Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

and a leper lurched in, concealed as always inside the gray cloak and pulled-forward hood. But this figure was barely five feet tall, and moved like some inner gyroscope had been jarred irretrievably from its proper mount. A hand with only three fingers left and slate gray skin emerged from inside the gray cloak and saluted Owen, before quickly disappearing back inside again. The leper hawked and spat, and something juicy hurtled out of the hood and splashed on the infirmary floor. When the figure began speaking, its voice was a curious mixture of accents and timbres.
    "Lord Owen the Great, there is message for you at comm center. Most urgent and imperative, and critical too. Word is, I is to bring you to center immediately, for details and shouting at. You come now, or I is turning you into small hoppity thing. Why you still standing there?"
    Owen blinked a few times, and then looked at Saint Bea, who nodded calmly at the small belligerent figure. "Thank you, Vaughn. Straight to the point, as always.
    Go with him or her, Owen. I think you're going to want to hear this message."
    The figure inside the cloak sneezed moistly, and made gurgling noises, swaying impatiently all the while.
    "Him or her?" said Owen.
    "Vaughn has never volunteered that information," said Saint Bea. "And so far, no one has ever felt sufficiently motivated to investigate further. Now, off you go to the comm center, both of you. Hop like bunnies!"
    "I does not hop!" said Vaughn haughtily. "I has my dignity to consider, not to mention missing toes. Move it, Deathstalker, or I show you where I got warts."
    "Lead on," said Owen. "I'll be right behind you. Well, maybe not right behind you, but I'll be able to see you from where I am."
    "Lot of people say that," said Vaughn.
    When they finally reached the comm center, there was a message waiting for Owen from the captain of the approaching courier ship. Apparently he had a most urgent communication for the Deathstalker, from Parliament. The ship would be landing in a few hours, and Owen was instructed to be there on the landing pad, waiting for him. Perhaps wisely, the captain had refused all further communication. Owen seethed at the imperious nature of the command, but made himself concentrate on the possibility of finally getting off Lachrymae Christi.
    He badgered the comm center staff for details on the ship and its crew, but all they had was the captain's name, Joy In The Lord Rottsteiner, and the name of the ship, Moab's Washpot.
    Owen gave the comm officer a hard look. "Moab's Washpot? What the hell kind of name is that for a starship?"
    "Is old Church name," said Vaughn, getting the comm officer off the hook. He or she was still hanging around the comm center, despite increasingly unsubtle suggestions that she or he must be needed somewhere else. "Captain sound like hard-core old Church too. Top-grade fanatic and major pain in ass for all other sentients, and any other living thing not get out of way fast enough. Thinks hangings are too lenient, and approves of floggings. Twice a week, around at his
    place."
    "I know the kind," said Owen. "I thought Saint Bea had rooted most of his kind out of her reformed Church. And what's he doing, carrying messages from Parliament, in a Church ship?"
    "Why you asking me?" demanded Vaughn, looking up from inspecting the contents of a trash basket. "I look like mind reader? I not esper! Spit on esper, and other things too! I is Imperial wizard, third dan, seven subpersonalities, no waiting; unpleasant curses of an appalling nature a specialty. Run big-time protection racket, until dripping rot set in, and they send me here, to this dog's bum of a world. I know secrets of universe, and those before this one. Bend over and I'll cure your warts."
    "I don't have any warts," said Owen.
    "You want some?"

    It was a long two and a half hours until Moab's Washpot finally fought its way through the weather and touched down on the planet's sole landing pad, just to one side of the Mission. Owen had tried everything up to and including open threats to get rid of Vaughn, but he or she was still there at Owen's side as he stood waiting on the pad in the rain for the ship's captain to make an appearance. During his long wait, Owen had made inquiries about the diminutive figure, and discovered that Vaughn had originally been a major league esper, until he or she had an epiphany in one of the back rooms of the House of Joy, and declared him-or herself a sorcerer.