Read The Sons of Heaven for Free Online

root his people out, see what they’re up to. I’ll expect a full report in, say, six months’time?”
    “Very well,” said Victor, rising to his feet.
    “Good man. You’re going straight back to Hollywood, I suppose?”
    “I thought I’d overnight in Paris,” Victor answered. “I never miss a chance to stay at Les Andelys if I can manage it.”
    “That place where Cazaubin was sous-chef?” Aegeus looked sincerely interested for a moment. “Excellent choice! Do enjoy yourself, please. You’ve certainly earned it.”
    He turned with an expression of dismissal and began to study something at the terminal that rose from the surface of his desk. Victor found his own way out.
    But he did not go to Paris.

Fez, 11 August 2330
    There was a certain quarter of the old city no longer very fashionable, close as it was to the vast power station. Here rose the white wall of a private home,high and nearly featureless, revealing nothing of what might lie beyond it. There was an old door painted blue; far up there were narrow windows, and their carved screens were also painted blue. Anyone who took the trouble to follow the wall around would discover that it enclosed five acres, and would conclude that this was the private compound of some very successful businessman or minor prince.
    In a way, it was both. It was the Company HQ for Suleyman, Executive Facilitator, Regional Sector Head for North Africa. It had also become a place of sanctuary, a harem, and a family home.
    Victor walked unhurriedly toward the blue door. He neared it and it opened from within, silently, and he stepped through: a white man in a white suit disappearing into a white wall. The door closed.
    A mortal servant made obeisance to him, and led him down a dark cool passageway. Halfway along, another immortal stepped out from a side passage a mortal wouldn’t have noticed and fell into step beside Victor. Victor had expected this. He didn’t react.
    “Is it another plague?” inquired Latif. He was Suleyman’s son-in-immortality and he was lean and tall, with the harsh aquiline features of a black corsair.
    “Yes,” Victor told him. “But—is Nan here presently?”
    Latif raised an eyebrow. “No,” he replied. “She’s back in Paris.”
    “Just as well, I suppose,” said Victor.
    “You have some news for her?”
    “Possibly,” said Victor. Neither of them said anything more until the mortal had led them farther into the depths of the house and up a flight of echoing tiled stairs. They came to a door and the servant bowed, made to slip away. Latif put a hand on his shoulder.
    “Tea,” he ordered. He looked aslant at Victor. “Two glasses, one chlorilar cup.”
    The mortal was mildly shocked but hastened to obey.
    “Come in, Victor, please,” said someone with a deep voice from beyond the door. Latif opened the door and they went in.
    Suleyman was seated at a low table, upon which a shatrang board had been set up. Four mortal children knelt opposite. Three looked up to stare as Victor and Latif entered but the fourth kept her gaze fixed on the board. Her little fists were clenched. Seeing that a game was in progress, the immortals waited. As they watched, the child reached out and moved one of the pieces.
    “You want to sacrifice your Vizier?” Suleyman inquired. Horrified, the childshook her head. Suleyman glanced up at the immortals. “You were distracted by my guest,” he told the child. “You may withdraw the move.”
    “Thank you, lord,” she said, and hastily put the game piece back.
    “You need to learn concentration to the point where nothing, not the walls of the house collapsing where you sit, can distract you from the game,” concluded Suleyman, and rising from the table he ordered the game positions to print. He collected the hard copy from the rosewood console housing his credenza and passed out the sheets to the children. “That’s all for today. Take these home and study them this week. And, tell your parents,