"Yessir. We have a fast motorized patrol boat. She could catch up in an hour."
bring it, the Reaper said, searching the dark horizon of the lake.
"Uh, follow me, sir," the man stammered. "There's only a skeleton crew. If you want more men for boarding, the White-cloud is pretty big, crew of a dozen or so-"
"I think we'll be enough. The woman there just needs to go on board and identify someone. There's a terrorist on board," Valentine explained.
The port official walked them down a long, narrow wooden dock extending into the lake, held up by thick wooden pilings. The warped wood creaked under their feet.
Ahead they could see a long, low shape. The aged speed-boat gleamed in the distant reflected light of Chicago. Valentine prayed that they would still get away with no one questioning a Reaper's orders.
The Reaper.
The real Reaper was somewhere close.
Valentine tried to hurry the other three along by trotting out ahead toward the boat, his hackles rising like a wary dog's. Rho seemed to blur, but his Reaper aspect re-formed.
They've found me. They are homing. I give off life sign like a firework, Valentine the Younger, the Lifeweaver thought to him.
"The Reaper grew closer. Valentine knew it was just behind them now.
The port official scuttled up the gangway. He began speaking to a pair of figures on board. Valentine pressed the pistol into Molly's hand. "Keep this in your coat pocket," he whispered. "Don't let them take you alive."
The Reaper approached. Its cold shadow was at the jetty, moving down the boards.
Valentine drew his parang, turned, and went to meet it.
When Valentine was fourteen, he had read Livy. Tonight his was the role of Horatius at the SublicianBridge. What had seemed heroic now felt suicidal, with two meters of genetically engineered death moving toward him at cheetah speed.
At first he was afraid that the Reaper, coming out of the dark like a bounding tiger, would simply leap over him to tear and toss his charges lifeless into the lake. But Valentine stood, legs planted with the balanced blade of the parang resting in his hand against the back of his thigh.
The Reaper stopped.
It regarded him, drawn skull-face expressionless and yellow eyes sunken in bony sockets.
ahh, thefoodling stands, curious after the long chase, it is your nature to run, human, it breathed, did you think you could steal and escape with our bauble? you would not get out of sight of this pier. It crouched, froglike.
Valentine tried to keep the fear out of his voice even if he couldn't banish its shadow from his mind. His bowels suddenly seemed made of water, and his tongue was thick and dry.
"Your time is up," Valentine said, speaking quietly to keep his voice from cracking. "In a few seconds, your Master is going to have one less drone."
Go, Rho. Take Molly and haul out of here, he mentally implored.
The Reaper did not laugh, did not smile. It pulled back its lips to reveal obsidian pointed teeth.
oh, no, foodling. it is high night, and your world is mine, soon you will be as cold and empty as the moon, your woman, too. all you have done is spit into a hurricane.
Behind him Valentine heard the motorboat sputter into life. The thing looked for a moment at the vessel, ahh, a boat, i thought so. your luck has run out. It reached into its robes and pulled out a short, thick gun. Valentine took a step back in confusion; he had never heard of a Reaper using a gun, but it fired into the air, in the direction of the speedboat. A parachute flare opened, bathing the pier in red light.
"Do you know me, creature?" Valentine asked.
i know your kind, boy. weak and easily emptied, i feast on your fathers at will, as i shall consume you, the Reaper hissed, rising and opening its arms for the deadly embrace.
Valentine brought his blade up. "Not my father. My name is David Valentine. Son of Lee Valentine. Have you met my kind, creature?"
The thing's face lost animation. Perhaps the Kurian Lord at the other end knew dismay.
Valentine attacked. He lunged, hitting it with a backhand swipe that narrowly missed its neck. His blade struck the skull, cutting and glancing off its face with a resounding thwack.