Гэрет Уильямс - Темное, кривое зеркало. Том 3 : След на песке

Jarno did not need to be told about the Shadow, he saw it every night in his dreams. The sky was blacked out by the appearance of countless billions of ships, each one screaming inside his mind.

Shadow Criers they called themselves. Madness, but an enlightened madness. They preached that everything would burn, all would be destroyed when the Darkness came.

"Still looking outside? Why bother? The City Guard will put out the fires eventually, that's what they're there for, after all. And then they'll find out who did it and execute them. Come back to bed."

He did not turn from the window at the sound of her voice. Many times over the last year he had begun to wonder why he had ever listened to it in the first place. He had always been ambitious…. before, but for the greater glory of the Republic, not for his own advancement.

But then he had begun to listen to her and old dreams had begun to surface. At first they had sounded so reasonable. Of course the Republic needed strength, now more than ever. Good people had been ignored by the Court for too long and if it took something a little…. extreme to force them to recognise that, then so be it.

Somewhere along the way, however, it had all gone wrong. He didn't know where. From the moment she had first manoeuvred him into her bed, making a mockery of his marriage vows? From the death of Emperor Refa perhaps? Maybe from the emergence of the first Shadow Crier. Maybe it had always been wrong and he had simply never noticed until now.

"Jarno dear," continued the petulant voice, and he sighed. "Stop looking outside. You know it only upsets you. There's something much more interesting for you to look at over here…."

He sighed again and silently cursed his own weaknesses. Perhaps they were why he had never risen as far as he felt he should have risen.

"The city is burning," he muttered softly. "The city…. is burning."

"Only the parts of it that don't matter. The Guard will never let the fires get anywhere near the Noble Quarter."

"People are dying."

"People who don't matter. The peasants. There will always be more of them around."

He sighed again and nodded. He was considering returning to bed when his commscreen beeped. Turning towards it, he suppressed a surge of fear. Who could possibly be contacting him at this time of night? This could be nothing good.

"I'm sorry, my lord," spoke the voice of his aide over the commchannel. "I will tell the Lord Kiro that you are unable to take his call at the moment…."

Lord Kiro? Jarno swallowed harshly. "No. I'll take it now." He moved over to the screen, watching as his companion awkwardly pulled the sheets up to cover herself.

The image came into view on the screen, and Jarno looked at his fellow noble. Once, many years before, the two had been friends, fostered together at his uncle's estate. A million years ago now. Both of them had changed too much, and neither made any mention of that time in their childhood.

"What is the meaning of this, Jarno?" Kiro asked. He looked positively apoplectic.

"The meaning of what, Kiro? Do you know what time it is?"

"Of course I know the time, and you know full well what I am referring to! I have been at my estates all week, and when I return, not half an hour ago, I find guardsmen all around my house here. My servants tell me that no one has been allowed to enter or leave since they arrived, and the guards tell me they were ordered there by you! What is the meaning of this, Jarno?"

Jarno straightened automatically at Kiro's tone, even though he could not dispute the rightfulness of his anger. Jarno knew nothing of any such guardsmen, but he still maintained his composure. "It behoves us all to act as nobles, Kiro. Perhaps you have forgotten that."

"Forgotten! Jarno, I will ask you one last time. What is the meaning of this outrage? If I do not receive an answer then I will have to take this matter to the Centarum, and have you arrested."

"Your tone does not befit you, Lord Kiro. This conversation is at an end. I trust we will be able to speak later, when you are suitably calmed." Kiro made to reply, but Jarno cut the transmission. He then turned to his companion.

"Very masterful," she said, discarding the covers and rising from the bed. "I did not know you had it in you." She smiled. "I was very impressed."

"You did that, didn't you?"

"I took a few…. little liberties with your personal seal and your personal guards."

"Not to mention my person. The Emperor's Name, why?"

She began dressing herself, not in one of her usual fine gowns, but in the more utilitarian costume she wore when she was doing something surreptitious. Close, tight-fitting hunting clothes. "Officially…. reasons of security of course. In Lord Kiro's absence his house was vulnerable to attack from those insane Shadow Criers. Someone had to protect him."

Jarno folded his arms high on his chest. "And unofficially?"

"He has his own ambitions for the throne, of course."

"Well of course he does. So does half of the Court. And the other half, come to that."

"Yes, but Kiro is just open enough to make an attempt, and he has the lineage to succeed as well. Don't forget that his House once held the throne."

"I haven't forgotten, and nor have I forgotten how they lost it."

"In any case, Kiro has been away gathering support in his southern estates. He may even be contemplating an alliance with dear old Londo, anything that would further his chances of the throne. We have to deal with him before that can happen."

"That's what this is about, isn't it? Kiro was in talks with your husband."

"My ex-husband. Don't forget he is legally dead. And yes, there is that, but more importantly, you are going to take over Kiro's House and estates, which will be a great step towards the throne. And you are going to do it tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. A little premature I'll admit, but my sources said that Kiro wasn't due to return for another few days. I'll have to have some of them shot." Mariel smiled and moved closer to Jarno, reaching up to touch his face. "Come on, dear. We have work to do."

"Work? Attacking another Lord's house? Such a thing has not been done for centuries."

"Great men are not bound by normal rules, Jarno. The first Emperor said that, remember. And behind every great man, there is a great woman showing him how to do it right. Get dressed, quickly. We had better get my dear sister-wife as well. We may need her testimony that we were provoked if matters do not go well."

"I can't do this. I…." He looked at her, and he could feel all his old weaknesses rising to the fore. She was right of course. Great men were not bound by normal rules. But was he a great man?

Would he ever be?

Pitifully, pathetically, hopelessly, he nodded, and went to get dressed.

There was power, but not as she had expected; knowledge, but not as she had anticipated; wisdom, but not as she had wished.

And there was something else, a nagging, burning sensation that the Machine was doing…. something. She did not know what, and she could not find out.

Furious, Donne shifted her consciousness to her holographic form and let it step out into view. As she looked at her companions she was struck by their weakness. The two mundanes were the worst. Number One and Number Two were seated in the far corner of the cavern, ostensibly on watch, but actually talking about their concerns in hushed voices they presumably believed she could not hear.

Ivanova was still comatose, curled up like a tiny baby. From time to time pathetic whimpers escaped from her mouth.

And Tu'Pari…. he was sitting cross-legged next to the equally comatose G'Kar. The Narn assassin was sharpening his long, wicked knife with a methodical air, gazing distantly at the walls.

"Wake him up," Donne ordered Tu'Pari. He smiled, set down the knife, and began to reach into one of his pockets. Whatever strange device he was planning to use however, he did not get the chance. G'Kar opened one eye and stirred.

"I am already awake," he said in a hoarse voice. "I was…. remembering…. the night the Centauri took over…. a farmhouse…. near Na'khamamah. It was a…. rebel base…. We waited until…. dusk and…." He coughed. "We…. killed…. them all…."

"An interesting story, Ha'Cormar'ah G'Kar," Tu'Pari said idly. "If you wished to trade stories of death you should have told me. I have a great many of them."

"No." G'Kar tried to shake his head. "Not death. The…. last Centauri…. looked at me…. knowing he was going to die…. The look…. in his…. eyes. I will…. never forget." He smiled, and then broke into another coughing fit. "I see it…. in…. yours…. now."

"Shut up," Donne snapped. "The Machine is doing something. Whatever it is, I can't get close enough to find out and stop it. What is it doing?"

"Many things."

"Something programmed into it. You did it, I'm certain of that, and it has something to do with that blasted station of yours. What is it doing?"

"Never…. find out…. Never…. make the Machine…. yours…."

"Reality check. It is mine."

G'Kar shook his head weakly.

"Tu'Pari. Hurt him."

"I am…. not…. afraid…. to die."

"I've heard that before," Tu'Pari said in a civilised tone. "Many many times. And they all took it back before the end. How permanent do you want this, my lady?"

"I want him capable of sharing everything he knows with me. Leave his head alone. And stay away from any major blood vessels and muscle concentrations. You know more about Narn biology than I do. I want something painful, but not too devastating."

"Happy to oblige, my lady. I was in the Resistance once. That was where I learned much of my skill. G'Kar was something of a legend for his capacity to absorb pain. This might take a while."

"Not too long. If he hasn't told us anything in…. half an hour or so…. take out his eye."

"Business and pleasure combined," the assassin said, smiling. "How fortunate."

Donne suddenly looked up. Someone was…. coming. She wasn't entirely sure how she knew, but some sense not her own alerted her that someone was approaching. A few moments later the sound of a voice was heard.

"Zathras do this, Zathras do that. Zathras go check on G'Kar. Zathras not doing anything important, oh no. Zathras just checking temporal units in place, yes. Not important at all. Zathras not mind if whole station slip back in time thousand years. No, wait. Yes, Zathras do mind. That would be not good.

"Ah, is bad life being Zathras. Zathras does not mind though. He…. Ah, you is not meant to be being here?"

The strangest alien Donne had ever seen came into view. He hesitated for a moment, looking around, seemingly taking in everything in one swift glance: Donne's body in the Machine, G'Kar on the floor.

"Ah. Zathras be leaving now."

He turned to flee, and ran straight into Number One. She pushed him roughly forward and he fell sprawling to the floor.

"This not good. No, not good at all."

"That, my friend," said Tu'Pari, "very much depends on your perspective."

I am not afraid.

I am a warrior; born of warriors, bred of warriors, lived as a warrior, trained as a warrior, called a warrior by the greatest warrior of all. I am not afraid.

The captain in charge of the Valentha repeated those words to himself as he tried to restore order to the ship he had been given control of by the Primarch. He remembered the surprise and horror as this holy ship had been given a captain who was not of the Satai for the first time in known history.