Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

because he’s killed most of them.”
    “This whole idea of an alliance stinks,” Tel said forcefully. “We’re safe here in the Rookery. We don’t need Finn.”
    “The city needs us,” said Douglas. “And we could accomplish a lot more with the support of Finn’s people.”
    “But you can’t ally with the Durandal!” said Stuart. “He’ll betray you!”
    “He’ll certainly try,” said Douglas. “This is Finn we’re talking about, after all. But for the moment . . . we need each other. And he knows me well enough to be sure that I won’t let personal differences get in the way of doing the right thing. The thralls have to be stopped, and my people saved. And we can only achieve that by pooling our resources. So, we are allies. Because as bad as Finn is, the uber-espers are worse. And by far the most immediate danger . . . Pardon me, Mr. Sylvester; I’m thinking aloud. Tell your master that the deal is made, subject to certain conditions. The first of which is, my help comes at a price. In return for this strictly temporary alliance against a common foe, I demand that he give up to justice the criminal scientists who have done such evil in his service. People like Elijah du Katt, who produced the clone of my brother James; and Dr. Happy, for what he did to Anne Barclay.”
    “The Emperor anticipated your request,” Mr. Sylvester said smoothly. “I have both these gentlemen waiting outside. With your permission . . . ?”
    Douglas nodded quickly, surprised. Stuart drew his disrupter. Mr. Sylvester walked slowly over to the door, careful not to make any sudden movements, opened the door and beckoned to the masked man waiting in the corridor. He stepped into the room, still carrying his great glass jar under a heavy cloth, and then reached up to remove the silk mask that covered his face. Elijah du Katt peered quickly about him, sweating heavily and twitching nervously.
    Keeping a careful eye on the gun in Stuart’s hand, du Katt pulled the cloth away from the large glass jar, revealing the severed head of Dr. Happy. The head was in pretty bad condition. Most of the skin had rotted away, showing patches of discolored meat and bone. The lips had receded back from the protruding teeth, and the eyes had shriveled up in the sockets. Thin wisps of hair sailed away from the misshapen skull, drifting slowly on the preservative fluids that filled the jar. What made it so much worse was that the head was very definitely still alive. The eyes tracked back and forth, fixing on people in turn, and the mouth moved constantly, as though trying to speak. Everyone studied the head with varying amounts of horror and disgust, except for Nina, who pressed forward eagerly.
    “Oh, this is just gross! Puketacular! This is going to look really great on the next news broadcast. Lead spot guaranteed; they won’t be able to look away. We were all sure Finn had him killed long ago. Why didn’t Finn have him killed?”
    “It wasn’t for want of trying,” Mr. Sylvester admitted, gesturing for du Katt to put the glass jar down on a nearby table. The head bobbed slightly, and a few bubbles popped out of the eaten-away nose. “It seems Dr. Happy had taken to dosing himself with some of his more esoteric concoctions. He was never the same, after he came back from Haden. As I understand it, and I’m quite prepared to admit that I don’t, the good Dr. Happy has been dead for some time, but he won’t lie down. Finn used him as target practice for a while, and then he had Dr. Happy beheaded, to stop him from running around and upsetting the servants. The body then ran about the lab, crashing into valuable equipment, while the head called the Emperor names. In the end the body was captured, cut up, and burned, and the ashes scattered in separate locations, just in case. And he sent you the head. It is yours to do with as you please, and no, you can’t send it back again. The same goes for du Katt, of course.”
    “What the hell was Dr. Happy trying to achieve with his drugs?” said Nina, kneeling before the glass jar, and tapping on the glass with her fingers, to try to attract the head’s attention.
    “No one’s exactly sure,” Mr. Sylvester said uncomfortably. “Apparently, at some point he saw beyond the boundaries of reality, and what he found there destroyed whatever rational part of his mind was left. All he did after that was throw things at people and wander through the palace corridors singing show tunes.