Deathstalker 07 - Deathstalker Return

base will accept any of the terrible things that bastard Finn has been saying about me on the news broadcasts. I mean, they're my fans. What's the point of having fans if they won't stick with you? Some did. You saw them, Lewis, demonstrating against my imprisonment, outside Traitor's Hall."
    "You said it yourself, Jes. The public can be very fickle. I couldn't believe they'd turn on me so easily either." Lewis tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully and frowned down at them. "You can bet Finn will have all his best propaganda people working day and night on discrediting both of us. They'll dig into our respective pasts, and dig up every bit of dirt they can find."
    "There's dirt in your past, Sir Deathstalker?" said Brett. "I'm shocked. Shocked!"
    "Shut up, Brett."
    "Shutting up right now, sir."
    "What they can't find, they'll probably make up," said Lewis. "You can't be an honest Paragon without making some enemies—people only too willing to tell tales about you, in the name of revenge. What about you, Jes? Is there much in your past they could find that they could use against you?"
    "Well, rather a lot, actually," said Jesamine. "I've never pretended to be a saint, darling. And a certain amount of bad behavior is expected of you when you're a star. It's affairs of the heart, and sort-of-secret assignations that keep your face in the gossip shows. If no one's talking about you, how can you be a star? I admit it, I was a slut sometimes. It was good for business. And you have to throw the odd temper tantrum in public, or no one will take you seriously. You have to give the media stories, or they start making up their own."
    Lewis glowered in Brett's direction. "I don't suppose there's any point in asking you, is there?"
    "None at all," Brett said briskly. "I'm a scoundrel, and proud of it. The good Lord put me on Logres to shear the sheep, and I have been a busy, busy boy. Wherever rogues and villains gather, my name is on everyone's lips. I am a Random's Bastard, and I glory in it."
    "Then what are you doing here, with half the Empire after you?" Rose said calmly.
    Brett pouted sulkily. "One moment of conscience in an otherwise spotless life, and my whole career is over. I could spit. I don't even want to think what my old comrades will be saying when they discover I've hooked up with you."
    "I've done nothing I'm ashamed of," said Rose.
    "Yes, but that covers a hell of a lot of ground," said Brett. "Some of the things you did for the Durandal…"
    "Yes, by all means," said Jesamine. "Let's talk about that. You've been only too willing to talk about yourself and your many triumphs during the past few days, but you've hardly said a word about your
    involvement with Finn bloody Durandal."
    Oh, shit, thought Brett, his heart sinking.
    "Talk to us, Random," said Lewis. "I want to know everything you know about that man. What he did, and what he had you do.
    And all the things he planned to do. Help me to understand why one of my oldest and most trusted friends and colleagues has become the greatest villain of the Golden Age."
    "I suppose I should start with the Neuman riot outside Parliament," Brett said reluctantly. "Up till then it had all just been talk— making plans and gathering support and assistance. Finn was responsible for everything that happened in that riot. He planned it, orchestrated it from beginning to end. He planted agent provocateurs in the Neuman march and in the crowds, to stir things up and push them out of control. One of them shot the Paragon Veronica Mae Savage, on his orders, and started all the blood and slaughter that came after. It was all designed to intimidate Parliament and discredit the Paragons.
    You were supposed to die that day too. I lured you away from the main action, just so that Rose could have a crack at you."
    "You shot me," said Lewis. "I helped you, and you shot me."
    "It was orders," Brett said weakly. "Finns orders. You don't say no to Finn. Anyway, Saturday turned up and saved you…"
    "Yes," said Rose. "I'm still rather annoyed about that." She looked at Saturday, and smiled. There was no humor in her dark rosebud mouth—only a promise of revenge presently delayed. The huge reptiloid looked back at her interestedly, absently flexing the terrible claws on his hands.
    Brett hurriedly continued with his tale, describing how Finn had methodically set himself up as the mastermind behind a far-reaching scheme to bring down the whole Golden Age, by whatever means