“Dirzed the Assassin,” he named himself. “If you wish, we can visiphone Assassins’ Hall for verification of my identity.”
“Lord Virzal of Verkan. And my Assassins, Marnik and Olirzon.” They all hooked fingers and clapped shoulders with the newcomer. “That won’t be needed,” Verkan Vall told Dirzed. “I know you from seeing you with the Lady Dallona, on the visiplate; you’re ‘Dirzed, her faithful Assassin.’”
Dirzed’s face, normally the color of a good walnut gunstock, turned almost black. He used shockingly bad language.
“And that’s why I have to wear this abomination,” he finished, displaying the mask. “The Lady Dallona and I can’t show our faces anywhere; if we did, every Statisticalist and his six-year-old brat would know us, and we’d be fighting off an army of them in five minutes.”
“Where’s the Lady Dallona, now?”
“In hiding, Lord Virzal, at a private dwelling dome in the forest; she’s most anxious to see you. I’m to take you to her, and I would strongly advise that you bring your Assassins along. There are other people at this dome, and they are not personally loyal to the Lady Dallona. I’ve no reason to suspect them of secret enmity, but their friendship is based entirely on political expediency.”
“And political expediency is subject to change without notice,” Verkan Vall finished for him. “Have you an airboat?”
“On the landing stage below. Shall we go now, Lord Virzal?”
“Yes.” Verkan Vall made a two-handed gesture to his Assassins, as though gripping a submachine-gun; they nodded, went into another room, and returned carrying light automatic weapons in their hands and pouches of spare drums slung over their shoulders. “And may I suggest, Dirzed, that one of my Assassins drives the airboat? I want you on the back seat with me, to explain the situation as we go.”
Dirzed’s teeth flashed white against his brown skin as he gave Verkan Vall a quick smile.