The Dreams of Andromeda (The Imperium Chronicles Book 4) Page 13

  Doctors, doctors, and more doctors. They came in groups and alone, but none of them could tell Lady Veber what was killing her son, Philip.

  Whichever doctor was currently treating her son was hovering uselessly outside Philip's room. Lady Veber found him assessing his charts and looking bewildered, no help to anyone. In his bedroom, her son lay under blankets, surrounded by Lady Veber's handmaidens watching over him. His brown eyes were sunken like someone three times his age. His once beautiful hair was stringy and damp from days of fever.

  On the day Philip died, Lady Veber found her son standing alone in his chambers, having sent everyone away. She put a hand on his shoulder, feeling the bones protruding beneath the linen of his night clothes.

  "You feel cold as ice," she said.

  She would always remember how Philip gave a little laugh right before his mouth twisted.

  "What's the matter?" she asked.

  "I feel funny," Philip replied, his words slurring.

  Lady Veber ran to fetch the doctor. When they returned, Philip lay convulsing on the floor. With the help of a nursebot, they got the boy back into his room where his body contorted on the bed and his eyes rolled back into his skull. The doctor nearly shoved Lady Veber through the bedroom doorway even as she insisted that she wanted to stay.

  "Lady Veber, please!" he had shouted.

  When the door slid shut, the last thing Lady Veber saw of her son was his face drained of blood. After many minutes had passed, the door opened.

  Her son was dead.

  Roland, otherwise known as Jack Groen, waited at his uncle's bedside while Lord Radford Groen slept restlessly, the pillow soaked with sweat. Roland leaned over the bed, careful not to tip the bucket on the floor, and exchanged the compress on his uncle's head with a cold one.

  Groen opened his eyes.

  "Am I dreaming?" he asked weakly.

  "No," Roland replied. "We found you at a Lotus den in Ashetown. Do you remember us rescuing you?"

  Groen took a moment, but then nodded. "Yes."

  "Do you know who I am?" Roland asked.

  Groen's bloodshot eyes turned to the boy.

  "You're Josephine's son," he said.

  "That's right," Roland replied. "I'm Josephine and Robert Groen's son."

  Groen started to disagree, but Lord Winsor Woodwick came barging into the room.

  "I thought I heard voices!" he said, his walrus mustache twitching excitedly.

  "He's awake," Roland confirmed.

  "Calm down, Winnie," Groen said.

  "I dare say, Radford, I've been positively gutted since you went missing," Woodwick replied. "I've been self-medicating with gin and sedatives..."

  "I had a dream about you," Groen said. "You made me eggs."

  "Rubbish!" Woodwick replied. "You know I've never set foot in the kitchen!"

  "I guess I should've known it was a dream."

  "Don't you worry, old chap," Woodwick said. "We'll have you well again in no time."

  Roland felt his uncle's eyes on him, but Groen looked away when the boy returned his gaze.

  "Listen, Winnie," Groen said after a long pause, "I wonder if you could leave me alone with my nephew for a few minutes? I want to talk to him..."

  "Well, I don't see why I can't be present," Woodwick replied with annoyance, "but as you like."

  The lord shuffled out of the bedroom in a huff. Groen motioned to his nephew to close the door. Once he had done so, Roland returned to his uncle's bedside.

  "What is it?" the boy asked.

  "How much do you know about your parents?" Groen replied.

  "Not very much," Roland said. "I know they were killed and I was taken by the man who killed them. It wasn't until recently that I even knew who they were."

  "Robert was my cousin," Groen said, "but Josephine and I had been friends long before the two were married."

  "You were?"

  "Robert was always jealous of us. He even accused me of being your real father."

  "Were you?" Roland asked.

  "Of course not," Groen said, “but Robert was not far off as it turned out."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Robert was indeed not your father.”

  Groen coughed several times until Roland gave him a drink of water from the glass on the nightstand.

  "Are you all right?" the boy asked.

  "Never mind that," Groen replied. "There's something you need to know but it can't leave this room. If it did, there's no telling what danger you'd be in."

  Roland stayed silent.

  "After she became pregnant with you," Roland said, "Josephine confided in me that someone had forced himself on her."

  Roland's face reddened while his heart pounded in his chest.

  "Who was it?"

  After another long pause, as if Roland's uncle was afraid to say the words, he answered.

  "Rupert Tagus II," Groen said.

  When Thomas Martel arrived at the Maycare estate, Benson the butlerbot once again asked for the detective's weapon before proceeding. Martel opened his coat, revealing an empty holster.

  "Maxwell is in police custody," he said.

  Martel couldn't be sure, but thought the robot's face showed a hint of disappointment.

  "Do you like guns?" the detective asked.

  "As a feat of engineering, yes," Benson replied. "As a tool for killing, no."

  Instead of Maycare's study, the butlerbot brought Martel out onto a terrace facing a wide expanse of grass. Lord Devlin Maycare was taking swings with a golf club, launching the little white balls into the green space.

  "Is that some kind of park?" Martel asked.

  Maycare, appearing not to understand the question at first, laughed.

  "A park?" he said. "That's my backyard!"

  Martel wondered if he was charging Maycare enough.

  "Thanks for coming in person," Maycare went on. "I was hoping you could give me an update on the hypersled situation."

  Removing a datapad from his coat, Martel showed him an image of Jollux on the screen.

  "This is the loan shark I think is involved," the detective explained. "He seemed pretty touchy about it when I raised the subject. Also, he tried to frame me for murder..."

  Maycare lobbed another golf ball into the backyard. Benson had left the terrace and was collecting the balls in the grass with a bucket.

  "I'm sorry about that," Maycare said, referring to the detective's legal issues. "My lawyer says he can get it dismissed. It'll just take some time."

  "I have to admit," Martel replied, "I feel a little naked without Maxwell hanging from my shoulder."

  From inside the house, a woman with blond hair and a pink tennis outfit came out to join them. Her blue, expressive eyes grew larger when she saw the detective.

  "Mister Martel!" she shouted, throwing her arms around him. Her perfume smelled of lilacs.

  "Hello?" the detective stuttered, glancing at Maycare for help.

  "This is Lady Candice Woodwick," Maycare said.

  "You can call me Candy," she added, releasing him and taking a step back. Martel felt she was still a bit too close.

  "Jack Groen mentioned you..." the detective said.

  "Isn't he a charmer?" she remarked, "but anyway, I wanted to thank you for finding Lord Groen. My Uncle Winnie was worried sick!"

  "It was no problem," Martel replied. "Jack was a big help."

  She gave Maycare a coy look.

  "Devlin's lucky he already snatched me up," she said, "otherwise I might have given Jack a second look."

  Maycare laughed, but then said, "What?"

  "Don't worry," Candy replied. "He's too young."

  Maycare knelt to place another golf ball on the tee.

  "And penniless," he said before taking a powerful swing.

  Martel heard a loud, metallic plunk! and saw Benson rubbing the side of his head in the yard.

  "Sorry!" Maycare shouted.

  "With Lord Groen back," Martel asked Candy, "I suppose
the two of you will be back at Mudderfield Downs?"

  "Why is that?" Candy replied.

  "Jack said you and his uncle enjoy betting on the races," Martel said.

  "Oh, that silly boy!" she laughed. "The things he says..."

  Candy gave the detective a wide smile and went back into the house.

  Magnus Black and his ship, the Starling, dropped out of hyperspace at pre-arranged coordinates in deep space, far from prying eyes. The Starling was shaped like an arrowhead with short, thick wings on either side of the main fuselage. Magnus peered from the cockpit perched high at the front of the ship, giving him a perfect view of the luxury yacht waiting for him.

  Firing twin thrusters, Magnus brought his ship around the side of the yacht, pairing it with the other vessel's airlock. When the hatch opened, a burly crewman stood on the other side, his white uniform trimmed with a turquoise stripe down each pant leg.

  "This way," the crewman said with an air of refinement suggesting he was normally used to dealing with more dignified guests.

  The interior of the yacht was reminiscent of a royal estate, the walls painted in shades of white and pale blue. Tiles, with ceramic scallops, ran along the corridors and decorated doorways. A newcomer might have been impressed by such adornments, but this was not Magnus' first time on the ship.

  The crewman stopped and entered a code to open a sliding door. Magnus went inside, leaving the crewman to remain in the hallway as the door slid shut again.

  Lady Veber, resting on one of the chairs in her chambers, welcomed the assassin.

  "I'm glad you got my message," she said.

  "I never turn down a job," Magnus replied, "if the money's right."

  "I assume the circumstances are more agreeable this time," she said.

  "Last time I was your prisoner," Magnus said, "so I'd say it's an improvement."

  Lady Veber left her seat and came closer, but not too close, to the killer.

  "When I saw you last," she said, "you were helping me poison Rupert Tagus II. I don't remember if I ever thanked you for that."

  "Your payment was all the thanks I needed."

  "I'm headed to Lokeren," she replied, changing the subject. "I'm to reconvene the Imperial Conclave..."

  "I don't follow politics," Magnus remarked.

  "I wish I had that luxury," Lady Veber said, "but sadly I'm very much in the middle of things, as usual."

  Magnus said nothing.

  "How much do you know of Rupert Tagus III?" she asked.

  "Only that he's a dick like his father."

  Lady Veber laughed.

  "And then some," she replied. "Sometimes I think we killed the wrong Tagus, but that's neither here nor there—"

  "Why am I here?" Magnus interrupted, getting to the point. "Do you want me to kill another Tagus?"

  "In a manner of speaking," she replied, "but just not that one."

  "Who then?"

  "It's recently come to my attention," she said, "that Rupert Tagus Senior had a bastard son, by way of the Groen family, named Jack Groen." After a pause, she said, "He's only a teenager. Is that going to be a problem for you?"

  "No," Magnus replied.

  "Good."

  "It's none of my business," Magnus said, "but why the kid and not the dick?"

  Lady Veber took a deep breath and sighed.

  "Because when the Tagus family killed my son," she said, "he was about the same age as Jack Groen is now."

  "Interesting," Magnus replied.

  Lady Veber turned away from him.

  "I know," she said, "but I can't sleep knowing Rupert's bastard son is walking alive while my son is dead. I can't explain it. I just need it done."

  "Understood," Magnus replied.

  At the Tagus family estate, built like a Victorian mansion, Rupert Tagus III slept in the master bedroom in the same four-poster bed as his father and his father's father before him.

  Lost in sleep, Tagus dreamed of walking through the hallways of the estate, the dark wood of the walls and floors encroaching on him like the throat of a monster. He passed portraits of former patriarchs along the way. They watched him stroll past, their eyes disapproving.

  Tagus stopped at a door. Opening it, he entered the great hall where state dinners were normally held. Now the tables and chairs were pushed to the edges of the room.

  "Happy birthday, Rupert!" someone shouted and suddenly Tagus was ten years old, running toward a group of other children gathered at the center of the hall. Presents were stacked in an orderly pile around a table where a cake with ten candles was sitting. Kids from all the major families were there, waiting for the birthday boy.

  "Blow out your candles!" a girl shouted.

  Tagus, short for his age, lifted himself on tiptoes and inhaled, but before he could extinguish the little points of light, a larger boy blew them out instead.

  "Richard!" Tagus yelled, scowling at the other child.

  The Augustus boy laughed.

  "Too slow!" Richard said with a shrug. "Do better next time!"

  Tagus stomped out of the great hall in a huff, careful that no one would see the tears forming in his eyes. Safely in the corridor, he had transformed back into an adult again.

  Farther along the passageway, another door beckoned. After the previous one, Tagus hesitated to turn the knob, but he felt compelled, so he went inside anyway. Now he was a cadet in the Naval Academy, his light blue uniform pressed and starched. His father sat behind the desk in his office. The patriarch had more hair then, but it had already started turning gray.

  Tagus stepped forward, the deep expanse of the oak desk between him and his father.

  "It's an outrage!" Tagus shouted. "They had no right to pick Augustus over you!"

  "I agree," his father said, "but Hector is now the Emperor."

  "How can you just sit there?" Tagus asked. "We must do something!"

  "What do you suggest, boy?" his father replied. "The conclave has voted, and we lost."

  Tagus' face turned a deep crimson. "I'll think of something..."

  "Calm yourself," the patriarch said. "That temper of yours will be your undoing."

  "I'm a soldier, not a politician," Tagus retorted. "We can't sit idly by while the other houses treat us like this!"

  His father chuckled.

  "You're a boy playing soldier," he said, "but you're right about one thing."

  "Yes?"

  "We won't let this slight go unanswered," the patriarch replied, "but we'll do it my way."

  The office dissolved into the estate's parlor, a fireplace in the corner alight with a bright flame. Tagus' father, now much older, was sitting on a couch beside a platter of tea and cookies. Lady Veber stood with her arms crossed.

  The patriarch set a teacup down before taking a bite out of a cookie. Standing to the side, Tagus saw Lady Veber smile.

  "She poisoned you," Tagus told his father.

  The patriarch stared down at himself, his body slowly beginning to fade.

  "It would seem so," he replied.

  "I will avenge you," Tagus said. "I don't care what I promised Lady Veber..."

  "Careful, boy," his father warned. "She's more dangerous than you can imagine."

  "Why?"

  "Because," the patriarch said, just before dissolving into nothing, "she has nothing to lose."

  Tagus woke, entangled in silk sheets.

  Roland woke in his own bed, having spent the last few days largely at the bedside of his uncle. At breakfast with his adoptive mother Lefty Lucy, Roland couldn't help but think about what his uncle had said.

  He could barely eat the grilled fish Lucy had made for him, which did not go unnoticed.

  "Sorry," he said, careful not to meet her stern gaze. "I'm not very hungry."

  She poured miso soup into a bowl.

  "It's just," Roland went on, "it's a little hard to believe, don’t you think?"

  Lucy placed a spoon next to the soup.

  "And what about the Psi Lords?" the b
oy said. "That woman with the green skin said Robert Groen was my father. Could the Psi Lords have been wrong?"

  Lucy's eyes again fixed on the boy.

  "Then why would they lie?" he asked.

  His adoptive mother curled her legs under the low table and set about her own breakfast. Her movements were fluid and precise, wasting nothing.

  "I'll go see Detective Martel!" Roland said suddenly. "Maybe he can find out something?"

  Lucy continued eating her breakfast in silence.

  A few hours later, Roland was back in Ashetown, walking from the transmat station to Martel's office several blocks away. Although the distance was not far, the neighborhood, like much of the district, was seedy and run-down. Passing an ANDI's grocery store painted with gang signs, Roland could just make out the noise of polka music coming from inside. In the display window, taped over in places where it had cracked, a monitor showed a VOX newscast with Sylvia Flax on the screen:

  "The latest reports from Lokeren," she said, "say the Imperial Conclave has reconvened and a vote will take place in the coming days. In other news, the Lotus epidemic has reached the highest levels of society with even members of the nobility succumbing to the chem's addictive qualities. The Emperor was unavailable for comment..."

  Roland, who had stopped to watch, started again toward Martel's office, but halted when he heard a disturbance from the adjoining alley. Poking his head around the corner, he saw two men and an orange general-purpose robot. The genbot's left arm hung loosely from its socket.

  "What's going on here?" Roland asked, stepping into the alley.

  The two men turned to face the boy. One wore torn pants and a soiled jacket while the other held a greasy wrench. Both men had bloodshot eyes that stared at Roland with desperate ferocity.

  "What's it to you?" the one with the wrench asked.

  "Help me, sir," the orange robot pleaded. "These Lotus eaters attacked me for no reason!"

  "Is that right?" Roland asked.

  The man in the ripped pants pointed at the genbot. "We're going to sell him for parts."

  Roland moved farther into the alley and motioned with his thumb toward the street.

  "Get out of here, genbot," he said.

  Giving the other two a wide berth, the robot made it to the sidewalk and started running without looking back. The other two turned their attention squarely on Roland.

  "You made a big mistake," the man with the torn pants said, as he and his companion approached the boy.