Ruiz nodded.
They went back through the converted cargo bay where such a short time ago the rest of Ruiz’s assault team had waited. The small place seemed much larger, now that it was empty. Ruiz imagined that insubstantial ghosts still crowded the space, all looking at him with dead accusing eyes. He shuddered, then shrugged off the fancy — if he were to be haunted by the spirits of all those whose deaths he had caused, a stadium would hardly serve to contain them.
The private cabin all the way aft had a simple autochef, which Albany fiddled with until it produced sandwiches filled with spiced meat and chopped pickles. He passed one of these to Ruiz, and tinkered a bit more. The chef produced plastic mugs of steaming broth.
“Not too bad,” said Albany, settling back with his mug in one hand and his sandwich in the other. He seemed remarkably at ease. Ruiz attributed it partly to his ignorance of Publius, partly to a mind that was more firmly tuned to the moment than his own. He couldn’t help looking forward to the uncertainties to come — and backward at the mistakes of the past.
He thought of Nisa for the first time in hours. Was she well? Had she begun to wonder if he would ever return? Only two days had passed for her, though to him those days had seemed like weeks.
“So,” said Albany. “Who are these slaves you’re taking with you? Valuable stock?”
“Somewhat,” said Ruiz.
“Ah?” Albany seemed to be waiting for Ruiz to elaborate.
Ruiz felt no inclination to do so. A silence formed, and stretched into minutes, until Albany had finished his sandwich and slurped down the last of the broth.
“Tell me,” said Albany. “Why would you burden yourself with ‘somewhat’ valuable slaves, when — as we both know — you’re going to need all your luck just to get yourself off Sook? I sense a mystery here, Ruiz.”
Ruiz shrugged.
“Come on, Ruiz. Tell me a little about these folk, while we’re waiting for the monster to arrive.”
“All right,” said Ruiz. “They’re from Pharaoh. A conjuror, a commoner, and a princess.”
“A Pharaohan conjuror? Worth a good bit, even without a troupe. Why the commoner?”
“The Guildmaster of a famous troupe, which is now dispersed.”
“I see. And the princess? What’s her claim to value?”
Ruiz fidgeted, and Albany’s sharp eyes seemed to see every evidence of his discomfort. “She’s quite beautiful,” he finally said.
Albany leaned back and snorted dismissively. “Beautiful? What of that? The pangalac worlds are full of beauty; everyone can be as beautiful as they choose to be. Beautiful? On Dilvermoon, ugliness or even simple plainness is so rare that a whore who will accept an intriguing deformity can make a fortune.” Albany shook his head and then a slightly malicious curiosity glittered in his eyes. “Oh, no. You don’t mean to tell me that you’re smitten? What a hideously quaint obsession. I hope you won’t tell me that all these folk have died, and probably me too, just because Ruiz Aw — hard Ruiz Aw, ruthless Ruiz Aw, deadly Ruiz Aw — has finally succumbed to true love? Oh, no.” He seemed genuinely incensed by the time he finished.
Ruiz glared at him. What to say? If they survived long enough to retrieve Nisa and the others, the truth would become obvious, so what point was there in lying? “Essentially, you are correct,” he said in a harsh voice.
Albany’s eyes grew very wide, as though he hadn’t truly expected this confirmation. His face was still and neutral, unnaturally so. Ruiz wondered if Albany would attack him, so odd was Albany’s expression, and he shifted his weight for defense.
But then, surprising him, Albany burst into raucous laughter. “Well then, why not? I thought I had seen sufficient strangeness to burn away all my capacity for surprise — but I was wrong. It’s not so bad a feeling, is it? I mean, you must be much more surprised than I.”
Ruiz thought about it, but concluded that in fact he wasn’t. What did that say about him? How long had he carried the seeds of the feelings that had finally taken root in his heart? Very strange, he thought.
He was uninclined to share this insight with Albany, who would either laugh at him again, or become nervous — such thoughts did not accord with Albany’s image of him as an effective slayer.
But before the silence could become strained, a chime signaled the arrival of Publius in the sub’s lock.
Ruiz looked at Albany. “Remember, Publius is a monster indeed. Nothing he says can be taken at face value. There will always be several layers of deviousness beneath anything he proposes. We’ll have to exploit our advantage swiftly, before he comes up with a way to get around us. Be on your guard — this will be much more dangerous than our trip into the stronghold.”
Albany nodded soberly, and they went back through the sub to the lock.
Ruiz allowed Albany to open the lock, while he remained out of the line of direct fire, in case Publius had already developed a scheme. But the monster-maker came in, holding a silver-mounted ebony case over his head. He was clearly fuming at Albany’s disrespectful attitude. He turned and saw Ruiz, started to take down his hands.
“No,” Ruiz barked. “Hands up, and turn away from me.” He aimed a splinter gun at Publius.
Publius purpled, assumed an expression of defiant outrage. Ruiz had an impulse of terrifying power; he abruptly wanted, very badly, to kill Publius and be done with him — and with his treacheries. He would find another way to get off Sook, a way that didn’t expose them to the monster-maker’s virulence. They had the sub; they had weapons and some money; they had a Gench to sell in the SeaStack market. It would be enough; he was sure of it. His finger tightened on the splinter gun’s cool trigger, almost involuntarily.
Publius must have seen lethality in his face. He paled and turned quickly to the bulkhead. Ruiz’s finger relaxed marginally.
Albany shut and dogged the lock, took the case. He opened it carefully, after examining it with his detectors. It held two madcollars, elegant objects inlaid with gold and further adorned with large pigeon-blood rubies.
“Keep your grubby little paws off them,” said Publius.
Albany set the case down and put his graser to Publius’s kidneys. “Let’s wilt him a little, what do you say, Ruiz?”
“Maybe we will,” said Ruiz thickly. Publius seemed an avatar of all the chaotic brutal lovelessness of the universe, seemed to symbolize all the ugly realities of existence — those relentless failures of humanity that so eternally conspired against happiness and security. His hatred for the monster-maker flared up brightly. He took Publius by his collar and slammed him hard against the bulkhead, jammed his splinter gun under Publius’s ear. “Check him,” he told Albany.
Albany passed probes over Publius’s body, slowly and carefully. He removed a nerve lash from Publius’s sleeve, a stun rod from his boot, a pneumatic dart gun from a sheath at the nape of his neck. Albany continued his examination, shifting his detector frequencies in random sequences, muttering to himself. Finally he closed up his probes and nodded to Ruiz.
“He’s got sonic knives in his right forefinger and left elbow. He’s got a little pinbeam in his sternum. He’s got a transceiver in his right mastoid and a vid pickup behind his left eye. He’s got a big suicide bomb in his right buttock. That’s all I can pick up.”
“Spike him,” Ruiz ordered.
Albany raised his eyebrows, questioning. “Even the eye?”
“Yes,” said Ruiz. “Don’t worry about the meat — Publius doesn’t. He can always get more.”
Publius spluttered. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “You work for me, Ruiz Aw. This is no way to earn a bonus.”