Page 111

“How do you know all this?” Apollonius asks skeptically.

“One of your family lawyers defected several years ago.”

“And where is he now?”

“Slipped in the shower,” Sevro says. “Our people found him in thirty-four pieces. Atalantia likes her assassins to make a statement.”

Apollonius smiles pleasantly. “And what of my brother? Has he sat idle as the house of my mother and father was pillaged by that Lunese brute?”

“The lawyer said Tharsus has given himself over to vice,” I say.

“Oh, how typical of him.” He picks at his nails. “If my house has fallen to disgrace, what is my utility to you? In six years, I imagine the defenses for Venus have quite changed. I have neither information nor means.”

“No. But your brother does.”

I throw a holo of Venus into the air above the table. The verdant planet with two polar ice caps is ringed with metal and military ships. A great dark spot mars the center of one of Venus’s oceans. Starhall thinks that is where the Ash Lord resides, but his confidants are far more discreet than those of Valii-Rath.

“This is the latest image of Venus from our spy telescopes,” I say. “Unlike Luna, she is self-sustaining. Farmland, teeming oceans, and vast mineworks. But the rigors of war are demanding. All production is geared toward the war effort. There is no trade. That means no ships in or out.”

“There is trade from Mercury….”

“No longer. Mercury’s skies are mine,” I say.

Apollonius’s eyebrows float upward. “Indeed? Respect. How did you bypass the defense platforms?”

“With an Iron Rain,” Sevro says.

“What a price you must have paid. What a price.” He looks around the table. “Is that why you must risk life and limb for this desperate gambit, because you shattered your army?”

I ignore him. “As you can see, there is an extreme military presence on Venus. The engines of this ship and the stealth capabilities could concei

vably run the blockade to escape Venus if we need to, but not to land there. We need you to help us land.”

“As I said—”

“Your brother may have tamed his spirit to survive. He may have bent a knee to the Ash Lord. But what is one thing that a brother Rath cannot tame?”

Sevro looks at Apollonius’s plate. “His appetite.”

“The rigors of war have forced even the wealthy to ration. But your brother has plunged himself into debt with his taste for blackmarket goods, and his appetite has not declined. Sevro…”

He pulls up his datapad. “Ninety-nine boxes of Earth wine, two hundred bottles of baiji, two hundred bottles of brandy.” He grimaces and says in a small voice, “One hundred thirty-seven bottles of Earth whiskey. Four bottles from Mars.” I look back at him, noting the low count of Martian whiskey. Sevro remains assiduously looking down at his datapad. “Two hundred bottles of arrack. Two hundred bottles of schochu. Two thousand kilograms of beef, five hundred kilograms of lamb, four hundred snails, three kilograms of hummingbird tongues, three kilograms of caviar, and twenty imaginary Pinks of Quicksilver’s personal stock.”

Slowly, Apollonius begins to clap.

“Yes. Yes! Now, that is the Reaper I remember! Tharsus will not be able to resist. Avarice is his nature. He will have a broker beyond Venus, likely Bastion station. I suppose that destination may prove inconvenient.” I nod. “Then I will need a facial construct to alter my features and a com station with access to the main antenna array to contact the broker. But landing on Venus does not kill the Ash Lord. He lives in a fortress.”

I point at the dark spot on the map. “Republic Intelligence’s working theory is that he hangs his crown in the darkzone. Can you confirm?”

“There was talk of a cloaking device to absorb radio and lightwaves,” Apollonius says. “I see our engineers have made progress. That is the location of Gorgon Isle, his fortress. It is four hundred kilometers from my island. But you will need an army to breach his defenses.” He looks again at the narrow lines of the room. “And something tells me you have no army.”

“But you still do,” I say. “The Ash Lord couldn’t have taken all of your men. And I wonder. What do you think will happen when we land on your island and your legionnaires see that Apollonius au Valii-Rath, the Mad Minotaur himself, has come home? He does not return as a prisoner of the Rising, but with a platoon of loyal commandos.”

I take his Minotaur helm from a bag and slam it on a table.

“I am not mad,” he growls.

“The indomitable Minotaur,” Sevro tries.