The Jade Queen by Jack Conner

Author:Jack Conner
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Publisher: Thrilling Tales
Published: 2012-01-04T04:30:00+00:00

***

Lynch swore inwardly. Soldiers stood to either side of him -- only two, but surely the elite of the elite. It would not do to resist. That would only draw more soldiers and further alienate him from the Queen.

“After you, of course,” Lynch said.

The Prince’s lips twitched. “Follow me.”

He set off, and Lynch followed. The two soldiers took up the rear, alert and grim-faced. What had Michael told them -- that Lynch had come here to assassinate the Queen? Or perhaps they were members of the Society and had partaken of the serum which made them supermen but which required them to kill fellow humans -- or as they would have it, lesser humans -- to live, as if they were some sort of modern-age vampire. Lynch hoped for the latter because he might well have to kill them, and he wanted to feel good about it.

He turned his head to give Queen Fontaine a last look. To his surprise, she had not moved on, but continued to stare at him, and Michael, an unreadable expression on her face. An admirer bowed to her and gestured toward the dance floor, and her attention was distracted.

Prince Michael led Lynch out of the ballroom and down a side hall, its ceilings high, its walls lined with silver-framed mirrors and priceless oils. Exquisite scrollwork shone along the walls and door frames. The soldiers’ boots rang heavily on the beautiful burgundy carpet, sounding like an axe slicing into flesh with each step.

Lynch eyed Prince Michael’s back. His neck. It was long but muscular, a good neck. Lynch could impale it with his hook, rip out the jugular. Of course, that would require him to draw back his arm and coil it, an action that would be sure to have the soldiers on him instantly.

Michael reached a connecting hall, led down this to a somewhat smaller hall and, pausing before a certain door, knocked three times. Someone within opened it and Michael swept inside. The soldiers behind Lynch prodded him forward, and after they entered the door slammed shut, and Lynch found himself in a medium-sized room, a large antique table in the center and paintings of somewhat lesser quality on the walls. A little-used meeting room, then.

Before the table stood a grossly fat man with a thick black beard and hooded eyes. When his eyes shone from beneath the shaggy brows, they glimmered like those of a snake’s. He wore an elaborate robe (his belly straining against it) of reds and golds, a tall conical hat of the same hues, and carried a bejeweled staff. Lynch recognized him as the Grand Vizier, a vaguely sinister figure in court politics. Lynch had always likened him to Rasputin in his own mind, and the dark, hooded eyes only added to the impression, if not his extreme obesity. As far as Lynch knew, however, it was not the occult that drove the man, but more earthly human vices: greed and the lust for power being uppermost. He and the Prince made excellent bedfellows.

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