by Laurence Yep
“Let us hope you will not have to prove it,” the prince sighed.
The prince turned away from the door. “Well, Sulu, how does it feel to fall out of your twenty-third century into the seventeenth? You’re now surrounded by palace intrigues and conniving villains.”
Sulu hoisted himself onto a chair near the mirror. The chair was designed for longer Angiran legs, and Sulu’s legs dangled in the air. “The stage seems set, but I wish someone would give me a script.”
“Nonsense, you don’t need a script. Simply let paranoia be your guide.” The prince gave a light kick to a footrest so that it slid across the floor toward Sulu.
“Besides,” Mr. Spock pointed out, “nothing has [46] happened yet.” But Sulu couldn’t help-noticing that Mr. Spock placed a chair so he could face the door. His toes barely touched the floor.
The prince applauded softly. “Bravo, Mr. Spock. You learn quickly.”
Sulu propped his feet on the footrest and settled back in his chair. “From what you’ve told me of the palace intrigues, slow students don’t live very long.”
As Bibil obligingly brought a footrest over for Mr. Spock, the prince lay down on a low, broad couch. “Yes, the penalty for failure is rather heavy.” He placed his hands over his stomach. “I had no idea paranoia could whet one’s appetite so much. I’d welcome even Rahu’s tray.”
Bibil scowled. “Why simplify Rahu’s task?”
“After all these years of dreaming about an Angiran meal, it is sheer torture not to be able to eat anything,” the prince complained. “Surely one bite couldn’t hurt.”
“Do you realize how much poison could be contained in just one bite? You’re not to eat a thing.” And Bibil extended his jaw stubbornly as if he were not going to take any contradictions from the prince.
There came a pounding at the door, and a woman announced, “A tray for the prince.”
The prince glumly motioned Bibil. “Send the tray away.”
“We don’t dare insult Rahu yet. Not till we see how the land lies.” Bibil went to the door and opened it. A woman stood there. On her head was a huge tray filled with steaming plates and bowls, along with a gold pitcher and cups.
The prince covered up his eyes. “Give me strength.”
“Then this is just what you need, Your Highness,” [47] the woman grunted as she shuffled into the room. Her low cheekbones and small mouth made her eyes seem even larger and livelier, and she moved with an easy, well-muscled grace.
“Here, let me help you, little one.” Bibil grabbed hold of the rim of the tray.
“No, no, I can do it,” she insisted and, stepping up to a table, carefully lowered the tray.
The prince widened his fingers so he could peer through the cracks. “Oh, look at this.” He reached over to pick up a diamond-shaped shell so thin it was transparent except for the faint rainbow tinge on the surface. “Rahu remembered all my favorites.”
“Your Highness.” Bibil fixed him with a stern look.
With a reluctant sigh, the prince set the shell back on the plate. “This is agony.”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby, Your Highness,” the woman said.
The prince sat up to stare at her. “There’s only one person on all of Angira who dared to talk to me like that. Urmi?”
The woman smiled and nodded her head as if pleased. “Yes, I’ve taken a post in the kitchen.” She added with a nod to Bibil, “It helps being the niece of a famous old warrior.”
The prince looked at Sulu. “When we used to visit Bibil’s old village, this terrible creature made my stay simply miserable with her pranks.” He lolled his head back on the lounge. “If you’d only known that you weren’t plaguing a little serving boy from the palace, but an imperial prince.”
Urmi smiled mischievously. “Oh, I knew, Your Highness. We all did.”
[48] The prince sat up. “But I was in disguise.”
“You thought you were in disguise,” she corrected him.
The prince collapsed back on the lounge. “Ah, you puncture one of my most cherished memories. All these years, I thought I put on such a marvelous performance.”
“I wasn’t going to let a terror like you walk around unsuspected.” Bibil slapped the prince’s shoulder as he went to Urmi. “And how is the family?” Bibil threw his arms around her and gave her a hug.
“We’ll talk of it later,” she said quietly.
“No, please, I think of your village as almost my own,” the prince said. “I have so many affectionate memories of it when Bibil would take me there for the harvest festivals.”
The woman seemed glad of an excuse to change the subject. “Even though I beat you at all the games?”
“She cheated,” the prince insisted as Sulu and Bibil started to laugh.
“Only because you changed the rules to suit yourself,” Urmi said snippily. “Did you try to do that with the offworlders too?”
The prince pretended to glare at her. “I was only a humble prince among the many royalty offworld.”
“Ah.” Urmi folded her arms. “And what did Your Highness do when he met an imperial prince from another world? Who went through the doorway first?”
The prince balanced the heel of his right foot on the toes of his left. “It depended on whether he was the eighth or ninth in line to the throne.”
“I hear,” Urmi suggested with a slight smile, “that there are worlds where even women rule.”
“Yes, quite a few,” the prince agreed cheerfully. [49] “But I still asked them what place they had in the line of succession.”
“And if they were ninth like you?”
The prince pretended to flip a coin into the air. “We tossed for it, of course.”
Urmi shook her head in mock sympathy. “How terrible to have the imperial dignity depend on random chance. No wonder you came home. Your pride must be badly bruised.”
“I was looking forward to at least one day of being pampered.” The prince lolled his head back upon the couch. “But not at the hands of Rahu.”
She lifted up a plate. “Then feel free to indulge. I connived for this duty and switched plates just to make sure they were safe.”
It was Bibil, however, who picked up the first shell. “Your Highness.” And he popped it into his mouth, shell and all.
Urmi pivoted as if offended. “Uncle, how could you think I’d try to poison His Highness?”
He patted her on the shoulder while he waited for something dire to happen to him. “You are my favorite niece—”
“It’s not much of a compliment, considering that I happen to be your brother’s only surviving child.”
“Let me finish.” He left his hand on her shoulder, close to her throat. “But I would not trust my own dear, departed mother.”
“Shame on you,” she pretended to scold him. “Everyone loved grandmother.”
“That’s because she was always the first one to sample the plate.” Bibil nodded smugly to the prince. “I think it’s safe, Your Highness.”
“At last.” The prince looked apologetically at the [50] two Federation officers. “You must forgive my manners, gentlemen. But I have dreamed of this moment for years.” And, saying that, he swept up a handful of the shells and began to pop them quickly into his mouth. “Oh, they’re heavenly. Do try some.” Mr. Spock refused, but Sulu could not resist and found that the shell crunched easily between his teeth, like wafer-thin candy, and the meat inside was like shrimp but with a nutty, sweet flavor.
“It’s delicious.” Sulu smiled to the prince.
“Yes, quite.” The prince pointed to a dish of stuffed orange mushrooms. “Try that one next, will you, Bibil?”
Mr. Spock gave the prince a perplexed look. “You seem so very cheerful about a situation which borders on anarchy.”
“Angira is one world only in the loosest sense. The average person here really identifies with his own clan first and Angira second.” The prince watched Bibil intently. “Like Rahu, they count themselves as
Angirans only when faced with offworlders.”
“But that still doesn’t explain your cheerfulness.”
“There are only two possible reactions, Mr. Spock.” The prince hardly waited for Bibil to finish swallowing before he picked up several mushrooms. “One either learns to accept the excitement of Angiran politics with a certain good-humored fatalism, or one becomes a hermit in the badlands and lives off roots and cacti.” He lay down on a low, broad couch. “And,” he added, “there is always the chance that we may all wake up some day and end this nightmare. Perhaps I’ll have some small part to play in that process.”
Mr. Spock nodded his head ever so slightly as if he approved of the prince’s own choice. The prince [51] seemed to have gone up in his estimation. “Indeed? And how long has this nightmare gone on?”
The prince swallowed quickly and reached for more. “For several thousand Earth years. We Angirans are a persistent lot.”
The others had been paying attention to the prince during this exchange, but Sulu had been curious about the mushrooms themselves and had been examining one on the tray. When he looked up to ask Urmi about their natural habitat, he paused. For a moment, when she thought no one else was looking, another Urmi stood in her place.
Her mouth was still in the same cheerful smile, but her eyes were now focused on the prince as if he were a book whose pages she had to memorize quickly. And the reading wasn’t very pleasant either. However, when the prince started to turn toward the tray again, her eyes took on the same cheerful look as before.
The prince gestured to Urmi. “But don’t stand on ceremony, Urmi. You never did before.”
“We were children then,” Urmi reminded him politely.
“Then indulge a childish whim.” The prince raised a plate and held it before her.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” She helped herself to one of the shells.
When someone tapped at the door, Bibil called out, “Who is it?”
The voice came muffled through the door. “A priest come to purify the prince.” And there was a faint jingling sound of a shadow-chasing sword.
“I don’t think you’ll have much luck, but you’re welcome to try anyway.” The prince motioned Bibil to open the door.
[52] A priest stood there, his head hidden within a large, basket-shaped hat. His right hand, covered by a long, fluttering sleeve, held a shadow-catcher.
“So”—the prince wiped his hands hastily on a napkin—“where would you like me to stand?”
As the priest stepped into the room, Sulu craned his neck to get a better look at a shadow-catcher. Puzzled, he frowned at the prince. “I thought you said that shadow-catchers didn’t have an edge.”
Whipping the shadow-catcher over his head, the false priest shouted, “Die, traitor,” and started for the prince.
Chapter Two
Without even hesitating, Bibil picked up the pitcher from the tray and threw it with deadly accuracy so that it caught the false priest squarely on the side of the head. The pitcher gave off a merry bong as it showered wine over both the false priest and the room.
But almost at the same moment, three sinha warriors came screaming into the room before the first assassin could even fall to the floor.
However, Mr. Spock had gotten to his feet and grabbed the back of his chair. Lifting its legs from the floor, he swung it in a low arc like a shot-putter to send it crashing into the second assassin.
The prince threw himself onto the floor and rolled toward the false priest’s sword. In the meantime, Sulu had snatched up the footrest and, holding it by the legs, brought it down with a thud on the second assassin’s head.
“Sulu!” Mr. Spock shouted.
Sulu turned just in time to catch a downward stroke [54] from the sword of a third assassin. It tore the silken covering of the footrest’s cushion so that a fine, fluffy down flew into the air. The third assassin brought his sword around for a back-handed slash. But the prince had grabbed the sword by that time. It made an ominous jingling sound as he rose to his knees and lunged. The sword point slid easily into the back of Sulu’s opponent.
He screamed, dropping his sword as he reached his hands behind him. Sulu brought up the footrest just in time to stop the fourth assassin from lunging at the prince’s heart.
A vase in his hand, Mr. Spock came leaping over the prince’s couch. He swung the vase at the fourth assassin, but the assassin managed to bring his sword up so that the vase broke on the blade.
He smiled in triumph as he readied himself for a backswing that would take off Mr. Spock’s head. Suddenly he gave a grunt and a surprised look appeared on his face. The sword clattered from his hand and he turned slightly to reveal the slender dagger that had sprouted suddenly from his back.
“Urmi, you know commoners aren’t allowed to bring daggers into the palace.” Bibil seemed more shocked by his niece’s impropriety than by the sinha’s assault.
“Be glad I did.” She was drawing a second knife from the sash-end of her soropa as two more assassins charged into the room from the hallway outside. Sidestepping, she tripped the first one neatly and stabbed him as he fell.
In the meantime, the prince had freed his blade from his victim’s back and turned to engage the last assassin. Urmi scrambled to shut the door and lock it while Sulu, [55] Mr. Spock and Bibil dragged a heavy dressing table across it.
“Who sent you?” the prince demanded. The grim-faced assassin tried a thrust at the prince’s heart, but the prince deflected his blade easily, sliding his own along the assassin’s blade like a guide so that the point rested against the middle of the assassin’s chest where, presumably, an Angiran heart would be. “Who sent you?”
But the assassin did not look afraid, only angry and frustrated that he had failed in his mission. “Traitor,” he spat, and slashed at the prince one last time. Vikram thrust his sword home almost as a reflex action and the assassin’s sword dropped from his hand. “Tr—” he tried to say again as he slumped to the floor. The prince held his sword rigid so that the body slid off the blade.
Mr. Spock looked distastefully at the sword he had picked up. “I assume they haven’t heard of conversation?”
“Angirans are impatient. They prefer a quicker, sharper wit—so to speak.” He started for the door. “Even so, my father must be warned about the vermin running around in the corridors. The palace needs fumigating, I’m afraid.”
The screams began to float through the great stone hallways—distant and thin so that they were almost ghostly. Bibil turned to the prince. “I’m afraid that your family and friends may be learning about it now.”
“Not even Rahu would carry out a massacre on this scale.” The prince stared at the wall as if he were trying to see through it to the other rooms.
“Why not?” Urmi retrieved her first dagger and tucked it away. “He has all of your family and their [56] supporters here at one time. And you’re all off your guard, getting ready for the welcoming ceremonies.” She reached down and took a sword.
“Rahu always wished to make a name for himself,” the prince sighed. “His deeds will certainly go down now in the songs of voice masters.”
“You may very well be the heir to the throne,” Mr. Spock reminded the prince.
“Your Highness,” a voice echoed down the hallway. “Your Highness.” The sound of many feet reverberated down the great stone passageway.
“It sounds like more visitors.” The old soldier stepped directly into the doorway and spread his legs.
The prince looked at Urmi. “Drop those weapons and you can probably claim to be some innocent servant.”
“Thank you”—she joined her uncle—“but I’d rather stay with my present company.”
“Please yourself then. I can see you will.” The prince bowed his head to Spock and Sulu. “I should have warned you that people on Angira seldom die of boredom.”
“We are far from dead,” Mr. Spock reminded the prince.
“I thought you would be the las
t person to be an optimist, Mr. Spock.” The prince faced the door with a sad, knowing laugh.
“I am simply observing the facts.” Mr. Spock hid his annoyance by testing the balance of his sword.
“Your Highness.” The voice grew louder and clearer so that they could tell it was an older man’s voice and the footsteps were made by only one pair of feet. They had only been hearing echoes before. “It’s Diwan.”
[57] “That’s my father’s servant,” the prince explained to Mr. Spock and Sulu. He motioned for them to open the door.
The old man pounded on the door until they had pulled the dressing table away and shot the bolt back. When Urmi finally jerked the door open, an elderly man with the brown paste mark of a servant stumbled into the room, his soropa spattered with blood. When he saw Prince Vikram in the doorway, Diwan fell to his knees. Though both his hands covered his chest, they could still see the edges of a great gash there. “Thank the Many that you’re still alive.”
Bibil immediately knelt to support the old servant. “My father?” Prince Vikram demanded.
Diwan’s knees sagged and he would have collapsed again if Bibil had not been holding him up. “Dead—as are all your brothers. Now they are massacring your father’s supporters.” He flopped a hand at his legs and they could see that his calves were coated in blood. “They were gathering for the assembly to greet you when Rahu’s men attacked. The assembly floor is covered with blood now. It’s terrible, terrible. You must escape, Your Highness. You are all that is left of the imperial line.”
Bibil touched head and heart as if in prayer. “As bad as that?”
Diwan nodded feebly. “You must help the prince get away.”
“How?” The prince pointed his sword. “We’re five levels from the nearest gate and the corridors will be full of Rahu’s men now.”
Diwan clutched at Bibil’s shoulder. “But you only need to go two levels down to the Old Chapel. You’ll [58] find a secret passageway that leads down to a hidden gate.”
“But how could we reach the Old Chapel?” The prince gave a frustrated look toward the corridor. “We’ll still need more warriors to fight our way through Rahu’s men.”