Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

decorations and scrollwork, and people going in and out in a steady stream. Hazel strode in through the open
    double doors as though she owned the place, and Owen hurried after her. They were immediately caught up in the complete chaos filling the huge lobby from wall to wall. Everywhere Owen looked there were desks and tables buried under piles of paper and people running back and forth between the desks as though their lives depended on it. This being Mistport, thought Owen, perhaps they did.
    A large crowd of all sorts and types took up all the remaining space, shouting at the people behind the desks and each other with equal volume and tenacity.
    The walls were covered with overlapping wanted posters, and up on the ceiling someone had painted a series of large murals depicting the human body in some detail, and the best places to hit it with large pointed things.
    The din was deafening, the air was hot and sweaty, and the smell was indescribable. Hazel ploughed right through the middle of it, making liberal use of her fists and elbows to get some room. Apparently this was common practice, or at least common enough that only a few people reached for their swords, and by then she was already gone. Owen stuck close behind her, muttering polite apologies that no one heard and glaring at anyone who didn't put their sword away fast enough. It was a good glare; Owen had had lots of chances to practice and perfect it since he'd come to Mistworld. It was a carefully balanced mixture of rage and imminent violence, with just a touch of outright insanity. By the time he was halfway through the crowd, people were backing away to avoid him.
    He ended up at Hazel's side in front of a desk at the rear of the room. It had two trays, marked "In" and "Urgent," and there were piles of paper everywhere.
    Much of it had the rough look of cheap recycling, and Owen was intrigued to note that most of them were covered with handwritten texts. In the circles he was used to moving in, handwritten notes tended to be few and far between, being usually reserved for spies and lovers.

    The man sitting behind the desk was a small, intense figure with a put-upon face and a permanent scowl. He was casually dressed to the point of carelessness, and his thick black hair stuck out at angles, as though he tugged at it a lot. Hazel smiled at him charmingly, and the clerk stared back at her with equal pans desperation and apoplexy. Hazel opened her mouth to speak, and he beat her to it in a loud, carrying voice that cut through the general din.
    "I don't know! Whatever it is, I don't know and I don't care! I am up to my lower lip in paperwork and sinking fast. Go away. Come back next week. Or next month. Or not at all. See if I care. Why are you still standing there?"
    "I only want one name," said Hazel.
    "That's what everyone says!" snapped the clerk. "Do you know how much work it takes to track down just one name? No, of course you don't, and you don't care either, do you?
    No one cares," he said wistfully. "No one appreciates you here. The lunch break's a joke, there's only one toilet, and the pay's rotten. I'd quit if it wasn't for the pension. And the constant chances to screw up people's lives. I see my job as a kind of revenge against an uncaring society. It's either this or planting explosives in public places, and explosives are expensive. Why are you still here?"
    "Why is anybody here?" said Hazel. "Look, can we save the existentialism for later? Just find me a name and an address to go with it, and we'll go away and leave you alone. Wouldn't that be nice? And not only that, if you help us, I can definitely promise to restrain my companion here from picking up all those papers in front of you and scattering them to the four corners of the room."
    The clerk grabbed the nearest pile protectively. "That's right. Threaten me.

    Intimidate me. Who am I? Just a clerk, a minor cog in the great wheel. I can feel one of my funny turns coming on."
    "How about if we offered you a small payment?" said Hazel.
    "How about if you offered a big payment?" countered the clerk.
    Hazel produced a large silver coin from her purse and dropped it onto the desk before him. The clerk looked at it sadly. Hazel had to add three more before he sighed deeply and scooped up the coins with a practiced sweep of the hand.
    "All right, give me the name. I'm not promising anything, mind."
    "Ruby Journey."
    "Oh, her. Why didn't you say? She's working as a bouncer down at the