Stan Nicholls - Quicksilver Zenith

‘You would,’ Serrah told him. She probably meant it humorously. He decided to take it that way.

‘Our thought was to rename it,’ Karr revealed; ‘call it something that has more relevance to its new status. Perhaps after one of the Resistance martyrs, like Sab Winneba, Kryss Mirrall or –’

‘I’m sure they’re deserving,’ Caldason cut in, ‘but face it, Patrician; nobody’s going to call it anything but the name that’s stuck.’

‘The Council feel this would be a good opportunity to honour someone who made the ultimate sacrifice for the cause.’

‘Very commendable. But don’t you think we should concentrate on getting there first?’

Kutch broke the ensuing silence. ‘I always assumed it was named after its shape or something.’

‘No,’ Karr replied, ‘its function.’

‘I didn’t know they actually mined gems there.’

‘They don’t. It’s called the Diamond Isle because of the wealth it generated.’

‘So how come we got the chance to buy it?’ Serrah asked.

‘It’s been in decline for years. It was at its height as an attraction when Reeth here was a child. If it still produced riches on that scale we wouldn’t be in a position to buy it. As it is, the present owner’s had enough and is looking to retire.’

‘How can an island that size be private property? I thought only the empires’ rulers had the kind of clout needed to own real estate on that scale.’

‘The island’s status has always been an anomaly. Way back, a century or more, it was as much a pawn for Rintarah and Gath Tampoor as Bhealfa is today, or any of the other states they squabble over.’

‘What happened to change that?’ Kutch asked.

‘Both sides came to feel it was too insignificant a prize to shed blood over. Then somebody, probably one of the old bandit clans, came up with the idea of turning it into a pleasure retreat. That was during one of the empires’ virtuous periods, when gambling and prostitution were frowned on. Batariss filled the need. Another factor, of course, is that it’s not officially in anybody’s territorial waters, though it’s nearest to Bhealfa. But in practice, the island operates because whichever empire happens to be in control of this part of the world has let it.’

‘Why would they do that?’

Karr scrutinised his tiny audience. ‘You must have heard all this before.’

Serrah shrugged.

‘It fills the time until Disgleirio deigns to show himself,’ Caldason remarked.

‘I don’t know any of this,’ Kutch said. ‘I think it’s fascinating.’

‘All right,’ Karr went on. ‘Why have the empires left Bata – the Diamond Isle to its own devices?’ He took a reflective breath. ‘Well, there’s some evidence that in the early days, when the place was much more exclusive, the empires’ favoured supporters were sent there as a reward. Later, when it got easier for more people to go, the official view seemed to be that it served as an outlet for the masses’ pent-up resentments. Or at least it did for those who could afford it. And they tended to be the well-heeled, educated classes, who might organise opposition; the sort the rulers wanted to keep sweet. Then again, it’s rumoured that the authorities take rake-offs from the island. Unofficial taxes, some call them. Who knows why the Diamond Isle’s been left alone? I think it’s probably just unfinished business.’

‘They’ll finish it quickly enough when we start moving over in droves,’ Caldason warned.

‘Not if we do it artfully. And once there’s a sufficient number of us on the island …’

‘I know. We’ll make it too costly in blood to recapture. It’s a hell of a risky strategy.’

‘Of course it is. But we’ve planned meticulously. If the move goes as it should –’

‘That’s more likely to happen if you’ve got everybody behind you.’

‘I know the island strikes many in the Resistance as an unlikely choice –’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Serrah contributed, ‘a pleasure resort seems no more insane than anywhere else you might have picked.’

Karr ignored the gibe. ‘Look at it.’ He nodded at the gleaming map. ‘It’s perfect. About a tenth the size of Bhealfa, easily big enough to support a substantial population. It’s. got fresh water and ample wood. There’s plenty of arable land. And it’s defend-able. In time, we can make it completely self-sufficient.’

‘In time,’ Caldason echoed. ‘It’ll be a race, and if you think Gath Tampoor’s going to sit on its hands while you do it –’

‘It’s a gamble. We know that. The whole plan’s predicated on us beating some long odds. But what would you have us do otherwise? Give up and let our conquerors roll over us? Abandon any hope of ever throwing off their shackles?’

‘Nobody’s saying that,’ Serrah reminded him. ‘Anyway, is this the time to be going over it all again?’

‘You’re right. The owner’s going to be here any minute, and we have to show a united front.’

‘You’ll get no dissent from me,’ Caldason promised.

‘It would be nice to believe that.’ Karr smiled. ‘Phoenix himself has cloaked this place against eavesdropping. You’re our second line of defence, Kutch. I wouldn’t have asked you to do this, except for the chronic shortage of spotters. Particularly with the … difficulties you’ve been having lately.’

‘Are you saying this meeting could be dangerous?’ Caldason asked.

‘No. But let’s not lose sight of the kind of man we’re expecting. Are you all right about this, Kutch? Because if you’d rather …’

‘I want to help. But if I do sense something, what do I do?’

‘Just shout out loud,’ Caldason told him, ‘we’ll do the rest.’

‘Does our visitor know what we want the island for?’ Serrah wondered.

‘I don’t think he cares,’ Karr replied. ‘Though he’s not stupid. A shabby opportunist, yes; but not stupid.’

‘Can’t wait to meet him.’

Above a set of robust doors at the loft’s far end, a glamoured crimson orb began flashing.

‘You could be about to get your wish.’

With a rattle and creak, the doors swung open.

The man who entered was perhaps thirty years old, sported a clipped moustache and had a hardy countenance. His garb and easy confidence spoke of an adept swordsman.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, unlacing his cape. ‘The streets were choked and I was against the tide the whole way.’

‘Some of us started out early,’ Caldason offered.

‘Not all of us had that luxury.’

The Qalochian and Quinn Disgleirio, apostle of the Fellowship of the Righteous Blade, held each other’s gaze.

‘Don’t mind Reeth,’ Karr advised, ‘he’s in a fractious mood.’

‘When isn’t he?’

‘You’ve missed nothing, Quinn,’ Karr hastened to add. ‘Our guest hasn’t arrived yet.’

‘Yes he has. He’s on his way up now.’

The patrician’s manner was instantly businesslike. ‘All right. Weapons in plain view, as agreed.’ Disgleirio, Serrah and Caldason, with some reluctance, unsheathed their various blades and laid them on the table. ‘Kutch, put those blinkers of yours out of sight.’ The globe above the doors started to flash. ‘All of you; keep in mind that our visitor’s both smart and unprincipled. But remember that he needs us as much as we need him.’

The doors were thrown wide, crashing against the walls.

A small entourage entered. There were four bodyguards, dressed alike in black leather jerkins, trews and boots, with leather wrist and headbands. One was a woman, flame-haired, green-eyed, and no less hale than her masculine cohorts. All were extravagantly armed. They were clustered around their employer, and for a moment it looked as though they were carrying him shoulder high. As they fanned out it became obvious that he was held aloft not by muscle power, but sorcery. He sat on a large, padded disk, with a backrest similar to a chair’s. His legs dangled over the edge, and a thick safety belt girdled his waist.