Kel waited, making a count of the people on the riverbank. There were sixteen of them by his reckoning, a mixed group. The presence of children was reassuring. Best of all, someone had a guitar and was strumming gently. Kel found it hard to imagine he would be met with violence where there was music.
Shouldering his pack, he made a steady walk towards the camp, holding out his hands to show they were empty. The music stopped, as did the rumble of conversation. Two men got up and took up positions to block his way.
‘Hi. Bonjour,’ he said.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ the older of the two men asked in English. He was tanned and his black hair streaked with white. Dark eyes glittered with suspicion. Kel would guess he came from the Middle East or North Africa.
‘My name is Kel Douglas. I’m from England and I’m walking back there.’
‘Walking back?’ asked the younger man. He had the features and colouring of someone from the Far East, at a guess China or Korea. Kel had stumbled upon an exceptionally international group of wanderers.
‘Yeah. I stowed away on a ship but they caught me.’ That was close enough to the truth. ‘They put me ashore, so here I am, heading north.’
‘You’re lucky they didn’t throw you over the side.’
‘Believe me, it was discussed.’
His dry tone elicited a chuckle from the older man. ‘I bet it was. If you want to join us, we’ll search you first. Agreed?’
Kel’s strength lay in hand-to-hand combat, not weapons, so he never carried one. ‘Fine. I have a penknife in my left pocket but other than that I’m unarmed.’
‘You’ll understand that we won’t take your word on that.’ The man cast a glance towards the families waiting quietly by the fire.
‘Completely. I’d do the same in your place.’
He stood patiently while the younger man patted him down.
‘Clear.’ He opened the penknife. ‘Mind if I keep this overnight? None of us want our throats slit.’
‘Be my guest.’
‘Please, you are now our honoured guest.’ He stood back and gestured that it was safe to approach the fire. ‘I’m Hoon. The boss there is called Rashid.’
The older man nodded. ‘Come to the fire. Salima, do we have any dinner left for our visitor?’
A lady of about Rashid’s age rose from her seat and lifted the lid on a pot that had been put to keep warm on a stone by the fire. She wore a headscarf and had a kind face, worry lines mingled with ones caused by laughter. ‘Just a little.’
‘Even a little would be wonderful, thank you,’ said Kel, taking a bowl of stew from her. It consisted mainly of vegetables but some game meat and lots of spices made it the best meal he’d had since he left the yacht. The group went back to their conversations while he ate. He guessed that most of them had joined this gang as he had, wandering up to them when it was safe to do so. There seemed to be representatives from many nations, some used English, others French, and a few were talking what he thought was Arabic, though that wasn’t a language he knew. Hoon went and sat by a girl who might be his sister, or maybe his girlfriend. She had long black hair tied in a high ponytail and strong eyebrows over smiling eyes. She chatted quickly to Hoon, slapping his thigh in a familiar gesture, using her hands to illustrate her words. Kel guessed he was part of what she was saying as she glanced towards him a couple of times and asked to see the penknife.
The guitar music started again. He hadn’t spotted the player and only now realized there was a second girl of his age seated out of the circle between the fire and the river, angled so she could look across to the far bank. She had one leg tucked up under her and handled the guitar awkwardly, trying out chord combinations. From the fumbling, she was only experimenting and had never been taught. Kel found his gaze drawn back to her. Her blonde hair caught the light but her face was in shadow, just the slim arch of her neck and elegant hands visible. He finished his bowl and handed it back to Salima with his thanks.
‘Am I free to walk about a little?’ he asked Rashid.
‘As long as you don’t step on anyone. We’re turning in for the night.’ Rashid gestured to the collection of tarpaulins rigged as roofs and the bundle of blankets beneath, a very temporary shelter. Some of the smallest children were already curled up together for warmth, fast asleep. ‘If you decide to leave with any of our possessions, we will track you down and punish you.’
Kel shook his head. ‘You’re holding my penknife hostage, remember?’
Rashid grinned. ‘We’ll see you in the morning then.’
Kel didn’t feel like sleeping having just had his rest. He wandered to the riverbank, trying not to look as if he was aimed for the guitar player. He could make a living with that instrument. He picked up a stone and skimmed it, managing a three bounce.
‘Why did you do that?’ the guitarist asked.
‘Sorry?’
The girl appeared angry and he couldn’t understand why.
‘It was so peaceful. The river doesn’t need some idiot to come and disturb its journey.
‘I don’t think a river has feelings.’
‘Then you don’t know much, do you?’ The guitar made an ugly sound as she misplaced her fingers on the frets. She clamped her hand down on the strings to cut off the noise.
Evidently she was a follower of one of the new nature religions. Kel didn’t know much about what they believed other than they looked for a way back to restoring harmony on Gaia, or Earth. ‘If that guitar had feelings, it would be telling you right now that it’s not that happy being treated like that.’
She got up to return to the camp.
‘Let me show you.’ Kel held out his hand. ‘I can teach you a few more chords.’
‘You play?’
He wanted to say “well, obviously” but settled for a nod.
‘OK.’ She passed the guitar to him. He sat down and began running through his repertoire of songs he’d mastered for busking in London. His skill had kept him up-to-date with the rent during autumn last year. He wondered what had happened to his own instrument, abandoned in his room when he escaped with Meri. He’d liked that guitar.
Once the girl saw that he wasn’t lying about his musical skill, she came a little closer to study his fingering. ‘You’re really good. Can you teach me the T-Park song?’
‘Sure. Is this yours?’ He tapped the instrument.
‘It was my father’s. I had a piano, but we lost that when the house went under.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘Denmark. We farmed in Jutland, a part that was too low-lying as it turned out.’
‘Your parents? Brothers and sisters?’
She shrugged. ‘Two brothers.’
‘Are they here?’
‘No. They stayed to serve in the Danish army when the farm failed. Mum went off with her new boyfriend—his land was viable.’ She gave him a cynical smile. ‘She asked me to go with her but I stuck with Dad. We decided to travel.’
Kel hadn’t seen any men with Scandinavian looks among the band, which gave him a bad feeling about how the rest of the story went. ‘Is he still here?’
‘No, he got sick—died at Christmas.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She gave another of her little shrugs. ‘Wasn’t your fault. We had no health insurance, no right to be here, so no hospital and no drugs. We were heading home to Denmark but he didn’t make it.’
‘That’s rough. I’m Kel, Kel Douglas, by the way.’
‘Nixie Jensen.’ She took the guitar back. ‘Show me the first three chords.’
8
Meri pondered her wardrobe choices. What did a girl wear to pass the test that would clear the way to claiming her throne? Hmm, grey business suit, I-don’t-give-a-damn jeans, or cocktail dress? It all depended on the nature of the test, she supposed. Some universities in England got their candidates to dress up in a robe and hat combo to mark the occasion but nothing like that was hanging in her closet. OK, so the sui
t just wasn’t her and wouldn’t be her even in fifty years time. The cocktail dress was as good as the pink gown in reflecting her personal taste. It was going to have to be the jeans.
At least they were an expensive brand and looked good with a plain white shirt. She shuffled her toes into tennis shoes to complete the outfit. That’s the kind of ruler they were getting; they’d have to get used to it.
Having a few minutes to herself, Meri wandered onto the balcony and looked out across the gardens. Southern Europe was struggling to retain its landscape of cypress and olive trees, ranks of vines, and forests, beating off desertification only where the inhabitants could afford desalination of water and expensive irrigation projects. Looking at the lush green planting, the trees hiding the palace from the mainland, it was clear the Teans were among those who had the money for them.
The sea lay to her right, glimpsed between dark spears of cypresses. Was the real Atlantis out there? She didn’t know if it would be possible but on her bucket list was definitely a dive to see the remnants of that famous civilization. Not just hers, she reminded herself. The Perilous had shared the island and had their start there too. It was where they had been forcefully bred to produce such beautiful skin patterns, a bitter-sweet inheritance. Kel would be just as interested in exploring the site. Perhaps she should put off that item on her agenda until he was back with her? If she was making a life of this ruler of Atlantis role, she was determined she’d find a way to bring him along with her. With the sun shining like it was this morning, she wasn't going to be downhearted. Kel would be trying to get in contact with her. This was the twenty-first century. People didn’t stay missing for long, not when they both had a will to reconnect.
Leah entered, carrying a pile of ironed laundry. ‘Good morning, miss. Did you enjoy your breakfast?’
Meri stepped back into the living room. ‘Yes, thank you. Where do you get the strawberries in January?’
‘The palace has a greenhouse. We can get soft fruit all year round. The delegates are waiting for you outside.’
Meri snatched a last look in the mirror over the fireplace to check she didn’t have any embarrassing breakfast-related smudges on her face. ‘Right.’
‘Good luck.’
‘You think I need it?’
Leah gave a noncommittal smile.
‘Now that makes me feel so much better.’ With a sigh, Meri headed for the hallway. She didn’t recognize any of the people waiting for her. ‘Hi, er, good morning.’
An elderly man with a pink bowtie and suit that could only be described as ‘dapper’ gave her a bow. ‘Miss Marlowe, I’m delighted to meet you at long last. I’m the head of the Lineage Department, Adrian Severn.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Severn.’
‘It’s doctor, actually. I have a PhD in history from Cambridge. If you would follow me, please?’
Dutifully, Meri fell into step with Dr Severn. ‘So I’m guessing you are our resident expert on Tean families, the royal family in particular?’
‘Indeed, that is correct.’
‘So you know what happened to my wider family? I only ever knew my parents and they said in a letter that my grandparents died on a diplomatic mission to the Perilous.’ Meri wrinkled her brow. ‘I guess that is one set of grandparents. I’ve no idea what happened to the others and if I had uncles and aunts.’
‘I can show you your family tree later if you would be interested.’
‘I’m more than interested—I’m desperate to learn.’
His polite smile turned genuine. ‘Excellent. Then we must make an appointment for you to visit the archives. I’m afraid, though, that there is no one else who survived.’
‘I didn’t expect any survivors. I’d just like to know a little—names and so on.’
‘I’ll certainly tell you what I know and you’ll find out more this morning.’
Was the doctor another potential ally? He could certainly be a useful source of information. ‘Do you have anything on the powers of a full-blood Tean?’
‘I’m sure we’ll have many books on the subject. Is there anything particular you are looking for?’ His eyes behind his wire-rimmed spectacles were shrewd.
‘Oh, this and that,’ said Meri, trying not to sound too eager. Until she understood what the side effects of her power actually meant, she was not ready to share. She had thought of asking to consult a medical doctor but with something so important she wasn’t sure she could rely on patient-doctor confidentiality. ‘I don’t know what I don’t know, if you understand me?’
‘Oh yes, my dear, and it shows you are very wise to already grasp that.’ He blushed, which made him look disconcertingly childlike and unsure of himself, rather than the senior he was. ‘I apologize for the familiarity. I felt for a moment that I was talking to one of my brighter students. I meant to say “Miss Marlowe”.’
‘Please, I like it when you forget. I wish I could sometimes.’ Meri had not failed to notice that everyone stopped what they were doing as she passed through the corridors. Cleaners stood to attention by their floor polishers; messengers stood against the wall to let them go first; officials bowed or bobbed a curtsey. It was all ridiculous, considering it was her, a schoolgirl from Wimbledon, that they were honouring.
You’ve got to stop thinking like that. They are nodding to the Crown, not to you. You know how this works from the UK and the Windsors. It’s not personal.
Dr Severn conducted her into a conference room. The layout was a little odd: no table in the centre but a podium, a ring of chairs surrounding it. Only one chair at the head of the room had arms.
‘Please, take your place,’ said the doctor, guiding her to that seat.
‘Alrighty,’ Meri muttered, rubbing her sweaty palms together.
Once she was by her chair, the council members processed into the room. She knew quite a few of them by now: Rayne, the prime minister; Derwent, head of the delegation sent to meet her; Tegel Waller, not her biggest fan; and finally Rio, bringing up the rear like a bishop at the end of a procession of church dignitaries. Dr Severn stood at her right hand.
The council filed to take their places, Rio heading for the seat directly across the circle from her, Rayne and Derwent either side of her place. Meri noticed that Tegel had opted to stay with the regent. There was a pause that became awkward.
Damn, she should’ve said something.
‘Er, good morning, everyone. Please, sit down.’
Rio sat at the same time as she did, everyone else a second after. OK, so this was the power-play, was it? She smiled across the circle at Rio.
‘I hope you slept well, Rio? It’s lovely and quiet here in the palace, isn’t it?’
‘I did.’ He gave her a curt nod. ‘Thank you for asking.’ Their war was to remain a private one; he didn’t wish the council to know that he had already tried to run her off.
Meri decided to worry about that later. ‘Now if someone could enlighten me as to how my claim is verified, I would be grateful.’
Rayne rose to her feet. ‘The process is in two parts, Miss Marlowe. Dr Severn is going to explain how you are the offspring of full-blooded Teans with reference to our records, and then we have the practical demonstration.’
‘Right, so it’s like a driving test: theory followed by the on-the-road with the examiner?’
‘A little like that. Dr Severn, will you make the formal presentation?’
The prime minister made way for the archivist. He handed out thin black folders, one to each council member. A slightly more fancy file was handed to Meri. Hers had her family name on the cover.
‘This is a summary of the Marlowe and Blaney families in recent generations. Some of you will remember her parents, Blake and Naia. I remember her grandparents—wonderful people. They were traditional in the way they arranged marriages and there’s not a drop of non-Tean blood in either side that I can find. They adhered to custom better than any of us.’
Rio flipped the pages irritably. ‘Her claim
to the inheritance is, if I understand this correctly, because her great-great-uncle from the Blaney side was the last king?’
Meri was looking at the same chart. She had expected the link to be through her father but saw that it was her mother who had the bluer blood. Had their marriage been arranged? She only remembered the love between them. However it had come about, their marriage had been a success.
While her thoughts drifted, Dr Severn was replying to Rio. ‘Yes, sir, theirs is an old Irish-Breton dynasty who took over when the Spanish one failed in the eighteenth century. I have some very good books on the subject up at the university if anyone would care to consult them. The claim is quite sound.’
‘But my family were linked to the original rulers,’ continued Rio.
‘We believe your mother came from a minor branch that sadly chose to dilute its blood by marrying outside the Tean world.’ Dr Severn used his glasses to look over the top at Rio. ‘I have explained this to you, sir, several times.’
Meri understood now why Rio was so aggrieved at her arrival. He was like the Royal House of Stuart supplanted by William of Orange, told he was not fit for the throne, thanks to a choice made by one of his ancestors. She agreed with him that this didn’t sound fair. If he had made more of an effort to be her friend, she might actually have considered stepping aside for him. Too bad he’d proved himself to be an arrogant jerk. Annoying him was definitely in the plus column of ‘Reasons to be Ruler’.
‘Does anyone else have any questions?’ Meri asked, asserting her authority over the room. If she didn’t do it, no one would do it for her.
‘No, Miss Marlowe,’ replied Rayne. ‘We all knew this before you arrived. It is why you were accorded the peril ring.’
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