Deathstalker 08 - Deathstalker Coda

marginally better. She was working with a few other rogue media people to put together a rebel news site, tapping briefly into the main media feeds to try to get a little truth on the air now and again. There wasn’t any money in it yet, but Nina had great hopes for the future. There were quite a few ex-media people in the Rookery, since Finn’s people had taken complete control of all the official media. There were no shows anymore, just constant propaganda. There were riots in the streets on the day The Quality was taken off the air, but Finn had just had his people use the rioters for target practice, until they got the message and slunk off home. But a lot of newspeople had brought their technical knowledge to the Rookery, and the rebel news site was already up and running. Unfortunately, it took expensive and hard-to-get tech to keep it on the air, and keep fighting its way through the official censor’s firewalls, so there was always a problem with funding. It wasn’t as though they could sell advertising space.
    Douglas and Stuart had been on duty outside the Lantern Lodge entrance since first light, and now it was nearly midday. It had been drizzling for hours, a cold, numbing persistent fall that soaked everything and everyone. The sewers were overrunning again, and the stench in the street was almost unbearable. The heavy gloomy day settled over everyone like a bad mood. People slouched back and forth along the narrow streets, heads down to avoid eye contact, in pursuit of work or a room or anything that might bring in a few credits. Times were hard. There was damn all left to steal, and rats were becoming a delicacy. But crowded as the street was, everyone gave the two masked bravos outside the Lantern Lodge plenty of room. Douglas and Stuart had demonstrated their willingness to protect the hotel on many occasions, in a professionally violent and disturbingly thorough way that had impressed even the hardened denizens of the Rookery. Which was why the two men were just a little surprised to observe a small crowd of heavily armed men heading in their direction. The dozen or so men moved like professional fighters, and while they hadn’t drawn any weapons yet, there was something about them that suggested their appearance was only a matter of time.
    “You know them?” Douglas said quietly to Stuart.
    “Some of them. Brion de Rack’s men. Protection racketeer. Pretty much everyone around here pays off de Rack, just to be left alone. But he usually targets the bigger businesses, not dumps like this.”
    “Maybe he’s branching out. How do you want to play this?”
    “Oh, the usual,” said Stuart, resting one hand on the pommel of his sword. “Reason first, escalating quickly to extreme violence.”
    “Sounds like a plan to me,” said Douglas.
    The dozen or so thugs and bullyboys came to a halt a respectful distance away from the two masked bravos. The street rapidly cleared as everyone else suddenly remembered they had urgent business elsewhere. Window shutters slammed together up and down the street like a round of applause. Even the drizzle seemed to hold back, as though anxious to see what would happen next. One of the men stepped forward to face Douglas and Stuart. He was taller than most, and bigger, with a layer of fat over his muscles to show he was one of the few people in the Rookery still eating well and often. He wore a long, heavy leather coat, decorated all over with steel piercings. A row of human scalps had been stitched to one sleeve as trophies. He wore splashes of bright color on his face, under a flat, dark, wide-brimmed hat. He smiled easily at Douglas and Stuart, but it didn’t touch his eyes.
    “Step aside, boys. My business is with the owner.”
    “We don’t step aside,” Douglas said calmly. “It’s bad for our reputation. You want to talk to the owner, you talk to us first.”
    “Now, that’s a very unfriendly attitude. You don’t want to hurt my feelings, do you?”
    “We’re not paid to be friendly,” said Stuart.
    “All right. I will go that extra mile, to avoid unnecessary trouble. The name is Sewell. I work for Brion de Rack. This is his territory. You live in his territory, you pay him tribute. That’s just the way it is. In return, we make sure nothing horribly destructive happens to your property. Or, indeed, you. Nasty things pretty much nearly always happen, if you’re not de Rack’s friend.”
    “We’re a bit small fry for de Rack, aren’t