Warworld: The Lidless Eye Read Online Free Page A

shriveled under Steel’s glare.
    “I mean it,” Steele continued. “I can use the loss as a tax write-off.”
    Lately Steele had been buying bankrupt plantations and farms for just that reason. Behind his back, people were calling him “Loot, Pillage and Steele,” and other things less polite. I wonder how long it’ll be before they start calling him King Steele? That sobering thought turned his attention back to the man himself.
    “…all things considered,” Steele continued, “five billion marks seems a reasonable price for the plant, including land, building, computers, inventory and all the records, including software.”
    “Five billion! It’s worth ten times that much right now; probably ten times that by tomorrow morning. John, you were out this morning changing currency. What’s the mark going for today?”
    “A hundred and twenty-thousand to one crown. Or, at least it wasan hour ago.”
    “You see?” Whakley stormed. “You’re trying to ruin me!”
    Steele laughed. The hard edge to that laugh told Hamilton he’d played his last “friendly game of cards” with the man. It was beginning to look as though he never should have played the first hand.
    “You’re already ruined, Whakley,” Steele sneered. “I’m just offering you a raft off your sinking ship. Whether you take it or not is up to you. I’m sure the new owners will be more amenable to reason.”
    It was no secret that Steele owned a good part of Parliament. It was greedy-guts like Steele who were driving the economy right into the pavement.
    This time Whakley’s struggles to rise almost knocked his chair over, until Morgan whispered into his ear. Then he turned white and slumped back down.
    Hamilton wondered what Morgan’s hold was over Whakley; probably he held the notes on his factory. Whatever it was, it had turned the man’s spine to jelly. A man with a wife and four children, one of whom needed constant medical care, had too many things to fear during times like these. Hostages to fortune , came to mind.
    Morgan turned to Steele. “If you make that offer in Imperial crowns, you might have yourself a factory.”
    Steele scratched his chin, then fumbled with his pipe and its fixings. “Hmm. Fifty thousand crowns—that’s my final offer.”
    Hamilton looked at the dejected Whakley and felt his gorge rise. “Don’t sell, Howard. I’ll loan you fifty thousand crowns. Use it to play the currency market and keep your factory afloat. You can pay me back when things return to normal.”
    Whakley sat up, his eyes overflowing, like a man who’d just heard his death sentence commuted. “Do you mean it, John?”
    “I certainly do. You have my word.”
    “You might want to reconsider,” Steele said, his words blanketed with menace. “You and the Baron aren’t that far from Whakley’s porch, if you get my meaning. Unless you’ve got a license to print the damn stuff?”
    John felt his blood chill. The last thing they needed were hostile eyes turned toward the state of Hamilton finances. And Steele’s would be hostile. The man was much more ambitious, not to say ruthless, than he’d ever believed. The Baron had said as much a year ago, but he hadn’t listened. Too late for regrets now; the damage was done.
    Morgan had a Cheshire cat grin on his face, but Whakley was still reeling. His voice trembled as he spoke: Thank you, Lord John. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Cecilia’s back in the hospital again… you’ll never know how much this means to me…”
    “I think ye may be makin’ a huge mistake, m’lord,” Steele said, deliberately shifting into Lowtown patois to remind everyone of how he’d clawed his way up from poverty and the underclass.
    Their little ruckus was now being observed by everyone in Dupars. A cliff lion could have stalked into the room and no one would have noticed.
    Personally, Hamilton wanted to kick himself in the arse. He’d been drinking and playing cards—yes, and probably letting