Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

Doctor. I want this to be between Anne and Douglas.”
    “Won’t you be here?” said Dr. Happy, absently poking a finger into a hole in his chest, to see how deep it went.
    “No. I don’t want anything to detract from their reunion. I shall observe from a safe distance. I want to see what this King of Thieves has become, before I face him in person. First rule of war, Doctor: Know thy enemy.”
    “Know your code word,” Dr. Happy said strictly, trying on coherence again for a while, just to see what it felt like. “If all else fails, your word of command will activate the failsafes I put in her head. Have you finished with me now? It’s so hard, being rational for any length of time. Reason! Overrated if you ask me. Know thyself, Finn. That’s far more important. We are all deep, and contain miracles. Fish.”
    Finn decided he’d probably got the best out of Dr. Happy, and was getting up to leave when the doctor suddenly froze in his tracks, his bony head cocked on one side as though listening, his sunken eyes elsewhere.
    “Someone’s coming,” he said. “Coming like a thunderstorm, with blood and rage in his heart.”
    Finn smiled. “Good,” he said. And left.

    The man who had once been a Paragon, and then King of the Golden Age, and most recently the King of Thieves, but was now and for this mission just a man named Douglas Campbell, ran steadily through the ancient stone tunnels under the Imperial Palace. There was a whole maze of subsystems and maintenance ways under the palace itself that most people never knew about; some so old they no longer appeared on any official plans. Deserted and abandoned, originally built to serve buildings that no longer existed, over whose remains the palace had been built. The royal family knew about them, and kept them secret, because every ruler knew that the day might come when they’d have to leave in a hurry. And so Douglas made his way past and under and around all the defenses Finn had set up to protect himself, and finally emerged through a very secret hidden panel into what had once been his private quarters.
    He looked unhurriedly about him, taking in the recent damage and the older worn-in mess that disfigured what had once been his rooms. He wrinkled his nose. The place smelled as bad as it looked. Finn had changed. He never used to live like a pig. Douglas had to wonder what the state of these rooms implied about Finn’s current state of mind. Perhaps it meant Finn was no longer in control. Douglas hoped so. And yet . . . there was something unhealthy about this room, beyond the mess and the clutter, signs of a man who didn’t need to bother about the everyday human things anymore.
    Douglas scowled. He didn’t want Finn to be mad. That would take all the fun out of killing him.
    He found Finn’s computer terminal and, using a device that was common in the Rookery but strictly illegal everywhere else, Douglas forced his way into Finn’s files. It didn’t take him long to discover where Finn was keeping Anne; but why hold a political prisoner in a steel vault in a private laboratory? Sudden horrid thoughts about torture made Douglas impatient, and he hurried out of the room. He padded cautiously through the dark shadowed corridors of what had once been his palace. His home. He took in the hanging corpses, the heads impaled on spikes, and his heart hardened. He’d find no innocents in a place like this.
    And so he killed all the guards he came across, silently and efficiently. They were all cold-eyed fanatics, well trained and motivated, but none of them were good enough to stop Douglas. He let the bodies lie where they fell. Let someone find them and sound the alarm. Let Finn know that death was stalking the corridors of his usurped palace. Douglas hurried on through what had once been familiar locations, now turned into a slaughterhouse by Finn. Some of the blood was still wet. Douglas smiled a slow cold smile. Just one more reason to kill his old friend.
    He found the laboratory easily enough, and frowned as he realized there were no guards posted at the door. Douglas approached it warily, ready for booby traps or surprise attacks, but there was nothing. He pressed gently against the door with his fingertips, and it swung smoothly open, falling back easily at his touch. So. A trap, daring him to walk inside. Douglas laughed, and it was a harsh ugly sound. He pushed back the cowl of his cape to reveal his face, so that everyone would know who