'Browning is on the third floor,' Lance said. 'Come on.'
'That's the one with the punctured lung?' the Healer asked. 'Very well.'
'Hold on there, Howard,' Cornelius ordered. 'How much Power do you have left?'
The Healer was a surprisingly tubby man with bushy sideburns. 'Truth be told, not much, sir. After this I'll need to rest for a few hours before I give you your daily checkup, especially after I help this other man.'
'Then you will do no such thing,' the richest man in the world commanded.
Francis had known that this moment was coming. He could only keep up the momentum for so long before his grandfather's inherent stubbornness was sure to raise its ugly head. He looked around the room to see who was going to be witness to the coming argument. He had the surly Lance, and the semiconscious Dan, neither of which would be of much assistance, one hospital doctor, and then six of his grandfather's functionaries, hangers-on, and bodyguards. It was standing room only.
'Grandfather, could we speak in private?'
He thought about it for a moment, then snapped his fingers. 'Everybody out!'
'But I work here,' the doctor said, but a guard grabbed him by the arm and yanked him effortlessly through the door. Lance helped Dan from the room. His friend was obviously disoriented. It was too bad, because he sure could have used Dan's Influence right then. The last one out was the Healer. He closed the door behind them, leaving Francis with his grandfather. The only remaining witness was a white skeleton that was bolted to the wall.
'Why are you here?' Francis asked.
'I told you. I was concerned for your safety. You are family.'
Francis shook his head. 'That's not what you said the last time we spoke.'
Cornelius lowered his gaze, studying the shine on his shoes. 'What would you have me do? Apologize? That's not my way.'
He laughed. 'An apology? You think an apology makes up for all the terrible things the Imperium has done? That you've helped them do so you could turn a coin?'
'Don't you dare lecture me, boy!' Cornelius shouted so loudly that it seemed as if the windows shook. 'It is a competitive world, and if I didn't do the job, then somebody else would have. I did what I had to do. I always make sure the family interest comes first. Your father understood this, why can't you?'
Francis ripped the skeleton off the wall with his Power and hurled it across the room. Cornelius cringed before the sudden fury. 'My father was a coward. He saw what the Chairman was doing to people, and he looked the other way. I saw children being butchered because they weren't up to snuff! I saw people, horrible distorted people, broken and re-formed by magic! They kept Actives in cages like animals while they tortured them!' A bottle came off the counter and shattered against the far wall. 'My father killed himself with opium once he knew I'd found the truth. He died rather than face it. He was a filthy coward!'
The door opened and his grandfather's guard stuck his head in. 'Is everything-'
'Be gone, you oaf,' Cornelius said. The door closed. 'Francis, the world is what it is. The best you can hope to do is read the current so that you don't end up dashed against the rocks.'
Francis did not have time for this. 'If you really consider me family, then you'll grant me this one thing. I need-' he stopped, scowling. 'What's wrong with your nose?'
'What?' A thin trickle of blood was streaming from Cornelius's nostrils. He touched it, and his glove came away red. 'Why… Why… I don't rightly…' The trickle of blood turned into a torrent, rolled down his chest and splattered across the floor. He took a step, and Francis caught him as he fell, calling for the Healer.
Howard scrambled in, hurrying to his meal ticket's side. The rest of Cornelius's entourage was right behind, staring over their masks. His grandfather began to convulse in his arms, splattering blood across them both. 'What's wrong with him?'
The Healer's hands turned to molten gold and he placed them against Cornelius' chest. 'He was recently cursed by a Pale Horse, but I'd seen no sign.'
'What? That can't be.' Just like Pershing. 'Why?'
'Nobody knows,' Howard said. 'Let me concentrate.'
After several seconds of direct Power, the shaking stopped, and Cornelius began to breathe again, exhaling great rasping gusts that stank of corruption. The calculating part of his mind said that he should only feel disgust at watching this man die, but all Francis felt was alarm. Howard removed his hands and they returned to normal. 'I can't believe it…' he said, shaking from the exertion. 'It's as if everything is going wrong at once. Give me a moment to regain my strength.'
His grandfather's hand closed around his sleeve. 'Francis,' he heaved. 'Listen.'
'Save your strength, Grandfather,' he cautioned.
'No… Curse him. If this is to be my death bed, you must know… the truth…' When he opened his eyes, Francis cringed at the sight of the blood tears flowing from them. 'I… I had Pershing cursed…'
What? He couldn't believe it. He'd known his grandfather was a crook, but he'd never…'Why? Why would you do that?'
'For you… To avenge your father… Forgive me.' He spasmed as a terrible cough shook his ribs. Howard gritted his teeth and laid his hands back on Cornelius. 'Oh, please, I did it for you…'
Francis couldn't respond. The words would not come.
The Healer rocked back. Visible heat waves bent the air around his hands. 'I can't… It's like the Pale Horse is counteracting everything I do…'
The Power had bought him another few seconds. Cornelius dragged Francis close. 'The Pale Horse… He made me do him a favor… Mod-Modify the Chairman's ship… Nonsense design… Nothing… He used me… as a fool… I'm a fool… But I did it for you.' He closed his red eyes and his breath was coming in rapid shallow gasps.
'Can't you do something?' Francis shouted, turning to the crowd. 'Any of you?' But there was no answer.
Cornelius's eyes flashed open, and he spoke with force, making sure he would be heard by all. 'Francis Cornelius Stuyvesant… you are my heir. You're the only one worth… a bucket of warm piss… in… in the whole lot. Howard, Raymond, Kirk, all of you… as my witnesses, Francis is my sole heir. Take it all… as an…' His voice trailed off to a whisper and Francis had to press his ear against his bloody lips to hear his last word. '… apology.'
The richest man in the world died in his arms. Francis took a moment to gently lower the heavy body to the ground before rising and stumbling over to the sink. He turned it on, as hot as possible, and washed his hands, then scrubbed his face until his skin was raw. He tore his shirt off and threw it on the floor. The scalding water felt good as it sent the blood down the drain.
Pershing died because of me. Father killed himself because of me. Mother drank herself to death after father's death, also my fault. Grandfather died, making a deal with the devil, for me… The Peace Ray was fired at Mar Pacifica because it was my home…
He had to steady himself on the sink. The UBF men were all watching him. None of them wanted to remove their masks now. The water dripped down his face and he watched it run in a stream from his nose. They'd always said he'd inherited his grandfather's nose. One of the retainers stepped forward and cleared his throat. 'Sir, I'm your grandfather's senior attorney. There will have to be an immediate-'
'Shut up,' Francis whispered.
'Sir, really, there will be an inquiry, and the board will-'
What would Black Jack Pershing do?
Every loose item in the room rose a foot off the ground before dropping in a terrible clatter. 'I said shut up!' he screamed. They did. He pushed away from the sink and used a towel to dry his face. When he spoke again, his voice was as calm as he could make it. 'You heard the man. I'm in charge. Now I want my airship ready to fly immediately, with fuel enough for a transoceanic voyage. Which one of you is in charge of security?' A Brute raised his hand. 'What kind of weapons do you have aboard?'
'Other than sidearms? A few Springfield rifles and a Thompson,' he said hesitantly.
'Not good enough,' Francis snapped. 'Go down to the local outfitters. I want trench guns, accurate rifles in heavy calibers, automatic rifles, and machine guns, lots of machine guns. And ammo, piles of ammo… and explosives…'
'Uh… Explosives, sir?'
'Dynamite, or something better if they've got it,' Francis snapped. 'Take my friend Heinrich, he'll know what
