Tanokbrey's skiff smacked into the side of a troop-barge, and angry yells and jeers were loosed at him as he tried to turn. From the shore, the crowd pelted him with fruit, stones and other missiles.
Cursing back at the angry soldiers, he slammed his skiff round the rear of the barge, trying to force his way across the canal.
I was closing on him now, trying to avoid the displeasure of the mob. Hooters and sirens bayed at him from the parade boats as he jostled across their paths. A trooper from one barge leapt onto his skiff to waylay him, and Tanokbrey kicked him off into the water before he could get a good footing. That turned things even uglier. The noise of the booing and outrage was immense. The parade bunched up badly, and dozens of furious guardsmen pressed at the rails of their barges, trying to reach him.
He over-rewed the skiff to get clear of them, and struck against a raft carrying a company band. Several instrument players toppled with the impact, and the proud Imperial anthem they had been playing dissolved in a cacophony of wrong notes and broken rhythms.
Enraged troopers in a smaller skiff drew alongside him, and rocked his craft dangerously as they tried to board. He pulled his handgun.
His last mistake. I pulled up short, and landed on the canal bank. There was no point in pressing the pursuit now.
Tanokbrey got off two shots into the mob. Then twenty or more freshly issued las-rifles on a neighbouring barge opened fire, smashing him and his stolen craft to pieces. The drive unit exploded, scattering hull fragments across the churning water. A curl of black smoke rose above the banners.
The young conscripts of the 50th Gudrunite Rifles had made the first kill of their military careers.
TEN
A conflict of jurisdiction.
The House of Glaw.
Stalking secrets.
Long after midnight, I was attempting to sleep in my bedchamber at the Dorsay Regency. Bequin and Aemos had both retired to their own rooms hours before. Reflected light from the canal outside played a series of silver ripples across the ceiling of my twilit chamber.
'Aegis, rose thorn!' Betancore's voxed whisper suddenly tapped at my ear.
'Rose thorn, reveal.'
'Spectres, invasive, spiral vine.'
I was already out of bed and into my breeches and boots, pulling my leather coat over my bare torso. I went out into the apartment lounge with my power sword in my hand.
The lights were off, but canal reflections played in here too, creating a fluttering half-light.
Betancore stood by the far wall, a needle pistol in each hand. He nodded at the main door.
They were good and they were very quiet, but we could both see slight movement against the cracks around the doors, backlit by the hall light.
A gentle vibration of the handle told me someone was springing the lock. Betancore and I dropped back against the walls either side of the doors. We closed our eyes and covered our ears. Any forcing of the door would trigger the deterrent charges, and we didn't want to wind up blind or deaf.
The door opened a crack. No flash charges roared. Our visitors had detected and neutralised the security countermeasures. They were even better than I first thought.
A slender telescopic rod extended smoothly in through the crack. An optical sensor on the end slowly began to pan around, searching the room. With a nod to Betancore, I moved forward, took hold of the rod and yanked hard. At the same moment, I ignited my power sword.
A body crashed into the doors, dragged forward by my hefty pull on the spy-stick, and came tumbling in. I leapt in to straddle the body, but despite his surprise, he writhed away with a curse, and threw a punch. 1 had a vague impression of a tall, thickly built man in form-fitting leather.
We flopped over together, wrestling, overturning a couch and knocking down a candle-stand. My opponent had a good grip on the wrist of my sword arm.
So I punched him in the throat with my left hand.
Hecollapsed, retching, onto the floor. i got up in time to hear a strong voice say, 'Put the weapons down now'
