Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War

even have the decency to shiver like the rest of them.
    "The old place hasn't changed a bit. Colder than a witch's tit and even less inviting."
    "And when were you last here?" said Hazel, not bothering to hide the suspicion in her voice.

    "I've been here several times, down the years," Random said easily. "In fact, I started out here, some twenty years ago, trying to raise troops for a rebellion on Lyonesse. I found a few brave souls to join me, but that was all. They didn't know me then. Hopefully I'll do rather better this time."
    "Heads up," said Jenny Psycho. "Someone's coming. Three people. One's an esper, but his mind is closed to me."
    "Stay out of the other people's heads as well," said Hazel sharply. "This is an esper city, and they take their mental privacy very seriously. You upset the powers that be here, and we'll be taking what's left of you home in a straightjacket. From this point on, you use your esp by invitation only. Got it?"
    Jenny Psycho shrugged. "I can't help it if their minds are shouting at me all the time. And the powers that be here had better watch out for themselves. I have been transformed by the Mater Mundi, and there isn't a mind in this city that's my equal."
    "That settles it," said Hazel. "From now on, you stay well clear of the rest of us. That way whenever it happens, whatever horrible thing it turns out to be, we'll all be a safe distance away. Hiding."
    They were saved Jenny's acid reply by the sudden emergence of three figures from the shifting mists. There was no warning. One moment there was only the fog, and then two men and a woman came striding out of the mists toward them. Owen found that quietly disturbing. Usually his new powers gave him advance warning of things like that. Why, dammit, did it work sometimes and not others? He found his hand had dropped automatically to the sword at his side and quickly moved it away again. He recognized two of the newcomers from files he'd been shown at his last briefing. Port Director Gideon Steel was a short fat man with calm,
    thoughtful eyes and a disturbingly cynical smile. He dressed well, if a trifle sloppily, as some of his furs looked distinctly mangy. He was supposed to be in his mid-forties, but he looked ten years older. Trying to run Mistport will do that to you.
    The woman beside him was much more impressive, and not a little intimidating.
    Despite the bitter cold she wore no furs, only the formal uniform of an Investigator. Owen could feel Hazel tensing beside him and prayed she'd have enough sense not to start anything. Investigator Topaz was medium height, slim, handsome, and her gaze was colder than the mists could ever be. Her close-cropped dark hair gave her classical features a calm, aesthetic air, but her ice-blue eyes were killer's eyes. Just looking at her made Owen want to back away slowly and very carefully, doing absolutely nothing that might upset her.
    He knew about Investigator Topaz. Everyone did. She was a Siren, the only esper ever to be made an Investigator. When she decided to leave the Empire and head for Mistworld, the Empress sent a whole company of Guards after her. Five hundred men. Topaz killed them all with a single song, her voice and esp combining into a deadly force that could not be stopped or turned aside.
    In Mistport, she was officially just a Sergeant of the city Watch, but she kept her Investigator's title. Mostly because no one was stupid enough to argue the point with her. In a city full of dangerous and desperate people, no one messed with Investigator Topaz. Having met her, Owen could understand why. Without looking round, he could feel Hazel stirring at his side, like a junkyard dog scenting a rival, and Owen decided to get things started before they had a chance to get seriously out of hand.
    "Director Steel and Investigator Topaz," he said smoothly. "So good of you to
    come and meet us in person at such an early hour. May I present—"
    "We know who you are," said Steel. "And if you weren't official representatives of the Golgotha underground, you'd never have been allowed to land. You're troublemakers, and the last thing Mistport needs right now is more trouble. And for your information we haven't got up early; we haven't been to bed yet. Since Typhoid Mary and the esper plague, those of us who survived have been working double shifts just trying to get things back together again. And I haven't forgotten the mess you stirred up the last time you honored us with a visit,