Deathstalker (41 page)

“Esper scum,” said Vicar James Kassar. “Saved us the trouble of executing him. Pyrokinetic, obviously, but how did he get in here? I was assured this ballroom was protected by esp-blockers.”

“So it is,” said Valentine, stepping forward. “I am not entirely certain what has happened, but as senior Wolfe present, I can assure you that my security people are investigating the breach even as we speak.”

“That’s not good enough, Wolfe,” snapped Kassar, studying Valentine with undisguised contempt and disgust. “Whether he teleported in or was smuggled in, he must have had inside help. Which means you have a traitor here, Wolfe. I’ll detail a company of my men to help find him. They’ve had a lot of experience in finding traitors.”

“Thank you,” said Valentine, “but that won’t be necessary. My people are quite capable of doing all that’s necessary without disturbing my guests.”

It took the wide-eyed guests a moment to realize that Valentine had just refused the Vicar permission to bring his hard men in. This wasn’t exactly unknown, but it was pretty damn rare. You upset the Church at peril of your soul and your body, these days. And James Kassar in particular wasn’t used to being defied. His face reddened, and he stepped forward to glare right into Valentine’s mascaraed eyes.

“Don’t cross me, boy! I shed no tears for one more dead esper, but I have no tolerance for traitors, no matter where they may be found. And high station is no protection against the will of the Lord.”

“How very reassuring,” said Valentine, and then said nothing more. The moment lengthened and the tension grew. The Vicar scowled at Valentine.

“You look like a degenerate. Wipe that paint off your face.”

Everyone stared at the two men, breathless in the spectacle of two legendary wills clashing. And then Valentine took one more step forward, so that his face was right before Kassar’s. His crimson smile widened, and his dark eyes didn’t waver at all.

“Lick it off.”

Kassar looked at him, his mouth a tight white line. His hand hovered over his sword, but he didn’t draw it. If he did, and killed the Wolfe heir in his own home, he would be committing the Church to full vendetta against Clan Wolfe. Rich and influential as it was, the Wolfes couldn’t hope to stand against the full might of the Church for long, but … if the Wolfes did somehow win the contract for the new stardrive, and the Church had to come cap in hand to Clan Wolfe for the new starships … Kassar turned his back on Valentine and walked away, and everyone started breathing again. Valentine smiled at Gregor and Evangeline.

“My apologies for the unwelcome intrusion. My people will take care of it.”

The Shreck sniffed. “Damn esper filth. If he hadn’t killed himself, I’d have had him shot. We’re too soft on espers. You can’t trust them.”

“They’re still people, Father,” said Evangeline softly. “Like clones.”

“Better not let the Vicar hear you say that,” said Valentine easily. “The position on espers and clones is quite clear. They exist only as the result of scientific progress and are therefore property. The Church won’t even admit they have souls. Now, if you’ll excuse me. …”

He bowed low, and turned and walked away. A murmur of quiet congratulations surrounded him as he moved through the crowd. The Church had been putting pressure on all the Families just recently over tithes and was not as popular as it might have been among the aristocracy. Gregor waited until Valentine was safely out of earshot, then grabbed Evangeline by the arm again, squeezing hard till the pain made her gasp.

“Never do that again. You must never draw attention to
yourself with such views on espers or clones. Neither of us could afford an investigation into your background. No one must ever find out about you.”

He gave her arm one last shake and then released her and stalked away, his face an angry red. People hurried to get out of his way. Evangeline put her hand to her aching arm, alone in the middle of the crowd, but then she always was. Evangeline was a clone, grown secretly by her father to replace the original Evangeline, who had died in an accident. His eldest daughter had been his favorite, and he couldn’t bear to live without her. And since no one had seen her die but him, he used a great deal of money and influence and had his dead daughter cloned. He taught her everything she needed to know, then cautiously released her into society. After a long but vague illness. She did well. She’d always been a quick study. Or so her father told her. Everyone accepted her as the real Evangeline. They had no reason not to. But a single gene test was all it would take to reveal her true origin, damning herself and her father. Replacement by their own clone was the aristocrat’s ultimate nightmare. She’d be destroyed (not executed, only people were executed), and her father would be stripped of his title and banished.

She hadn’t told Finlay Campbell she was a clone, even though he’d trusted her with the secret of his other life as the Masked Gladiator. She hadn’t worked up the courage yet. She loved him, she trusted him, but … But. Would he still love her if he knew she was only a clone? She liked to think he would, but … She smiled humorlessly. If she couldn’t trust him with that, how could she tell him about her links to the clone and esper undergrounds? That was, after all, why she’d turned off the Wolfe esp-blockers, so that the elves could smuggle the zealot in. …

She knew her thoughts were drifting this way and that, but she didn’t seem able to control them. She owed so many loyalties to so many people: her father, the undergrounds, Finlay … and failing any one of them could lead to her disgrace and death. She had to watch every word, every action, different lies for different people. Sometimes she just wanted to scream for everything to stop, for all the pressure to go away, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t afford to be noticed doing anything unusual. Occasionally she thought of killing herself, but then she always thought of Finlay and
how safe she felt in his arms. One day she would tell him, and then … One day.

She looked up to see Finlay casually approaching her, as though he just happened to be drifting in her direction. Her heart speeded up, and a betraying warmth flushed her cheeks. Finlay stopped before her and bowed courteously, and she nodded coolly in return. Just two heirs to different Clans who happened to have met in a public place. Finlay smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“My dear Evangeline,” said Finlay easily. “You’re looking very well. I trust the unfortunate incident with the esper didn’t upset you unduly?”

“Not at all, Finlay. I’m sure Wolfe security already has things well in hand. You’re looking quite splendid yourself. Is that another new outfit?”

“Of course. I do so hate to repeat myself. As one of the secret Grand Masters of fashion, I have an obligation to be innovative and shocking at all times. It’s in my contract. Your hand is empty; could I perhaps get you a small glass of punch?”

Evangeline shook her head firmly. She’d seen the punch. It was bright pink, reportedly extremely alcoholic, and had bits of unidentified fruit floating in it. Some of them seemed to be slowly dissolving. And given that the punch had been provided by the Wolfes, there was always the chance Valentine had spiked it with something dramatic and disconcerting. Most of the guests had had the sense and foresight to bring their own drinks. Finlay smiled and produced a delicately worked silver flask from an inner pocket. He removed the cap and poured her a generous drink. Evangeline sniffed it inquiringly, then grinned at the warm aroma of good brandy. She sipped it carefully and allowed her eyes to meet Finlay’s. She could feel her breathing quickening, and when she handed the cap back to Finlay for him to drink, his fingers lingered on hers.

“Now that our two Families are to be joined in marriage, perhaps we shall have occasion to meet more often,” murmured Finlay.

“That would be most pleasant,” said Evangeline. “I am sure we might discover some interests in common.”

“Right now what you’ve got in common is a good stiff drink, and I’d kill for some,” said a familiar loud voice. Evangeline didn’t need to look round to know who it was.
There was never any doubt of Adrienne Campbell’s presence. Evangeline and Finlay shared one last understanding glance, and then turned to face Finlay’s infamous wife. Adrienne pointedly held out an empty glass, and Finlay filled it to the brim with brandy. She took a good gulp and nodded approvingly.

“One of your few virtues, Finlay. You’re vain and shallow and have absolutely no idea how to treat a lady, but you do know your booze. If it wasn’t for your wine cellar, I’d have divorced you years ago. Evangeline, my dear, haven’t seen you to talk to in absolutely ages. That’s a very … striking outfit you’re wearing. Do feel free to come to me for advice on style and presentation at any time.” She held out her glass to Finlay for a refill, and he obliged without comment. Adrienne’s capacity for drink was legendary even in a court noted for its excesses. She smiled nastily at her husband over the glass. “Good brandy, Finlay. I like my booze like I like my men: strong, mysterious and tempting.”

“Really,” said Finlay. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Damn right you wouldn’t,” said Adrienne. She looked back at Evangeline, who had to fight to keep from flinching. “It’s time you were looking for a husband for yourself, my dear. Your father monopolizes your time far too much. Husbands can be boring, irksome and a general pain in the ass, but you have to have one if you want to get on in society. Personally, I wouldn’t be without one, especially when it comes to picking up the tab. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really ought to have a word with our nervous bride and groom. Someone has to tell them the facts of life.”

“And who better than you?” murmured Finlay.

Adrienne smiled. “Quite.”

She stalked off through the crowd, opening up a path for herself through sheer strength of personality. Her intended prey didn’t even realize she was coming. The groom, Robert Campbell, was currently being supported and encouraged by his cousin Finlay’s brothers, William and Gerald Campbell. Robert’s father had been the Campbell’s younger brother, who died three months previously in an accident the Family still didn’t like to talk about. Mostly because it was so damn embarrassing. In order to keep Robert and his branch of the Family from becoming a laughingstock, a marriage had been hastily arranged that would serve the dual purpose of establishing Robert in society and help close the gap between the
Campbells and the Shrecks. And of course, if something should go wrong, Robert was the most expendable member of the Family at present.

He was average height, as fighting fit as years of military training could make him, and at seventeen old enough to marry, but not old enough to object to the marriage. He was still trying to get used to how much his world had changed. One moment the Shrecks were a deadly enemy to be fought on every occasion, and now here he was marrying one. But he was old enough to understand politics and know his duty. Especially since William and Gerald kept explaining it to him.

William Campbell was tall, thin and intense, and the bookkeeper of the Family. It was a job that couldn’t be trusted to an outsider, but which most members usually avoided like the plague, on the grounds it was far too much like hard work, and if they’d wanted to work they wouldn’t have been born an aristocrat. Fortunately William found numbers both more interesting and easier to deal with than people, so he was perfectly suited to the job. He didn’t get out much, but he meant well, and occasionally surprised people with his firm grasp of politics. He was a Campbell, after all.

Gerald, on the other hand, was the Family mistake. There’s one like him in every Family. Too dumb to be entrusted with the important stuff, but too senior to be just ignored. The Family had been trying to find a place for him all his life, with absolutely no success. Gerald was tall, blond and handsome, and a complete bloody disaster no matter what he did, and everyone knew it but him. The Campbell himself had been heard to say, only partly in jest, that the best thing to do with Gerald would be to make a gift of him to a Family they were really mad at.

“Do try and at least look cheerful,” said William to young Robert. “This is a wedding, after all, not the dentist’s.”

“Right,” said Gerald. “At the dentist they take something out. Here you get to put something in. Get my drift, eh?”

Robert smiled politely, and just a little desperately. He had the look of a small animal caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He pulled at his frock coat to straighten it and fiddled with his cravat. His dresser had assured him he looked both dignified and fashionable, but he wasn’t sure of either. He felt very much he could have used a stiff drink or
several, but William wouldn’t let him. Valentine had offered to slip him a little something, but he’d declined. He didn’t think he was ready to deal with one of Valentine’s little somethings. Probably no one but Valentine was.

“You’ve been through the rehearsals,” said William reassuringly. “Nothing to worry about. Just say the words, kiss the bride, and it’ll be all over before you know it. Remember you have to lift the veil first, though. You’d be surprised how many people forget that. Sometimes I think we’re getting a little too inbred. Brace up, not long to go now.”

“And then you can settle down to getting to know your bride,” said Gerald. “Something to look forward to, eh? Eh?”

“Gerald,” said William, “go get Robert a drink.”

“But you said he shouldn’t have any.”

“Then go and get me a drink.”

“But you don’t drink.”

“Then go and get yourself a bloody drink, and don’t come back till you’ve drunk it!”

Gerald blinked a few times and then moved away in the general direction of the punchbowl, looking just a little confused. As always. William looked at Robert and shrugged.

“Don’t mind your Uncle Gerald, boy. He means well, but he should have been dropped on his head as a baby. It’s not entirely his fault that he’s about as much use as a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest. Is there … anything you want to ask me before the ceremony? I mean, I am a married man. …”

“That’s all right,” said Robert quickly. “A lot of people have already talked to me about that. Everyone’s been very free with their advice. The only advice I could really use is how to get out of this.”