The Emperor of Everything

Ruiz moved as silently as he could, ears straining for any evidence that one of Publius’s monsters lurked in a nearby passage. But at first all he heard was the drip of water, and very faintly the rumble of vast engines deep below. Still, he carried the splinter gun in one hand and kept his energy tube ready.

As he penetrated farther into the labyrinth, the passages grew narrower, the junctions more numerous and confusing, the light dimmer. He hoped he hadn’t forgotten the safest route; it had been a long time since his last visit.

In some places the luminescent moss had died out entirely, and Ruiz moved through the velvet blackness with exquisite caution, fearing with every step that he might put his foot down on something that would bite it off. He began to hear unpleasant sounds: faraway roars, the pad of heavy feet, the sigh of things breathing in the darkness. None of the sounds necessarily meant anything dire; the labyrinth had erratic acoustics, and it was possible that none of Publius’s monsters were close to him.

He began to feel oppressed by the weight of the stack above him; to worry that it might choose this moment to yield to gravity. He knew it was an irrational fear; the stack had stood at its present precarious angle for a million years.

The air was hot and steamy, thick with stinks. As he went deeper he more frequently came across small heaps of carrion rotting here and there along the corridors — unsuccessful monsters, or the remains of other visitors, perhaps. Fresh droppings were a continual hazard; Ruiz could ill afford slippery boots.

He was beginning to wish that a monster would appear, so that he could stop anticipating and act.

When the thing came rushing out of the side passage, he realized what a foolish wish that had been.

It was tall and muscularly slender, with a vaguely humanoid torso and the head of a long-jawed reptile. Its arms were oddly articulated, with too many joints, but its claws were long and sharp, and it leaped toward Ruiz, arms reaching out to tear at him.

He snapped up the splinter gun and squeezed off a burst that tore diagonally across its chest. It fell forward, still intent on grabbing Ruiz, but he ducked under its arm and dodged to the side.

The splinters must have severed its spine, because it could only drag itself after Ruiz, scrabbling with its claws for purchase on the floor. It tried to speak, cursing or praying. The half-formed words were almost understandable.

Feeling a little sick, Ruiz put another burst between its yellow eyes. It died slowly; after he had left it behind, he could still hear the slow scrabble of its claws, the scrape of its scaly limbs against the stone.

He tried not to think about what he himself might become if Publius was in a bad mood, as he often was. Ruiz had no great claim on Publius’s charity, if indeed it existed. He could only hope that the monster-maker would be willing to grant him a favor, or to sell him one at a price he could afford.

He had never understood Publius’s devotion to his lunatic art — Publius appeared to be human, but Ruiz couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live inside Publius’s head. And the last time Ruiz had seen Publius, the monster-maker had entertained himself by telling Ruiz what interesting creatures he might carve from the raw material of Ruiz’s body.

Ruiz shuddered. Until this instant, he had forgotten just how much he detested and feared his old comrade-in-arms.

Corean could not sleep, so she sat up in her luxurious bed and ordered Lensh to bring her a flagon of soporific-laced hot milk and a plate of butter cookies. While she waited for the drug to take effect, she occupied herself by running the bedroom holotank through the offerings on the public slave market, beginning with the merchandise to be offered the following day.

She first assumed that Ruiz Aw would be sufficiently clever to offer his wares under false names and provenances, to prevent her from tracing the offerings before he had sold them and gone his way. So she set up the search parameters to select for lowtech Hardworld inhabitants with performance art skills. She was sure that Ruiz would be unable to resist the temptation to get a good price for his prizes, and if he sold them as unskilled primitives, he’d get next to nothing for the men — though the woman would bring a decent price from the downlevel harlotries.

The open market in SeaStack was vast, however, and she paged through a hundred images and stat sheets without success — every slaver in SeaStack seemed to be overstocked on primitive performers: raindancers from Pueblo, flame-singers from Hell II, beastbreakers from Silverdollar, passionplayers from GoldenEye.