“No, but no one’s come in here,” she told him. “How do you feel?”
“Better. But I still need food.” He went to one of the basins and drank more water.
“You were making funny sounds. Towards the end of your sleep,” she told him. “And twitching.”
“Dreams. Bad ones.” He splashed water on his face, wiped it away then straightened up. He looked at her and smiled. It seemed forced to her. Whatever he had dreamed had shaken him. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Not too good,” Jan admitted. “What do you think is going to happen to us?”
“That depends on how good a job I can do convincing whoever controls this bunch of children of the Rising Sun that I have something to offer them that they want.”
“Which is what?”
“I told you—information.”
“Yes, but about what?” she asked impatiently.
Before he could answer there were sounds outside the door. Milo gestured urgently for the sword. She quickly handed it over to him. The door swung open with a bang. An officer stepped warily into the room. Jan wasn’t sure if she’d seen him before or if he was someone new. She had trouble telling these people apart. Four warriors followed him inside. He gave Milo a brief bow of his head and said something very quickly. Milo nodded.
“We’re to go with them,” Milo told Jan. “We’re being honoured with an audience with the top gun himself, their warlord.”
They were led outside and taken up into the Aristo section of the ship. The corridors had been cleared of casualties but there were still pools of congealed blood everywhere she looked. The invaders seemed to be everywhere too, hurrying back and forth along the corridors with the air of people on very important errands. Of the original inhabitants of these quarters, the Aristos, there was no sign. Jan guessed they had all been confined somewhere. Once again she wondered worriedly about Ceri. …
Their destination, she soon realized, was the Grand Saloon, but when she and Milo were ushered inside she saw that it had undergone a major transformation. Coloured banners hung from the ceiling and the floor area had been partitioned off by portable cloth screens on which had been painted scenes of mountains, lakes, unfamiliar-looking trees and other things that Jan didn’t recognize.
“The decorators have moved in already,” muttered Milo.
Their escort gestured them to continue forward. Warriors slid aside the screens as they approached. They progressed through four sets of dividing screens before they entered the final section.
On the dais where Caspar had sat on his throne sat a different man on a different throne. Behind him hung a red banner on which a strange black lizard was depicted spitting fire. At his feet sat two women dressed in peculiar robes, their faces painted a startling white.
But Jan’s attention was fixed on something else. On either side of the warlord’s throne was a spear, and on each spear a severed head had been set.
Jan stared first into the sightless eyes of Prince Caspar and then into those of Lady Jane.
Chapter Twenty
“You wanted vengeance,” murmured Milo in her ear as they approached the dais, “well, there it is, in the raw.”
Jan said nothing. Her gaze was fixed on Caspar’s face. She felt sick. Then the officer in charge of their escort cried something that was obviously the command to halt. They were still about fifteen feet from the dais. Their escort bowed deeply as the man on the throne slowly rose to his feet. He was much taller than the other invaders. The square cut of his robe, like the robes of the warriors, made him look bulkier than he really was, but even so he was an unusually big man. The average Minervan woman would have looked minute beside him.
He looked down on them. The slits of his eyes offered no clue to either his thoughts or his mood. Then he said, in perfect Americano, “Well, well, Milo Haze, it’s been a long time. Where have you been hiding yourself these last four centuries?”
Surprised, Jan glanced at Milo and saw that he was looking mystified as well. Then he frowned as he stared hard at the giant invader. “I know you?” he asked.
“We met a few times at bio-tech conferences. Naturally you wouldn’t recognize me now. I have, of course, changed somewhat.” The tall man gave a brief, thin smile. “You, on the other hand, have changed little. On the outside at least. From what my samurai tell me of your actions you’ve undergone a very sophisticated enhancement.”
Milo nodded. Then, in a wondering tone, he said, “So you’re an immortal too. …”
“I am indeed. And until today I was under the impression I was the last alive. My name is Shumi Horado. Do you recall me now?”
“Horado …” said Milo slowly. “The Horado Corporation. Yes, I do. You were a small man then, balding. …”
The warlord smiled thinly again and touched his chest with his fingertips. “All is vanity, is it not, Mr Haze? I gave myself thirty extra inches of height and a full head of hair. While you chose baldness and eyes that don’t match, plus all your other enhancements. And at the risk of being impolite, it is the latter we must discuss first. You’ll notice that, as an act of faith, I have let you retain that sword you no doubt took by force from one of my warriors. But just in case you harbour any thoughts of using it on me—and I’m sure you don’t—let me assure you that I am protected.”
He clapped his hands. Immediately a screen on each side of them rolled back, revealing warriors holding what seemed to be very small rifles. “Automatic weapons,” said the warlord. “I would say they are the only ones still in working order. I found a cache of them perfectly preserved about eighty years ago. So let me warn you that no matter how fast you can move, Mr Haze, you’ll be dead before you reach me.”
“I have no intention of any such action,” Milo said. “My violent activities with this weapon were designed merely to attract your attention. Though, of course, I had no idea who you were. As you must have been told, I have a proposition for you.”
“Yes, so I was informed.” The warlord clapped his hands again. This time servants emerged from behind the screens carrying small folding stools which they placed behind Jan and Milo. The warlord indicated they should sit down, then returned to his throne. “But before we discuss business, Mr Haze, let us observe some of the old formalities. You and your companion will join me in a cup of sake.” He clapped his hands for the third time.
Jan’s feeling of bewilderment increased as a servant presented a small cup containing clear liquid. What was going on? How did Milo come to know this frightening giant? What was all that talk about being immortal?
She glanced again at Prince Caspar’s head on the spear. His mouth hung open in a silent scream. His lips had gone very white. Not so many hours ago she had been kissing those lips. …
There were other heads. When the screens had been rolled back she had seen that there was a whole row of spears lined in front of the windows on either side. Other screens prevented her from seeing how far the rows of disembodied heads extended but she guessed they went all the way along the sides of the Great Saloon. If that was so then every Aristo was now dead.
She took a sip of the drink. It was bitter and made her eyes water. But the wave of warmth it sent through her body was welcome.
“Your young companion, who is she?” asked the warlord.
She realized, with a start, that he was referring to her.
“Her name is Jan Dorvin. A Minervan. One of the last. The Lord Pangloth destroyed her town. She is now under my protection. Whatever agreement we come to between ourselves applies to her as well.”