Page 6 of Nemesis Mine
Whether a premeditated attack on Bokor in the run-up to Athaca’s championship elections or a spontaneous assault remains to be seen. Our correspondent spoke with a local blacksmith’s apprentice who was caught up in the attack, but he could shed no light on the wrongdoer’s motives.
“I’ve no idea who he was, didn’t recognise him. He was off his rocker. Kept talking to his horse.”
“Kidnapped by a lunatic”: turn to page 19 to find out more.
Cyrus screwed up the ball of parchment and flung it at the wall of his lair as hard as he could. Some people just didn’t appreciate creativity and flair.
Time for plan B.
“Welcome, people of Elzekar!”
Lailar’s voice was deep and husky and projected effortlessly. It wasn’t hard to see why people were drawn to her. She had an instinctive, easy grace; even here, involved in some ridiculous ribbon-cutting ceremony for a new bathing facility, her muscular legs were poised in a natural power stance. Cyrus knew perfectly well that those thighs had crushed many an unfortunate wrongdoer.
He shifted his weight, glancing out from beneath his hood. A large crowd had gathered to see Lailar in person. Cyrus had spied a handful of journalists earlier clutching quills and parchment, which was a positive sign. They would scribble up their coverage of the event and send it via raven toAthaca Newsheadquarters, where legions of questionably literate scribes would copy it out for distribution. His success today would be plastered all over the news parchments by this time tomorrow.
“I’m so happy to see you all gathered here this afternoon,” Lailar continued, “and I’d like to offer thanks to your own resident champion, Saffra, for extending this invitation.”
Of course. Champions were, by nature, conniving creatures. Even though they were competitors in elections andfor the affection of the adoring masses, they often played at friendship for the sake of a good write-up in the news. No doubt Saffra had been handsomely compensated for Lailar’s appearance in her town.
“It’s such an honour to be invited to open this new bathing facility, which is so desperately needed here in Elzekar,” Lailar added.
Did the good people of Elzekar realise that they were being insulted? Cyrus didn’t think so, judging by the pleased smiles on their faces.
“Not only can I welcome you to your new facility, I can also take this opportunity to introduce you to the latest addition to my skincare range, Lailar Loves. With just a touch of this, you’ll have smooth and perfect skin, just like me.”
Cyrus glanced at the assembled peasants. Privately, he wasn’t so sure. They all looked a bit... crusty.
“Let me show you,” she said, and Cyrus leaned forward, watching keenly as she picked up the pot of cream from the tray and held it aloft.
“Say no to being ugly,” she urged the gathered townsfolk, like they had any choice in the matter. “Say yes to Lailar’s anti-aging cream!”
With that, she dipped her perfect fingers into the cream and raised them to her face. Lailar touched her own cheeks like she was handling something infinitely precious. She even gave a little sigh of pleasure as she did.
“Everyone who uses the new bathing facility today gets a discount on their first pot—ow!What the—”
That was all Lailar managed to get out before the chaos took over—gasps from the assembled crowd and panickyshouts from her team, as before their eyes Lailar’s face began to swell up and turn a ferocious shade of pink.
It was... very, very pink, actually. And the swelling looked worse than Cyrus had anticipated.
He’d sneaked into the facility earlier and sprinkled a little ground-up surprise into her cream, confident that it was the perfect ploy. Lailar would be humiliated and undermined, and whilst she flailed about in misery, Cyrus would leap onto the stage and proclaim his triumph. If Lailar or anyone else thought to threaten him, he would threaten them with something worse. A risky move, but there were enough trees about for him to call on his magic discreetly. The moment he let his eyes start to glow, they’d be sure to fall into line.
But he hadn’t intended for her face to swellthatmuch. Her eyes had almost disappeared entirely. Maybe she was allergic to nettles.
Lailar’s hands flapped at her cheeks as though she could claw the cream right back out of her skin. The crowd was growing more unruly as they pressed closer to the stage to see the drama unfolding, and Cyrus let himself be shunted forward.
One of her assistants came scurrying closer just as Lailar bawled, “Trent, you idiot!” Her assistant cringed. “Get them away from me, clear the way—get me in those baths!”
The order spurred her team into action. Flailing peasants were shoved aside as members of security charged through, flanking Lailar and barging past the ribbon tied prissily over the entrance to the new facility. Lailar disappeared inside, loud swearing bouncing off the ceiling within. Trent ran after her in a flustered panic.
The mayor turned back to the crowd, alone on the platform now, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his neck. “I’m sure Lailar will be fine!” he tried, pretending that he couldn’t hear her cursing and yelling from behind. Something crashed; Cyrus imagined her throwing a projectile at Trent’s head. “Please, do not worry, Lailar will be just fine!”
The crowd still jostled and shouted, torn between concern and anger. Cyrus allowed himself a moment of satisfaction, listening to Lailar’s tantrum. With every snarl, the benevolent mask of the champion slipped a little further.
Then he stepped forward. Time to claim his moment.
Sweeping the hood from his face, Cyrus vaulted the barrier in one clean movement to land catlike upon the platform. The mayor jumped, his hand flying to his chest.
“Butwillshe?” Cyrus asked loudly.
