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  No sooner were the words spoken than the beams softened slightly, allowing Dante to look at the figures around him without squinting. He stood and folded his arms. "What do you want of me?"

  "This is not about you, Dante - this is about the future of the Empire. The noble houses we represent all had covert alliances with the House of Romanov during the war. Like your father, Dmitri, we believe that if anybody has a right to claim leadership of the Empire, it is the Romanovs. Your family can trace its claim to rule over all the Russias back almost a thousand years. We wish to restore the Empire to Romanov rule, rid ourselves of the Tsar once and for all."

  "The Romanovs are all dead, or haven't you been paying attention?" Dante sneered. "They got their asses kicked during the war."

  You would do better not to antagonise your captors, the Crest advised.

  "I don't give a damn what you or anybody else thinks," Dante continued. "The Romanovs are dead and I want nothing more to do with them. I renounced that name during the Battle of Rudinshtein. End of story."

  Another click and a fresh dose of electrocution was the reply. The Parliament's spokesman continued once Dante had recovered. "Yes, most of the Romanovs are dead, but not all of them. Young Arkady is now a ward of the Tsar, kept close beside the Makarov despot. Lulu remains at large, intent on waging her own one-woman war against the Empire. And there are even rumours that Lady Jocasta survived the final onslaught at the Winter Palace, although we have no proof of that, nor knowledge where she might be."

  "I told you, I don't care about my so-called family anymore. They left Rudinshtein to the Imperials, abandoned the civilians while trying to save their own skins. I hope they all rot in hell together!"

  "And then there is the bastard offspring of that noble dynasty. The roguish renegade known as Nikolai Dante."

  "That's my name, don't wear it out," Dante spat back.

  Such sparkling repartee, the Crest groaned. I've told you before: never engage anyone in a battle of wits, Dante. You're not equipped for such a fight.

  "Your Crest is correct," another voice added from the shadows. "Shut up and listen to its advice, you might get out of here alive."

  Dante spun round, trying to deduce who had spoken. He recognised the voice as the woman who had summoned him up from the dungeon, but where else had he heard her? "Hey, how do you know what the Crest is saying? It only talks inside my thoughts. Nobody else can hear it."

  "I can read your mind, so I am also privy to what the Crest tells you," the woman snarled. "Now be quiet, for once in your life."

  Ooh, I like her, the Crest said admiringly.

  "Will you listen to our offer, or must we subject you to more shock treatment?" the Parliament's spokesman enquired, with a hint of menace beneath his calm words.

  "You've got an offer? Fine, I'll listen," Dante replied casually.

  "Have you heard of the Forbidden Citadel?"

  "Can't say I have."

  "That is unfortunate."

  The Forbidden Citadel is a legendary fortress in the Himalayas, the Crest interjected, supposedly invisible to the eyes of outsiders.

  Dante smiled. "I once went to a restaurant called the Jade Citadel. Or was it the Forbidden Pagoda? Could have been the Shirley Temple, now I come to think about it. Anyway, that place did a wonderful wonton soup."

  "Your flippancy will be your downfall," the Parliament's spokesman warned.

  "Yeah, yeah. What's your point?"

  "The citadel is home to a secret weapon once jealously guarded by the Romanovs. We believe that weapon will enable us to overthrow the Tsar. Normally only those who have been within the citadel can see it from outside. But we have discovered it can also be found by those bearing a Weapons Crest."

  "I should have known," Dante sighed.

  "As we speak, the Tsar is sending an army of a thousand men into the Himalayas to find and take the Forbidden Citadel. That mission cannot be allowed to succeed. We want you to lead a small expedition into the mountains. You must reach the citadel first and retrieve the weapon."

  "Why should I?"

  "Would you rather the Tsar had the use of this device?" the Parliament's spokesman demanded. "We know little about the nature of the weapon, except that your father was keeping it as a last resort in his war against the Tsar. Such was the rapid reversal of fortune against the Romanovs, he never had a chance to deploy the weapon in battle. How would you feel if it was tested on Rudinshtein and its people, for whom you profess such affection?"

  "Everything you've said is full of 'ifs' and 'buts'. Admit it, you don't know whether this weapon even works, do you?"

  "No, but we do not dare let the weapon fall into the hands of the Tsar!"

  "I understand that," Dante shouted back. "I'm not stupid."

  All evidence to the contrary.

  "Why should I go on this mission? You people don't even have the guts to show your faces, let alone take on the Tsar in the open!"

  The woman standing in the shadows near Dante replied to his accusation. "You will go because you know you must. You will go because there is nobody who can go in your place - that's why you were brought here. And you will go because if you do not, I will murder you where you stand." She stepped out into the light to confront Dante. He recognised her as the same women who had supervised his capture on the Okiya. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair framing Oriental features and nut-brown skin. Her build was athletic but, to Dante's eyes, it curved outwards against her skin-tight garb in all the right places. Most striking were her eyes, anger overlaid on sadness, a flash of recklessness about their expression. Dante had met a few women like her in his life. She seemed dangerous, passionate and utterly implacable. Every time he'd fallen like a stone for them, and every time it had ended badly. I'm in trouble here, he decided.

  "Yes, you are," she replied. "I can read your thoughts, remember?"

  Dante's face switched from consternation to bafflement in moments, before settling into mischievous. A vicious slap wiped the smile from his features. "Keep your mind off my arse," she warned.

  Sound advice, the Crest added.

  "Don't you start," Dante muttered.

  "You accused us of lacking the courage to show our faces," the Parliament's spokesman said. "Very well, then. I shall reveal my face to all those present, so there can be no doubts about my belief in this cause." He deactivated the spotlight that was mounted on his platform and stepped forward so everyone could see him. With slow, deliberate movements, he pulled back his hood. Beneath was a middle-aged man with receding red hair and a prominent nose. "I am Zachariah Zhukov, leader of the House of Zhukov, and I challenge the rule of the tyrant Vladimir Makarov. Who else will step forward and identify themselves, show their courage?"

  One by one the other members followed his example. Finally, Zhukov turned to Dante. "Well, we have risen to your challenge, Dante. Will you rise to ours?"

  Spatchcock led the way through shattered gravestones and broken memorials, Flintlock hurrying nervously along behind. The ground was frozen by frost, each blade of grass a tiny slither of ice and green. None of the inscriptions on the masonry were legible, having been systematically vandalised by some previous visitor. "Cheery sort of place, isn't it?" Flintlock whispered, hoping Spatchcock would think the cold was causing the tremors in his voice. He rubbed his hands together for warmth and clouds of steam issued from his nostrils as he breathed.

  "Dante's close," Spatchcock muttered, all his attention focussed on the stolen tracker strapped to his left wrist. "The signal's strongest over there." He hurried on, clambering over a stone angel whose wings had been shattered.

  Flintlock moved more awkwardly, despite his long legs. Spatchcock scuttled like a spider over all kinds of terrain, whereas the exiled aristocrat still felt it beneath himself to be furtive. A lifetime of training for greatness did not prepare him for low company and low life. He tripped on the wingless angel, tumbling face first into a freshly dug mound of soil. "I say, I'm most dreadfully sorry," F
lintlock spluttered, his mouth full of dirt.

  Spatchcock glared back at him. "Will you stop buggering about, your lordship. We're trying to-" He stopped abruptly, noticing the earth beneath Flintlock. "What's that doing there?"

  "What's what doing where?" the Brit replied. "Give me a hand, Spatch."

  But the little man ignored his fallen comrade, preferring to dig his hands into the dirt. "This shouldn't be here. The ground's frozen, hasn't been touched in months, but somebody's dug this over recently. Probably today."

  A low rumble of machinery startled them both. They scrambled clear of the dirt mound as it descended into the ground, revealing a concrete staircase hidden below. "That must be the way in," Spatchcock realised.

  Flintlock was about to comment when he felt a small, hard circle of metal jab into his back. "Spatch, old boy. I think we've got company..."

  "Don't worry, we'll wait until they've gone, then nip down the stairs."

  "I don't think that's going to work," Flintlock ventured, peering over his shoulder at the cluster of armed guards standing behind him.

  Dante was still arguing with the Parliament of Shadows when Spatchcock and Flintlock appeared from a concealed doorway, striding purposefully into the centre of the chamber. "There he is. What did I tell you, Spatch? My nose for a brigand never fails me. It's that bounder, Nikolai Dante. The Tsar will pay a pretty penny for this rapscallion."

  "Who are you two?" Zhukov demanded from his platform, unhappy at the interruption.

  "Begging your pardon, sir," Spatchcock replied, bowing grandly. "We are Spatchcock and Flintlock, bounty hunters extraordinaire. We have tracked this fugitive halfway across the Empire and may we thank you all for keeping him detained. Now, we shall relieve you of this burden and take him to face his crimes before the proper authorities."

  Dante rolled his eyes. "I hope this isn't your idea of a rescue mission because it doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

  Flintlock performed an elaborate mime that suggested there was nothing to worry about, or else he was planning to take up belly dancing; Dante wasn't sure which was the more accurate description. "My learned friend is correct," Flintlock announced, turning back towards Zhukov. "We hereby claim Dante as our captive and will be removing him into our custody."

  The woman guarding Dante pulled a weapon from a holster strapped to her thigh and aimed it at the new arrivals. "Lord Zhukov, these men are known accomplices of Dante. They were with him at the Okiya." She stepped towards Spatchcock and ripped the tracker off his wrist. "They must have followed him here, after stealing this device from one of my men."

  "In that case, they shall share Dante's fate, whatever he decides."

  "Spatch, old boy, I don't think they're falling for the bounty hunter story," Flintlock muttered quietly.

  "We'd have gotten away with it if you'd kept your mouth shut." Spatchcock looked at his former commander. "What's this decision you've got to make?"

  Dante smiled, despite himself. "Either all three of us are executed here..."

  "Right," Spatchcock said, his face thick with concentration. "No, don't like the sound of that much. What's the second option?"

  "...or we can embark on an impossible quest to find a legendary fortress that probably doesn't exist so we can steal a secret weapon of terrifying power."

  Flintlock was busy winking lustily at the beautiful, gun-wielding Oriental woman nearby. Spatchcock elbowed him in the ribs. "I say, what were the options again?" Dante repeated them for the Brit. "Well, I think the impossible quest sounds more my cup of tea, don't you?"

  Spatchcock nodded his agreement. Dante gave a thumbs-up signal to Zhukov. "I've just got one question. What's the pay like for suicide missions?"

  FIVE

  "Be a rogue, but be kind."

  -- Russian proverb

  "The so-called Russian rogue is, in fact, a thief, a brigand and a philander for whom the opposite sex is merely a way to provide him with physical pleasure and visual stimuli. Dante's notoriety is well known across the Empire, but the circumstances of his first significant brush with the Imperial authorities are remarkably illustrative of the renegade's salacious behaviour. He was arrested in St Petersburg in 2666, after being found in the bedchamber of Lady Zoya, an Imperial seductress employed by the Tsar's own hussars. Dante made a cowardly attack upon a captain of the hussars, then fled the scene in terror for his life.

  Not content with having besmirched the good name of Lady Zoya, he conspired to steal her jewel-encrusted eroticostume as some tawdry souvenir of his sexual exploits. The thief was captured trying to sell the garment at the Tsyganov black market. He was brought before the Tsar on charges of banditry, fraud, deceit, unauthorised duelling and seduction for the purposes of financial gain. The fact that Dante offered no defence for his crimes speaks volumes about his character. It is regretful the Tsar did not have this vile creature executed immediately. Such action would have spared the Empire from Dante's subsequent displays of carnality, lawlessness and cocksure bravado." --

  - Extract from Nikolai Dante: A Character Assassination, various contributors

  Once they had agreed to undertake the Parliament of Shadows' mission, Dante and his comrades found themselves being treated like honoured guests. The trio were escorted to private quarters for their ablutions, before being offered a hot meal. Spatchcock had little enthusiasm for washing, heading straight for the food table in the adjoining room. "I haven't had a square meal for three days," he said. "Anyway, every time you wash, it invites fresh bacteria on to your body. I like the bacteria I've already got."

  Dante and Flintlock manhandled the odorous ex-felon into a bath full of hot water and bubbles, holding his head beneath the surface until Spatchcock agreed to bathe. "If we're supposed to be racing the Tsar's men to the Forbidden Citadel, I don't want your lack of personal hygiene giving us away," Dante said while Spatchcock washed. "One bath a year won't do you any harm."

  The trio emerged to find fresh clothes laid out for them, form-fitting tops and trousers in stretch fabrics, plus numerous outer layers for insulation against the mountain cold. Beside these were a selection of boots and climbing equipment, while hooded jackets in white and silver were hung on the wall.

  "White? Not very flattering for somebody with my fair complexion," Flintlock complained. "I'll look terribly washed out."

  "That's the point. They're camouflage to hide us in the snow," Dante replied. He was pleased to find his rifle lying among the equipment, restored to his possession again. The Huntsman 5000 was made by the same alien technology responsible for the Romanov Weapons Crests. The rifle created its own ammunition internally and so never needed reloading, a useful quality in the sort of fire fights Dante encountered all too frequently. He patted the weapon appreciatively, then settled down to dinner with the others. "I could eat a horse."

  Flintlock stopped chewing, a forkful of sausage frozen in front of his lips. "You don't think this is horse, do you? I've had some dubious dishes since leaving the old country, but I've no urge to eat equine."

  "I don't mind a good haunch of horse," Spatchcock said happily, smacking his lips. "Can be a tasty bit of meat, especially if you marinade it first. Some red wine, a few capers, handful of freshly chopped herbs..."

  "Arsenic, cyanide, strychnine," Dante added mischievously.

  "I never mix cooking with the concocting of poisons," Spatchcock protested.

  "With your cooking it's hard to tell the difference," Flintlock interjected.

  "Well, if you lifted a finger to help, your lordship, I wouldn't have to do all the cooking. But you're so high and mighty, I doubt you could boil water."

  "The only boils I associate with you, Spatch, are the ones on your arse."

  Dante didn't bother trying to referee his two comrades' argument. They bickered worse than him and the Crest. Only a well-matched couple could argue so much and still stay together. He smiled and continued eating, happy at his unholy being trinity back together again. If only I could esc
ape the nagging feeling I'm being watched, like someone itching the back of my mind, he thought. Then he remembered the Oriental woman, how she was able to hear the Crest speak inside his thoughts. She could be watching me through my eyes right now...

  Dante closed his eyes and thought of the most repulsive sexual scenario he could imagine. His mind was flooded with images of the telepathic woman, himself, a bathtub full of jelly and a game of hide the sausage. The presence at the back of his thoughts abruptly vanished. "That's better. Now I can enjoy my meal in peace," Dante announced. His bickering companions looked at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted an extra head. "Don't mind me," Dante replied, happily shovelling another forkful of meat into his mouth.

  Lord Zhukov came to bid them farewell in the morning, after the trio had snored through the night in a private dormitory. Dante and the others met Zhukov in the meeting chamber with the black and white checked floor, but now the spotlights were off and the mood much less threatening. On his raised platform Zhukov had seemed powerful, almost magisterial. In person he was small in stature, only a few inches taller than Spatchcock. His eyes flickered around the chamber nervously, as if he expected Imperial troops to burst in at any moment.

  "Forgive my unease," Zhukov said. "This is the first time the Parliament of Shadows has taken action against the Tsar."

  "We're the ones doing the dirty work," Spatchcock muttered darkly.

  "True, but even meeting with the likes of Dante is an offence punishable by death. To conspire against the Makarov regime is to invite severe retribution. Our noble houses would be ruthlessly exterminated if word of this endeavour reached the Imperial Palace." Zhukov explained how the trio would be transported to the foot of the Himalayas in a stolen flyer, before continuing their quest on foot. "We have arranged for a native of that region to act as your guide within the mountains. They will get you close. The rest is up to you, Nikolai."