Under the Eye of God (16 page)

Harry glanced at the hand, glanced up into Drydel's eyes, then looked to Lady Zillabar. Her eyes carried the same deadly message.

“The office no longer carries any weight, my Lord—” Harry offered, but Drydel interrupted him.

“We know that the office has devolved into a shell of its former glory, a mere honorary position; but that state of affairs needn't continue. We wish to restore the authority of the Arbiter to a much more meaningful level. You would
enjoy
a great deal of power, Justice.” As he spoke, he continually looked to Lady Zillabar for signals—a nod, a frown, a subtle gesture.

Harry looked again from one to the other. Despite the fact that the words had come from Drydel's throat, he knew who had really spoken them. To Zillabar, he said, “With all due respect, my Lady—I have never
enjoyed
power. I have always found it a most troublesome burden. Fortunately, any power I have had has also attracted a great many people who happily want to relieve me of that burden. So I have cheerfully given it up to others whenever and wherever I could. My shoulders have become too fragile and stooped to carry much weight of any kind anymore, so I would do the same in this case too.”

“I think you misunderstand,” said Lord Drydel. “As the Arbiter of Thoska-Roole, people look to you as the soul of justice. You cannot pass away the power that you carry—you carry the trust of the people.”

Zillabar caught Drydel's eye; the two of them steered Mertz gently to a nearby alcove, paneled with ornately engraved screens. On the table therein, lay a document and a golden stylus.

“We have a Regency Order for you to sign,” said Drydel. “With your signature, it will validate the Regency's custody over entities which do not presently hold full Regency citizenship: all robots, bioforms, androids, and uplifted-intelligence animals. As you know, the local charter leaves non-signatory species in a legal limbo. This will help to resolve that gray area of the law. After you sign, you may keep the stylus.”

Harry did not reach for the document. Instead, he fumbled in his toga for a moment—until he found what he searched for. He pulled out a pair of ancient eyeglasses and fitted them carefully on his nose while both of the Vampires watched in obvious distaste.
²⁹

At last, Harry picked up the document and read it through carefully. As he read, he made small clucking noises in his mouth.

At last, satisfied that he understood the nature of the document, he laid it down again. He folded up his spectacles and returned them to whatever place they rested inside his garment.

In a tone of deceptive calm and courtesy, Harry said, “I can't sign this. The Regency doesn't have the right to assume this custody. And even if I did sign this order, it wouldn't make it right. And Lord Khallanin would never accept it anyway. He knows better. This will trigger riots.”

Lady Zillabar's expression remained unchanged, as did Lord Drydel's—and yet, even without apparent outward sign of either Vampires' displeasure, the tension in the small alcove increased appreciably.

Zillabar touched the parchment with a jewelled fingernail, sliding it carefully away from Harry's easy reach. Lord Drydel spoke first. “Perhaps you haven't heard yet. This afternoon, Lord Khallanin retired from his position as the Prefect of Thoska-Roole.”

“Lord Khallanin
retired?
”

“Permanently,” added the Lady.

Harry selected his reaction carefully. “I see.”

“He'll have a beautiful funeral,” said Drydel, “as only befits one of his exalted station.”

“The Regency Military Authority has already stepped in to ensure that order maintains here. We'll have no chaotic rebellions breaking out again. But, obviously, you do recognize the problem confronting us. Under the provisions of the restored authority, the recommendations of the Advisory Council no longer carry the authority of law, so they cannot select a replacement, thus leaving us in something of a constitutional crisis; under the terms of the security agreement, we must have a representative of the Regency to coordinate all the various constituencies of Thoska-Roole's diverse population. Because of my rank in the Phaestor aristocracy, the Dragon-Lord has asked me to step in—temporarily, of course—to ensure continuity, stability and order. As soon as we can find an individual qualified to assume the reins of permanent conservatorship, I will gladly pass the baton of authority.” She said this last without once looking toward Prince Drydel. “I have responsibilities elsewhere that I must attend to as well.”

“Ah, I see. Of course.” Harry smiled weakly. “Shall I assume then that without Lord Khallanin's further opposition, the Zashti clan will proceed with its plans to convert the StarPort into a staging base for Marauder Squadrons so that you can expand your influence even deeper into this region?”

Zillabar's expression remained unreadable. After an uncomfortable silence, Drydel answered for her. He sidestepped the arbiter's embarrassing question, staying focused instead on the more immediate purpose of the conversation. “Justice, please. We must ensure that the civilian population remains calm. You can help us. Your visible support will steer the conscience of the people.”

“May I speak candidly?”

The Lady kept her voice calm. “I would consider it an insult if you did not.”

“I have heard stories—many of us have heard these rumors. Whether they have basis in fact or not, the stories still circulate. Perhaps you know the stories I mean—? If so, you can spare me the necessity of referring to them further—?”

“On the contrary,” prompted Drydel. “We have no way of knowing unless people like you tell us.”

Harry looked uncomfortable. “We have heard stories about how the Vampires have dealt with
other
civilian populations, rumors of atrocities and . . .” He trailed off unhappily.

Neither of the Vampires demonstrated a reaction. They simply exchanged a dark glance. After a moment, Prince Drydel replied. His expression remained cold. “Malcontents and traitors have created these falsehoods. I assure you that when we find these troublemakers, we will deal with them harshly.”

Unseen by Harry Mertz, Zillabar frowned quickly and shook her head at Drydel. Drydel decided abruptly to study the ornate engraving of the ceiling ornaments. Zillabar faced Harry directly. “You need not concern yourself with that. I'll ask you only one more time. I will give you a choice. You will sign this document—or your successor will.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “I see.” He nodded his understanding. “You allow me no choice at all. You know, Lady, I must share this with you. In the days of my youth, in my studies of the Zyne,
³⁰
I found an old saying that has guided me all of my life. It goes like this: You will find it easiest to ride the avalanche in the direction it already travels.”

Lady Zillabar allowed the slightest of smiles to appear on her face. Again, she glanced at Drydel—a look of satisfaction.
We've won
.

Harry shortened her burst of triumph with his next words. “Yes. My successor will have to sign the document.”

His calm defiance caught Zillabar off balance. Her face flushed with terrible anger. Even Drydel blanched as he saw the rising of her rage.

“You fool!” she spat. “Don't you realize that you stand before one who could kill you without blinking an eye?”

Harry met her gaze without flinching. He straightened himself and replied with equal strength, “More the fool you!
Don't you realize that you stand before one who can die without blinking an eye?
”

Zillabar stood speechless. Stunned. She had no suitable response for this. The blood-rage continued to suffuse her skin, until even Drydel worried what she might do.

But she did nothing. Instead, she stiffened, caught her breath, and swept angrily out of the alcove, leaving both the Vampire and the human wondering what would happen next—

Among Thoska-Roole's various fames, the imagination of the architects who designed its jails, prisons, dungeons, and other places of confinement, remains unacknowledged; yet the skills demonstrated in these constructions certainly rank among the best in the Palethetic Cluster.

Consider, for example, the accommodations in which Sawyer and Finn Markham presently found themselves. Murdock, having relinquished all custody over them, their new patron—still unidentified—had generously arranged accommodations for the trackers in Thoska-Roole's most prestigious Incarceratorium.

Imagine a cylinder twelve times the height of a man. Imagine its cross section, a disk only two man-lengths in diameter. Imagine this cylinder set on end in a totally dark chamber. Imagine Sawyer and Finn sitting alone on top of this cylinder—waiting in a cell without walls.

“What do you think?” Sawyer asked his brother. “Do you like this place any better?”

Finn shrugged. “At least, the view has improved.”

“Immensely,” Sawyer agreed.

They sat in silence for a while. Several centuries passed.

After a longer while, they heard a faint scraping noise.

“Did you hear that?”

“Shh.”

They listened harder.

The noise came again. It sounded like metal-heeled boots on a stone floor.

Abruptly, the lights came on. A bright beam of blue-white radiance struck down from somewhere high above. It pinned them where they sat. Finn and Sawyer both had to shield their eyes against the glare. They could not see very far into the darkness beyond the edge of the disk.

“Stand up,” a soft voice commanded. It sounded very close. Bones creaking, muscles aching, they both pulled themselves to their feet. They could not determine from which direction the voice had come, so they simply faced outward.

Another light came on then, this one at a distance. It highlighted the bleak form of their new custodian. The Vampire stood alone on a matching platform opposite their own, illuminated in stark relief. It wore an attitude of bemused superiority and a black travelling cloak. The blue glow gave the figure an aura of lingering death.

“Uh-oh . . .” said Sawyer.

“Ah, yep,” agreed Finn. Vampires did not have a reputation for kindness.

“Do you recognize me?” the Vampire asked.

Sawyer scratched his neck, considering his responses. His usual flippant reply would probably not gain him any advantage here. Fortunately, Finn spoke first. “No, your excellency. We don't recognize you.”

“Good. For the moment, that works to your advantage. I have a job for you.”

“Ahh,” Sawyer ventured carefully, “We already have employment.”

“I see that,” replied the Vampire. “Your present office speaks volumes about the quality of your success.”

Sawyer started to answer, but Finn nudged his brother to silence. He whispered, “Shh. I think we need to hear what this fellow has to say.”

The Vampire inclined its head in a polite nod. “Your brother gives you very good advice, Sawyer Markham. Follow it.” The dark figure added, “I wish to have a man located. A human. A very important human. So you shouldn't have too much trouble ascertaining his whereabouts. But I want him immediately, and for that I need two good trackers.”

Sawyer and Finn exchanged a glance, each trying to gauge the other's feelings. Neither looked happy. Finally, Sawyer spoke up. “We don't work for governments.”

The Vampire hesitated. “Why do you say that?”

“This installation.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Miller-Hayes corporation built this detainment four hundred years ago for the Regency's most dangerous prisoners. Despite the government's strategic campaign to convince the public that the facility no longer exists or operates, despite the fact that the location remains unknown, our presence here demonstrates that the government still finds the facility useful. Only those at the highest level of the Regency would have access to this secret restraint. Therefore, the job you offer must benefit someone high in the Regency, perhaps even yourself—especially if the job requires some secrecy. Whoever you represent, clearly you stand here in some official capacity.”

“The Prefect of Thoska-Roole has died,” said the Vampire. “I have the responsibility of managing certain affairs pertaining to that death. You don't need to know anything more.”

“We still don't work for governments.”

“Then you choose the alternative . . . ?” The Vampire's tone had a dangerous sheen.

“Uh—”

“Wait a minute, Soy.” Finn touched his brother's arm. Speaking carefully across the wide intervening space between themselves and the Vampire, he asked, “If we might impose upon your good nature, would you, um—explain the alternative option?”

“Death.”

“Ah, I see. I thought so. Well, yes—that explains everything, doesn't it?”

“Yes, it does. I can promise you a very interesting job—or a very interesting death. Would you like to reconsider?”

Finn and Sawyer looked at each other.

“You tell him.”

“Nope, I told him last time. You tell him.”

Finn sighed. He turned back to the Vampire. “We have nothing to reconsider. We won't work for
any
government.”

“As you wish.” The Vampire turned quickly and strode away out of the light. It winked out with terrible finality.

A moment later, the light above Sawyer and Finn also went out, plunging them back into utter blackness.

“Well,” said Finn, his voice sounding very loud in the gloom. “You've done it again.”

“Me—?”

“Look around. What do you see? Nothing! Only another fine mess that you've gotten me into.”

The silence echoed with the accusation. After a long, long time, Sawyer answered meekly, “I apologize, Finn.”

Not every prison on Thoska-Roole had the elegance of the Miller-Hayes construction. The Old City detainment, for example, had little charm; its designers obviously did not have the same aptitude for this work as Miller and Hayes. In addition, they labored under the greater handicap of having to adapt an already-existing structure. Nevertheless, despite its artistic failings, the Old City detainment still served its purpose every bit as efficiently—perhaps even more so, because its miserable aesthetics served as part of the punishment.