymore, and my feet aren’t talking to me. We’ve been tramping around this pitiful excuse for a city for ages without getting anywhere useful, and my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut. Also, the smell is disgusting. Something really drastic must have happened in the sewers.”

“Sewers?” said Hazel. “Don’t show your ignorance. Around here a cess pit is a sign of luxury. Be grateful the nightsoil collectors have already been round. Still, where we’re going next should cheer you up. Another old friend of mine is running a tavern not far from here. The Blackthorn. She’ll know where Ruby is. Cyder knows everything. Let’s go.”

She set off down the street at a good pace, brimming with confidence and good cheer. Owen trudged after her, grumbling under his breath. He paused for a moment to pull his cloak more tightly about him, and someone pressed a coin in his hand before hurrying on. Owen looked at it for a long moment before realizing he’d been taken for a beggar. He was tempted to throw the money after the giver, but he didn’t. Money was money.

He put the coin in his pocket and hurried after Hazel, seething inwardly. Some way, someone was going to pay for
all this. He focused his glare on Hazel’s unresponsive back. She didn’t seem to feel the cold at all. Owen thought, not for the first time, that he might have been better off fighting for his life back on Virimonde. At least he’d understood the situation there. And it had been warm. He didn’t understand much about Mistworld, and what he did repulsed him. No law, no custom or honor, no social structure. Everyone out for themselves, and to hell with everyone else. A world of criminals and social misfits, living in poverty and squalor unknown anywhere else in the Empire. They were free, and much good their freedom had done them. Owen felt a sudden rush of tiredness wash over him, and for a moment he was weighed down by the uselessness of it all. He couldn’t live here. Not like this. Without civilization and the comfort of social position, his life had no meaning. He would simply wither and die, like a flower from its bed.

The thought shook him out of the daze he’d fallen into. He couldn’t die. Not while his enemies still lived. They had destroyed his life, taken away everything he believed in and spit on his name. He had to live, so that someday he could take vengeance on the Iron Bitch and all who had aided her in his downfall. Owen smiled tightly. When all else fails, there is always revenge. He wasn’t going to stay stuck on this miserable planet. Somehow he’d find a way off, and then … he’d think of something. He had to. In the meantime, he had to survive. He would endure whatever the planet sent, do whatever was necessary to raise enough money to buy him an army, and a way offplanet. Because if he just lay down and died, then Lionstone would have won after all.

He lurched on through the deepening mud and slush, glaring at everyone and everything around him with renewed disgust. Surely it couldn’t all be like this. There had to be some bright spots in the gloom. A window opened above him, and people scattered out of the way. Someone cried a brief warning, and Owen jumped back just in time to avoid the falling contents of an emptied chamberpot. The window slammed shut again, and people moved on, unperturbed, as though this was an everyday experience. Owen sniffed. Probably was. No sewers. Right.

How could people live like this? Didn’t they know what they were coming to when they ran from the Empire? It came to him slowly that they must have, and came anyway,
because for them life in the Empire was worse. The thought nagged at him and wouldn’t let him go. The Empire was full of luxuries and comforts for the upper classes, and security and stability for the lower classes. Unless you were a clone or an esper or some other kind of unperson. Unless you upset someone with connections, or couldn’t meet your quotas, or fell ill once too often. There was no place in the lower orders for the weak, or the troublesome, or the unlucky.

It seemed to Owen that he had always known this, but never really thought about it before. As long as his cushioned world went on uninterrupted, he hadn’t had to. He couldn’t say he hadn’t known. He was a historian, and he knew more about the realities the Empire was based on than most. How corrupt had the Empire become that the living hell of Mistworld could be such an improvement? Owen sighed. His head was starting to ache again, probably from too much frowning. He’d think more about this later. He had a feeling he’d have lots of time to think about things in the future.

The Blackthorn tavern turned out to be a pleasant surprise. It was cosy and comfortable without being cramped, and had obviously had a lot of money spent on it. The fixtures and fittings were of the highest quality, and there was a pleasant sense of sanctuary in the smoky room from the harshness and pain of the world. Owen leaned against the long, highly polished bar, sipping an adequate wine, and tried to ignore the vicious pins and needles of returning circulation. The Blackthorn was crowded but full of good cheer, and the noise was almost but not quite overpowering. Everyone had to shout to be heard, and those who weren’t shouting were singing, with more verve than accuracy. Owen found it all rather charming, in a rustic sort of way, and was quite prepared to stay there as long as was necessary, if not longer. Particularly if the wine held out.

Hazel was talking earnestly with the Blackthorn’s owner, a tall willowy platinum blond called Cyder. They were head to head at the other end of the bar, apparently lip reading as much as listening. Owen studied Cyder curiously. She seemed a strangely delicate flower to be running a tavern in a cutthroat area like the one he and Hazel had just walked through. According to Hazel, it was called Thieves’ Quarter, and Owen wasn’t a bit surprised. Presumably Cyder had a
small army of well-trained muscle standing by ready to jump on anyone who made a nuisance of themselves. Owen had spent some time unobtrusively trying to spot them on the general principle that if trouble was to come his way, he wanted to at least have some idea of which direction it was coming from. He hadn’t had any luck. Everyone looked equally violent and disreputable.

And then Cyder looked past Hazel directly at Owen, and he stopped with his drink halfway to his lips. In that moment she looked harsh and uncompromising and very dangerous, with the coldest blue eyes he’d ever seen. The moment passed, and then she was smiling at him and beckoning for him to join her and Hazel. Owen emptied his glass and moved unhurriedly down the bar to join them. He had no doubt that Cyder had deliberately allowed him to see the ice beneath her surface, but he wasn’t at all sure why. Perhaps to impress on him that she was someone to be taken seriously. Owen gave her his most charming smile as he arrived and kept his hand near his gun.

Cyder lead the way to a private room up on the next floor, a small unadorned room with comfortable chairs and a crackling fire. Owen sat as close to it as he could bear and tried not to look too interested as the two women discussed Hazel’s old times in Mistport. Much of it seemed to have been either disreputable or illegal, and Owen couldn’t say he was at all surprised. Eventually the two women caught up to the present and smiled fondly at each other.

“You’ve put a lot of work into this place,” Hazel said finally. “I can’t believe this is the old snake pit where I used to drink.”

“I came into some money,” said Cyder, smiling demurely. “I’ve been able to … indulge myself.”

“Where’s Cat?”

“Around. People make him nervous.” Cyder shot Owen a mischievous glance. “Does this young gentleman know about your checkered past, Hazel? Have you told him how you made most of your money here in Mistport?”

“No, and you’re not to tell him. He doesn’t need to know.”

“It’s a perfectly honorable profession. We’ve all done a few things we don’t like to remember when money gets short.”

“That’s as may be.” Hazel glared at Owen. “And you can
wipe that look off your face. I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Owen said, trying hard not think the word
prostitute
, or at least keep it off his face.

Cyder laughed. “Don’t worry, Hazel, your secret is safe with me. Still, it must be said we’ve all come a long way since you and I and John Silver were thick as thieves and searching for some direction in our lives. He was a pirate, I was a fence, and you … were doing what you were doing. Now he’s in charge of Mistport security, of all things, I am the highly respectable owner of a highly profitable tavern, and you’re an outlaw with a price on your head. Quite a good price, too. The word was out on you and your friend ten minutes after your somewhat distinctive ship touched down. Don’t think I’ve ever had a lord in my tavern before, let alone one with as famous a name as yours, Lord Deathstalker.”

“Call me Owen,” he said coolly. “The title’s been stripped from me. How long have you known about us?”

“Relax, dear. I don’t turn in old friends. I don’t have to anymore, and I have my own reasons for hating the Empire and all its works.” Her hand rose briefly to brush against a few thin scars on her face. “Half this city has been turning the other half upside down looking for you, and the only reason no one’s found you yet is because you’ve been moving around so much. Fortunately, no one’s connected you with your last visit, Hazel, so they don’t know to check your old haunts, but it’s only a matter of time before someone gets lucky. That’s why I brought you up here, away from prying eyes. Times are hard here in Mistport, especially since Typhoid Mary tore the town apart. The prices on both your heads are enough to tempt anyone. Even me, if I didn’t have such a personal grudge against the Empire. There’s nowhere in this city that’s safe for you now; no one you can trust except each other. And you can forget about selling your ship. No one will touch it now, at any price. The Empire’s already said it’ll blow it apart on sight, no matter who claims to be flying it. I’m afraid you two are stuck with each other. Everyone else has to be seen as a potential enemy. Even I might be tempted, if you stayed around long enough. Friendship is nice, but it doesn’t pay the bills.”

“There’s always Ruby Journey,” said Hazel, and Cyder pulled a face.

“Ruby Journey. I should have known that name would come up. I never did know what you saw in her. I always thought of myself as a cold-hearted bitch, but dear Ruby’s in a class all of her own. You can’t seriously be thinking of throwing yourself on her mercy? She’s a bounty hunter!”

“I said that,” said Owen.

“She’s my friend,” said Hazel.

“Bounty hunters don’t have any friends,” said Cyder.

“Do you know where I can find her?”

“I’m glad to say I haven’t the faintest idea. She’s around somewhere, no doubt killing someone for money. Or just for the fun of it.”

“She’s not that bad.”

“She’s a sadistic, amoral psychopath. And those are her good points.”

“You said yourself that Mistport is crawling with Imperial agents, bounty hunters and amateur assassins,” Hazel said patiently. “If the aristo and I are going to survive this mess, we need someone like Ruby on our side, if only to frighten everyone else away. Do you have any idea at all where we might look for her?”

Cyder shook her head dubiously and reluctantly provided Hazel with a short list of places to check. Most of them seemed to be taverns, for which Owen at least was grateful. He felt very much in need of a stiff drink, or several. He realized Hazel was scowling at him and sat up straight, trying to look as though he’d been paying attention all the time.

“Much as I hate to admit it, Deathstalker, it appears we’re going to be sticking together after all. If we separate, that’ll just make us easier to take. Besides, you have a connection that might prove useful after all. Jack Random.”

Cyder raised a silver eyebrow. “He’s in Mistport? I hadn’t heard he was back. Last I’d heard, he’d had his army shot out from under him on Vodyanoi IV, and the Empire was closing in on him from all sides. Of course, that was nearly two years ago. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he made one of his miracle escapes. He does rather specialize in them. If you’re looking for an ally, you could do worse. He’s probably the only person on Mistworld that the Empress wants even more than you. Your best bet is to try the Abraxus Information Center, down on Resurrection Street. They’re a small business, haven’t been around long, but if anyone can find him for you, they can.”

“Thanks for the name, Cyder, but we should already have a lead on him. Isn’t that right, Deathstalker?”

Hazel looked pointedly at Owen, and he sighed resignedly. He activated his comm implant and contacted Ozymandius.

“Everything all right with the ship, Oz?”

“Oh, sure. A few lowlifes tried to break in, but the yacht’s security systems took care of them. Mistport ground staff removed the bodies. There have also been a number of attempts to break into my systems, but nothing I couldn’t handle. Strictly amateur hour. These people wouldn’t recognize a sophisticated system if they fell over it in the gutter.”

“I’m not entirely sure they have gutters here.”

The AI sniffed. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Where are you? What’s been happening?”

“Tell you later. It looks like we’re going to need Jack Random after all, Oz. What was the address you had on him?”