Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

indulgence actually surpassed his. So Pieter and Valentine had made a pact, and if the Romanov found the source of their power base to be somewhat distressing, there was always another meal and another bottle from the Deathstalker’s excellent wine cellar to help distract him.
    And finally there was Athos Kartakis. A short and swarthy man with a flashing smile and a temperament that could change in a moment from brightest day to darkest night. He collected insults and saw dueling as a sport. He never accepted first blood, and always went for the kill. People tended to be very careful what they said around the young Lord Kartakis. His Clan had never been more than a fairly minor House, and generations had been spending money faster than it came in. Kartakis had inherited many debts, and wasted no time in adding many of his own. Creditors preferred to forget their bills rather than risk fighting a duel over them, but even so, everyone knew the true state of affairs, and Kartakis knew they knew. The deal Blue Block had brokered with Random had been the last straw. Take away his lordship, and Kartakis had nothing left. He’d never survive as a businessman. If only because he’d made so many enemies in trade. And so he had pawned what was left of his soul with Valentine. Valentine watched his people at their play, and thought pleasantly on the day he wouldn’t need their support anymore and could have them all killed in slow and interesting ways. He’d just begun to number the ways and select his very favorite when the viewscreen on the wall chimed politely. Valentine raised a painted eyebrow. He’d given the servants to understand that he wasn’t to be interrupted at his dinner for anything less than a major emergency, and after he’d had that footman flayed from the waist down, they’d learned to follow his instructions to the letter. So he accepted the call and directed his cronies to hush themselves.
    The screen cleared to show that sinister butterball of a man, the ex-Lord Gregor Shreck. The Shreck sat behind an ugly but functional wooden table, covered with papers and reports. He nodded curtly to Valentine, the nearest he ever got to polite behavior, and plunged right in without bothering with any more amenities:
    “You’re in trouble, Wolfe. Parliament’s sent a force to investigate what you’re up to on Virimonde.”
    “Really?” said Valentine, unperturbed as always. “And just how large an army are they sending?”
    “It’s worse than an army. They’ve sent Deathstalker and d’Ark.” The three aristocrats looked quickly at one another and began to babble unhappily. Valentine waved for them to be quiet, and they were. The Wolfe smiled slowly at the Shreck’s image on the viewscreen, his great scarlet smile spreading across his deathlike face. “Dear Owen. I have so been looking forward to meeting him. I can’t wait to see what he thinks of what I’ve done with his old place. When can I expect the illustrious hero and his warlike companion?” “Hell, he and the bitch have probably already landed by now. I’m not as well connected as I used to be. Word takes longer to reach me these days.” “The Deathstalker can’t be here,” said the Kartakis. “The security systems would have taken out his ship. Or the sensors would have warned us—“
    “Don’t be silly,” said Valentine. “This is Owen Deathstalker we’re talking about.” He looked back at the Shreck. “You are still otherwise on top of things at your end?”
    “Of course. You supply the product, I’ve got people set up to move it.” Gregor scowled unhappily.
    “Never thought I’d end up a drug runner at my time of life.” “I’d have thought it was an occupation you were ideally suited for,” said the Silvestri, idly paring his fingernails with the edge of one of his knives.
    “But then, everyone rises to their true level eventually.” “At least I’m not a fugitive from what passes for justice these days,” snapped Gregor. “I still have my Tower and my people.”
    “But you’re not a Lord anymore,” said the Romanov, in between sucking chicken grease off his fingers.
    “We haven’t allowed Blue Block and that traitor Random to strip our rightful heritage from us.”
    “And we will be Lords again,” said the Kartakis flatly. “Even if we have to kill everyone else in the Empire who says otherwise.” “Big talk from a little man,” said Gregor, secure in the knowledge that the Kartakis was