He looked out again at the scene before him, with eyes that were better than any human's ought to be at picking out minor details. He saw a guard repeatedly kicking a downed woman, raining blow after blow on her head.
Too much chaos. Too much disorder. There always was, everywhere, but Centauri Prime seemed worse than most. Morden knew full well the magnitude of the task he had been given here, but he also knew the honour that had been bestowed on him. He was determined not to fail, and nor would he.
He had had a year, and he had been working hard. The Inquisitors had taken away many of the suspected Shadow agents. Morden was ready to admit that some of the disappeared had not been working for the Enemy, but they had certainly been a part of the Centauri's 'Great Game of Houses' and that was chaotic enough to merit destruction. He had removed much of the old, corrupt and chaotic system.
Now, all he had to do was replace it with a better one.
A young child was screaming, pulling at the arm of a man, seemingly unaware that the man's head had been split open.
He had an idea of where to start. The Game of Houses was chaotic, yes, and it needed to be stopped, but it did tend to throw up certain types of people who could be used…. profitably. The enemy had taken advantage of it, and Morden intended to do the same.
He looked back at the throne. The Emperor had been overworking himself of course. When he recovered — if he recovered — he would have to reduce his workload. A dead Emperor and another civil uprising was in no one's interests at the moment. No, Morden would see to it that Londo got all the rest he needed. After everything he had already done, he deserved it.
If he recovered, of course. He was not a young man, and years of drink and food and carousing must have taken its toll, to say nothing of the stresses of recent years.
The rioting was breaking up now. People were running, scattering in all directions. Morden smiled. Londo had been a good man, and a compassionate ruler, but that only took one so far. Order and discipline were necessary. This protest should never have been allowed to happen.
Well, at least Morden had an opportunity to see that it was never repeated. He had a lot of work to do.
"I will not tolerate it!" the Centauri lordling was saying. "She was mine. Mine! I took her in conquest. I claimed her in battle! By all the laws we have forged, she was mine!"
Moreil listened patiently, looking at the lordling with a fixed, staring gaze. Many broke and trembled before that dark, silent stare, but not Rem Lanas. Moreil was not sure if that was a sign of great courage or great stupidity.
There was a thin mark down the Centauri's face, a slender red line. Moreil had a feeling he knew the weapon that had caused that cut.
"The laws of our order," he was continuing. "All of them support me on this! She was mine!"
Laws? The last refuge of the weak. They see someone taking things that are theirs, and they cry out — 'You can't do that! The law doesn't allow it!' — and the strong would laugh, of course. The weak never realised that the way to stop the strong oppressing them was not to appeal to some mythical 'law' but to become strong themselves.
Rem Lanas would never understand that.
But Moreil thought this Marrago did.
"What happened?" he asked at last. The Centauri looked at him, as if surprised that he was really there. The lordling might as well have been talking to a wall, and he probably thought he was.
"He took her. She was mine! Mine! And he took her! He thinks that because he is a noble he can take whatever he likes! Well, he can't! She was mine! The law says so."
If Moreil had needed further confirmation that Lanas was not the nobleman he pretended to be, that was more than enough. He did not care, though. He knew exactly why Lanas was here. He wanted a place where a new law would protect him, a place where he could be someone important, and all the time he never realised that the way to become important was to be important, or that the way to be protected was to be so strong that there was no need for protection.
Some people would never understand.
The light behind him seemed to fade as the Wykhheran appeared, and Lanas visibly paled. Moreil looked at him again.
May we feed, lord?
Not yet, Warrior. A time will come when you face one more worthy. This one would not taste well.
As you say, lord.
"What happened?" Moreil asked again. "Speak slowly and clearly."
Lanas bowed his head, shaking, and then he began to speak.
The girl was unconscious, her back a raw and ragged mass of flesh. His arms had tired from holding the whip for so long, but he did not set it down. He cradled it in his hands, feeling the knobs of flesh and blood that splattered the lash.
He grabbed her tail of hair and pulled her head back. Her long, soft, dark, beautiful hair. Her eyes were closed. He didn't like that. He wanted to see the anger in them, the defiance, the way she had cursed him, the way she looked down on him, thinking she was so much better than he was.
They always had. All of them. All the nobles. They'd all looked down on him. He'd seen them ride past in their fine clothes with their beautiful women and their big houses and they'd all looked down on him.
Well, this one wouldn't. Not forever. Eventually she'd beg him for mercy, and then after a bit longer she'd beg him for more. That was what he wanted. A fine noble's daughter begging him for things.
He chuckled and crossed to the other side of the room. There was a lot more here. A lot more. Books, jewellery, riches. He had taken a lot from Gorash. Not as much as he should have, though. The others had tricked him, taken his share. Just because they had the ships and the weapons and the soldiers and knew where to fence the items, that meant they thought they were better than he was. All of them, even that loathsome alien monster Moreil. Oh, he might have said he was taking nothing, might have said he was not interested in plunder, but Rem knew differently. Moreil was scamming him, taking what was rightfully his.
Wasn't he important enough to them? Hadn't he told them all about Gorash? He'd spent enough time there. He'd told them where the Governor's house was, where the nobles lived, where the museums and galleries and craftsmen's quarters were. What would they all have done without him to guide them?
And what did he have to show for it? A few pathetic baubles and one girl. He deserved more than that.
No, patience, he thought to himself. His time would come. He could wait and all things would come to him eventually. He wasn't going to fence his treasure. He didn't want money. He didn't want mercenaries or liquor or any of the things the others bought. He wanted treasure. And he would have it all.
He turned, and started as he saw someone in his room. In his room! In his private sanctum! It was the Centauri. The former Lord-General. He was standing next to the girl, touching her cheek and looking into her eyes. He was touching Rem's property! Just like a nobleman. He thought he could take anything he wanted just because he had had a title. Well not here! His title didn't mean anything here! The laws of the order promised him a fair and equal share. Oh, the others had tried to trick him out of that, and they'd pay for it later, but no one was going to take something that was rightfully his from his own sanctum.
And now he was cutting her down! How dare he? How dare he!
"Leave her alone!" he shouted, moving across the room. "She's mine."
Marrago looked at him and he drew back for a moment. It was not fear, no. He was not afraid of the man at all. He was just like any nobleman. Too weak and too reliant on his servants to stand up to a real man. No, Rem was just…. taking his stance, not being too eager and overconfident.