House of the Wolf (Book Three of the Phoenix Legacy) (13 page)

Andreas leaned back, lips pursed thoughtfully. “Dr. Lyden has come up with an idea we may be able to put into effect with our available energy sources, Alex.”

Alex was listening, but, like everyone else in the cavern room, his eyes were fixed on the screen. Andreas was still the exception.

“It would be a kind of amplifying device, actually,” he went on, oblivious to the taut silence around him.

Lind’s voice again: “Zero minus eight seconds.”

“We could expand our load-energy ratio by a power of ten if it works out, and we can probably set it up in a few months if we can get the equipment for the modifications.”

Alex couldn’t restrain his laugh, but if Andreas wondered about it there wasn’t time to explain.

“Five . . .

Finally, Andreas turned to look up at the screen.

“Four . . . three . . .”

“Well, we’ll have a look at the fireworks now.”

“Two . . . one . . .”

The black chamber was silent except for the machines.

“. . . zero.”

A soundless blossom against the star-speckled black, it expanded in shimmering silver, dissolving to dust and invisibility with the unreal suddenness of vacuum explosions.

It seemed anticlimactic.

There should have been a thunderous rumble. There should have been a chorus of trumpets trembling the air with C major chords. There should have been a roaring ovation, cheers wrung from thousands of exalting throats.

But there was only that brief, silent, silver flowering.

Everyone in the chamber seemed to share the sense of anticlimax as starred blackness restored itself on the screen, but a few seconds later the silence broke with realization. There was no thunderous roar or trumpet chorus, but there were cheers, and if their numbers were less than thousands, there was exaltation enough.

Alex put his arm around Adrien, heard and felt her grateful laughter, it was one with his, while Andreas looked around with a faintly perplexed smile at the shouting, gesticulating, back-slapping, hand-pumping, laughing exiles.

“They seem surprised, Alex.”

“Not surprised, Andreas; overwhelmed.”

Alex stared at the screen, in his mind re-creating that brief explosion. There would be no fireworks over the Plaza this Concord Day, but perhaps this small flower of light—a feeble echo of those grand displays—would bring the fireworks back to the Plaza next year.

He closed his eyes, his hand tightening on Adrien’s, listening to the exuberant celebration around him, feeling suddenly detached from it.

Concord Day was eight days away.

When Alex entered Amik’s sanctum, the Lord of Thieves was on his feet, an unusual enough occurrence, talking to a lean, sinewy man with a predatory stance and dark features accented by a curled beard; he was dressed in brocaded red velveen, his boots scrolled in elaborate designs like the jeweled knife sheath at his waist.

Alex stopped inside the door. “I’m sorry, Amik, I understood you were alone.”

“I will be shortly, my friend. It’s good to see you.”

Amik wasn’t actually seeing him; at least, not his face. Alex was face-screened as he always was in Amik’s realm, and that seemed to heighten the other man’s curiosity. He surveyed Alex with an extraordinarily cold and penetrating eye, but in this case appearances would be deceiving; Alex was clothed as a Bond.

“Benino.” Amik addressed himself to the swarthy man in a soft, potently callous tone Alex had never heard. “I’ve made my say, and you’ve made yours. You had a clear run, but you stood back.”

Benino stiffened. “Brother, I never crossed your lines. By the God, I didn’t!”

“I’ve made my say. Now, go with!”

The man hesitated, then turned and strode out the door, passing within a meter of Alex, his glance like a chill wind at the back of the neck. When he was gone, Amik lowered himself into his chair with a sigh of annoyance and took a ’com from a pocket in his robes.

“A moment, Alex.” And into the ’com, “Tergo, see to Benino. I’ll have no more of his lies.” Then, having verbally signed a man’s death warrant, he put away the ’com and smiled benignly at Alex. “My friend, you look a bit gray around the edges.”

Alex speculated only briefly on Benino’s crime or fate as he tossed his cloak on one of the couches and found himself a chair, easing his right arm into a relatively comfortable position.

“I’m only a bit tired around the edges. And you?”

“Healthy and well content, I’m glad to say. May I offer you something? A little Marsay, perhaps?”

“Nothing, thank you. I’ve come to do some haggling, so I’d better keep my head clear.”

“Ah! So you’d haggle with me again? Wonderful. It’s always a challenge to haggle with a gentleman bom.” He studied Alex’s attire with a lifted eyebrow and added, “Although I must say you hardly look the part.”

Alex laughed. “Protective coloration, Amik.”

“So. You’ve been among the Bonds again.” He sighed prodigiously. “Perhaps some day you’ll tell me what you find so fascinating about those unfortunate souls.”

Unfortunate. Alex recognized his weariness in the weight the word seemed to carry. His tabard was the green and yellow of D’Ord Hamid, and he’d be glad to have it off; the Hamid compounds offered no pleasant memories.

“Perhaps one day I can assuage your curiosity, Amik.”

“And perhaps I’ll tally it myself one day. But you said you came to haggle. I prefer to get business out of the way first, then we can relax, and I might even talk you into sharing a bit of Marsay with me. So. What is it you have to offer, and what do you expect—in your usual extravagant manner—in return?”

Alex laughed, noting the gleam of anticipation in Amik’s black eyes. “You know what I have to offer. Jael’s already demonstrated it for you. What did you think of the plasimask?”

“Mm. Well, it was of passing interest. I suppose it might have its uses.”

“It does. For purposes of disguise, it’s unparalleled. It blends with any complexion, can be built up to a depth of a centimeter without becoming obvious or stiffening or cracking, can be worn up to twelve hours comfortably and longer with less comfort, and is unaffected by perspiration or moisture, but easily removed with a mild solvent.”

“Very impressive,” Amik commented, looking not in the least impressed, “but the Brothers have done very well in the line of disguise without this invention of yours, however remarkable it might be.”

Alex nodded and said offhandedly, “Well, one can always change to a better method if the price is reasonable.”

“Price? Already you’re broaching the matter of price?” He reached into a cloisonne box on the table beside him, extracted one of his slender cigars, and inserted it in the jeweled holder. “And I’m not yet convinced I’m interested in what you have to sell.”

“No, I didn’t mean
my
price. I meant the price
you
would ask of your customers when you sell the product.”

Amik took time to puff his cigar alight. “Ah. Then we’re talking in terms of a franchise?”

“We’re talking in terms of the outright sale of a product. The formula, Amik. Jael assures me that you have the facilities—‘here and there’—to manufacture the plasimask. I know you have the facilities to distribute it, and I doubt an infringement on the House of Sidarta’s franchises will inhibit you
or
your customers. And the markets for the plasimask certainly aren’t limited to the Brothers for purposes of disguise. Consider its potential as a cosmetic. You know very well the Ladies of the Elite and more affluent Fesh would pay almost any price you care to ask for it.”

“Possibly.” With that cautious admission, Amik moved to the next stage of the ritual. “So. Assuming I find this product of interest, what are you asking in return?”

“Only two things, Amik, and they’re both short term. More in the nature of loans and services. First, I’m expecting certain . . . guests next week, and, as you’re aware, the Cave of Springs offers very little in the way of guest facilities.”

“Then you’re asking me to provide lodgings for them?”

“Yes. I’m also asking that the lodgings be strictly forbidden to the Brothers. The privacy and safety of my guests must be maintained at all costs. I’ll provide the people to tend their needs and guard them, but I must be sure they’ll be safe from the Brothers.”

Amik studied him a moment, puffing slowly on his cigar.

“These must be very special guests. How many are you expecting?”

“Three families; six members in one, seven in another, four in the last.”

“Mm. And how long will they be staying?”

“I don’t know exactly, but no more than a few days at the most.”

“I can certainly lodge that many here and make them quite comfortable, but I must know who these guests are before I agree to assume any responsibility for their safety.”

Alex sighed. “Yes, of course you must, but I’m laying edict where these people are concerned, and even on the information I give you. I must ask your word that you’ll protect them as you have me and . . . my physician.”

“My friend, you have it. I won’t betray your confidence, or your guests.”

“Thank you, Amik. The guests will be the Lords and immediate families of the three resident Houses of Centauri—Eliseer, Hamid, and Drakonis.”

Amik didn’t seem surprised at that; he only pursed his lips and nodded absently.

“Well, that’s an interesting assortment, and if I’ve tallied correctly, there will be seventeen altogether?”

“That would be the maximum, but Lord Lazar probably won’t be among them; he’s scheduled to be in Concordia. Lady Galia may be absent, too; she’s made tentative plans for a trip to Paykeen. If she goes, she’ll take Patricia and Annia with her.”

“So I may have
only
thirteen Lords and Ladies and their offspring to worry about. Interesting, indeed. Knowing your gentlemanly sensibilities, I assume you’re not abducting them for lowly purposes such as ransom or extortion. Now you’ve given me something else to wonder over. But you said you were asking
two
things in return for the formula.”

Alex replied with studied casualness, “I want to use twenty of your Falcons for a twenty-four-hour period. That’s all.”

Amik’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Twenty Falcons, and the man says that’s
all
!”

“There’s also the problem of crews. I’ll provide the navcomp and command personnel, but I need some weapons techs and gunners.”

“Ah! Not only twenty Falcons, but crews, too! My friend, I always thought you a little mad, but now I wonder if you aren’t
totally
mad.”

Alex laughed appreciatively. “Before you get too concerned about my sanity, remember I only want the Falcons and crews for a twenty-four-hour period, and in return, you’ll collect a handsome profit on the plasimask for years to come.”

Amik subsided, languid eyes cool and calculating now.

“Possibly, but weapons techs and gunners imply a military engagement of some sort. What can I expect in the way of losses during this twenty-four-hour period—or, more to the point, are you going to cover them?”

“No. That’s part of the bargain.”

“Sometimes, my friend, you’re not only mad, but quite unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? You
may
lose a ship or two, or have a few damaged, or lose a few gunners—and you have my word we’ll protect them as if they were our own—but the monetary losses are negligible compared to the long-range profits you’ll reap on the plasimask. No, Amik, if anyone is being unreasonable, it’s you.”

The Lord of Thieves loosed a rumbling laugh at that.

“Perhaps neither of us could truthfully be called reasonable men. All right, you’ve stated your demands, now I’ll tell you what I’m prepared to offer. I’ll provide lodging for your guests, with due secrecy and protection, for
three
days. No longer. But for the second item—I can’t risk twenty ships, or even partial crews, in a venture whose purpose I don’t know. I’m not Confleet, my mad young friend. I haven’t unlimited supplies of Falcons or trained crews to toss about.”

Alex only nodded as he crossed one leg over the other. “How many
are
you prepared to offer?”

Amik paused, studying him intently. Then, “Well, I might be able to spare . . . say, ten Falcons.”

Alex frowned impatiently. “That isn’t enough. I do have another option open to me for solving this particular problem. I can let Confleet take care of it for me, but for reasons of my own, I prefer not to do so.”

“Confleet? Ah, that was a piece of bravado, and hardly worthy of you.”

“It wasn’t bravado. Amik, have I ever been less than honest with you in our haggling?”

He shrugged. “Apparently not. Very well, I accept the existence of that rather fantastic alternative, but will Confleet provide accomodations for your guests?”

Alex had to laugh at that. “No. Perhaps we should bargain on that point separately, and if so, I’ll retract the offer of the plasimask and present something else as my part of the exchange. I won’t give up the formula for a few day’s lodging for a handful of people.”

Amik’s sigh was redolent of weariness. “My friend, I’ve other things to occupy me, you know. I haven’t time to go through all this again. Would you be satisfied with . . . twelve ships?”

“Twelve? No.” He paused, frowning. He’d come hoping for fifteen, but he didn’t intend to be
that
honest with Amik. “I might accept eighteen.”

“That’s still too many. Fourteen. Holy God, that should be enough to wage a small war.”

“I won’t risk any of my men or ships in an operation made hopeless by inadequate forces.”

“So. Fifteen, then.”

Alex still stood firm. “This isn’t a matter of simple profit. It’s far too important for compromise.”

Amik puffed at his cigar, eyes narrowed to slits.

“Seventeen. My last offer, and when I say it’s my last offer, I mean exactly that.”

Alex appeared to consider the number, then finally capitulated with a sigh of resignation.

“All right. I only hope—but never mind. Seventeen it will be. By the way, the ships should be painted and marked to pass as Confleet vessels.”