Read Book 1 - Shadow Games for Free Online

smooth
over.
    “There’s only three of us, Croaker,” Hagop
protested. “What do you want? They don’t want to be
kept in line.”
    “I know you guys. You’ll think of something. While
you’re at it, get this junk packed up. It has to go down to
the ship.”
    “Yes sir, your grand legateship, sir.”
    I was about to deliver one of my fiery, witty, withering
rejoinders when Murgen stuck his head into the room and said,
“The coach is ready, Croaker.”
    And Hagop wondered aloud, “How do we keep them in line
when we don’t even know where they are? Nobody’s seen
them since lunchtime.”
    I went out to the coach hoping I would not get an ulcer before I
got out of the empire.
    We roared through Opal’s streets, my escort of Horse
Guards, my black stallions, my ringing black iron coach, and I.
Sparks flew around the horses’ hooves and the coach’s
steel wheels. Dramatic, but riding in that metal monster was like
being locked inside a steel box that was being enthusiastically
pounded by vandalistic giants.
    We swept up to the Gardens’ understated gate, scattering
gawkers. I stepped down, stood more stiffly erect than was my wont,
made an effete gesture of dismissal copied from some prince seen
somewhere along life’s twisted way. I strode through the
gate, thrown open in haste.
    I marched back to the Camelia Grotto, hoping ancient memory
would not betray me. Gardens employees yapped at my heels. I
ignored them.
    My way took me past a pond so smooth and silvery its surface
formed a mirror. I halted, mouth dropping open.
    I did, indeed, cut an imposing figure, cleaned up and dressed
up. But were my eyes two eggs of fire, and my open mouth a glowing
furnace? “I’ll strangle those two in their
sleep,” I murmured.
    Worse than the fire, I had a shadow, a barely perceptible
specter, behind me. It hinted that the legate was but an illusion
cast by something darker.
    Damn those two and their practical jokes.
    When I resumed moving I noted that the Gardens were packed but
silent. The guests all watched me.
    I had heard that the Gardens were not as popular as once they
had been.
    They were there to see me. Of course. The new general. The
unknown legate out of the dark tower. The wolves wanted a look at
the tiger.
    I should have expected it. The escort. They had had four days to
tell tales around town.
    I turned on all the outward arrogance I could muster. And inside
I echoed to the whimper of a kid with stage fright.
    I settled in in the Camelia Grotto, out of sight of the crowd.
Shadows played about me. The staff came to enquire after my needs.
They were revolting in their obsequiousness.
    A disgusting little part of me gobbled it up. A part just big
enough to show why some men lust after power. But not for me, thank
you. I am too lazy. And I am, I fear, the unfortunate victim of a
sense of responsibility. Put me in charge and I try to accomplish
the ends to which the office was allegedly created. I guess I
suffer from an impoverishment of the sociopathic spirit necessary
to go big time.
    How do you do the show, with the multiple-course meal, when you
are accustomed to patronizing places where you take whatever is in
the pot or starve? Craft. Take advantage of the covey hovering
about, fearful I might devour them if not pleased. Ask this, ask
that, use a physician’s habitual intuition for the hinted and
implied, and I had it whipped. I sent them to the kitchens with
instructions to be in no haste, for a companion might join me
later.
    Not that I expected Lady. I was going through the motions. I
meant to keep my date without its other half.
    Other guests kept finding excuses to pass by and look at the new
man. I began to wish I had brought my escort along.
    There was a rolling rumble like the sound of distant thunder,
then a hammerclap close at hand. A wave of chatter ran through the
Gardens, followed by grave-dead silence. Then the silence gave way
to the rhythm of steel-tapped heels falling in unison.
    I did not