by Alma Boykin
Tahdak should have seen this brewing. Kalaki froze mid-step. What if his brother had seen this coming, and had sent him not because he valued his judgment and skills, but because he wanted Kalaki to fail? Such a failure would forever eliminate Kalaki from the succession line, he knew. He set his foot down with exaggerated care as the cold realization of his brother’s real intent washed over him. Tahdak knew about Kalaki’s concubine and thought that the deformations had come from Kalaki, not from the female’s line. Tahdak wanted to eliminate him!
No, stop. You’re chasing a dust whirl thinking that it’s a shootee herd, the brown-and-gray prince scolded himself. The simplest explanation is usually the correct one, and just because there are rumors of plots does not mean that there are plots. Kalaki stood still until he’d regained complete control over thoughts and body both. First, before anything, he had to deal with the crowd outside the governor’s palace before some troublemaker used the disturbance as a cover for mischief. Then he needed to sort out the so-called independence party and regain control over the cities, in order to free the Imperials should they have to defend Pokara from the Morinci.
Kalaki considered his options. I’ll talk to them, tell them the truth: that I can’t confirm or deny anything until the last investigation is finished and the Peacekeepers and explosives experts make their report. Then I’ll have the Peacekeepers disperse them as gently as possible after the usual warnings. Kalaki liked the idea. He could stand in the anti-grav assisted parade and inspection float and address the crowd from above. They could see him, he could watch them and get a true idea of the group’s size, and the platform had its own sound projectors and shields.
“Soarsa,” he called. His chief of staff appeared almost instantly. “Tell the Peacekeeper officer that I will address the crowd. I’ll use the inspection float.”
The heavy gray reptile hesitated before repeating, “You will address the crowd and will use the inspection float. Yes, Your Highness.”
“Is there a problem with the float?”
Soarsa made a negation. “No, Your Highness, but are you aware that the crowd has grown considerably since you dismissed Lt. Beekhar?”
Typical. Every reptile with nothing better to do comes to watch the show, Kalaki sighed. “Thank you, Soarsa. All the more reason to use the float.”
“Yes, sir.” Soarsa bowed and trotted off to pass the message along. Kalaki stopped long enough to have his body-servant dress him in one of his more brightly-colored robes of office, one that could be seen well from a distance, then walked down three levels to the vehicle preparation area, mounted the float, and guided it out into the bright afternoon sunlight.
Dak-lee finally reached something like a conclusion, but before he could respond to Tartai’s ideas, the Trader pilot came out of his trance.
“Your Highness, there will be a disturbance in progress near where we arrive. As soon as we land, I will open the cargo pod. Get out fast, take your kit, and get out of the way,” he enunciated. “Nothing against you, but I do not want to be near thousands of angry Azdhagi if your people decide to have a riot.”
“Understood,” Dak-lee replied in Trader. He switched to Azdhag and pointed at the pilot with one thumb talon. “Riot about to break out near the governor’s palace. He’ll grab our gear and then we need to get moving, because he’s not sticking around to watch the fun.”
“Nothing personal, Your Highness, but I’d just as soon watch from a safe distance too, like ten kliqs or more,” Tartai replied. “So much for telling Seelah that I’d stay out of trouble.”
Dak-lee smiled, baring some teeth. “Females do tend to forget that we’re males, don’t they?”
“Aye, Your Highness.”
Neither reptile said anything more until the timeship landed. The bulkhead thinned and faded, revealing a wall, a plaza, and the spine-raising growls of a mob of angry Azdhagi. The pilot darted out of the doorway and Dak-lee followed, Tartai hard on his tail. They grabbed their kit and trotted toward the sound of trouble.
“Fewmets,” Tartai snarled, taking in the scene.
On his strong side, a densely packed crowd chanted, “Kalaki out. Kalaki out. Killer, killer, Kalaki out.” The deep noise made his spines rise into full display, and Tartai wondered how long before the crowd solidified into a pack-like mob. On the other side stood Peacekeepers and Imperials, weapons charged and at the ready, with the governor on a hover-platform behind them.
“I’ll sort out the Imperials,” Dak-lee decided aloud. “You talk to the crowd, see if you can get them to back away far enough to calm the Peacekeepers a little. Then we’ll see to Kalaki.” Things should never have reached this point! Dak-lee strode up to the Imperials, not waiting for Tartai to respond. “I’m Prince-Imperial Dak-lee. Who is senior here?” He projected his voice as if addressing the massed Defenders and Palace Guard, ignoring the crowd for the moment. He’d worn his robe of office, with the insignia of the Palace Guard on it, and his armored gauntlets.
“I am,” a dull grey-green lieutenant replied. “Lt. Beekhar, Kirlin Lineage.”
“Good. Brief me.”
The officer kept his eyes on the crowd. “Your Highness, two possibly three hours ago, three males and four females appeared in the plaza, carrying signs that suggested that supporters of the royal governor had bombed the governor’s palace museum three sixts ago. The group did nothing else, but they refused to leave when asked. The Peacekeepers arrested two of the males for trespassing, and not twenty minutes later, a hundred Azdhagi appeared, with more following. A few began calling for the governor, and we relayed their message in order to keep the peace.”
Dak-lee didn’t approve entirely, but Beekhar knew the situation better than he did. “And then what, Lieutenant?”
“And then, your Majesty, someone called out that Prince Kalaki had known of the bombing before it happened.” Beekhar swallowed hard, his attention fixed on the angry crowd. “Your Highness, I’ve been in the Imperials and Peacekeepers both, and I’ve never seen a rumor spread so fast. We’ve got at least two thousand angry Azdhagi right there.”
Dak-lee admired his uncle’s courage for coming out and facing the crowd. “Has anyone in the crowd been violent?”
“Not yet, but I wager it’s only a few minutes before they try to come after the governor, Your Highness.”
The roar from the crowd drowned out Dak-lee’s next words. “Does Kalaki have a loud speaker?” He demanded.
“Use this one, Your Highness.”
Dak-lee reached for it, then made a negation. “Lower your weapons,” he ordered. Beekhar blinked but obeyed, as did the rest of his troops. “Remain at rest until I say otherwise.” Dak-lee eased between the soldiers and Peacekeepers until he reached his uncle’s float, hovering three meters above the last row of Peacekeepers. “Drop down, Governor Kalaki,” he called. “I’m borrowing your loud-caller.”
Meanwhile, Tartai had strolled up to the closest male protestor. “That bad?”
The grey male spat, “Oh yeah. They’ve killed two protestors already.”
Tartai looked around at the soldiers and Peacekeepers defending the governor. “You see it?”
“No, didn’t have to. Heard it from him,” and he pointed to an average-sized male farther down the row.
“Thanks,” and Tartai strolled that way, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, and as if he were not making an enormous target of himself. “Who saw the murders?” he called as he got closer to the indicated male.
“I didn’t but I heard it from Reeke there,” and he pointed back one row and over two. “He says his brother told him that a friend had seen it.”
Tartai raised his voice, “Reeke, you see the killings?”
“No, but everyone knows the governor killed the protestors like he staged the bombs at the museum,” a voice called back. “And who are you?”
“I’m Tartai, Tarkeela’s son, the one Lord Shu murdered. You say the governor set a bomb off at the museum?”
“
Yeah, and blamed us for it,” a third voice called from Reeke’s strong side.
“I can see why you’d be mad about that,” Tartai agreed. He continued his stroll down the front row of the crowd. He heard hisses as people passed his name along. All at once someone called, “Damn, he’s big! He’ll pull the platform down.”
“Serves Kalaki right if he hits the dirt,” a female laughed.
“Who’s that?”
Tartai guessed. “Oh, just Prince-Imperial Dak-lee. His father ordered him to come here and dragged me off of work to keep Dak-lee out of trouble.” He rumpled his tail. “Nobles.”
That caused a few laughs and Tartai sensed anger shifting to curiosity, at least on the front rows.
Tartai ventured to glance that way and, indeed, the crown prince’s bulk looked about ten kilos too much for the hover platform to support. He seemed to be having words with a brown-and-gray male in ornate robes and war gauntlets. Tartai pointed with his tail. “’Zat the governor?”
A female in work robes spat, “Yes. Says he’s trying to keep the peace, but comes out in full armor on a war hover.”
“Eh,” Tartai rumpled his tail. “If that’s war armor, I can float. It looks more like a color-blind cheezali built a nest in his robe chest and used the robe of office as liner.”
That drew more laughs and more of the front-row relaxed. Tartai finished his stroll along the front row and began walking to the back of the group, looking for trouble as he went.
Behind him, an electronic squall shrieked out and crowd and Peacekeepers both flinched at the noise. Dak-lee glared at the offending equipment and adjusted the audio feed. He decided to be blunt. “I am Prince-Imperial Dak-lee. My honored sire ordered me to come to Pokara. His Imperial Majesty received your petitions, read them, and now I am here. With me is Tartai of Tarkeela Lineage and Schree’s Rest, who will be assisting me to make certain that your words are heard.”
Dak-lee paused for breath, and Tartai sighed loud enough for the Azdhagi near him to hear. “Thanks, boss. Make me do the hard work while you get to float in mid-air and look dramatic.”
A dark green male with yellowy stripes gave Tartai an odd look. “You really from Schree’s Rest?”
“Yes, I am.”
“How many woods fuzzies does it take to make a winter robe?”
Tartai laughed. “None, because the hair falls off when you try and tan them. My turn: how far can you float a blackwood log in a day?”
“You can’t. They sink. Have to drag them over snow. My second cousin is Schleek.”
Tartai blinked. “Well fewmets and fishes. Schleek the logger, the one with the wrestling obsession?”
“Yeah, that’s him. You Tartai the log-roller?” At Tartai’s affirmative gesture, the male rose onto his hind legs. “This one’s one of ours! Tartai of Schree’s Rest. He’ll get stuff sorted out, him and the Prince Imperial.” He dropped back onto all four feet. “I’m Leekar. My twin-sister is the palace chatelaine. Schleek mentioned you in his last message when he was complaining about that damned Daesarae.”
Dak-lee had begun speaking again. “Please disperse. Tartai of Tarkeela and I will secure the release of the protestors arrested this morning. I swear on my tail-tip.”
“As if I didn’t see enough of the Peacekeepers when I was younger,” Tartai grumbled. “Damn, but between my mate and my boss, I never get to have any fun.” Several of the males within earshot snickered or gave him looks of sympathy and fellow-feeling. A few also turned and eased out of the crowd, walking toward the road, past the end of the plaza and back into the city.
As Dak-lee watched from the float, a trickle of Azdhagi began departing, then a slow stream. The Peacekeepers and Imperials lowered their weapons further, and more Azdhagi returned to what ever they had been doing. After several minutes, only a double-forefoot-full of people remained. Tartai sauntered over and spoke to them, then made his way back to the line of Peacekeepers and Imperials. Dak-lee landed the float, found Beekhar, and ordered him to stand down. Tartai waited until Dak-lee finished before coming closer. “Good work. What’s going on,” and the crown prince pointed to the last holdouts with his tail.
“Your Highness, they’re still not fully convinced that the governor did not order the morning’s protestors to be executed. They want to be absolutely certain that the troops are dispersing before they go home.” Tartai wondered if he should acknowledge Prince Kalaki’s presence, but decided to wait until Kalaki deigned to notice him. The governor seemed more intent on puffing up like a two-weeks dead talkak in mid-summer. I wonder if Dak-lee requested permission to act, or if he just took over? I don’t think that was a good idea. In fact, the more he looked at Prince-Governor Kalaki, the worse Tartai’s suspicions grew. If he does have a paranoid streak, Dak-lee may have just confirmed his every fear. And if he doesn’t, Dak-lee just undermined his authority. Tartai had an urge to cover his eyes with his forefoot, like he’d seen one of the councilors at Schree’s Rest do on similar occasions.
Dak-lee turned to his uncle. “I apologize for the lack of formal notification, Governor Kalaki,” he began. “Would you care to issue orders for the release of the males arrested this morning? And then I’d like a full briefing, please, at your convenience.”
Once the warrant had been sent and the two males released from the holding pen, in full view of the story catchers, image reporters, and other gossips, Dak-lee remembered to introduce Tartai to his increasingly-unhappy uncle, and to explain just how they got there.
Tartai bowed. “I am honored to meet Your Highness.” He’d already decided that he’d better play the diplomat, since Dak-lee seemed determined to act with all the stealth and subtlety of a roklat charging into a shootee herd.
Kalaki studied the younger male. Unlike his nephew, Tartai seemed to have manners and to know his place. “Thank you. I take it you are Lord Tarkeela?”
“Ah, not exactly, Your Highness. Because of my sire’s wish that the Lineage terminate with his death, I hesitate to take up his title. With his Imperial Majesty’s permission, my siblings and I are looking into past precedent so that we can honor our sire’s wishes while still serving the Pack.”
Respectful, tactful, knows his place, and competent, Kalaki noted. This one has potential. As memory serves, his dam was one of old Peitak’s concubine’s get. That seems to have countered the Tarkeela foolish streak. Aloud he said, “Indeed, respect for our ancestors is wise.” Kalaki turned back to Dak-lee, “Would you like to see your quarters before the evening meal is served?”
“Yes, if it will not cause difficulties with your staff,” the crown prince agreed.
The two males followed Kalaki up to the second floor of the old palace, where they found a dark-brown-and-yellow-blotched female waiting for them. She bowed very low to the trio. Kalaki gestured his approval. “You may rise,” he ordered. “This is Leesarae, the chatelaine, who oversees domestic management of the palace for the moment. Are quarters prepared for my guests?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” she murmured. “If you are ready, I will show you your quarters and provide directions to other parts of the complex.”
“Go on,” Kalaki ordered. “Then come by my office and we’ll discuss the day’s events and my recent findings.”
Dak-lee started to bristle, then caught himself, remembering that he’d trampled over his uncle once already today. “Very well.”
Leesare led the males down a wood-paneled hallway. Tartai stopped to look at the material. The light-colored, almost white, wood had the very tight grain of an old, slow-growing hardwood, and he wondered why it had been used for paneling instead of structural beams or furniture. Maybe these were the outer cuts, and the sawyers saved the planks, he speculated, then picked up the pace and rejoined Dak-lee. Leesare slowed her steps before turning and pointing to two open doors.
“Your Imperial Highness, this chamber is yours,” and she led him into a large, airy room with windows that looked down into a garden. Dak-lee noticed the large soaki
ng pit, a heated basking bench, and a well-padded sleeping platform, among other amenities. He approved of the ornately painted chests and tables, and the wall-hanging portraying a hunting scene.
“This will do,” he grunted. “How do I summon staff?”
She reached up and slid aside an ornamental panel to reveal a computer display and data access and entry point. “Here, Imperial Highness. Green button calls for ordinary staff, red for security, purple for medical, and black calls the fire protection force.”
Tartai, listening in from the hall, liked the sound of the arrangement. He didn’t like the speculative looks Dak-lee gave Leesarae when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Damn it, he thinks with everything but his brain, Tartai groaned. First you override your uncle, then you chase the staff, what next, bar fights? Probably. He’s acting just like an unmated male out on his own for the first time! Tartai backed up, tail tip going stiff as he realized, Fewmets! That’s just what he us. Oh, blessed soul of my honored sire, give me patience.
Leesarae bowed to Dak-lee and, after determining that he did not need anything at the moment, backed out of the room and turned to Tartai. He’d already been peering into the open doorway across the hall from Dak-lee’s chamber. “And this is yours, my lord,” she confirmed, easing past him into the room. He followed.
The smaller chamber lacked the view and the soaking pit, but otherwise it reminded Tartai of the quarters assigned to him at the Imperial palace on Drakon IV. Except for the furnishings, which sported some of the most intricate painted designs he’d ever seen. “These are beautiful!” He picked up a small side bench and flipped it over to see the joints better. “And excellent craftsmanship. Do you know who made these, or where they are from?”
Leesarae tipped her head to the side and blinked at him. “Ah, I believe that they were from the prince-governor’s quarters. We’ve been disposing of the old furnishings at his orders, and if I remember correctly, these are in the next batch to be sold.”