At last, I am home.
The Eursans fell prostrate at Abraxas’s feet. He stood there for a moment, allowing them to worship him.
“Which of you is Chancellor Steigen?” he asked.
“I, Lord Abraxas,” said an older man from the floor. His garb was ornate while the others’ were industrial hues: grays and tans.
“I should have known. Please rise, Chancellor Steigen.” The man rose to his knees, and then, with grinding effort, to his feet. He regarded Abraxas with wide eyes.
“You will have to forgive me, Lord. I am not as spry as I used to be,” he said, breathless.
“How you prattle. If I wish to know more about a dog, I shall ask its keeper. Who is your keeper, dog?”
“My lord is Abraxas!” he said.
“Yes, dog. You must learn not to speak in front of your betters. But I am feeling generous this evening. Perhaps it is the coolness of the air that soothes me. I shall allow you to live for another day.”
“Oh, thank you, master, thank you!” Steigen gushed with the joy of one who knows that the executioner’s hand has just been withdrawn from his axe. To Alastor, such groveling was sickening, but then he remembered the episode in his ship’s command center, and took care to guard his thoughts.
“Now, if your mind is not too terribly addled, perhaps you can take us to speak to those we have come to see,” Abraxas said, no longer bothering to hide his petulant exasperation.
“Very well. Lord Abraxas, Sir Alastor, will you follow me? I have prepared everything.” This time the foolish man made sure not to engage in eye contact with either him or Abraxas.
Dogs can be taught, after all.
Chancellor Steigen led them through cramped hallways lit with the type of industrial lighting that could only be described as adequate. They flickered every few seconds, casting a strobing effect on the occasional worker that strode by. Alastor took note of a short, burly man wearing threadbare blue denim coveralls that were smattered with petrol smears. The man grinned, treating Alastor to a mouthful of misshapen black lumps that were once teeth; his eyes, stupid but twinkling, were deep-set beneath a pronounced brow.
Alastor examined the tile floor below him. Though scrubbed clean, it could not hide the abrasions and wear marks of heavy use. There were smudges on the painted cinderblock walls that no number of cleanings could remove.
“This place is filthy!” Alastor sneered. “You were instructed to make it suitable for Abraxas’s arrival.” Steigen’s face went white, and he seemed to be struggling to force words from lips that would not obey.
“Well, sir, it is a public building, not a palace worthy of Abraxas, I know. But we did the best we could,” he answered. “The labor sector, as you know, is not cooperating, and—’’
“Yes, we know all about your inability to control those under your charge. Rest assured, we will—” Alastor interjected, but he was interrupted by Abraxas’s hand on his shoulder.
“Chancellor Steigen, this is the very reason we have come to help you,” Abraxas said.
Alastor sighed and turned his attention back to Steigen. “It will suffice for the time being, so long as it does not collapse. You haven’t had any buildings collapse lately, have you, Steigen?”
“None in this sector, sir.”
“Your assurance does little to comfort me. But as I have said, these quarters must suffice for now, provided that construction begins on the palace very soon. Lead on, please.”
Steigen’s eyes darted from Alastor to Abraxas, who nodded his assent. Then he turned and led them to a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. He opened the doors, then stepped aside and bowed, gesturing for them to enter the conference room with a sweep of his arm.
“If you will take your seats, my lords, Premier Eladin will be with you momentarily.”
Chancellor Steigen motioned toward a set of office chairs flanking an imposing oak desk. At the head of the table was an ornate throne. It was carved from a rich, dark wood, its surfaces swirled with beautiful burls.
“Lord Abraxas, how do you like it? One of our artisans carved it as a welcoming gift,” said Steigen, wringing his hands. Alastor noticed that Steigen was trembling and didn’t dare make eye contact with Abraxas.
“It is beautiful, Steigen. Please give your artisan my thanks.”
On the meeting table was a large object under a tarp.
“And this, my Lord. Your headdress, as you requested,” Steigen said, pulling the tarp aside with a flourish. Underneath the tarp sat a golden headpiece that resembled a fierce Tarsi.
“It is delightful,” Abraxas said, taking a seat in his carved chair. “Alastor, if you please.” He looked at the headdress, then back to Alastor, tapping his claws on the arms of the chair.
“Right away, sire,” Alastor said, striding to the table and lifting the headpiece off the table. It was heavy, an indication of quality craftsmanship. He placed it on Abraxas’s shoulders.
“It is wonderful. I can see perfectly through the eyes. It is the perfect visage with which to receive and address my subjects,” Abraxas said.
“It is not too heavy, my Lord?” Steigen said, hands trembling.
“A king’s crown should be heavy, to remind him of the burden of his duty. Well done, Steigen.”
A wide spectrum of emotion passed over Steigen’s face. His eyes glistened with tears.
“Steigen, if you are done bawling, perhaps you could please bring us Eladin and his advisors,” Alastor said.
“My Lord, they come.”
Maroon curtains on a far wall began to part, creaking and groaning on some unseen ancient mechanism. A sort of stage appeared, adorned with five small silver pedestals embedded in the floor and arranged in a diamond pattern, with one in the center. The whine of old computers awakening filled the air, and images began to appear above the pedestals: first spectral human outlines ringed by dancing motes of dust, then full three-dimensional figures. The illusion was quite convincing, save for the occasional shimmer as data pipes struggled to push the large amounts of audio and video.
There were five of them—three men and two women—dressed in charcoal-hued suits. Bright ties, cravats, and silk blouses popped in vibrant colors that were accentuated by the 3D holograms’ real-picture enhancement. The man in the center seemed to be the leader, for the others were watching him, as if waiting for cues. Alastor noted his height and his broad shoulders. He was middle-aged, black hair streaked with austere gray at the temples. He flashed a smile, but the eyes above the pearlescent grin were cautious and hawk-like.
“Lord Abraxas, Master Alastor,” said the grinning man. He dropped to one knee, his silk suit swishing. The others followed suit. Alastor noticed a single bead of sweat coursing down the side of the holo-man’s face.
“You must be Premier Eladin.”
“Yes, Lord Abraxas. We must apologize that we cannot meet you in person due to circumstances you are no doubt aware of. We hope that these real-3D representations are pleasing enough. What can we do for you?”
“Whether you appear to me in flesh or as photons matters not to me. I need only to know if you and your Corpus Verum agree to our terms,” said Abraxas.
Eladin turned his head as he peered at Abraxas. “And what terms are you speaking of?”
“An agreement your chancellor has brokered.”
At this a tumult of hushed words and exchanged looks of fear erupted from the councilors of Hastrom City.
“Sir, we know of no such—”
“SILENCE, mongrel!”
The lights dimmed, and the air seemed to grow ten degrees colder. Steigen shivered and recoiled, looking as though he wished to shrink and scamper away. Alastor only smiled and placed his metallic boots on the table with a pronounced clank.
Abraxas cocked his great, obtuse head, cracking the bones in his neck. He took a deep breath, held it, then released.