Free Deathstalker 03 - Deathstalker War by Simon R. Green

Owen. "If I have to die, I'll die well, as a Deathstalker should."
    "Oh very poetic," said Chance. "God save me from heroes. Look, I have a business
    to run. Don't let the door hit your butt on the way out."
    "Cut the crap," said Owen. "We still have business to discuss. My first questions were strictly on my own behalf. Now we get to the serious stuff. I'm here representing the Golgotha underground, and on their behalf I'm officially reawakening and revitalizing my father's old information network here in Mistport. He didn't fund just you and Abraxus; there are dozens of people and businesses all through this city that he established and supported, in return for the gathering and passing on of useful information. Some of them went on to be very successful indeed. Movers and shakers in this big city.
    "The information started drying up after my father's murder. Presumably they thought his death freed them from their obligations. I'm here to tell them different. I'm the Deathstalker now, and I am calling in my father's markers.
    With interest. The old network will rise again, this time supplying information to the new rebellion, or I will personally bankrupt every one of the sons of bitches. Including you, Chance."
    "Oh shit," said Chance.
    "Well quite," said Owen, smiling cheerfully. "You can start by supplying the names and locations you know, and then we'll get the rest from these espers of yours. You will then assist me in setting up a meeting of all concerned parties, somewhen today. In fact, within the next two hours, if they want to hang on to all their business interests and several vital organs. Get moving, Chance. I've a lot to do, and perhaps not as much time as I thought to get it done in."
    Chance made contact with the right people through his espers, a procedure from which Owen was very definitely excluded. He waited impatiently on the steps outside, debating whether to carve his initials into the door or the brickwork.

    Chance made an appearence just a few moments too late, looked at his door, and winced, then led Owen down the exterior stairway and off into the dizzying maze of narrow streets that made up the center of Mistport. The mist had thinned, but a fine annoying sleet was falling, turning the snow underfoot into slippery slush and mud. Owen stuck close behind Chance and tried not to think what he was doing to his expensive new boots.
    They passed out of Merchants Quarter and into Guilds Quarter, and the streets and buildings improved almost immediately. There were proper pavements and regular streetlights, some of them even electric. The buildings were decorative as well as functional, and the people passing by looked of a much richer, if not necessarily happier, class. Chance finally came to a halt outside one of the older Guild Halls, and paused a moment so Owen could study it and be properly impressed. It was a squat, sturdy building with three stories, high Gothic arches, wide glass windows, and hundreds of wooden rococo doodlings in every spare inch. The gutters ended in great carved stone gargoyles, water spouting from their mouths, giving the unfortunate effect that they seemed to be vomiting on the people below. Or perhaps it was deliberate. It was a Guild Hall, after all. Owen didn't have the heart to tell Chance he'd seen more impressive privies at Lionstone's Court, so he just nodded thoughtfully, to show he'd finished being impressed, and gestured for Chance to lead the way in.
    There were two armed guards at the front door. They bowed respectfully to Chance, and ignored Owen. He didn't kill them. He didn't want to make a scene.
    Yet. Inside, the main foyer was large and comfortable and extremely respectable.
    There was much polished wooden wall paneling, and a richly waxed floor that gleamed brightly in the light of the electric lamps, set not so much as to provide light but so that they could be admired the more easily. The various
    furnishings and fittings were luxurious to the point of