The Long Night of Centauri Prime (29 page)

"You play a dangerous game," said the female, "as does Vir. He has no true idea of what he faces."

"Neither do we," replied Kane. "But we, at least, have an inkling. He has nothing except what small pieces of information you have been dropping upon him."

"That will have to do."

"I mislike it," the woman said firmly. The man standing next to her chuckled. "You mislike everything, Gwynn. At least Kane is stirring things up."

"Perhaps. Let us simply hope," said the woman known as Gwynn, "that we do not get caught up cooking in the stew being stirred."

Usually for Vir, the time spent in space travel seemed positively endless. He didn't particularly like such journeys, and usually spent them on the edge of his seat, waiting for something to go wrong, waiting for the bulkhead to buckle or the oxygen to leak or the engines to go dead or some other catastrophe to hit. For Vir was always all-too-aware of the fact that a very unforgiving vacuum surrounded them, and only the relatively thin ship's hull stood between him and a violent death. On this voyage, however, he gave it no thought at all. His thoughts were focused entirely upon Centauri Prime and what he would do once he arrived there.

Unfortunately, he didn't really know. He wasn't sure how he would approach Londo, or what he would do about the Drakh, or what he could do. These and any number of other considerations tumbled about in his mind.

No one was there to meet him when he arrived at the Centauri Prime spaceport, which was fine. He hadn't told anyone he was coming. He wanted his arrival at the palace to come as a total surprise. Somehow he sensed that the only thing he really had going for him was surprise. He wanted to make his movements and actions as unpredictable as possible.

The bottom line was, the only person he trusted anymore was himself. As much as he wanted to trust Londo, he had seen far too much for him to be able to place any real confidence in the emperor. Nor did he trust the techno-mage initiate. His first encounter with techno-mages, on Babylon 5, during their great migration, had led him to think of them as tricksters. The terrifying illusion they had cast, of a monstrous creature threatening to rend Vir limb from limb, still occasionally haunted his dreams.

Techno-mages, as a group, had their own motivations, their own agendas. There was still the very distinct possibility that Kane had fabricated this entire thing. That there was no such thing as a "Drakh." What he had shown Vir had been so short, so conveniently minimal, that it was impossible for Vir to know for certain just how forthcoming Kane was being. He might have fabricated the entire thing from whole cloth, as a means of undercutting Vir's support for Centauri Prime – and that for reasons Vir could only guess. Which might have meant that the business with Mariel was also fabrication ... But no. No, Vir was positive that wasn't the case. The farther he was away from Babylon 5, the longer he was away from that arena that they had shared, the more clear it became to him.

Vir arrived at the palace and was greeted with polite surprise by Londo's personal guard. He was escorted to a waiting room, there to wait until there was a hole in the emperor's schedule that would allow him to meet with Vir.

"Had we only been expecting you, we would have accommodated you with far greater efficiency," Vir was told. He shrugged. It made little difference to him. And as he sat in the waiting room, he couldn't wipe the vision of Mariel from his mind. But he was determined that that was exactly what he had to do. He pictured her face, lathered with contempt, and mentally he started to disassemble it, feature by feature. Plucked out the eyes, removed the nose, the teeth, the tongue, all of it, until there was only a blank space where a woman had occupied so much of his attention. And when she was gone – or at least, when he believed her to be gone – he knew one thing for certain. He knew that if he never, ever, saw a wife of Londo Mollari again, it would be too soon.

The door to the waiting room slid open and Vir automatically started to stand. He rose halfway and froze in position. It wasn't Londo standing there in the doorway. Instead it was a diminutive Centauri woman, her face round, her eyes cool and scornful, her lips frozen in a perpetual pucker of disapproval, her demeanor glacial.

"You've lost weight, Vir. You look emaciated. You should eat something," said Timov, daughter of Algul, wife of Londo Mollari. At that moment, Vir seriously considered gnawing his leg off at the knee just so he could escape.

Rumors had begun to falter through the dig. There had been the reputation, of course. Everyone knew the stories. But no one had taken it seriously, not really seriously. There had been discussions of it in the evening hours, but in the early days of the dig, the chats had been like the laughter of children camping out. But months had passed, and there was a sense that they were getting close to something. Nobody knew what that something was, but there was a general and unmistakeable air of foreboding, even among people who were of such a sober-minded nature that they would never have bought into a concept as quaint as aplace being "haunted." Then, there was the question of the disappearing diggers. When one had vanished, no one had thought anything of it. But over the long months, several more had disappeared. At first this had been chalked off to simple desertion, but several of the men who had disappeared had been workers who had absolutely no reason to depart. In fact one of them, a fellow named Nol, just before he had gone missing, was talking about how the dig was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It had gotten him away from a wife he could not stand, children whom he didn't comprehend, and a life that had done nothing but go sour for him.

So when Nol had disappeared, that really got eyebrows lifted and tongues wagging. In short, no one knew what was going on. There was some brief discussion of a mass desertion, but representatives of the Ministry of Internal Security had caught wind of it and come in short order to calm the agitation of the workers. Still, to play it safe, workers had started traveling in groups of three or more at all times, never wandering off on their own, never searching around in areas that were considered off limits. They also started spending more time in town.

Ironically, there had been no town there before. But, in a case of form following function, a small trading community had arisen primarily to accommodate the workers. The odd traveler passed through from time to time, but for the most part it was a tight-knit, normal community. Or at least, as normal as could be expected with the aforementioned air of foreboding hanging over it. Meantime, the digging drew closer and closer to that which had been hidden and forgotten for millennia ...

1
9.

Two years before Vir Cotto found himself in Timov's presence, Londo Mollari had looked at the expression on the face of his aide, Dunseny, who had just bustled into the throne room, and had known instantly.

"She's here, isn't she," was all Londo had said. Dunseny managed to nod, but that was about all. This was an individual who had served Londo's assorted needs for years, and he had never seemed daunted by anything that Londo had thrown at him, or any duty that had been required of him. But now he wore a look of total befuddlement, bordering on intimidation, and that signaled to Londo the arrival of the diminutive terror known as Timov.

Londo sighed heavily. He'd had a feeling that the time would come. He just hadn't known when. It was somewhat like death in that regard. Although maybe not; he actually had a fairly clear idea of what that felt like, and of when his own mortality would finally catch up with him. This led him to realize that Timov was even more fearsome and unpredictable than death. She probably would be rather taken with that notion, he mused.

"Send her in," was all Londo said. The aide nodded gratefully. Londo could easily understand why. Obviously the last thing the poor bastard wanted to do was go back and tell Timov that the emperor had no time for her. Moments later, Timov bustled in, looking around the throne room with a vague air of disdain, as if she were trying to determine the best way to redecorate. Then she looked straight at Londo.

"The curtains in here are ghastly. You need more light."

"No surprises," Londo murmured.

"What?"

"`What' indeed – that is the question before us, Timov. As in, `What are you doing here?'"

"Is that all I get from you, Londo? A coarse interrogation? Waves of hostility? I am your wife, after all."

"Yes. You are my wife. But I," and Londo rose from his throne, "am your emperor. And you will show proper respect to me, as befits a woman in the presence of the supreme ruler of the Centauri Republic."

"Oh, please," Timov responded disdainfully.

But then Londo stepped down from the throne and slowly advanced on her.

"Down to one knee, woman. If you had taken this long to respond to a direct command from Emperor Cartagia, he would have had your head on a plate in an instant. You will genuflect in my presence, speak only when I permit you to speak, and obey my orders, or by the Great Maker ... I will have you taken out and executed immediately, and your head placed on a pike as a warning to other disobedient wives everywhere! Do you understand me?"

Timov didn't budge. His face was only a few inches away from hers. And then she took out a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at the right corner of his mouth.

"What are you doing?" asked Londo. "You have a bit of spittle right there. Hold still."

Londo couldn't quite believe it. He felt as if he were trapped in some bizarre dream.

"Have you lost your mind? Didn't you hear one word I said?"

"Yes. And if you're about to order soldiers to come in here and take me away so that my head can adorn your exterior fixtures, then you needn't look like a crazed animal while you're doing it. As wife of the emperor, I at least am aware that I have an image to protect. You should start considering yours. There." She tucked the handkerchief away, then serenely folded her hands in front of her.

"All right. I'm ready," she said, her chin pointed upward. "Summon the soldiers. Take me away because I'm not subservient enough. I know it's what you've always wanted." He stared at her for a time, gaping in open incredulity. And then, slowly shaking his head, he walked back to his throne.

"I am curious, though," Timov continued, as if the conversation was meant to continue. "Will the means of execution be the actual beheading? Or will I be killed in some other fashion, my decapitation to occur subsequently. It will make a difference in terms of the last outfit I wear. For example, there's liable to be much more blood in a beheading, so I'll probably want to wear something arterial red to get a better blend. But if something more bloodless is chosen, such as the administering of poison, then I'll probably want to wear one of my blue dresses – probably the one with a bit more scoop at the neck. I know, it's somewhat more daring than my usual ensemble, but since it will be my last public appearance, why shouldn't I leave tongues wagging? Of course, the one with the gold brocade could–"

"Oh, shut up." Londo sighed.

She was actually quiet for a moment, and then, sounding rather solicitous, she said,

"You seem fatigued, Londo. Shall I get the guards for you?"

"Great Maker ... I do not believe it. It cannot be possible."

She folded her arms. "What cannot be possible?"

"That I've actually missed you," he said with slow disbelief.

"Yes. I know you have."

"I never would have thought it could come to this."

"Would you like to know why you miss me?" she asked.

"Could I stop you from telling me?"

As if he hadn't spoken, Timov slowly circled the perimeter of the throne room as she said coolly, "Because you are surrounded by people who treat you as emperor. But you have not been an emperor for most of your life. You are much more accustomed to being treated as simple Londo Mollari. That is your natural state of being, and I believe you long, to some degree, for a return to those days. That is why you are so lonely..."

He looked at her askance.

"Who said I was lonely?"

"No one," she said with a small shrug. "I simply surmised that–"

"Noooo." He waggled a finger at her. "It is all coming clear now. You've been speaking to Senna, yes?"

"Senna." Timov made a great production of frowning. "I don't seem to recall anyone by that name..."

"Don't try lying to me, Timov. I have far too much experience with it, so I can spot it when even the most expert of liars is engaging in the practice. And you are not at all expert, because you are much too accustomed to saying exactly what is on your mind, always, without exception. I think that if you tried to lie, your jaw would snap off."

"I will take that as a compliment." She sighed. "Yes. Senna contacted me."

"Eh. I knew it."

"She is worried about you, Londo. Heaven knows too few people around here are. They care about you only in regard to how they can use your power to further their ends, or how you can best serve their needs."

"And you know this how?"

"Because I know the mentality, Londo. I know the situations that draw certain types of players to certain sorts of games."

"And what is your game, Timov?" he asked, waving a finger at her. "Am I supposed to believe that you are here motivated purely out of concern for me? I will accept that about as readily as the claim that you never heard of Senna."

"I make no bones about it, Londo. I'm tired of having you hold me at arm's length. There is status, power, money that are owed me as the wife of an emperor. You've made no effort to contact me and bring me here, no effort to make me a part of your court, as is my due."

"You have wanted for nothing."

"That is true. The titles and lands of House Mollari are quite nice, and my lot in life is certainly of a higher caliber than poor Daggair or Mariel ..."

"`Poor' Daggair or Mariel?" He snorted. "Are you going to tell me that you actually have some degree of pity for them?"