Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

played with the cap on his flask, but he didn't take another drink.
    "I'm sorry to hear of your father's death. I've lost a lot of friends down the years, but it never gets any easier. You look a lot like him, you know. Do you have any actual plans, or are you just running?"
    "I've got plans, yes," said Owen, just a little defensively. "Do you want to be a part of them?"
    "No. But I don't really think I've any choice in the matter. If you could find me, so could others. I'm not worth much anymore, Deathstalker. But what there is left of me is yours."
    "Can I have a word with you a moment, Owen?" said Hazel, taking his arm in a very firm grip. He winced as she all but dragged him to his feet and out into the corridor. He jerked his arm free and carefully shut the door behind him.
    "Are you crazy?" said Hazel. "We can't burden ourselves with a wreck like that!
    He's bound to slow us down. We can't even be sure he is who he says he is!"
    "Doesn't really matter who he is," said Owen. "Just his name will attract people to our cause. People will fight and die for Jack Random when they wouldn't lift a hand for you or me."
    "But he's a janitor!"
    "So what? Really, Hazel, if anyone's going to be a snob here, it should be me.
    And I don't think you're in any position to throw stones, considering your
    previous occupation in Mistport."
    Hazel frowned. "What are you talking about?"
    "Well, as I understand from Cyder's comments, you were a… lady of the evening."
    "Lady of the… I ought to tear your head off and piss down your neck! I was never a whore!"
    "Then what were you?"
    "If you must know, I was a ladies' maid!" Hazel realized she was shouting and lowered her voice again. Two bright spots of color burned in her cheeks. "And you needn't look at me like that. It's a perfectly respectable profession. And work was scarce just then."
    "So… why did you give it up?"
    "Lady of the house told me to sweep out the corners once too often. I smacked her in the mouth, stole some of the silver and left before they could call the watch. Satisfied now?"
    "Eminently. It's always good to have a profession to fall back on. If times get hard, I'm sure I can always find you a position on my staff."
    "I'd rather die," said Hazel. "No, I'd rather kill you."
    "Ironhand!" They both looked round to see the giant form of Tom Sefka pounding down the corridor toward them. They fell back automatically as he stopped and hammered on the janitor's door. "Ironhand, get your worthless ass out here! I've got half a dozen regulars waiting to use the showers, and you still haven't cleaned them out. Either you get your ass in gear right now, or you're fired!"
    He turned and looked at Owen and Hazel. "And you needn't think you're going anywhere, either. Word finally got here as to who you are, Deathstalker. If I'd known who you were, I'd never have let you in. Last thing I need is a bunch of
    bounty hunters in here getting blood all over the place. You even try and draw your gun or your sword, and I'll rip your arm out of your socket. Price on your head will make me rich, Deathstalker. You're mine, and your companions. Unless you think you can take me?"
    He flexed his muscles meaningfully. Owen thought about it. He was tired, and still healing, and Sefka really was a hell of a size. On the other hand, if he could draw his gun before Sefka could get his hands on him… Sefka looked like he could move pretty fast for a big man. Hazel would probably avenge his death, but he didn't find the thought all that comforting.
    He was still trying to come up with an answer when the door opened, and Random stepped out into the corridor. He walked right up to Sefka, holding the big man's eyes with his, and reached out and took Sefka's genitals in a death grip.
    He piled on the pressure, grinning nastily all the while, and all the color went out of Sefka's face as he sank to his knees. Random gave him one last white-knuckled squeeze, which brought tears to Owen's eyes, released his hold, reached back into his room and brought out his mop. Sefka raised his head just in time to see the long wooden handle coming for him at incredible speed. If the mop had been a sword, Sefka's head would have gone bouncing down the corridor.
    As it was, the wood connected with his temple with a very solid-sounding thud, and the big man fell unconscious to the floor. It was probably a relief, thought Owen. Random lowered his mop and leaned on it as though it was a sword.
    "Just for the record,