Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

right, boys?"
    The boys agreed loudly, and almost came to blows over who's turn it was to light her cigarette. Lewis nodded stiffly, and moved away from the bar. He wandered through the crowd, smiling at familiar faces, but wherever he went he heard the same thing. These people, who had once been his friends and his peers, many of whom had fought and bled beside him, no longer saw him as one of their own. They were always polite, even friendly, and some of the younger faces were even a little awed by his famous career and legendary name; but in small and telling ways he was made to feel like an outsider, and not entirely welcome. He had moved on, they intimated, and left his old friends behind. This was a Paragon's bar . . .
    and he had no place there. It was all very courteous, but no less definite for that. No one actually turned his back on him, but they might as well have. Lewis felt excluded. Isolated and alone, even in the middle of a crowd. When he finally gave up and quietly left, no one even noticed.
    He found another bar on another street, quiet and almost deserted, and retired to a private booth at the back with his own bottle of wine, to do some serious thinking. He'd gone to The Sangreal hoping for a little friendly advice; but not for the first time, it seemed he'd have to sort out his problems on his own. He couldn't talk to Douglas. Or rather, he could, but he didn't want to. He'd always found it embarrassing to discuss financial matters with someone as rich as Douglas Campbell. And he couldn't talk to Anne, because she'd go straight to Douglas. Lewis poured himself another glass of Elfshot, the wine so golden it
    almost glowed in the gloom of the booth, and glowered into it.
    Du Bois had cut off his allowance. Virimonde's Member for Parliament had sent him a curt little note, saying that the monies raised by public subscription would be paid instead to Virimonde's next Paragon, as soon as one was chosen. In the meantime, Lewis was the King's Champion, and so he should look to the King for financial support in future. It wasn't an entirely unexpected blow, not after their last conversation, but it still hit Lewis hard. Over the years, he'd become used to relying on his planet's backup stipend. His wages hadn't changed now he was Champion, but he'd had to move to a new apartment, in the very best part of the city, so he could be close to his work. By rights he should have had his own rooms in the Court, right next to Douglas's; but it had been so long since there'd been an Imperial Champion that the details were still being worked out. In particular, whether the King or Parliament was responsible for the Champions expenses.
    Lewis's new place was very nice, very comfortable, with an absolutely spectacular view, but the rent alone ate up all his wages. The few sticks of furniture he'd brought with him looked lonely and out of place in their new elegant surroundings, and he was currently sleeping on a mattress on the floor of his new bedroom. He didn't even have a vidscreen. He had some savings, but not a lot. Luckily he didn't have any expensive tastes or hobbies; and the way things were going he wasn't going to get the chance to develop any. So; what choices did that leave him? Endorsements, merchandising, action figures? Lewis pulled a face. He'd always thought such things cheapened the post of Paragon, and that went double for being Champion. He didn't want to start off his new career by undermining the dignity of his new position.
    Of course, Douglas would give him as much money as he wanted, just for the asking. But Lewis didn't want to ask. He shouldn't have to ask . . .
    More than ever, Lewis needed to feel he was his own man, separate and distinct from the King.
    Independent. But... he had bills to pay. Some of them had been around for a while, too. His creditors were being very patient, because he was, after all, Lewis Deathstalker; but sooner or later they would have to be paid. The last thing Lewis, or Douglas, needed was his new Champion being dunned in the courts for monies he owed . . .
    Lewis sighed, and stared moodily into his glass. He couldn't even get drunk. Bad for the public image.
    Someone would see and tell; someone always did. Lewis pushed his glass away, and buried his face in his hands. He'd been so proud, so happy, the day he was acclaimed Champion. He thought he'd reached the peak of his career. How could it all go so wrong, so quickly? He lifted his head, and snorted