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meridian_roseThis is a multi-post fiction; please refer to the index post for a full description of content/warnings.
DARIEN RAHL
His name was Darien Rahl, but one typo and some press bias later, and he was widely known as Darken Rahl. Not that he minded; Rahl was of the opinion that there was only rarely bad publicity and that it was far better to be feared than ignored. This set him at odds with his campaign manager, Michael Cypher, who pointed out how they themselves had used the stain of bad publicity to their advantage. The private investigator they'd hired had come through with some high quality photos that left no doubt in the imagination that Arthur Margrave, his election platform being one based on high moral standards, had committed almost every sin on his own list of offences. Margrave had stepped down in defeat and his replacement, John Herald, was no threat in the face of Rahl's charisma.
Rahl's family had emigrated to America before his birth. His father had claim to an English title – one that still existed, but had no lands attached to it. Rahl was fond of the gravitas and nobility the title conferred on him. Therefore he was more likely to be soothed when someone addressed him as “Lord Rahl”.
No amount of bowing and scarping would help today, Denna knew. This was Cypher's fault. He insisted everything be documented: every illegal act, every underhand payment. She had a suspicion it was his backup plan, leverage that would keep him alive once Rahl tired of him – he had a habit of tiring of his staff quickly. Two books of accounts were kept, one the legitimate accounts of a wealthy man in the running for a senate position, detailing his shares in the Corporation, the campaign funds, the security expenditures. The other held all this with the addition of the dirty laundry that must never see the light of day – and worse, not just the accounts indicating services such as the private investigator's pay, but copies of all of the scientific reports of the Corporation. The ones that were less about the bottom line but did explain how many deaths had been caused by Giller's experiments.
That such a ledger even existed was a gross negligence. Cypher had downplayed its danger, claiming it was a necessary risk. He feared an attack on the Corporation (and there had been attacks) and to lose all their research would be a tragedy. The only solution was to keep a copy of everything in the secure vault below the science facility maintained by the Corporation (Rahl Industrial Corporation but only ever referred to in-house as the Corporation, or the Corp).
And now the vault had been breached and the ledger was gone.
Denna was head of security and it was her responsibility. She thought about running, but knew Rahl would find her. She would have to tell him, and Lord Rahl's temper was legendary. Her only hope of remaining unscathed was to find a scapegoat. The theft had to have been an inside job, that much was obvious, but so few people had access to the lower levels, let alone the vault, that she had few people to choose from.
In the finish she made her decision, though he was undoubtedly innocent, being too ambitious to risk bringing Rahl down before he was in office. Michael Cypher might try to stab Rahl in the back and steal his position once elected, but beforehand there was no point, and the man didn't have the morals to have turned against Rahl for the crimes he'd committed. But it was him, Giller (beyond reproach in Rahl's eyes), Denna, Rahl himself, or Egremont, and Egremont had been out the country on business for the last week, had been photographed just yesterday at a reception in Toronto, so she had no choice.
If Cypher was innocent, then who had taken the book? Denna had a terrible feeling it was someone close to her, someone who'd stolen her keycard and used it to break into the vault. Someone smart enough to turn off the CCTV and then return her keycard before skipping town. She knew it had been a mistake to trust Grix. He'd been a one night stand that had turned into a weekly affair. And now he'd betrayed her – all attempts to locate him had failed. And Rahl must never know that her poor choice in lovers had led to this tragedy.
Denna entered Rahl's office, closing the door behind her. She knelt immediately. This was no time for pride. Submission, however, might save her.
“My Lord Rahl,” she said, feeling sweat gather beneath her tight red t-shirt. “I bring grave news.”
“Indeed?” Rahl asked, leaning back in his chair. He swept back a lock of long dark hair from his face. Cypher had told him to cut it in order to look more like a politician than a rock star. Rahl had laughed at that; he enjoyed the thought of being a rock idol, and he said people were tired of politicians and their empty phrases, their dull suits, boring haircuts. He said he wanted to stand out.
“My Lord Rahl,” Denna said again, praying he wouldn't kill her, “the vault was breached last night.”
Rahl was on his feet in an instant, eyes flashing in anger. “The vials?”
“No, My Lord,” Denna whispered. “Only one thing was taken.” She whimpered, hated herself for the weakness. “The Book of Shadow Accounts.”
Rahl's scream of rage echoed throughout the top floor of the building. Other workers who heard it chose this time to get coffee, take emergency personal time, and in one case, resign.
Inside his office, Rahl had Denna pinned against the wall, his hands at her throat. “How could this happen?” he demanded.
Denna choked, barely able to get her breath. “Someone – on – the – inside,” she wheezed. Rahl loosened his hold a fraction and she drew a harsh breath. “The vault was opened, not broken into."
“There are only four of us with access to the vault,” Rahl told her.
“I believe it was Michael Cypher,” Denna said. “It was his idea to keep the treacherous book in the first place, my Lord, and he is George Cypher's son.”
George Cypher had often spoken out against Rahl. When Michael had joined Rahl, he and his father had never spoken again. Michael hadn't even attended his father's funeral. To this day, Michael didn't know that Rahl had arranged for a switch in George Cypher's medication that would prove fatal, and had paid off a medical examiner to ensure this never came to light. But if Michael had discovered it, he might well have turned on Rahl.
Rahl released Denna and she sank to the floor. She rubbed at her throat, felt the marks in her skin where the leather thong of office had dug into her flesh.
“You are certain?” Rahl asked.
“Who else could have done this thing, my Lord?” Denna asked. “I shall search his desk; I am sure to find proof.” And she would, because she would plant it.
“Confirm your suspicions,” Rahl said. “Find the book.”
*
The book was gone, of course. Denna printed off some anti-Rahl propaganda and “found” it in Michael's desk while Triana and Dahlia held him for questioning in her office. She forged an email that he'd been planning to send to a known investigative journalist, Livia, who'd been sniffing around for the story that would bring Rahl down ever since he'd made his announcement to stand for office.
“He has betrayed you,” Denna said sorrowfully when she made her report to Rahl. “Betrayed us, our cause.”
“Where is the book?” Rahl asked.
“He will not say,” Denna said. “We used all of our powers of persuasion.” She touched the Taser at her hip, the ever-prevalent weapon of Rahl's security staff.
“Bring him before me,” Rahl said.
Michael, bruised, and shaken by the cruel and repeated application of the Tasers - despite his pleas of innocence and requests for mercy - was dragged into Rahl's office
“Listen, Darien,” he begged. “I didn't do this. Why would I? I want to see you in power. I have sacrificed so much for that.”
“You're about to sacrifice some more,” Rahl seethed. “Do you think you could deceive me? You know what happens to those who betray me!”
"Wait, I know–" Michael never got finish the sentence for Rahl nodded to Denna, who knocked Michael unconscious with one vicious blow.
“You wish for me to kill him?” she asked. “We could make it look like an accident – or a murder. I have some suitable suspects for the police to look into. Anna Brighton's public break-up with Cypher is on record, and she did threaten violence against him. It wouldn't take much effort to frame Anna and leave us in the clear.”
“No,” Rahl said, fingering his beard. “That would be a wasted opportunity.”
RICHARD CYPHER
Richard Cypher stared at the letter.
“We regret to inform you,” he said bitterly. They might as well have been telling him that his DVD was out of stock, sorry for the inconvenience, but they hoped he'd continue to shop with them. This was no way to be told that his brother was in a coma and unlikely to recover. That it had taken a week to inform him was another matter.
There'd been news reports, but nothing conclusive; that Michael Cypher had stepped down from his position was the only clear fact, that illness had been a factor was a rumour. And Rahl's charisma and recent donation to a children's charity quickly drew attention away from this minor bump in his campaign.
“I'm so sorry, my boy,” Zedd told him, pushing his half-moon spectacles back on his nose. They were sitting in the reading area of the second hand bookstore. It held two old but comfortable stuffed sofas, a table, and a fire that burned even during the hottest summer days.
Zorander's bookstore had been here since anyone could remember. Richard's father had brought him here to swap out books he'd finished with and choose new ones – and Zedd had always put aside books he thought Richard might like.
Fairy tales and fantasies, mythology, stories about heroes. These were staples of his childhood. As he grew up, Richard still loved science fiction and fantasy, but his tastes broadened and he devoured books on survival tactics, travel, and the law. These days Zedd put aside books on the required reading list for courses in criminology, because while he'd travelled for a while and was currently saving up money from his job - life guarding at the local leisure centre - Richard had expressed a wish to join the police force.
“I haven't spoken to him in five years,” Richard said. “And that was when I called him and said he had to come to our father's funeral. Which he didn't."
"I remember. His work-"
"Don't make excuses for him," Richard said. He sighed. "I didn't think this would bother me so much.”
“He's family,” Zedd said. “It's hard to cut them out of your life completely.”
Richard stood and paced, the letter crumpled in one fist. “It says there were drugs involved. That doesn't sound like Michael.”
“You said yourself that it's been years,” Zedd told him. “Perhaps he's changed.”
Richard folded the letter and put it in his pocket. He stared at a nearby shelf and removed a book, shelving it two books further to the left. Zedd tended to group books by subject or genre and then in an order approximating alphabetically. Richard liked to shelve things more tidily, not least because he knew it irritated the older man who claimed he knew where every single book was unless 'some idiot has moved them around'.
“I should go and see him,” he said.
“Are you sure that's wise?” Zedd sipped his tea. Richard's sat, un-tasted, on the scratched coffee table. “It would only upset you further, and he wouldn't know that you'd been there.”
Richard shook his head. “I kind of feel I should. They said he's in a private facility, receiving the best care Lord Rahl can provide.”
Zedd snorted. “Lord Rahl,” he said. “A man with delusions of grandeur if ever I saw one.”
“He really does have a title,” Richard said, and glanced at the wall by the cash register which was covered in newspaper clippings and adverts and certificates that Zedd had collected relating to his store and his self-published book of poetry. "People like to be proud of their heritage and achievements."
“I don't lie to people,” Zedd scoffed, unwilling to admit to being a glory hound himself. “I may occasionally exaggerate but that's just business.”
The bell above the door sounded and a young woman rushed in, breathless. She was wearing a black vest top that showed off ample cleavage and a long black skirt. When Richard took his eyes away from the cleavage he noticed the spotless white coat that trailed almost to the ankle of her boots, and thought he'd have got a coat like that dirty within about two minutes of putting in on.
The woman hurried over, sweeping a lock dark lock of hair back from her face. She was beautiful, Richard thought, even while flushed and distraught.
“Mr Zorander?” she asked.
“Depends,” Zedd said evasively, sipping his tea again. “You're not an auditor, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. I'm Kahlan Amnell, from the District Attorney's office. Or I was.”
“District Attorney?” Zedd asked, shiftily.
“You're not Kahlan Amnell anymore?” Richard asked, puzzled.
She stared at both of them. “I'm not with the DA's office anymore,” she explained. “I've been let go.”
“Fired,” Richard said helpfully.
This finally got him the full measure of her attention.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Richard Cypher,” he said, holding out his hand.
Kahlan paled, her already light skin turning the colour of porcelain. “Related to Michael Cypher?”
“My brother,” Richard said. “For the moment."
Zedd got to his feet. “What do you want with me, Kahlan Amnell, previously of the District Attorney's office?”
“To defeat Lord Rahl,” she said. “Darien Rahl has committed terrible crimes and is in the process of committing further evil deeds. I have reason to believe he is using human subjects in his company's latest drug trials without their consent. I believe he has killed to clear the way to taking office. And I have no proof, but now I know proof does exist and I would find it. And I think you can help me, Mr Zorander.”
Richard stared at Kahlan. “Are you one of those conspiracy theory nuts?” he asked.
Kahlan turned on him, blue eyes flashing in anger. “He killed your father, Richard. George Cypher spoke out against Rahl and people were listening. And now, for whatever reason, Rahl has poisoned your brother.”
Richard stepped in close to her. "How dare you waltz in here and start making ridiculous accusations," he said.
Zedd got to his feet. “Enough. I knew this day would come. I just hoped it wouldn't happen now. I've got a new book coming out, you know.”
“I'm amazed Rahl lets you live to pen your erotic verse,” Kahlan said.
“I've kept quiet,” Zedd said. “I've never betrayed him openly and to have me killed would just draw attention to the connection between us.”
“You and Rahl? You own a second hand bookstore! You write smutty poetry!” Richard was confused and upset by this sudden turn of events. He'd mourned his father and now he had to accept the fact that George Cypher had been murdered and there was justice to seek. He'd relied on Zedd as a friend especially with George and Michael out of his life, and now Kahlan was saying that his trusted confidante was involved with the people who had hurt his family.
“It's not smutty, it's erotic, and not all of the verses are sexual in nature,” Zedd huffed.
“The poetry? That's what you want to talk about?” Kahlan placed her hands on her hips. “Mr Zorander, we have a chance to take down Darien Rahl once and for all. But my contact in his organisation has gone silent and now I need your help.”
“Darken Rahl,” Richard said. “Zedd always calls him Darken Rahl.”
Zedd nodded. “And with reason. Let me make some tea and put up the closed sign and I'll do my best to explain.”
ZEDD Z. ZORANDER
Many years ago Zedd had been a respected scientist. The previous Lord Rahl, Piers, had favoured his research and funded his work. His son, Darien, was being groomed from a young age to take over the Corporation of which the scientific endeavours were one part. The Corporation had interests in aerospace, defence, crops, and of course, the pharmaceuticals industry. Zedd's work on slowing the aging process was an important part of that.
Darien went to college to study business but when he was orphaned just two months into his studies, he changed his major to political science. Chief Operations Officer Egremont became acting CEO until Darien graduated and then the new Lord Rahl took the reins of the Corporation.
He cleaned house, eliminating board members disloyal to him, and acquiring a controlling interest in the company. He began weeding out projects that were too controversial or might otherwise interfere with his political ambitions, and instituted new projects with a focus on societal improvements.
Except for Zedd's work. Darien had an interest in this most controversial project, and he wanted it to continue. And he made it clear to Zedd that he expected results. So Rahl pushed further into the field of medicine, and while most of the work he supported would save lives, there were secret projects that were quite the opposite.
Zedd's conscience wouldn't let him work for Rahl once he witnessed a death that was caused by the unsanctioned testing of one of the new drugs. Rahl had only been concerned that an autopsy wouldn't implicate him. Zedd left, and Rahl told him that one word to the police, the press, or anyone who might damage his career, and he'd hunt down Zedd's family and dispose of them first.
Zedd was a widower, and had one estranged daughter. While they'd had their differences, he would never risk her safety. In fact after leaving Rahl's employment, he tried building bridges with her. Tara Lyn Zorander gave birth to a child soon after Zedd had found her, but died shortly afterwards from unknown causes. Heartbroken and unwilling to risk his grandson's life by his association with the Zorander name, Zedd let friends of Tara's arrange an adoption.
A compromise was reached on this last point though; the Cypher family, with one son and a longing for another that had gone unfulfilled, were chosen to raise Richard Zorander. And Zedd moved nearby and made a new life for himself, and he and George Cypher kept watch over Richard as he grew into a fine young man. Rahl never bothered them during the intervening years and Zedd had grown complacent about the threat – until now.
"You say George Cypher was killed by Rahl?" Zedd said. "How?"
Kahlan shrugged. "My information suggests Rahl's beloved pharmaceuticals may have played a part."
"Rahl makes vaccines," Richard said. "Painkillers. Those new drugs that help heart disease. I know there's a lot of hatred for some of his work, but are you certain he's doing evil?"
"Rahl makes money from his good works," Zedd said. "He gains publicity. And not everyone in his employ is working for sinister ends. But the fact remains that Rahl also manufactures poisons to employ during wars and drugs for social compliance."
"Social compliance?" Richard asked, puzzled.
Zedd hung his head briefly. "I was working on ways to turn back or halt the aging process," he said. "But it's not just one issue, age. It's physical problems, everything from stiff joints to the effects of gravity on our skin. It's mental issues about memory and concentration. And while I was working on the issue of lucidity I stumbled on something terrible."
Kahlan leaned over and put one hand on his shoulder. "Go on. We need to know," she said softly.
"I found a way to manufacture a compound that can affect people's memories and thought patterns. To make them docile, if that is what is required, amendable to media messages and instructions from those in authority."
"Brainwashing," Richard said.
"More or less." Zedd sighed. "If Rahl ever gains enough political power he'll find a way to disguise it as something beneficial and introduce it into the water supply, and then he won't need to charm people. He'll just order them to do his bidding. At first I thought he was joking when he said it could be used to control people but he meant it. I thought there could be some good uses for it – rehabilitating violent criminals, for example – but Rahl's ambitions are boundless."
"He must be stopped," Kahlan said.
"He has access to this drug?" Richard asked.
"I destroyed as much of my work as I could, but there were things my assistants knew," Zedd said. "Rahl has no doubt been trying to recreate and perfect it ever since. There's one more thing, Richard, one more terrible thing about it."
Richard threw out his arms. "What on earth can be worse than everything you've both told me so far?" He wanted to go back to bed and find this whole day had been nothing but a bad dream.
"The drug could only be made using human test subjects," Zedd said sorrowfully. "It's possible technology has moved past that now, but at the time, no artificial chemicals could match some of those extracted from living people."
Richard's mouth fell open in disgust. He drew out the crumpled letter.
"Is that what's happened to Michael?" he asked, voice tight with anger.
"I don't know. As I say, technology has moved on. Yet Rahl always used human test subjects for his secret drug trials. It seems unlikely he's moved on from that, despite the risks it poses to his ambitions and his freedom. I'm sorry," Zedd said.
Richard paled and marched to the front door of the shop.
"I need a minute," he said and left, the bell jangling as the door slid past it.
"It's a lot to take in," Kahlan said softly.
"He's strong," Zedd said. "He'll be all right."
Kahlan nodded. "I hope so."
"More tea?" Zedd asked and she held out her cup.
*
Several hours later Richard returned, grim determination on his face.
"How do we stop Rahl?" he asked.
"Find the Book of Shadow Accounts," Kahlan said decisively. She'd explained it to Zedd and now outlined what she knew of the artefact to Richard.
"Then that's what we'll do. Where do we start?" Richard asked.
Zedd cleared his throat. "I may have an idea. Let me just get a few things. My coat, for one." The long brown coat was at least as old as Richard, for he remembered the old man wearing it every season except summer as far back as his memory stretched. There were some embroidered panels and these were much faded with age, but overall the camel coloured coat was still in fairly good condition.
Kahlan and Richard waited for him to ready himself, Richard shuffling about impatiently. Zedd took up a battered rucksack and then put it down and opened up a drawer under the desk. He pulled out an old envelope and handed it to Richard.
"This was your mother's," he said. "I was waiting for the right time to tell you, to give you this. I'm not sure where she acquired it."
Richard tipped the envelope open over his hand. A metal object fell into his palm. It was a two inch long brooch in the shape of a sword, with blue gems at the pommel and each tip of the guard. The word "Truth" was etched along the blade.
"That's pretty," Kahlan said.
"Thank you," Richard said, and nodded to Zedd. "I wish you'd told me before, but we'll talk about that later. I'm glad to have something from my birth family."
Kahlan gestured. "May I?" She picked it up and carefully pinned it to the breast pocket of Richard's denim jacket.
CARA MASON
Cara Mason was ambitious. No-one knew just how driven she was. She'd been a cheerleader, a gymnast, and those things overshadowed her academic accomplishments. She wasn't the top of her class in any subject, but she did well in many. She'd considered medical school, but it didn't feel like the right thing, and she'd joined the drama club, which was fun, but still not her calling.
She decided she was going about things the wrong way. Being trained for a position didn't guarantee you a job. No, the trick was to get a job first, and then get the right training. And the best job was one with plenty of opportunities for promotion, preferably in a large company with a high profile.
She'd have taken any job in the Corporation, from sweeping the floors to sorting the mail, because everyone knew Lord Rahl was going places. As it was, she found herself in the Security division. Security officers in the Corporation had to be physically fit, and have some training in self-defence. Check. They were also expected to be able to monitor the work that went on in the company and not be easily blinded by science. Check. They weren't just protecting the staff or the work, they were protecting Lord Rahl – they were his Eyes and Ears, as the literature said. And Cara was smart, and had a good memory, and so she met these criteria too. They must also be able to render medical assistance if necessary, and Cara's summer with the Red Cross when she'd flirted with the idea of becoming a doctor came in handy here. She completed all of the training courses required of her in under six months, a record for any Security Officer.
She was proud to wear the uniform of the Security Division even if wasn't the most comfortable outfit. The red T-shirt was figure hugging as were the tight black jeans. She loved the heeled boots and the oxblood leather jacket. She envied the higher ups – Mistresses, they were nicknamed, for woe betide anyone talking back to them – who wore the three-fold leather thong about their neck that signalled their elevated status.
She loved knowing she was working for the man who would, when the time was right (and elections were drawing closer) and the voters willing, become one of the most powerful men in the country, a paragon of both politics and private enterprise. That he was charming and handsome just added to his appeal.
Cara loved the feel of the specially developed Taser at her hip. Rahl's stance on weaponry was that it should be available where necessary (rural areas), regulated in others (cities) and non-lethal wherever possible. It was his attempt to woo both the pro- and anti-gun lobbyists. By arming his own staff with only Tasers rather than handguns he claimed he was showing faith in the basic goodness of people and of the efficiency of law enforcement. The Tasers had the "Drive Stun" capability, so it could be held against a target without firing the projectiles, causing pain without incapacitating the target. Mistresses were unofficially known to use this "pain compliance" feature to interrogate suspected wrongdoers.
The Tasers supplied to Mistresses and Security officers were blood red, a special order just for Rahl's staff. They were also adapted by Giller to be extra sensitive, amongst other modifications. Cara had shocked herself with the weapon on more than one occasion due to the modifications; every Security Officer had. It was rumoured that Denna actually used her Taser on herself as a matter of course; either to harden herself against its effects or possibly because she derived some pleasure from it - no-one knew for sure.
Orphaned at a young age, Cara was used to making her own way in the world, and saw no harm in using her physical attributes to impress people. If in doubt, she stayed silent; that way no-one could judge her by her words. She did her best to be on good terms with the people she worked with.
After a month guarding the floor where all the records were kept at the Corporation HQ, Cara was moved to the science facility, generally referred to as the Lab. This was actually a promotion, for she was made to sign yet more nondisclosure agreements before taken downstairs to the secretive lower levels.
Human test subjects; Cara wasn't against the idea in principle, though volunteers who had little other choice besides death was what she had expected when told about the people she would be guarding. Garen, the Administrative Supervisor for the level (glorified secretary, Cara thought privately) was, despite the cloak-and-dagger atmosphere, quite chatty when the mood took her, and seemed glad to have Cara there.
"I mean he's creepy, brilliant but creepy," Garen said, even as she typed furiously while Cara leant on the reception desk and sipped coffee. It was her first day here and if Garen wanted to bring her up to speed all the better. Giller was who Garen was talking about and it was Giller's notes she was typing up. Garen had worked at the Lab for five years and knew everything about it, including the vault that was hidden behind barred double doors at the end of the basement room.
"Only Rahl and his cronies are allowed in," Garen explained. "Egremont, Cypher, Giller, and Mistress Denna." Which had of course piqued Cara's curiosity about what the vault might contain.
"Samples, I think," Garen said, when Cara had wondered aloud about the vault. "It's supposed to be so secure that if the whole building fell down on it, the vault would survive."
"Is that likely?" Cara asked. "That the building would fall down?"
Garen shrugged. "Maybe, if someone bombed us. People think we're up to all sorts of disturbing things down here," she said.
"It looks as if we are," Cara pointed out. Garen just laughed.
Cara liked the night shift best; the lack of daylight wasn't so terrible when you knew you weren't missing it by being downstairs. Also Garen wasn't there, and even Giller usually went home by nine or ten at night. It made for a quiet, soothing time. Cara had asked about the patients and Garen had been dismissive; test subjects were apparently fairly replaceable and didn't justify the expense of keeping medical staff on site twenty four hours a day. The building was secured and the basement in particular difficult for anyone to access, and this was thought to be good enough – the vault breach, much later, did nothing to change this state of affairs.
So during night shifts Cara would sit at her desk, situated quite near Garen's, and watch the security monitors for a while, then do her perimeter sweep. Sometimes Giller's lab technician, Jennsen was still there, monitoring an experiment Giller was running. She was a quiet and thoughtful young woman and sometimes Cara would take her break in the kitchen area at the same time as Jennsen to catch up with her.
"Do you like it here"? Cara asked one day.
"It's different to what I did before," Jennsen said.
"Which was?"
"You'll laugh," Jennsen said, nibbling at a pastry.
"I won't." Cara gave her best "serious" face.
"Goat herding."
Cara didn't laugh, though she was surprised, and a small smile crept onto her face.
"How did you end up here?" Cara wondered.
"The same way anyone does, I suppose," Jennsen said cryptically. She brushed crumbs from her lab coat. "Well, most of us."
"You mean Giller's subjects?"
Jennsen swallowed nervously. "I need to get back," she said and left the room.
It was fortunate Cara hadn't been on duty the night the vault was breached, she having being on day shift that week, because the officer who had been on the night shift was afterwards nowhere to be found. Cara got the opportunity to witness Giller's work firsthand the next day as he and Jennsen induced the comatose state that would keep Michael Cypher out of Rahl's way – and provide Giller with another test subject.
Two days later, back on night shift, Cara was alone in the basement. So she wandered over to Michael Cypher's bedside and found herself talking to him; someone she could voice her concerns to who could not betray her.
"I love my job," she said. "And I'm going places. This is the best opportunity of my life. Rahl has many good deeds to his name, so many lifesaving products, has created so many jobs, and has such noble goals in mind for his political office. And then I see what goes on down here, and I wonder, for a moment, if I'm wrong. But I'm in too deep now, I think, to merely walk away. If I'm honest, I don't want to. I'm an 'ends justify the means' kind of person."
She paused. She didn't know Michael Cypher beyond his public persona. She'd met him twice; the first time was when she'd been sent to take some files to the campaign headquarters while she had been at the Corporation HQ. He'd smiled as genuinely as a politician could, and greeted her politely. He'd been happier then, still engaged to Anna Brighton.
The second time she met him was her third day on duty at the science facility, when he'd come to place something in the vault. He'd nodded and called her 'Mistress' and the thought had thrilled her so much that she hadn't corrected his mistake. Garen had, when told of this later, thought he'd been too busy looking at Cara's cleavage to notice her bare throat – and who could blame him. He'd seemed harassed, anxious, distracted. He'd lost weight since the last time she'd met him, and Cara thought he ought to take a vacation somewhere far away in the sunshine and away from the stress of the job.
It wouldn't be inconceivable that he'd started taking drugs to cope with the stress of his work and the anguish over his break-up with Anna, but Cara was almost certain it wasn't true.
"Garen says you're officially here because of a drug overdose. I know that when we use the word 'officially' what follows is a lie. It's to do with the vault, isn't it? The timing is no coincidence. But why would you steal from it when you already had unrestricted access to it? And why would you be so foolish as to stick around afterwards? You're many things, but foolish isn't one of them."
She was sorry it had come to this. But he'd clearly overstepped. Cara swore she would not make the same mistake.
SHARONA OTAGO
Shota's Visions was an old looking store, with paint peeling from the wooden door and window frames. Richard peered through the dusty window; there were television sets from every era – or least as many as he'd been alive. Huge, CRT televisions, in their ugly wooden boxes sat next to slimmer, newer models. The carpet looked as if it had been there since the seventies.
"Zedd?" he asked. "Here?"
Zedd just nodded miserably. Kahlan shrugged and pushed the door open. They all filed in, Zedd hanging back reluctantly.
Inside Richard found shelves of VHS and Betamax videos, Laserdiscs, boxes of cassette tapes, and magazine files stuffed with manuals for all manner of electrical equipment.
“Can I help you?”
Richard turned. A woman had come out from the rear of the store through a bead curtain. Dressed in black, with red hair stretching to her waist, she was wearing an impressive array of bangles that jangled as she walked sinuously towards them.
“Hi,” Richard said. “Um, what sort of place is this?”
“I provide for those who would see. And hear, sometimes. If you suddenly find yourself in possession of an eight track and have no equipment to play it on, or need a piece to repair a Panasonic Video Recorder made in 1980, I can help. Technology moves so quickly and we risk losing the integrity of our records. Oral memory isn't what it was, and books have their place, while on the other hand digital archives promise to store entire libraries on compressed disks, kept safe from the outside world.”
She spun, indicating the store. “This place bridges the gap, the moment when technology began to outstrip books but before our current digital age. This is a museum to analogue and all it accomplished.”
Richard nodded thoughtfully, but the woman had moved past him.
“Zedd,” she purred. “It's been a long time.”
“Not long enough," he grumbled.
“So why are you here?”
“Rahl,” Zedd said, as if the very word disgusted him.
“I see. And these people?”
Zedd pointed. “My grandson, Richard, and former ADA Kahlan Amnell. Kahlan thinks there's a book that lists Rahl's crimes; it was stolen recently. It seemed like something you might have acquired. You have no love for Rahl. It was one of things we had in common.”
Richard stepped forward. “Pleased to meet you -” He faltered as he realised he had no idea what her name was.
“Sharona Otago,” she said. “Shota, for business purposes."
“Sharona?” Richard asked.
“Like the song,” she agreed.
“Like the poetry?” Richard glanced at Zedd. “Is this the woman so much of your poetry is about?”
Zedd turned away haughtily, poking at a mimeograph. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”
"I have to tell you I do not have any such mythical book," Sharona said, returning her attention to the subject at hand. "Books were always your domain, Zedd. Yes, I have heard the rumours, but I suggest you try elsewhere.”
Seeing the disappointment on Richard and Kahlan's faces, Sharona pointed to the back room.
“I'm sorry I can't directly help but I do have other ways of seeing,” she said. “Visions can mean many things.”
“Like what?” Kahlan asked.
“I read the Tarot,” Sharona said. “I'll read for you if you like, Richard. On the house, for old times sake. Zedd's old times, that is."
Zedd snorted. “Trickery.”
“What can it hurt?” Richard asked, deciding to humour her. “Sure.”
Sharona led Richard into the back room. It was a large kitchen-like area with a sink, electric kettle, one table, two chairs, an electric fire, and two candles on the table, elegant in their silver holders. Sharona went to a drawer by the sink and returned with a box of matches, a cloth, and a box of cards.
She spread the deep blue cloth upon the table and lit the candles, placing them at the top edge of the cloth. Then she sat and opened the box, shuffling the cards.
“Sit,” she said and Richard took the chair opposite. She handed him the cards. “Shuffle them for as long you want to,” she said and he did so.
They were larger and thicker than normal playing cards, and there were more of them in a pack, so it took him a while to get a rhythm going. When he felt he'd thoroughly mixed the pack and she couldn't be picking cards pre-determined for her own purposes, he handed them back.
Sharona put the pack on the cloth and lifted the first card from the deck, placing in down in a particular spot. She then laid other cards around this first card in a pattern that appeared natural to her, but seemed to have no logic to Richard.
Sharona closed her eyes a moment and then turned over the first card. "This is the signifier, which represents you," she said. It was The Fool. Her eyes widened.
"Should I be insulted?" Richard asked.
She shook her head. "Not at all. This is the first card of the Major Arcana, and the last, for the cards tell the cycles that all of mankind travels endlessly. The Fool is also known as the Seeker. See how he steps out boldly, with no preconceived ideas, ready to experience all the world has to offer."
She turned two more cards. "These are your helpers. The Empress, and the Magician. A motherly figure, caring, nurturing; and a male energy, maybe a doctor, scientist or trickster."
Was it coincidence that this particular deck showed the Empress wearing a white dress? Richard watched Sharona turn over another card.
"The Reversed Emperor opposes you. A charismatic figure whose abuse of his power makes him a tyrant."
"Rahl?" Richard guessed. He was beginning to wonder if he'd shuffled the cards enough. She turned over another card.
"The Hanged Man. A time and space between such concepts as time or space. Stillness. Meditation. Reflection. Observation. Vulnerability. Sacrifice." When Richard didn't respond, Sharona looked at him. "None of this means anything to you? This is one of the forces pushing you on your journey."
Richard considered a moment, then touched his pocket where the letter sat. "It might mean my brother," he said.
Satisfied he'd found some meaning in the card, Sharona didn't press him for details. She turned over more cards.
"The High Priestess will guide you. But the Tower, falling, says you will have to face up to something terrible. And the Knight of Swords may prove your greatest strength or your downfall. I cannot interpret these yet, for these things are what may come to pass. Watch out for them.
Sharona turned over one last card. It was the Ace of Swords. Her gaze flickered to the brooch on his jacket.
"This is your goal. To seek justice and truth. To face challenges. To overcome adversity through intelligence and instinct as well as physical prowess."
She gathered up the cards. "Go with my blessing, Richard Cypher," she said. "I feel much depends on you now."
"But go where?" he asked.
"The High Priestess. I could be wrong, but it may refer to Verna. It's almost too obvious though," Sharona said. "Zedd knows her. She may be able to help."
*
"I can always tell when people are lying," Kahlan warned. "So, you and Sharona-"
"That conversation is off limits," Zedd said gruffly. Kahlan smiled and wandered around the store, fascinated by the array of objects. She was examining an ancient fax machine when Richard returned to the storefront.
“Well?” she asked.
“She said we have to find someone called Verna,” Richard said, which was all that he felt like revealing. “And that you knew her, Zedd.”
“I do,” he acknowledged. “And I know where we can find her, but I will not be welcome. She might listen to you two, though.”
“Oh, no,” Kahlan whispered. Richard turned to see she was staring at one of the televisions. Its size belied its advanced age, but it was still in good working order, and it was currently showing a news channel.
"DA Brandstone killed in car bomb" read the headline across the bottom of the screen. A perky blonde reporter was explaining the details over the backdrop of footage showing a burnt out vehicle.
“I think you got off lightly with being fired,” Richard said.
Kahlan nodded solemnly. “He must have carried on pursuing Rahl, she said, wiping away a tear. "And I fear I may still be in danger."
“Then don't let his death be in vain," Zedd said. “We need to get moving, and at least while we're on the road we're not such easy targets.”
MISTRESS CARA
Rahl strode through the lower level of the science facility, his ankle length black coat billowing out behind him. The coat had the Rahl crest embroidered on the breast pocket and delicate decorative stitching at the cuffs. He was magnificent, Cara thought. Chief Mistress Denna was accompanying him, of course, sharp eyes appraising everything and everyone for potential danger or just plain slacking off.
Rahl was asking quick fire questions and Giller, Denna, or anyone in his eyeline was quick to respond.
“And Michael Cypher?” Rahl asked as they approached Cara's desk which was near to where the test subjects were kept.
“Over here, Lord Rahl,” Giller said. Cara wasn't sure if the man had ever heard of shampoo because his lank hair was permanently greasy. His lab coats were at least pristine, otherwise, genius or not, she thought Denna would have ordered him scrubbed down on pain of termination. "He is very promising."
“Yes,” Rahl said in delight. “He's a very healthy young subject, ideal for our purposes, isn't he?”
“Yes, Lord Rahl,” Giller said. “He is of great benefit to our research.”
Rahl grabbed a chair, sweeping it behind him and sitting next to Michael's bed.
“Oh, Michael,” he said in mock sorrow. “I am so sorry this happened to you. So very, very sorry.” Then he laughed loudly and the sound sent a shiver down Cara's spine.
“How long will he last?” Rahl asked, all pretence of concern gone.
Giller shrugged. “As you say, he is a healthy subject. He should survive many months – even a year or so.”
Rahl clapped his hands. “Excellent.” He stood, kicking the chair away behind him. “What else is there to see?”
His eyes found Cara and she lowered her eyes as she'd been told to do if ever in the presence of Lord Rahl. She was not a Mistress and had not earned the right to confront him.
“Well, well, who do we have here?” he purred, and walked over to her, circling her thoughtfully.
Denna scowled behind his back. “Her name is Cara Mason, my Lord.”
“Cara. That's a pretty name.” Rahl leant in so close she could feel his breath upon her neck. “Get me her file, Denna. Giller, show me the laboratory.”
And then he was gone, barking orders randomly to various staff members. Denna shot her an evil glare and followed Rahl. Cara wasn't sure if she'd just had the closest shave of her life, or had just missed out on the biggest opportunity of it. As it turned out, it was neither. But had she left at that moment and never looked back, things would have gone very differently.
*
Later that day, Rahl smiled as Denna escorted Cara into his office.
“Sit,” he said, and she complied, taking the chair opposite him. He had her file open on his desk.
“I've been reading about your accomplishments,” he said. “You have quite the scientific mind, Cara, plus physical stamina and an aptitude for technology. It says here they call you the Angel of Life. Why is that?”
Cara swallowed, gathering up her courage. “Local press exaggeration. It is merely that I have saved several lives,” she said. “I was trained in resuscitation techniques as are all your security forces. I just have had opportunity to put my training into practice.”
“Hmm. This newspaper clipping says that it was only after you took over the resuscitation efforts that this accountant's life was saved. Perhaps you are special.”
Cara kept her gaze lowered. “I wouldn't speculate, my Lord.”
Rahl flipped the file closed, ran one finger across his top lip thoughtfully. “I think your talents are being wasted, Cara.”
She forgot herself, looked up, afraid he was going to terminate her contract. “Lord Rahl?”
“You should have been elevated to the status of First Officer long ago.”
“A Mistress?” First Officers were the elite personal security personnel known as Mistresses; Cara had applied twice to be granted a post but shed been ignored.
“Yes,” he replied. “Though we don't officially use the term. Sexist, you understand. I don't want us sued for discrimination.” There were men in the security forces of course, with their dark jeans and grey t-shirts with the corporation's logo in red upon them, and black leather jackets. But only a select few made it to First Officer status and even then they were given posts elsewhere – one body guarded Egremont, for example – but none stayed at Rahl's right hand.
“Thank you, Lord Rahl,” she said.
He waved one hand imperiously. “I haven't finished yet.”
“Sorry, Lord Rahl.” She looked down, contrite.
“I want you to stand at my side. Learn everything about the business. An intern, if you will. You have the ambition, the skills, the experience of being within the Corporation. The politics will come easily enough.
Denna glared daggers at Cara. As if sensing this, Rahl turned. Denna's face was carefully blank by the time he laid eyes on her.
“Denna is my head of security and irreplaceable,” he said as if placating her. “But there are duties that are outside the scope of her responsibilities, duties I need someone I can trust to assist me with. I seem to be having the most terrible luck with my staff recently. As you may know my previous personal assistant, Constance...met with an unfortunate accident.”
Constance hadn't, as far as Cara knew, been taken as a subject for Giller to play with, which probably meant she was dead. Recently Cara had realised just how often people who opposed Rahl tended to die. Like Chase Brandstone, George Cypher, and Michael Cypher – who was as good as dead now Giller had a hold of him.
As if reading her thoughts, Rahl went on, "And with Michael Cypher – indisposed – I need a supportive shoulder to lean on from time to time. My new campaign manager is, I'm assured, a marketing genius. He's also an idiot, which is why I try to keep him in a different city from myself at all times. It's for his own safety; I cannot strangle Sebastian via the telephone.”
He laughed and Cara laughed too, though her mind was whirling. Intern. Right hand. Supportive shoulder – did he mean sex? She thought it was implied by his tone.
So, you will accept the position?”
“Of course, Lord Rahl,” Cara said.
“Good.” Rahl spun his chair. “Denna, induct her into the glorious ranks of your First Officers.”
“Yes, Lord Rahl,” Denna crossed the room and put a hand on Cara's shoulder. “Come along, Sister.”
Sister was a title used amongst the First Officers. Cara was thrilled at the sound of it, even through her fears and doubts – and the feeling that Denna hated her. This was what she wanted, though. She would rise high now. Internship meant he would teach her the ropes. She'd learn more about the workings of the Corporation and help him get elected. She might even one day become Executive Officer if she played her cards right, or perhaps a senator's aide.
Denna took Cara to the First Officers lounge and used her keycard to gain access. She led Cara to a room with leather sofas, a low table, and a plasma screen on one wall. “Wait here.”
Cara sat and waited. This was a room much nicer than, and almost as large as, her entire apartment. A sign on one wall pointed towards a Changing Area. A Mistress, braided hair damp, came past.
"Hello?" the woman said uncertainly as if Cara wasn't supposed to be here. And without the leather at her neck, she wasn't.
"Denna is finalising arrangements for my induction to become a Mistress," Cara said coolly.
The Mistress smiled. "Welcome, then. I am Raina.
"Cara."
Raina pointed behind her. "The pool is lovely. Be sure to make use of it. And the sauna!" She nodded politely and headed out of the lounge.
Denna returned several minutes later with a buff coloured envelope. She tipped out a keycard and handed it to Cara.
“Keep that on you at all times. It's your new ID. It allows access to almost everywhere, both the Corporation offices as well as the Science Facility, and the office space dedicated to Lord Rahl's political ambitions.” She handed Cara another Taser.
“That's not a replacement,” Denna said. “It's a spare. Keep fresh batteries in it. First Officers are never without a working Taser.” The next item from the envelope was the one that made Cara's heart pound in delight.
“Stand up,” Denna said. Cara did so and Denna stepped behind her. She held the leather thong, a triple woven strand of deep red leather in both hands and placed it over Cara's head. For a moment Cara feared Denna might try to strangle her with it; Cara's martial arts skills were not in question, but Denna was an exceptional fighter and Cara wouldn't take her down easily if it came to a physical fight.
Then the thong was fastened securely and Denna stepped away.
“Cara Mason,” Denna said, voice icy, “I welcome you to the post of First Officer, and the Sisterhood of those who serve Lord Rahl faithfully, wiling to lay down their lives for him, dedicating themselves to fulfilling his goals.”
Cara nodded. She touched the leather at her neck. Finally.
“You ought to grow your hair out so it can be braided as most Mistresses wear it," Denna said. "The non-disclosure papers you signed remain in effect, of course. Remember that, because you will now have almost unparalleled access to information about every aspect of Lord Rahl's life."
Denna stared hard at Cara as if trying to read her mind, to judge her loyalties. Cara held her gaze, unfazed.
"I have no clue what method is in this madness of making you his intern,” Denna said at last. “Tomorrow, report to Lord Rahl. I'm sure he will have thought of something for you to do by then. Fetching his coffee, perhaps. For now, return to your post at the Science Facility.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Cara said.
“Sister,” Denna reminded her sourly. She disapproved but she'd obey the rules, and that was something, Cara thought.
“Yes, Sister,” Cara corrected. She vowed to come back and have a proper look around the lounge later. There were rumours about hot tubs, a bar, and king-size beds inside the lounge area. Investigating such wild claims would have to wait however. She went to the Lab and informed the relevant staff members of her promotion.
“We saw the email,” Garen said in hushed tones, pausing as she typed up more of Giller's scrawl. “I'm jealous, of course, but I wish you luck.”
Email, already? Rahl was moving quickly on this.
“I won't forget my friends here,” Cara promised. There was glory to be had in working for Rahl but there were plenty of pitfalls and it was better to have a network of allies than risk going it alone.
She wandered the whole basement floor one last time, pausing at Michael Cypher's bedside. He was the only one she was certain that Rahl had caused to be put here, rather than acquired after a genuine illness or injury. It still prickled her conscience a little. He was still alive, though not for long, Giller had said. Yet there was still some hope he might be saved, which was more than could be said for DA Brandstone, or Constance.
The non-disclosure agreement was taken very seriously by Lord Rahl. And now she might be expected to punish those who disobeyed it. It was a sobering thought to counterbalance the ecstasy of her achievement.
“I'm to be promoted,” she told Michael. “And I'll take your situation as a warning to tread carefully.”
ON THE ROAD
“Who's Verna?” Richard asked as Zedd drove the battered van at precisely the speed limit.
“An acquaintance,” he said, nudging his driving glasses further onto his nose.
“The way Sharona was an acquaintance?” Kahlan teased from the rear seat.
“Not at all.” Zedd glanced over his shoulder. “You'll see why.”
Kahlan shrugged, then wiggled about. She ran her hands all over the seat, feeling around for something, and finally pulled a crumpled road atlas from beneath her behind, throwing it to the floor. “Then why won't she see you? Rahl again?”
“Yes,” he said. “She is still suspicious of me, even now, though it was she who helped arrange your adoption, Richard.”
“She's a lawyer?” Richard asked.
“No.” Zedd saw a road sign and brightened up. “Let's stop and get pie. I'm starving.”
There would be no more discussion until Zedd had eaten, Richard knew. He grinned at Kahlan.
"You like pie?"
"There are people who don't?" she asked with what Richard thought was the most wonderful smile in the world.
*
The stop for pie had been followed by more driving and then two more stops for using the bathroom. Richard took over the driving when they resumed their journey after the third stop. Zedd let Kahlan ride up front and was soon snoring in the backseat to Kahlan's amusement.
“You really didn't know he was your grandfather?” she asked.
“No. But we've always been close,” Richard said.
“Does that make it worse, the betrayal?” she asked seriously.
Richard thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “But I guess I understand why he lied. He didn't want to be associated with me to protect me, and given what's happened to my father and now my brother, he had reason to be paranoid.”
Kahlan reached over and put one hand on his knee. He could feel her warm skin through the rips at the knee of his jeans.
“I'm sorry to have disrupted your life.”
He shook his head. “It's okay. I wanted to join the police force and make a difference. Well this is a way I can make a difference, and get justice for my family too. And you're a very pretty disruption.”
He laughed, and she laughed too.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Clara!” Zedd sat bolt upright.
“Zedd?” asked Richard, concerned.
The old man shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry. I was just dreaming.”
Kahlan peered ahead. “Maybe we should look for somewhere to stay the night. It's starting to get dark.”
“On it, my lady,” Richard said with a grin.
*
Safely home, Cara took a long, luxurious bath. She sipped at a chilled glass of white wine and touched the thong around her neck. She didn't intend to ever take it off now it was hers. Everything was falling into place.
Tomorrow she'd go and take a dip in the swimming pool, one of the many perks of being a Mistress.
"Mistress Cara," she said and liked how it sounded.
*
Kahlan wandered out of her motel room. Richard was there, staring up at the night sky.
"Hey," he said softly. "How's your room?"
"Adequate," she said after some consideration. "I just needed some air."
"Me too." Richard fingered the sword at his breast. "It's been a long day."
She nodded and moved towards him. "I know."
"For you too," he said quickly. "I mean with your friend Brandstone being killed. I'm sorry."
"He was a good man," Kahlan said sadly and blinked away tears.
"We'll make Rahl pay." Richard held out his hand and she took it. "I promise you."
She moved in closer and leant her head on his shoulder. She'd never believed in love at first sight but Richard stirred feelings in her like no man ever had before.
PART TWO / index post
DARIEN RAHL
His name was Darien Rahl, but one typo and some press bias later, and he was widely known as Darken Rahl. Not that he minded; Rahl was of the opinion that there was only rarely bad publicity and that it was far better to be feared than ignored. This set him at odds with his campaign manager, Michael Cypher, who pointed out how they themselves had used the stain of bad publicity to their advantage. The private investigator they'd hired had come through with some high quality photos that left no doubt in the imagination that Arthur Margrave, his election platform being one based on high moral standards, had committed almost every sin on his own list of offences. Margrave had stepped down in defeat and his replacement, John Herald, was no threat in the face of Rahl's charisma.
Rahl's family had emigrated to America before his birth. His father had claim to an English title – one that still existed, but had no lands attached to it. Rahl was fond of the gravitas and nobility the title conferred on him. Therefore he was more likely to be soothed when someone addressed him as “Lord Rahl”.
No amount of bowing and scarping would help today, Denna knew. This was Cypher's fault. He insisted everything be documented: every illegal act, every underhand payment. She had a suspicion it was his backup plan, leverage that would keep him alive once Rahl tired of him – he had a habit of tiring of his staff quickly. Two books of accounts were kept, one the legitimate accounts of a wealthy man in the running for a senate position, detailing his shares in the Corporation, the campaign funds, the security expenditures. The other held all this with the addition of the dirty laundry that must never see the light of day – and worse, not just the accounts indicating services such as the private investigator's pay, but copies of all of the scientific reports of the Corporation. The ones that were less about the bottom line but did explain how many deaths had been caused by Giller's experiments.
That such a ledger even existed was a gross negligence. Cypher had downplayed its danger, claiming it was a necessary risk. He feared an attack on the Corporation (and there had been attacks) and to lose all their research would be a tragedy. The only solution was to keep a copy of everything in the secure vault below the science facility maintained by the Corporation (Rahl Industrial Corporation but only ever referred to in-house as the Corporation, or the Corp).
And now the vault had been breached and the ledger was gone.
Denna was head of security and it was her responsibility. She thought about running, but knew Rahl would find her. She would have to tell him, and Lord Rahl's temper was legendary. Her only hope of remaining unscathed was to find a scapegoat. The theft had to have been an inside job, that much was obvious, but so few people had access to the lower levels, let alone the vault, that she had few people to choose from.
In the finish she made her decision, though he was undoubtedly innocent, being too ambitious to risk bringing Rahl down before he was in office. Michael Cypher might try to stab Rahl in the back and steal his position once elected, but beforehand there was no point, and the man didn't have the morals to have turned against Rahl for the crimes he'd committed. But it was him, Giller (beyond reproach in Rahl's eyes), Denna, Rahl himself, or Egremont, and Egremont had been out the country on business for the last week, had been photographed just yesterday at a reception in Toronto, so she had no choice.
If Cypher was innocent, then who had taken the book? Denna had a terrible feeling it was someone close to her, someone who'd stolen her keycard and used it to break into the vault. Someone smart enough to turn off the CCTV and then return her keycard before skipping town. She knew it had been a mistake to trust Grix. He'd been a one night stand that had turned into a weekly affair. And now he'd betrayed her – all attempts to locate him had failed. And Rahl must never know that her poor choice in lovers had led to this tragedy.
Denna entered Rahl's office, closing the door behind her. She knelt immediately. This was no time for pride. Submission, however, might save her.
“My Lord Rahl,” she said, feeling sweat gather beneath her tight red t-shirt. “I bring grave news.”
“Indeed?” Rahl asked, leaning back in his chair. He swept back a lock of long dark hair from his face. Cypher had told him to cut it in order to look more like a politician than a rock star. Rahl had laughed at that; he enjoyed the thought of being a rock idol, and he said people were tired of politicians and their empty phrases, their dull suits, boring haircuts. He said he wanted to stand out.
“My Lord Rahl,” Denna said again, praying he wouldn't kill her, “the vault was breached last night.”
Rahl was on his feet in an instant, eyes flashing in anger. “The vials?”
“No, My Lord,” Denna whispered. “Only one thing was taken.” She whimpered, hated herself for the weakness. “The Book of Shadow Accounts.”
Rahl's scream of rage echoed throughout the top floor of the building. Other workers who heard it chose this time to get coffee, take emergency personal time, and in one case, resign.
Inside his office, Rahl had Denna pinned against the wall, his hands at her throat. “How could this happen?” he demanded.
Denna choked, barely able to get her breath. “Someone – on – the – inside,” she wheezed. Rahl loosened his hold a fraction and she drew a harsh breath. “The vault was opened, not broken into."
“There are only four of us with access to the vault,” Rahl told her.
“I believe it was Michael Cypher,” Denna said. “It was his idea to keep the treacherous book in the first place, my Lord, and he is George Cypher's son.”
George Cypher had often spoken out against Rahl. When Michael had joined Rahl, he and his father had never spoken again. Michael hadn't even attended his father's funeral. To this day, Michael didn't know that Rahl had arranged for a switch in George Cypher's medication that would prove fatal, and had paid off a medical examiner to ensure this never came to light. But if Michael had discovered it, he might well have turned on Rahl.
Rahl released Denna and she sank to the floor. She rubbed at her throat, felt the marks in her skin where the leather thong of office had dug into her flesh.
“You are certain?” Rahl asked.
“Who else could have done this thing, my Lord?” Denna asked. “I shall search his desk; I am sure to find proof.” And she would, because she would plant it.
“Confirm your suspicions,” Rahl said. “Find the book.”
*
The book was gone, of course. Denna printed off some anti-Rahl propaganda and “found” it in Michael's desk while Triana and Dahlia held him for questioning in her office. She forged an email that he'd been planning to send to a known investigative journalist, Livia, who'd been sniffing around for the story that would bring Rahl down ever since he'd made his announcement to stand for office.
“He has betrayed you,” Denna said sorrowfully when she made her report to Rahl. “Betrayed us, our cause.”
“Where is the book?” Rahl asked.
“He will not say,” Denna said. “We used all of our powers of persuasion.” She touched the Taser at her hip, the ever-prevalent weapon of Rahl's security staff.
“Bring him before me,” Rahl said.
Michael, bruised, and shaken by the cruel and repeated application of the Tasers - despite his pleas of innocence and requests for mercy - was dragged into Rahl's office
“Listen, Darien,” he begged. “I didn't do this. Why would I? I want to see you in power. I have sacrificed so much for that.”
“You're about to sacrifice some more,” Rahl seethed. “Do you think you could deceive me? You know what happens to those who betray me!”
"Wait, I know–" Michael never got finish the sentence for Rahl nodded to Denna, who knocked Michael unconscious with one vicious blow.
“You wish for me to kill him?” she asked. “We could make it look like an accident – or a murder. I have some suitable suspects for the police to look into. Anna Brighton's public break-up with Cypher is on record, and she did threaten violence against him. It wouldn't take much effort to frame Anna and leave us in the clear.”
“No,” Rahl said, fingering his beard. “That would be a wasted opportunity.”
RICHARD CYPHER
Richard Cypher stared at the letter.
“We regret to inform you,” he said bitterly. They might as well have been telling him that his DVD was out of stock, sorry for the inconvenience, but they hoped he'd continue to shop with them. This was no way to be told that his brother was in a coma and unlikely to recover. That it had taken a week to inform him was another matter.
There'd been news reports, but nothing conclusive; that Michael Cypher had stepped down from his position was the only clear fact, that illness had been a factor was a rumour. And Rahl's charisma and recent donation to a children's charity quickly drew attention away from this minor bump in his campaign.
“I'm so sorry, my boy,” Zedd told him, pushing his half-moon spectacles back on his nose. They were sitting in the reading area of the second hand bookstore. It held two old but comfortable stuffed sofas, a table, and a fire that burned even during the hottest summer days.
Zorander's bookstore had been here since anyone could remember. Richard's father had brought him here to swap out books he'd finished with and choose new ones – and Zedd had always put aside books he thought Richard might like.
Fairy tales and fantasies, mythology, stories about heroes. These were staples of his childhood. As he grew up, Richard still loved science fiction and fantasy, but his tastes broadened and he devoured books on survival tactics, travel, and the law. These days Zedd put aside books on the required reading list for courses in criminology, because while he'd travelled for a while and was currently saving up money from his job - life guarding at the local leisure centre - Richard had expressed a wish to join the police force.
“I haven't spoken to him in five years,” Richard said. “And that was when I called him and said he had to come to our father's funeral. Which he didn't."
"I remember. His work-"
"Don't make excuses for him," Richard said. He sighed. "I didn't think this would bother me so much.”
“He's family,” Zedd said. “It's hard to cut them out of your life completely.”
Richard stood and paced, the letter crumpled in one fist. “It says there were drugs involved. That doesn't sound like Michael.”
“You said yourself that it's been years,” Zedd told him. “Perhaps he's changed.”
Richard folded the letter and put it in his pocket. He stared at a nearby shelf and removed a book, shelving it two books further to the left. Zedd tended to group books by subject or genre and then in an order approximating alphabetically. Richard liked to shelve things more tidily, not least because he knew it irritated the older man who claimed he knew where every single book was unless 'some idiot has moved them around'.
“I should go and see him,” he said.
“Are you sure that's wise?” Zedd sipped his tea. Richard's sat, un-tasted, on the scratched coffee table. “It would only upset you further, and he wouldn't know that you'd been there.”
Richard shook his head. “I kind of feel I should. They said he's in a private facility, receiving the best care Lord Rahl can provide.”
Zedd snorted. “Lord Rahl,” he said. “A man with delusions of grandeur if ever I saw one.”
“He really does have a title,” Richard said, and glanced at the wall by the cash register which was covered in newspaper clippings and adverts and certificates that Zedd had collected relating to his store and his self-published book of poetry. "People like to be proud of their heritage and achievements."
“I don't lie to people,” Zedd scoffed, unwilling to admit to being a glory hound himself. “I may occasionally exaggerate but that's just business.”
The bell above the door sounded and a young woman rushed in, breathless. She was wearing a black vest top that showed off ample cleavage and a long black skirt. When Richard took his eyes away from the cleavage he noticed the spotless white coat that trailed almost to the ankle of her boots, and thought he'd have got a coat like that dirty within about two minutes of putting in on.
The woman hurried over, sweeping a lock dark lock of hair back from her face. She was beautiful, Richard thought, even while flushed and distraught.
“Mr Zorander?” she asked.
“Depends,” Zedd said evasively, sipping his tea again. “You're not an auditor, are you?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all. I'm Kahlan Amnell, from the District Attorney's office. Or I was.”
“District Attorney?” Zedd asked, shiftily.
“You're not Kahlan Amnell anymore?” Richard asked, puzzled.
She stared at both of them. “I'm not with the DA's office anymore,” she explained. “I've been let go.”
“Fired,” Richard said helpfully.
This finally got him the full measure of her attention.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“Richard Cypher,” he said, holding out his hand.
Kahlan paled, her already light skin turning the colour of porcelain. “Related to Michael Cypher?”
“My brother,” Richard said. “For the moment."
Zedd got to his feet. “What do you want with me, Kahlan Amnell, previously of the District Attorney's office?”
“To defeat Lord Rahl,” she said. “Darien Rahl has committed terrible crimes and is in the process of committing further evil deeds. I have reason to believe he is using human subjects in his company's latest drug trials without their consent. I believe he has killed to clear the way to taking office. And I have no proof, but now I know proof does exist and I would find it. And I think you can help me, Mr Zorander.”
Richard stared at Kahlan. “Are you one of those conspiracy theory nuts?” he asked.
Kahlan turned on him, blue eyes flashing in anger. “He killed your father, Richard. George Cypher spoke out against Rahl and people were listening. And now, for whatever reason, Rahl has poisoned your brother.”
Richard stepped in close to her. "How dare you waltz in here and start making ridiculous accusations," he said.
Zedd got to his feet. “Enough. I knew this day would come. I just hoped it wouldn't happen now. I've got a new book coming out, you know.”
“I'm amazed Rahl lets you live to pen your erotic verse,” Kahlan said.
“I've kept quiet,” Zedd said. “I've never betrayed him openly and to have me killed would just draw attention to the connection between us.”
“You and Rahl? You own a second hand bookstore! You write smutty poetry!” Richard was confused and upset by this sudden turn of events. He'd mourned his father and now he had to accept the fact that George Cypher had been murdered and there was justice to seek. He'd relied on Zedd as a friend especially with George and Michael out of his life, and now Kahlan was saying that his trusted confidante was involved with the people who had hurt his family.
“It's not smutty, it's erotic, and not all of the verses are sexual in nature,” Zedd huffed.
“The poetry? That's what you want to talk about?” Kahlan placed her hands on her hips. “Mr Zorander, we have a chance to take down Darien Rahl once and for all. But my contact in his organisation has gone silent and now I need your help.”
“Darken Rahl,” Richard said. “Zedd always calls him Darken Rahl.”
Zedd nodded. “And with reason. Let me make some tea and put up the closed sign and I'll do my best to explain.”
ZEDD Z. ZORANDER
Many years ago Zedd had been a respected scientist. The previous Lord Rahl, Piers, had favoured his research and funded his work. His son, Darien, was being groomed from a young age to take over the Corporation of which the scientific endeavours were one part. The Corporation had interests in aerospace, defence, crops, and of course, the pharmaceuticals industry. Zedd's work on slowing the aging process was an important part of that.
Darien went to college to study business but when he was orphaned just two months into his studies, he changed his major to political science. Chief Operations Officer Egremont became acting CEO until Darien graduated and then the new Lord Rahl took the reins of the Corporation.
He cleaned house, eliminating board members disloyal to him, and acquiring a controlling interest in the company. He began weeding out projects that were too controversial or might otherwise interfere with his political ambitions, and instituted new projects with a focus on societal improvements.
Except for Zedd's work. Darien had an interest in this most controversial project, and he wanted it to continue. And he made it clear to Zedd that he expected results. So Rahl pushed further into the field of medicine, and while most of the work he supported would save lives, there were secret projects that were quite the opposite.
Zedd's conscience wouldn't let him work for Rahl once he witnessed a death that was caused by the unsanctioned testing of one of the new drugs. Rahl had only been concerned that an autopsy wouldn't implicate him. Zedd left, and Rahl told him that one word to the police, the press, or anyone who might damage his career, and he'd hunt down Zedd's family and dispose of them first.
Zedd was a widower, and had one estranged daughter. While they'd had their differences, he would never risk her safety. In fact after leaving Rahl's employment, he tried building bridges with her. Tara Lyn Zorander gave birth to a child soon after Zedd had found her, but died shortly afterwards from unknown causes. Heartbroken and unwilling to risk his grandson's life by his association with the Zorander name, Zedd let friends of Tara's arrange an adoption.
A compromise was reached on this last point though; the Cypher family, with one son and a longing for another that had gone unfulfilled, were chosen to raise Richard Zorander. And Zedd moved nearby and made a new life for himself, and he and George Cypher kept watch over Richard as he grew into a fine young man. Rahl never bothered them during the intervening years and Zedd had grown complacent about the threat – until now.
"You say George Cypher was killed by Rahl?" Zedd said. "How?"
Kahlan shrugged. "My information suggests Rahl's beloved pharmaceuticals may have played a part."
"Rahl makes vaccines," Richard said. "Painkillers. Those new drugs that help heart disease. I know there's a lot of hatred for some of his work, but are you certain he's doing evil?"
"Rahl makes money from his good works," Zedd said. "He gains publicity. And not everyone in his employ is working for sinister ends. But the fact remains that Rahl also manufactures poisons to employ during wars and drugs for social compliance."
"Social compliance?" Richard asked, puzzled.
Zedd hung his head briefly. "I was working on ways to turn back or halt the aging process," he said. "But it's not just one issue, age. It's physical problems, everything from stiff joints to the effects of gravity on our skin. It's mental issues about memory and concentration. And while I was working on the issue of lucidity I stumbled on something terrible."
Kahlan leaned over and put one hand on his shoulder. "Go on. We need to know," she said softly.
"I found a way to manufacture a compound that can affect people's memories and thought patterns. To make them docile, if that is what is required, amendable to media messages and instructions from those in authority."
"Brainwashing," Richard said.
"More or less." Zedd sighed. "If Rahl ever gains enough political power he'll find a way to disguise it as something beneficial and introduce it into the water supply, and then he won't need to charm people. He'll just order them to do his bidding. At first I thought he was joking when he said it could be used to control people but he meant it. I thought there could be some good uses for it – rehabilitating violent criminals, for example – but Rahl's ambitions are boundless."
"He must be stopped," Kahlan said.
"He has access to this drug?" Richard asked.
"I destroyed as much of my work as I could, but there were things my assistants knew," Zedd said. "Rahl has no doubt been trying to recreate and perfect it ever since. There's one more thing, Richard, one more terrible thing about it."
Richard threw out his arms. "What on earth can be worse than everything you've both told me so far?" He wanted to go back to bed and find this whole day had been nothing but a bad dream.
"The drug could only be made using human test subjects," Zedd said sorrowfully. "It's possible technology has moved past that now, but at the time, no artificial chemicals could match some of those extracted from living people."
Richard's mouth fell open in disgust. He drew out the crumpled letter.
"Is that what's happened to Michael?" he asked, voice tight with anger.
"I don't know. As I say, technology has moved on. Yet Rahl always used human test subjects for his secret drug trials. It seems unlikely he's moved on from that, despite the risks it poses to his ambitions and his freedom. I'm sorry," Zedd said.
Richard paled and marched to the front door of the shop.
"I need a minute," he said and left, the bell jangling as the door slid past it.
"It's a lot to take in," Kahlan said softly.
"He's strong," Zedd said. "He'll be all right."
Kahlan nodded. "I hope so."
"More tea?" Zedd asked and she held out her cup.
*
Several hours later Richard returned, grim determination on his face.
"How do we stop Rahl?" he asked.
"Find the Book of Shadow Accounts," Kahlan said decisively. She'd explained it to Zedd and now outlined what she knew of the artefact to Richard.
"Then that's what we'll do. Where do we start?" Richard asked.
Zedd cleared his throat. "I may have an idea. Let me just get a few things. My coat, for one." The long brown coat was at least as old as Richard, for he remembered the old man wearing it every season except summer as far back as his memory stretched. There were some embroidered panels and these were much faded with age, but overall the camel coloured coat was still in fairly good condition.
Kahlan and Richard waited for him to ready himself, Richard shuffling about impatiently. Zedd took up a battered rucksack and then put it down and opened up a drawer under the desk. He pulled out an old envelope and handed it to Richard.
"This was your mother's," he said. "I was waiting for the right time to tell you, to give you this. I'm not sure where she acquired it."
Richard tipped the envelope open over his hand. A metal object fell into his palm. It was a two inch long brooch in the shape of a sword, with blue gems at the pommel and each tip of the guard. The word "Truth" was etched along the blade.
"That's pretty," Kahlan said.
"Thank you," Richard said, and nodded to Zedd. "I wish you'd told me before, but we'll talk about that later. I'm glad to have something from my birth family."
Kahlan gestured. "May I?" She picked it up and carefully pinned it to the breast pocket of Richard's denim jacket.
CARA MASON
Cara Mason was ambitious. No-one knew just how driven she was. She'd been a cheerleader, a gymnast, and those things overshadowed her academic accomplishments. She wasn't the top of her class in any subject, but she did well in many. She'd considered medical school, but it didn't feel like the right thing, and she'd joined the drama club, which was fun, but still not her calling.
She decided she was going about things the wrong way. Being trained for a position didn't guarantee you a job. No, the trick was to get a job first, and then get the right training. And the best job was one with plenty of opportunities for promotion, preferably in a large company with a high profile.
She'd have taken any job in the Corporation, from sweeping the floors to sorting the mail, because everyone knew Lord Rahl was going places. As it was, she found herself in the Security division. Security officers in the Corporation had to be physically fit, and have some training in self-defence. Check. They were also expected to be able to monitor the work that went on in the company and not be easily blinded by science. Check. They weren't just protecting the staff or the work, they were protecting Lord Rahl – they were his Eyes and Ears, as the literature said. And Cara was smart, and had a good memory, and so she met these criteria too. They must also be able to render medical assistance if necessary, and Cara's summer with the Red Cross when she'd flirted with the idea of becoming a doctor came in handy here. She completed all of the training courses required of her in under six months, a record for any Security Officer.
She was proud to wear the uniform of the Security Division even if wasn't the most comfortable outfit. The red T-shirt was figure hugging as were the tight black jeans. She loved the heeled boots and the oxblood leather jacket. She envied the higher ups – Mistresses, they were nicknamed, for woe betide anyone talking back to them – who wore the three-fold leather thong about their neck that signalled their elevated status.
She loved knowing she was working for the man who would, when the time was right (and elections were drawing closer) and the voters willing, become one of the most powerful men in the country, a paragon of both politics and private enterprise. That he was charming and handsome just added to his appeal.
Cara loved the feel of the specially developed Taser at her hip. Rahl's stance on weaponry was that it should be available where necessary (rural areas), regulated in others (cities) and non-lethal wherever possible. It was his attempt to woo both the pro- and anti-gun lobbyists. By arming his own staff with only Tasers rather than handguns he claimed he was showing faith in the basic goodness of people and of the efficiency of law enforcement. The Tasers had the "Drive Stun" capability, so it could be held against a target without firing the projectiles, causing pain without incapacitating the target. Mistresses were unofficially known to use this "pain compliance" feature to interrogate suspected wrongdoers.
The Tasers supplied to Mistresses and Security officers were blood red, a special order just for Rahl's staff. They were also adapted by Giller to be extra sensitive, amongst other modifications. Cara had shocked herself with the weapon on more than one occasion due to the modifications; every Security Officer had. It was rumoured that Denna actually used her Taser on herself as a matter of course; either to harden herself against its effects or possibly because she derived some pleasure from it - no-one knew for sure.
Orphaned at a young age, Cara was used to making her own way in the world, and saw no harm in using her physical attributes to impress people. If in doubt, she stayed silent; that way no-one could judge her by her words. She did her best to be on good terms with the people she worked with.
After a month guarding the floor where all the records were kept at the Corporation HQ, Cara was moved to the science facility, generally referred to as the Lab. This was actually a promotion, for she was made to sign yet more nondisclosure agreements before taken downstairs to the secretive lower levels.
Human test subjects; Cara wasn't against the idea in principle, though volunteers who had little other choice besides death was what she had expected when told about the people she would be guarding. Garen, the Administrative Supervisor for the level (glorified secretary, Cara thought privately) was, despite the cloak-and-dagger atmosphere, quite chatty when the mood took her, and seemed glad to have Cara there.
"I mean he's creepy, brilliant but creepy," Garen said, even as she typed furiously while Cara leant on the reception desk and sipped coffee. It was her first day here and if Garen wanted to bring her up to speed all the better. Giller was who Garen was talking about and it was Giller's notes she was typing up. Garen had worked at the Lab for five years and knew everything about it, including the vault that was hidden behind barred double doors at the end of the basement room.
"Only Rahl and his cronies are allowed in," Garen explained. "Egremont, Cypher, Giller, and Mistress Denna." Which had of course piqued Cara's curiosity about what the vault might contain.
"Samples, I think," Garen said, when Cara had wondered aloud about the vault. "It's supposed to be so secure that if the whole building fell down on it, the vault would survive."
"Is that likely?" Cara asked. "That the building would fall down?"
Garen shrugged. "Maybe, if someone bombed us. People think we're up to all sorts of disturbing things down here," she said.
"It looks as if we are," Cara pointed out. Garen just laughed.
Cara liked the night shift best; the lack of daylight wasn't so terrible when you knew you weren't missing it by being downstairs. Also Garen wasn't there, and even Giller usually went home by nine or ten at night. It made for a quiet, soothing time. Cara had asked about the patients and Garen had been dismissive; test subjects were apparently fairly replaceable and didn't justify the expense of keeping medical staff on site twenty four hours a day. The building was secured and the basement in particular difficult for anyone to access, and this was thought to be good enough – the vault breach, much later, did nothing to change this state of affairs.
So during night shifts Cara would sit at her desk, situated quite near Garen's, and watch the security monitors for a while, then do her perimeter sweep. Sometimes Giller's lab technician, Jennsen was still there, monitoring an experiment Giller was running. She was a quiet and thoughtful young woman and sometimes Cara would take her break in the kitchen area at the same time as Jennsen to catch up with her.
"Do you like it here"? Cara asked one day.
"It's different to what I did before," Jennsen said.
"Which was?"
"You'll laugh," Jennsen said, nibbling at a pastry.
"I won't." Cara gave her best "serious" face.
"Goat herding."
Cara didn't laugh, though she was surprised, and a small smile crept onto her face.
"How did you end up here?" Cara wondered.
"The same way anyone does, I suppose," Jennsen said cryptically. She brushed crumbs from her lab coat. "Well, most of us."
"You mean Giller's subjects?"
Jennsen swallowed nervously. "I need to get back," she said and left the room.
It was fortunate Cara hadn't been on duty the night the vault was breached, she having being on day shift that week, because the officer who had been on the night shift was afterwards nowhere to be found. Cara got the opportunity to witness Giller's work firsthand the next day as he and Jennsen induced the comatose state that would keep Michael Cypher out of Rahl's way – and provide Giller with another test subject.
Two days later, back on night shift, Cara was alone in the basement. So she wandered over to Michael Cypher's bedside and found herself talking to him; someone she could voice her concerns to who could not betray her.
"I love my job," she said. "And I'm going places. This is the best opportunity of my life. Rahl has many good deeds to his name, so many lifesaving products, has created so many jobs, and has such noble goals in mind for his political office. And then I see what goes on down here, and I wonder, for a moment, if I'm wrong. But I'm in too deep now, I think, to merely walk away. If I'm honest, I don't want to. I'm an 'ends justify the means' kind of person."
She paused. She didn't know Michael Cypher beyond his public persona. She'd met him twice; the first time was when she'd been sent to take some files to the campaign headquarters while she had been at the Corporation HQ. He'd smiled as genuinely as a politician could, and greeted her politely. He'd been happier then, still engaged to Anna Brighton.
The second time she met him was her third day on duty at the science facility, when he'd come to place something in the vault. He'd nodded and called her 'Mistress' and the thought had thrilled her so much that she hadn't corrected his mistake. Garen had, when told of this later, thought he'd been too busy looking at Cara's cleavage to notice her bare throat – and who could blame him. He'd seemed harassed, anxious, distracted. He'd lost weight since the last time she'd met him, and Cara thought he ought to take a vacation somewhere far away in the sunshine and away from the stress of the job.
It wouldn't be inconceivable that he'd started taking drugs to cope with the stress of his work and the anguish over his break-up with Anna, but Cara was almost certain it wasn't true.
"Garen says you're officially here because of a drug overdose. I know that when we use the word 'officially' what follows is a lie. It's to do with the vault, isn't it? The timing is no coincidence. But why would you steal from it when you already had unrestricted access to it? And why would you be so foolish as to stick around afterwards? You're many things, but foolish isn't one of them."
She was sorry it had come to this. But he'd clearly overstepped. Cara swore she would not make the same mistake.
SHARONA OTAGO
Shota's Visions was an old looking store, with paint peeling from the wooden door and window frames. Richard peered through the dusty window; there were television sets from every era – or least as many as he'd been alive. Huge, CRT televisions, in their ugly wooden boxes sat next to slimmer, newer models. The carpet looked as if it had been there since the seventies.
"Zedd?" he asked. "Here?"
Zedd just nodded miserably. Kahlan shrugged and pushed the door open. They all filed in, Zedd hanging back reluctantly.
Inside Richard found shelves of VHS and Betamax videos, Laserdiscs, boxes of cassette tapes, and magazine files stuffed with manuals for all manner of electrical equipment.
“Can I help you?”
Richard turned. A woman had come out from the rear of the store through a bead curtain. Dressed in black, with red hair stretching to her waist, she was wearing an impressive array of bangles that jangled as she walked sinuously towards them.
“Hi,” Richard said. “Um, what sort of place is this?”
“I provide for those who would see. And hear, sometimes. If you suddenly find yourself in possession of an eight track and have no equipment to play it on, or need a piece to repair a Panasonic Video Recorder made in 1980, I can help. Technology moves so quickly and we risk losing the integrity of our records. Oral memory isn't what it was, and books have their place, while on the other hand digital archives promise to store entire libraries on compressed disks, kept safe from the outside world.”
She spun, indicating the store. “This place bridges the gap, the moment when technology began to outstrip books but before our current digital age. This is a museum to analogue and all it accomplished.”
Richard nodded thoughtfully, but the woman had moved past him.
“Zedd,” she purred. “It's been a long time.”
“Not long enough," he grumbled.
“So why are you here?”
“Rahl,” Zedd said, as if the very word disgusted him.
“I see. And these people?”
Zedd pointed. “My grandson, Richard, and former ADA Kahlan Amnell. Kahlan thinks there's a book that lists Rahl's crimes; it was stolen recently. It seemed like something you might have acquired. You have no love for Rahl. It was one of things we had in common.”
Richard stepped forward. “Pleased to meet you -” He faltered as he realised he had no idea what her name was.
“Sharona Otago,” she said. “Shota, for business purposes."
“Sharona?” Richard asked.
“Like the song,” she agreed.
“Like the poetry?” Richard glanced at Zedd. “Is this the woman so much of your poetry is about?”
Zedd turned away haughtily, poking at a mimeograph. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”
"I have to tell you I do not have any such mythical book," Sharona said, returning her attention to the subject at hand. "Books were always your domain, Zedd. Yes, I have heard the rumours, but I suggest you try elsewhere.”
Seeing the disappointment on Richard and Kahlan's faces, Sharona pointed to the back room.
“I'm sorry I can't directly help but I do have other ways of seeing,” she said. “Visions can mean many things.”
“Like what?” Kahlan asked.
“I read the Tarot,” Sharona said. “I'll read for you if you like, Richard. On the house, for old times sake. Zedd's old times, that is."
Zedd snorted. “Trickery.”
“What can it hurt?” Richard asked, deciding to humour her. “Sure.”
Sharona led Richard into the back room. It was a large kitchen-like area with a sink, electric kettle, one table, two chairs, an electric fire, and two candles on the table, elegant in their silver holders. Sharona went to a drawer by the sink and returned with a box of matches, a cloth, and a box of cards.
She spread the deep blue cloth upon the table and lit the candles, placing them at the top edge of the cloth. Then she sat and opened the box, shuffling the cards.
“Sit,” she said and Richard took the chair opposite. She handed him the cards. “Shuffle them for as long you want to,” she said and he did so.
They were larger and thicker than normal playing cards, and there were more of them in a pack, so it took him a while to get a rhythm going. When he felt he'd thoroughly mixed the pack and she couldn't be picking cards pre-determined for her own purposes, he handed them back.
Sharona put the pack on the cloth and lifted the first card from the deck, placing in down in a particular spot. She then laid other cards around this first card in a pattern that appeared natural to her, but seemed to have no logic to Richard.
Sharona closed her eyes a moment and then turned over the first card. "This is the signifier, which represents you," she said. It was The Fool. Her eyes widened.
"Should I be insulted?" Richard asked.
She shook her head. "Not at all. This is the first card of the Major Arcana, and the last, for the cards tell the cycles that all of mankind travels endlessly. The Fool is also known as the Seeker. See how he steps out boldly, with no preconceived ideas, ready to experience all the world has to offer."
She turned two more cards. "These are your helpers. The Empress, and the Magician. A motherly figure, caring, nurturing; and a male energy, maybe a doctor, scientist or trickster."
Was it coincidence that this particular deck showed the Empress wearing a white dress? Richard watched Sharona turn over another card.
"The Reversed Emperor opposes you. A charismatic figure whose abuse of his power makes him a tyrant."
"Rahl?" Richard guessed. He was beginning to wonder if he'd shuffled the cards enough. She turned over another card.
"The Hanged Man. A time and space between such concepts as time or space. Stillness. Meditation. Reflection. Observation. Vulnerability. Sacrifice." When Richard didn't respond, Sharona looked at him. "None of this means anything to you? This is one of the forces pushing you on your journey."
Richard considered a moment, then touched his pocket where the letter sat. "It might mean my brother," he said.
Satisfied he'd found some meaning in the card, Sharona didn't press him for details. She turned over more cards.
"The High Priestess will guide you. But the Tower, falling, says you will have to face up to something terrible. And the Knight of Swords may prove your greatest strength or your downfall. I cannot interpret these yet, for these things are what may come to pass. Watch out for them.
Sharona turned over one last card. It was the Ace of Swords. Her gaze flickered to the brooch on his jacket.
"This is your goal. To seek justice and truth. To face challenges. To overcome adversity through intelligence and instinct as well as physical prowess."
She gathered up the cards. "Go with my blessing, Richard Cypher," she said. "I feel much depends on you now."
"But go where?" he asked.
"The High Priestess. I could be wrong, but it may refer to Verna. It's almost too obvious though," Sharona said. "Zedd knows her. She may be able to help."
*
"I can always tell when people are lying," Kahlan warned. "So, you and Sharona-"
"That conversation is off limits," Zedd said gruffly. Kahlan smiled and wandered around the store, fascinated by the array of objects. She was examining an ancient fax machine when Richard returned to the storefront.
“Well?” she asked.
“She said we have to find someone called Verna,” Richard said, which was all that he felt like revealing. “And that you knew her, Zedd.”
“I do,” he acknowledged. “And I know where we can find her, but I will not be welcome. She might listen to you two, though.”
“Oh, no,” Kahlan whispered. Richard turned to see she was staring at one of the televisions. Its size belied its advanced age, but it was still in good working order, and it was currently showing a news channel.
"DA Brandstone killed in car bomb" read the headline across the bottom of the screen. A perky blonde reporter was explaining the details over the backdrop of footage showing a burnt out vehicle.
“I think you got off lightly with being fired,” Richard said.
Kahlan nodded solemnly. “He must have carried on pursuing Rahl, she said, wiping away a tear. "And I fear I may still be in danger."
“Then don't let his death be in vain," Zedd said. “We need to get moving, and at least while we're on the road we're not such easy targets.”
MISTRESS CARA
Rahl strode through the lower level of the science facility, his ankle length black coat billowing out behind him. The coat had the Rahl crest embroidered on the breast pocket and delicate decorative stitching at the cuffs. He was magnificent, Cara thought. Chief Mistress Denna was accompanying him, of course, sharp eyes appraising everything and everyone for potential danger or just plain slacking off.
Rahl was asking quick fire questions and Giller, Denna, or anyone in his eyeline was quick to respond.
“And Michael Cypher?” Rahl asked as they approached Cara's desk which was near to where the test subjects were kept.
“Over here, Lord Rahl,” Giller said. Cara wasn't sure if the man had ever heard of shampoo because his lank hair was permanently greasy. His lab coats were at least pristine, otherwise, genius or not, she thought Denna would have ordered him scrubbed down on pain of termination. "He is very promising."
“Yes,” Rahl said in delight. “He's a very healthy young subject, ideal for our purposes, isn't he?”
“Yes, Lord Rahl,” Giller said. “He is of great benefit to our research.”
Rahl grabbed a chair, sweeping it behind him and sitting next to Michael's bed.
“Oh, Michael,” he said in mock sorrow. “I am so sorry this happened to you. So very, very sorry.” Then he laughed loudly and the sound sent a shiver down Cara's spine.
“How long will he last?” Rahl asked, all pretence of concern gone.
Giller shrugged. “As you say, he is a healthy subject. He should survive many months – even a year or so.”
Rahl clapped his hands. “Excellent.” He stood, kicking the chair away behind him. “What else is there to see?”
His eyes found Cara and she lowered her eyes as she'd been told to do if ever in the presence of Lord Rahl. She was not a Mistress and had not earned the right to confront him.
“Well, well, who do we have here?” he purred, and walked over to her, circling her thoughtfully.
Denna scowled behind his back. “Her name is Cara Mason, my Lord.”
“Cara. That's a pretty name.” Rahl leant in so close she could feel his breath upon her neck. “Get me her file, Denna. Giller, show me the laboratory.”
And then he was gone, barking orders randomly to various staff members. Denna shot her an evil glare and followed Rahl. Cara wasn't sure if she'd just had the closest shave of her life, or had just missed out on the biggest opportunity of it. As it turned out, it was neither. But had she left at that moment and never looked back, things would have gone very differently.
*
Later that day, Rahl smiled as Denna escorted Cara into his office.
“Sit,” he said, and she complied, taking the chair opposite him. He had her file open on his desk.
“I've been reading about your accomplishments,” he said. “You have quite the scientific mind, Cara, plus physical stamina and an aptitude for technology. It says here they call you the Angel of Life. Why is that?”
Cara swallowed, gathering up her courage. “Local press exaggeration. It is merely that I have saved several lives,” she said. “I was trained in resuscitation techniques as are all your security forces. I just have had opportunity to put my training into practice.”
“Hmm. This newspaper clipping says that it was only after you took over the resuscitation efforts that this accountant's life was saved. Perhaps you are special.”
Cara kept her gaze lowered. “I wouldn't speculate, my Lord.”
Rahl flipped the file closed, ran one finger across his top lip thoughtfully. “I think your talents are being wasted, Cara.”
She forgot herself, looked up, afraid he was going to terminate her contract. “Lord Rahl?”
“You should have been elevated to the status of First Officer long ago.”
“A Mistress?” First Officers were the elite personal security personnel known as Mistresses; Cara had applied twice to be granted a post but shed been ignored.
“Yes,” he replied. “Though we don't officially use the term. Sexist, you understand. I don't want us sued for discrimination.” There were men in the security forces of course, with their dark jeans and grey t-shirts with the corporation's logo in red upon them, and black leather jackets. But only a select few made it to First Officer status and even then they were given posts elsewhere – one body guarded Egremont, for example – but none stayed at Rahl's right hand.
“Thank you, Lord Rahl,” she said.
He waved one hand imperiously. “I haven't finished yet.”
“Sorry, Lord Rahl.” She looked down, contrite.
“I want you to stand at my side. Learn everything about the business. An intern, if you will. You have the ambition, the skills, the experience of being within the Corporation. The politics will come easily enough.
Denna glared daggers at Cara. As if sensing this, Rahl turned. Denna's face was carefully blank by the time he laid eyes on her.
“Denna is my head of security and irreplaceable,” he said as if placating her. “But there are duties that are outside the scope of her responsibilities, duties I need someone I can trust to assist me with. I seem to be having the most terrible luck with my staff recently. As you may know my previous personal assistant, Constance...met with an unfortunate accident.”
Constance hadn't, as far as Cara knew, been taken as a subject for Giller to play with, which probably meant she was dead. Recently Cara had realised just how often people who opposed Rahl tended to die. Like Chase Brandstone, George Cypher, and Michael Cypher – who was as good as dead now Giller had a hold of him.
As if reading her thoughts, Rahl went on, "And with Michael Cypher – indisposed – I need a supportive shoulder to lean on from time to time. My new campaign manager is, I'm assured, a marketing genius. He's also an idiot, which is why I try to keep him in a different city from myself at all times. It's for his own safety; I cannot strangle Sebastian via the telephone.”
He laughed and Cara laughed too, though her mind was whirling. Intern. Right hand. Supportive shoulder – did he mean sex? She thought it was implied by his tone.
So, you will accept the position?”
“Of course, Lord Rahl,” Cara said.
“Good.” Rahl spun his chair. “Denna, induct her into the glorious ranks of your First Officers.”
“Yes, Lord Rahl,” Denna crossed the room and put a hand on Cara's shoulder. “Come along, Sister.”
Sister was a title used amongst the First Officers. Cara was thrilled at the sound of it, even through her fears and doubts – and the feeling that Denna hated her. This was what she wanted, though. She would rise high now. Internship meant he would teach her the ropes. She'd learn more about the workings of the Corporation and help him get elected. She might even one day become Executive Officer if she played her cards right, or perhaps a senator's aide.
Denna took Cara to the First Officers lounge and used her keycard to gain access. She led Cara to a room with leather sofas, a low table, and a plasma screen on one wall. “Wait here.”
Cara sat and waited. This was a room much nicer than, and almost as large as, her entire apartment. A sign on one wall pointed towards a Changing Area. A Mistress, braided hair damp, came past.
"Hello?" the woman said uncertainly as if Cara wasn't supposed to be here. And without the leather at her neck, she wasn't.
"Denna is finalising arrangements for my induction to become a Mistress," Cara said coolly.
The Mistress smiled. "Welcome, then. I am Raina.
"Cara."
Raina pointed behind her. "The pool is lovely. Be sure to make use of it. And the sauna!" She nodded politely and headed out of the lounge.
Denna returned several minutes later with a buff coloured envelope. She tipped out a keycard and handed it to Cara.
“Keep that on you at all times. It's your new ID. It allows access to almost everywhere, both the Corporation offices as well as the Science Facility, and the office space dedicated to Lord Rahl's political ambitions.” She handed Cara another Taser.
“That's not a replacement,” Denna said. “It's a spare. Keep fresh batteries in it. First Officers are never without a working Taser.” The next item from the envelope was the one that made Cara's heart pound in delight.
“Stand up,” Denna said. Cara did so and Denna stepped behind her. She held the leather thong, a triple woven strand of deep red leather in both hands and placed it over Cara's head. For a moment Cara feared Denna might try to strangle her with it; Cara's martial arts skills were not in question, but Denna was an exceptional fighter and Cara wouldn't take her down easily if it came to a physical fight.
Then the thong was fastened securely and Denna stepped away.
“Cara Mason,” Denna said, voice icy, “I welcome you to the post of First Officer, and the Sisterhood of those who serve Lord Rahl faithfully, wiling to lay down their lives for him, dedicating themselves to fulfilling his goals.”
Cara nodded. She touched the leather at her neck. Finally.
“You ought to grow your hair out so it can be braided as most Mistresses wear it," Denna said. "The non-disclosure papers you signed remain in effect, of course. Remember that, because you will now have almost unparalleled access to information about every aspect of Lord Rahl's life."
Denna stared hard at Cara as if trying to read her mind, to judge her loyalties. Cara held her gaze, unfazed.
"I have no clue what method is in this madness of making you his intern,” Denna said at last. “Tomorrow, report to Lord Rahl. I'm sure he will have thought of something for you to do by then. Fetching his coffee, perhaps. For now, return to your post at the Science Facility.”
“Yes, Mistress,” Cara said.
“Sister,” Denna reminded her sourly. She disapproved but she'd obey the rules, and that was something, Cara thought.
“Yes, Sister,” Cara corrected. She vowed to come back and have a proper look around the lounge later. There were rumours about hot tubs, a bar, and king-size beds inside the lounge area. Investigating such wild claims would have to wait however. She went to the Lab and informed the relevant staff members of her promotion.
“We saw the email,” Garen said in hushed tones, pausing as she typed up more of Giller's scrawl. “I'm jealous, of course, but I wish you luck.”
Email, already? Rahl was moving quickly on this.
“I won't forget my friends here,” Cara promised. There was glory to be had in working for Rahl but there were plenty of pitfalls and it was better to have a network of allies than risk going it alone.
She wandered the whole basement floor one last time, pausing at Michael Cypher's bedside. He was the only one she was certain that Rahl had caused to be put here, rather than acquired after a genuine illness or injury. It still prickled her conscience a little. He was still alive, though not for long, Giller had said. Yet there was still some hope he might be saved, which was more than could be said for DA Brandstone, or Constance.
The non-disclosure agreement was taken very seriously by Lord Rahl. And now she might be expected to punish those who disobeyed it. It was a sobering thought to counterbalance the ecstasy of her achievement.
“I'm to be promoted,” she told Michael. “And I'll take your situation as a warning to tread carefully.”
ON THE ROAD
“Who's Verna?” Richard asked as Zedd drove the battered van at precisely the speed limit.
“An acquaintance,” he said, nudging his driving glasses further onto his nose.
“The way Sharona was an acquaintance?” Kahlan teased from the rear seat.
“Not at all.” Zedd glanced over his shoulder. “You'll see why.”
Kahlan shrugged, then wiggled about. She ran her hands all over the seat, feeling around for something, and finally pulled a crumpled road atlas from beneath her behind, throwing it to the floor. “Then why won't she see you? Rahl again?”
“Yes,” he said. “She is still suspicious of me, even now, though it was she who helped arrange your adoption, Richard.”
“She's a lawyer?” Richard asked.
“No.” Zedd saw a road sign and brightened up. “Let's stop and get pie. I'm starving.”
There would be no more discussion until Zedd had eaten, Richard knew. He grinned at Kahlan.
"You like pie?"
"There are people who don't?" she asked with what Richard thought was the most wonderful smile in the world.
*
The stop for pie had been followed by more driving and then two more stops for using the bathroom. Richard took over the driving when they resumed their journey after the third stop. Zedd let Kahlan ride up front and was soon snoring in the backseat to Kahlan's amusement.
“You really didn't know he was your grandfather?” she asked.
“No. But we've always been close,” Richard said.
“Does that make it worse, the betrayal?” she asked seriously.
Richard thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “But I guess I understand why he lied. He didn't want to be associated with me to protect me, and given what's happened to my father and now my brother, he had reason to be paranoid.”
Kahlan reached over and put one hand on his knee. He could feel her warm skin through the rips at the knee of his jeans.
“I'm sorry to have disrupted your life.”
He shook his head. “It's okay. I wanted to join the police force and make a difference. Well this is a way I can make a difference, and get justice for my family too. And you're a very pretty disruption.”
He laughed, and she laughed too.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Clara!” Zedd sat bolt upright.
“Zedd?” asked Richard, concerned.
The old man shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. “Sorry. I was just dreaming.”
Kahlan peered ahead. “Maybe we should look for somewhere to stay the night. It's starting to get dark.”
“On it, my lady,” Richard said with a grin.
*
Safely home, Cara took a long, luxurious bath. She sipped at a chilled glass of white wine and touched the thong around her neck. She didn't intend to ever take it off now it was hers. Everything was falling into place.
Tomorrow she'd go and take a dip in the swimming pool, one of the many perks of being a Mistress.
"Mistress Cara," she said and liked how it sounded.
*
Kahlan wandered out of her motel room. Richard was there, staring up at the night sky.
"Hey," he said softly. "How's your room?"
"Adequate," she said after some consideration. "I just needed some air."
"Me too." Richard fingered the sword at his breast. "It's been a long day."
She nodded and moved towards him. "I know."
"For you too," he said quickly. "I mean with your friend Brandstone being killed. I'm sorry."
"He was a good man," Kahlan said sadly and blinked away tears.
"We'll make Rahl pay." Richard held out his hand and she took it. "I promise you."
She moved in closer and leant her head on his shoulder. She'd never believed in love at first sight but Richard stirred feelings in her like no man ever had before.
PART TWO / index post
