Queen's Man

A Vicious Game

You shouldn't have stunned him, someone growled, scratchy voice penetrating the nice fog Joss had found to hang out in. Joss fought the urge to shake his head. Hangovers and head-shaking never made a good combo, no matter what caused either one. Also, he had a feeling he'd rather postpone waking up to whatever this guy had in mind.

Tied to a chair, he realized. He was tied to…maybe the wooden piece of crap falling apart by Bren's front door. Gods, was he in the hands of amateurs?

You didn't see him last time, another voice answered. He's puny, yeah, but he's damned fast.

Puny? Puny?

Fucking bugger, first voice growled. And fucking wuss you, letting one gunless, gormless nancer run you off.

Yeah. Scratchy-voice was going down first. Unless the other one gave Joss an opportunity he couldn't pass up. Then he could take his time kicking the shit out of—

He should be awake by now, second voice said. Do you think—

Then let's wake ‘im.

Stinging pain exploded in Joss' cheek; his head rocked back from the blow. His eyes teared and his head swam. Full-arm slap. The print would probably glow in the dark.

Fuck. It was that game. Joss hated that game.

Queen's Man

KD Sarge

TurtleduckPress.com

A Turtleduck Press Release

Smashwords Edition

copyright KD Sarge

April 2012

Dedicated to Bly-Bly,

friend and inspiration,

and to all the fierce and fantastic

ladies of Assassins Anonymous.

Queen's Man

Chapter One

No, no, no…Joss fought tangled sheets, fumbled till he hit something that stopped the beeping. He sagged back to the bed, buried his face in a pillow. A chuckle replaced the alarm's efforts to keep him awake.

That's your wake-up call, you know, Bran said. Or Bren. Brin? A hand stroked Joss' hair and down his back. Time to go catch bullets!

…go 'way… Joss mumbled. Ugh. Morning-happy. Knew the guy had to have a flaw.

It's my bed! Bren said, laughter in his voice.

…go 'way come back wi' coffee… Yeah. Bren. That was it.

Fine. The bed shifted as Bren slid out the other side. But only because you ask so sweetly. Soft creak as the door opened, then the snick of a latch as it closed. Joss cranked one eye open to peer at the chronometer he'd just beaten. Scowled a moment until he realized it was on Standard time. What the hell? He poked it to planet-local and grumbled. Time to move. If he moved fast and the subway was actually running, he might even be early.

Yeah, couldn't have that. Instead Joss rolled onto his back to grin at the ceiling. Pretty. Beams. Medieval-like. Hadn't noticed that last night. Bren must really like his antiquities. The house was big and expensive; if Bren had wanted doors that opened themselves, he could have afforded them.

Joss stretched, taking note of what hurt and how much. Each new ache brought back a piece of the night before, widening his grin. Had better be one hell of a breakfast headed his way. He'd earned it.

But if he waited for breakfast in bed, he'd be late. Really late, rather than his usual few minutes give or take. Joss sighed and sat up. Somewhere out there a door opened and after a long moment closed, but no coffee appeared and neither did the handsome writer with the great smile. Had Bren got lost in his own house? Joss didn't even smell coffee yet.

Maybe he'd got distracted, daydreaming of last night. Joss shook back hair that burned as brightly as his soul and decided he'd better go fetch. Maybe the door noise had been the mailman delaying Joss' proper appreciation.

Going naked might give Bren ideas Joss didn't have time for, so he snagged a robe from the closet and went after his caffeine. Door, hall, corner, scratching his back—Joss froze.

Bren's eyes snapped to Joss. The gun behind Bren's head spat fire. The gunshot and a scream rolled over Joss as Bren's lifeless body toppled from knees to face-down.

Joss snatched a metal fan off the wall as the gun jerked to aim at him. What the—? Damn, hell, another intruder, holding a struggling girl. The room he hadn't noticed last night sank in. Statues, antiques, exotic and ancient weapons…

Bless Bren the collector! Joss threw the fan, snatched a spear and stabbed the gunman's ankle as the guy dodged the fan, used the spear-butt to crack hostage-taker's knee, back again, disarm—

Gun dropped, hostage freed—she'd bit him—Joss batted the gun across the room, grounded the spear and grinned.

Who's first?

The gunman reached into his jacket. Joss stabbed, too slow. Hissing and smoke, hell! Joss dove at the girl, connected with a firm body and knocked her to the floor. She screamed and fought him.

Fuck that. Joss rolled away, to his feet but low. He'd heard the door. Didn't mean they were gone. He put a sleeve over his face, blinked as his eyes teared.

Daddy? called a soft voice from where Joss had just been.

Oh effing hell. Kid, maybe a teen, in spacer's clothes with a travel bag—

Oh God, the girl said, and coughed. Oh my God.

Joss closed his eyes and pictured the room as best he could. Did a zombie lurch to a window and found the latch no more antiquated than one from back home. He threw open the window and got a big gulp of air, went and got the girl and pushed her head out the window. Didn't push her the rest of the way when she started struggling. Damn teenagers. Joss gulped more air and searched out another window, scraping his shin and nearly losing the robe on the way.

When he had a window to himself he leaned out, breathing and swearing. What the hell, what the hell? Who went right into a man's house and executed him? Krishni Tribe ran this patch, didn't they? Krishni hardly ever killed anyone! So what—didn't matter. Get out. Take the girl if she'd go, and—shit. Had to call the cops. If he didn't, and the mess landed in Rukya's lap—

The girl's head disappeared from the other window. Joss ducked back inside and intercepted before she got to the body. The smoke had risen, but the smell stuck. Chemical stink, gunpowder, blood…

Here, Joss said to the girl. Kid. Teen? Barely. Why don't you— Joss shoved a door. Kitchen. Good. —make coffee, he finished. Keep her busy. Avoid hysterics, right? I'll call the police.

Who—who are you?

Joss, Joss said. You could make breakfast. Bunch of cops. He shut the door behind her. If the kitchen was as low-tech as the rest of the house, that should keep her a while. Joss looked around and found the phone.

Reporting the murder was hindered by Joss' not knowing the address. He had to go outside and look. Of course he didn't think of that until the woman on the phone asked. Joss told her what she needed to know—murder, witnesses, address, evildoers gone—and hung up. That wasn't his brightest move ever. Off the phone, Joss was alone with the body.

The smoke had cleared, leaving a large bright room full of things. The one object that held Joss' attention lay on the floor before him, golden skin clad only in red boxers, remaining hair a bloody mess. A crimson pool lay around what was left of the head.

Damn. Not eight hours ago they'd staggered in the door laughing, stumbled into the wall and—

Joss shook his head and walked away. Clothes. Find clothes, because he wasn't dead and that meant he had to go to work.

Suit coat, sock, cane—if he'd had that when he'd come around the corner…Joss hooked the cane over a doorknob and piled the rest as he found each piece, walking wide around the body and not looking at it. He found his tie hanging from the helmet of a tall statue but it snagged when he tried to get it with the cane so he left it there. The girl tried to come out. Joss asked her for a cup of coffee and some bacon. She stared a moment, but she went back into the kitchen.

The doorbell sounded and Joss opened the door.

I'm sorry to disturb you, the woman officer said, but we had a report—

Yeah. Joss opened the door wider and stepped aside. The girl came back right then and the officers clutched at guns then relaxed. Joss aimed the girl at the woman officer. This is his kid. I guess.

Daniels, according to her badge, did a double take, then put an arm around the kid. The girl promptly fell into little crying pieces. Daniels shot Joss a disgusted glare and guided the girl toward the kitchen, leaving Joss with her partner.

And without his coffee that the girl hadn't handed over yet. No bacon, either.

Partner glanced at the pile of clothes, looked Joss up and down with particular attention to the robe and the long loose red hair, and sighed. Joss waited for the comment but it didn't come.

Right, Joss snapped finally. I'm getting a shower.

Officer Chhreti, or so his badge named him, had droopy eyes that opened wider at Joss' announcement, but he didn't say anything as Joss scooped up his pile of clothes. He did follow Joss out of the room.

You live here? he asked as they walked down the hall.

I know the way from the door to the bedroom. No real questions, not even his name. Just how big was this mess, that the cops knew already not to dig too deep? Maybe he should just leave town now.

Ahh, Officer Chhreti said. What's the girl's name?

Didn't ask.

Asleep when you arrived?

Guess so. Hell. The cop really didn't give a damn, did he? Shit. Bren deserved better than—

Bren was dead. Joss wasn't. And to stay not-dead, he'd steer clear of big fucking messes. If the cops weren't touching it, sure as hell he wasn't.

As Joss had vaguely remembered or imagined, the master bedroom contained a master bath. Officer Chhreti followed Joss into the room without comment and Joss didn't give enough of a damn to comment either. He turned the water on, and gave a second's warning before he dropped the robe. Chhreti turned his back. Joss opened the glass door and stepped into the huge stall with four different fixtures that was pretty much paradise and damn it if not for the bastards with guns he and Bren might have—

No, there was the kid. Hell. Bren hadn't even mentioned her. What if she'd come out while they were still in the foyer last night?

Why don't you tell me what happened? the cop asked finally. Joss scrubbed himself as he told the story from the moment Bren caught his eye at the bookstore, leaving out the really good bits. He got all the way up to calling the cops before the guy interrupted.

You sent her to make breakfast?

So she wouldn't— Joss flapped a hand the officer couldn't see. You know. Get all screamy. Hysterical.

Known a lot of women like that, have you?

A few.

Where'd you say you worked again? Now, finally, the guy pulled a notepad from his back pocket. Too much to hope a cop might have better technology. Only the richest tribes had hand-held electronics.

Fukuyo. Joss had only just learned to say it without a smirk. Security.

The notebook sagged as the man turned to stare at him. He coughed and turned back around.

Fukuyo, he said. You guys are supposed to be tough.

I didn't get shot. Like to see you manage it.

There is that. I'll tell you, though, the cop pulled out a pen and started scribbling, you try to keep Lady Rukya from getting hysterical, she'll probably shoot you.

Joss knew damn well she would. That's why he worked for her.

***

To Joss, the measure of a good night was easy: was it worth the morning after? In fairness to dead Bren, he might have to revise that standard. Or suspend it, or whatever. It had been a great night, and probably would have been a fantastic morning if not for two uninvited dickheads and one big gun.

Maybe he'd just count the morning separate. In that case, it would go down in the Chronicles of Joss as one of the worst. Definite top-five material. There was the shooting, of course. The bumps and scratches from the girl's flip-out when he tackled her. The lack of breakfast and lack of time to get any—the lack of coffee. The fact that he was standing in a small crowd of pushy people on a smelly platform underground hoping to anyone/thing that listened that a damned train would come down the tracks in a minute and get his tired hungry ass to work. Bad enough he'd lost his tie. If he had to trot across town to show up an hour late, sweaty, stinky and hungry…

If he got his pay docked again, it was pretty effing certain he'd kill someone.

Stupid train was ten minutes late and counting, and the talkative girl Joss had ditched at the back of the crowd had reported that the last train never showed at all. When Joss snarled she'd shrugged and told him the trains ran better than before, but Joss figured We show up almost half the time! was still a bad motto.

Stupid Kari's Star. Couldn't even run a damned subway.

Hey, hey! called a voice from the back of the milling crowd. Got a chiva going west up-top! No train's gonna come, you know?

Joss put his cane to use and was third in line for the new mode of transportation. Third of the new passengers—the converted bus held some twenty riders already. Joss eyed the garish green and red paint job as he waited for the second guy to get done bargaining. Owned by a tribe-less, then. The staid tribes didn't like color. Joss shook his head and looked at what was important—the wheels. Many chivas rode on bald and oft-patched tires, but these guys had moved to spoked metal wheels. With new tires costing more than an old car, they'd be easier to maintain, but…ow.

Where you going, hey? The porter was a tall thin man with black hair and a curled mustache whose vest matched the chiva's paint. He looked Joss over from damp hair to good but scuffed shoes, lingering on the dragon-headed cane and the gold hoop in his ear, and jerked his head. What tribe?

Fukuyo headquarters. How much?

Get on.

There were advantages to being a tribe-man. Joss stepped on the back wheel and up into the open-air bus. One glance at the line still waiting told him to head for higher ground, so Joss found a spot on someone's laundry in the front corner of the luggage rack above the driver—both so he could signal when he needed to get off, and because near the driver was likely to be the safest place on the bus. Joss had heard a chiva needed four different licenses to operate legally, but greased palms in the right places worked just as well while costing less.

As he'd expected, the driver and his partner packed people into the chiva until the line was gone. Joss shared the luggage rack with an old woman and her crate of chickens, a lot of bags and boxes, and a couple cuddled together in the back. The rest of the passengers were crammed in below with a big barky dog. A goat and goat kids. A whole lot of human kids. A fetid-smelling holy man and his four filthy disciples.

Better to be on top.

Finally the chiva lurched into motion. Joss watched Kari's Port slide by and thought nasty thoughts about the whole damn planet.

On BFR, walking out of the spaceport was walking into the jungle, untouched and amazing. Wild anything scared Kari's people, though, so they'd built their capital—and their damned spaceport—on an island, and tamed the whole damn thing. The entire place was buildings and parks and gardens, everything growing where it should and nothing left that was mean enough to take a hand off a fool who wasn't paying attention.

Unless the fool ran crosswise of a major tribe, anyway. Here and there among the crowded buildings lay a pile of rubble no one had got around to reclaiming yet.

Idiots. Joss spared a thought for Bren and his kid, but shook it away. Bren was dead. And yeah, Taro would have looked after the kid, but he'd have done it by shoving her at Rafe. Joss didn't have a good-with-crying-people partner. Usually he didn't need one. Stupid fucking planet.

Some mornings Joss thought he really ought to pack his ass up and go home. Sometimes he thought he never should have effing left. This morning, coffee-less and pissed off anyway, he even wished he'd stayed on the damn Pendragon's Dream. Even Taro's badass sister dragging him to physical training at 0500 was better than watching these damn fools kill each other over stupid kid squabbles. On the Dream the only ones that acted like kids were kids. And he'd have had effing coffee by now.

Some effing adventure. Saw what, three planets before he left the Dream? Two more before he hit Kari's? Shit.

The chiva trundled around a curve and headed down the hill, picking up speed. Joss held on and hoped the damn—

Hey, hey! came from below, and a brown arm waved out the driver's window. A ship! Spaceship, sixty degrees and coming fast!

The chiva tilted as everyone lunged to see.

Keep your eyes on the damned road! Joss shouted as his own eyes searched out the shape of a small courier angling down out of a thin grey sky.

Yeah, hey, the driver shouted, thumping the side of the bus. She'll get you there!

Should have taken Taro up on piloting lessons, Joss thought as the winged ship curved around and down, heading for the port on the other end of the island. Sneak over there and steal that damned ship and leave the whole effing mess of stinking stupid Kari's citizens—

From below came a sonorous voice, invoking the anger of God on the heathen Galactics. A filthy arm extended, casting the curse. Joss thwapped it with his cane, and got his own curse in return.

Hey, hey, the driver shouted. Get out of the way, little car! Coming through!

Joss forgot the spaceship and the holy man in favor of holding on.

***

Usually when he got to the new headquarters, Joss paused to appreciate the tall hotel with all the modern—for Kari's—conveniences. Some of the doors opened themselves, and others had doormen, and if a guest paid enough a machine would do his laundry rather than a person…it might not be as modern as the rest of the galaxy, but at least it was fancy.

He should live in luxury, damn it, not just work there.

Even though he didn't stop to look today, stalking through the lobby lightened his mood, filtered into his walk. Crystal chandeliers, polished stone floors, people in fine clothes…he liked the new HQ. Was about time they showed off a bit, and got the hell out of the boss' house to boot. Cane in hand, Joss bounced past the group loitering at the elevators. Large security types of the make-it-obvious breed.

Hey, Twinkletoes!

Joss spun, swinging his cane up to rest on his shoulder just in case. There were six of them.

Darling! he called back.

Caught short, dumbass stared. Joss stepped to pat his cheek.

Aww! You're speechless! He turned away, fluttered a hand over his shoulder. Ta ta for now, big boy! Catch me later; you can buy me a drink! Joss trotted up the stairs before big and dumb decided to re-assert his machismo. He just…didn't feel like another fight today.

Why do you taunt them? Dembe Marchal asked, appearing as Joss reached the top of the flight. Joss grinned at his superior—or, as he liked to call him in his mind, Tall, Brown, and Delicious—and tossed his hair.

Because it's fun, baby.

Marchal rolled his eyes. You're late. Come on; the boss has a personal assignment for you.

Aw, not Kichi again, Joss protested. Look, man, I don't feel good. And I suck at babysitting. My ears haven't recovered, and I haven't eaten, and there's this thing on my toe—

Not Kichi. Who has, by the way, come back around to threatening to jump out a window because of you.

Gods, it's been months. I say let her. Usually Joss had to slow for Marchal, but he was tired. His boss only had to work a little to keep the lead.

I told you not to dance with him, Marchal rumbled. Didn't I? And look where it got you.

You were shaking your head, Joss answered. I thought you had a twitch.

Joss Ravid, you knew exactly what you were doing. You stole your protectee's date.

"Hey, he asked me to dance. Because she wouldn't. She drove him off being boring and spiteful. I just picked him up."

You went home with your boss's daughter's boyfriend!

"Zeke said they'd dated, but they weren't dating."

Was he naked when he said that?

Yes, Joss answered. And sweaty, and—

All right. I don't care. But damn it, Ravid— Marchal shook his head. Dancing with him in front of all her friends. Dancing with him like that!

Turned you on, did it? Mmm, dancing. And after…a brisk game of Chase the Redhead was always fun. As long as Joss was the redhead.

His stomach rumbled, and his head hurt. Good gods, he needed coffee. With a little luck, though, it was just around the corner. Someone had coffee, he could smell it. And if he couldn't annoy a cup of coffee out of someone—

For the love of all that's holy! Hands grabbed Joss's shirt, straightened the collar. Tabitha. Just once couldn't you come to work looking decent, Joss?

Hell no, he couldn't take Tabitha today. Joss caught her hands as she tucked his shirt in. Back off, babe. Seriously.

"You better just take the help, babe, the blonde snarled, twisting free. She whipped off her own tie to wrap around Joss's neck. Seriously. Do you have any idea how torqued off the boss is? She was looking for you an hour ago."

I wasn't even supposed to be here till twenty minutes ago!

Hells, now Marchal was fixing his shirt while Tabitha tied her tie on him.

Do you know, Joss demanded, how effing lucky you are that I'm even here? You wouldn't believe—

Yeah, yeah, we know, Tabitha interrupted, pulling the tie tight. Joss gagged; she tugged again. He was gorgeous, he adored you, he was a great lay, and— she cocked a finger at Marchal, —you don't know how the hell you dragged yourself out of bed, they finished together. Grow up, Tabitha went on alone. Joss, this is important.

It's always fucking important. Joss batted her hands away from his hair. Don't make me kill you.

"You're lucky the boss is still