Vengeance by Colin Harvey Page B

secluded.
    Her dilemma was solved when he called, “You should see this.” He waved his hands, and a scene appeared, frozen in time. A middle-aged woman lay in a casket. A younger man stood over her, gray-faced and haggard, mouthing something.
    "Taz Pohlsen,” Duff said.
    "Should I know the name?"
    "No,” Duff said. “He sent the Levid. He has little enough for anything more threatening, it seems."
    "Who is he?"
    "The woman in the casket is his elder sister."
    "And she is?” Sinhalese was tiring of this game.
    "Thaddeus Maltby's wife."
    "I didn't even know he was married.” Sinhalese shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't just the Duff family for whom secrecy was a way of life. Anyone who frequently dealt with magic soon learned to wall their life off from others— but the walls are supposed to be for outsiders, she thought. She brought her attention back to the matter in hand.
    "Not surprising he kept it quiet, I suppose. He probably thought what we didn't know couldn't be used against him. She'd have been the main recipient of the death-dues. If not, it would have gone to the municipality of Frehk."
    "And?"
    "And two days ago, she killed herself.” He pantomimed despair, put on a high-pitched voice: “Beside herself with grief.” Then spat. “Pah! A weakling. She didn't have the guts to fight, so she took the easy way out. Better to live as a slave than to give up life.” Sinhalese sensed that behind the sneering her father was genuinely upset, which surprised her. Then he looked up, and she changed her mind. “And now her snivelling little brother blames me. He wants a reckoning. I'll give him a reckoning."
    "Poppa.” Sinhalese surprised herself. “Just pay him off."
    He ignored her, so she said again, “Pay him off, Poppa."
    "What?” Duff laughed mirthlessly. “Miss out on some fun?” He shook his head. “No, it would set a precedent. We can't have upstarts threatening Stanislav Duff and getting away with it."
    Sinhalese set her mouth in a thin line but fell silent. It wasn't his idea, so he won't listen , she thought bitterly. Then she thought of how that Pantile bitch had argued with him, and resentment flared inside her—if it had been her ... Jealousy lent her courage. “How can it set a precedent, when we will be the only people who know?"
    "Hunh?” He returned from whatever blood-soaked fantasy he was indulging in.
    "Pay him off,” Sinhalese urged. “We can't afford any more enemies at the moment. You're not to blame for his sister's actions, but it discharges any tenuous moral claims he may have. If he's genuine and all he wants is money, let him have it. If he wants catharsis, send him a simulacra with your compliments, so he can exact his revenge on that. Only if it becomes clear that his claims are a pretext for more than money or satisfaction should we risk being drawn into a feud.” She could see she'd surprised him with the vigour with which she argued. “Don't be distracted from recovering the spells."
    Duff looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. Then he shook his head. “No."
    She thought of Jocasta again and took a deep breath. “But why?"
    His head jerked back. “Because I say so."
    "And that's it?” She knew she risked his surprise turning to anger if he'd decided he'd had enough advice for one evening and accused her of nagging rather than helping. She decided on one last thrust. “It sounds, with respect, Poppa, as if you have no other reason than that's the way you've always done things, so you're going to keep doing them the way you always have. The difference was you had the spells then, and you don't have them now."
    He stared at her. She swallowed, awaiting the blast that would strip her flesh from her bones—the only consolation was she would probably never feel her death. Then his mouth twitched. “With respect.” He chuckled, then repeated the words. He laughed and when he had finished said, “You know those words mean the opposite of what they