The beasts of Barakhai bob-1

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  "I'm sorry." To demonstrate the sincerity of his apology, Collins forced out the proper title. "I'm really very sorry, Sire. I missed what you just asked."

  Without a hint of offense, the king repeated, "Do you know how you got here?"

  Now that he had heard the question, Collins needed it interpreted. "I'm not sure what you mean, Sire." The title came out easier the second time. "I walked here under my own power. I was following-" He glanced at Quinton, wondering just how much the king already knew. The guards had escorted him directly here, and he had waited less than ten minutes for Quinton and the king to arrive. If she had briefed him on their conversation, it had not taken long.

  Quinton nodded encouragingly.

  King Terrin finished the thought. "You were following a white rat."

  "Yes," Collins admitted, his food forgotten for the moment. "I'm not the first, I understand."

  The king bobbed his head as Quinton had done, blond curls pitching and raising. The movement released a wave of musk. "There were three before you, including Carrie. The first two came together and got killed breaking into the castle."

  Terrin did not elaborate, and Collins found himself less curious about the details than he expected. He did note that the first visitor, the D amp; D player, apparently never even made it to the castle.

  "Then Carrie came, and talking with her brought sense to the matter." The king leaned forward, as if to share something private. "That rat, that agitator…" His gaze became distant, and he shook his head with a suddenness that revealed intense emotion: anger or frustration. "… He's been a thorn in our side for years. Circumvents every law, fights order at every step, despoils every logical decree."

  Collins bit his lip, struggling to see Zylas in this new light. Though enraged that the rat/man had tricked him, he could not help liking him. "Why?"

  "Why?" the king repeated, straightening. "Why, indeed." This time, he consulted Quinton with his gaze.

  Quinton responded with a flourishing wave. "Because it's the job of the royals to civilize a society of animals."

  Literally, Collins realized and cringed. Though he had flirted briefly with idealistic anarchy, that phase had not lasted long. His politics had grown more centrist the older he got. And, while he still considered himself a democrat, no one would mistake him for an over-the-top liberal. He now accepted the necessity of leaders to maintain order and civility.

  "And, sometimes, we have to make laws that place priority on safety over freedom."

  It was the very definition of governing, creating laws that restricted the rights of individuals for the good of the community. "We have those, too," Collins said, not even trying to tack on the "sire." "I understand so far."

  Quinton chewed and swallowed, her bites small and delicate. "For obvious reasons, enforced vegetarianism is essential."

  Collins shuddered, once again reminded of his lapse in this regard. He covered with humor, spearing a piece of fish. "Sort of a lacto-ovo-ichthy vegetarianism."

  Quinton smiled around her food. "Right."

  Joy accompanied the realization that he had finally found someone to whom he did not have to explain a biology-based joke. He suspected the translation magic turned his description into "milk-egg-fish vegetable-eating" for the benefit of the king.

  The king glanced between his guests. "Certain types of animals cannot control their appetites for meat."

  "Carnivores," Collins said to Quinton.

  "Some carnivores," Quinton corrected. "Cats and dogs, for example, have civilized to an omnivorous state. Like natural omnivores: foxes, bears…"

  "… people," Collins inserted.

  Quinton nodded. "… they can be taught young to avoid meat. Scavengers, like vultures and hyenas, serve as a sort of cleanup crew and can get away with eating carrion, though most people find it as disgusting as we do. Herons, egrets, and 'gators eat fish. Lots of things can live off bugs. But certain animals…" She trailed off with a shrug.

  Collins ate the piece of fish. Soft-textured, fresh, and lightly spiced, it tasted better than anything he remembered eating in a long time. "Like, say, lions? Wolves?"

  "Exactly." Quinton shook back blonde tresses that shimmered like gold in the candlelight. "They got executed into oblivion long before His Majesty came to power." Speaking of the king apparently reminded her of his presence. She jerked her attention to him, and her cheeks turned rosy. "I'm sorry, Sire. I didn't mean to take over your explanation."

  The king grinned gently, swallowing a mouthful. "Continue." He made a regal gesture. "You're doing marvelously."

  "Anyway," Quinton continued awkwardly. "The only way carnivores come up is through Random breedings. Quite rare, but their danger is significant. On average, they kill six times before they're caught, so the law calls for destroying them as soon as the switch-form manifests."

  "At thirteen," Collins recalled.

  "At thirteen," Quinton confirmed.

  Collins considered the implications, features crinkling. "So they execute innocent kids to avoid future crimes?" He turned his attention to the king as he asked the question.

  Terrin studied his hands in his lap, without meeting Collins' gaze.

  Quinton rescued the king. "It's an unfortunate circumstance, a fully avoidable one. People understand the risk they take when they breed Randomly, and it's always a conscious choice made in human form. Animals cannot interbreed outside their species."

  "I saw a mule in the courtyard."

  Quinton smiled. "Always the scientist, aren't you?" She laughed, the sound light and hellish, very different from Marlys' rare twitters or Falima's uninhibited, horsy guffaws. "Me, too. Mules are considered Regulars since their switch-form is completely predictable when a donkey and a horse mate. They're also sterile, so there are no future offspring to consider."

  Collins set aside his fork. "Wouldn't it be better to at least try to train these carnivores to eat bugs and fish?"

  "Tried." Quinton rubbed the base of her fork. "Never succeeded."

  Collins felt as if time had receded and he had returned to his argument with his father over the death penalty. "But what if one can do it? Shouldn't you at least wait until they commit a crime before irreversibly punishing them?"

  "Let them kill someone else's child?" The king sounded anguished. "Six of them on average?"

  "No," Collins said, still unable to reconcile the idea of confining someone, let alone inflicting the death penalty, simply because statistics said they would probably commit a crime. If the United States worked by the same rules, the jails would be overflowing with inner city black males, the ones destined to overcome poverty, prejudice, and cultural fetters lost along with those consumed by these conditions. The great ones, like Colin Powell, like Martin Luther King, would never have the chance to change the world for the better. "But… but… what about…?"

  Quinton tried to anticipate his question. "Ever see a tiger in a small zoo cage?"

  Collins dropped the larger point to picture the striped beasts wandering in mindless circles. "Yes. They pace. But, if they could talk, I doubt they would say they prefer death."

  "The ones of this world would disagree, according to the history books. A previous king tried imprisonment, and suicides resulted. Others begged for death rather than life in a cage."

  Collins' doubt must have shown on his face, because Quinton turned defensive.

  "Step out of the we-know-what' s-best-for-everyone American persona for a moment. Dorothy, you're not in Kansas anymore."

  Surprised by Quinton's sudden switch from empathetic listener to cut-the-crap critic, Collins forced himself to think in a different way. She had a definite point, one Falima had made much earlier. He had to stop judging Barakhai by twentieth century democratic standards.

  Quinton's tone softened slightly. "You have to remember, we're talking about boring, nothing-to-do dungeons here. No phones, no gyms, no TV, and no conjugal visits."

  "Why not?" Collins asked. At Quinton's "no one's that d
umb" look, he clarified. "I mean why no conjugal visits?"

  "No birth control, either," Quinton reminded. "Does Barakhai need more vicious carnivores to further crowd its dungeons?"

  Collins had to insert. "But Randoms are random-"

  "Not completely. There's a definite genetic component to what they become." Quinton spoke to her area of expertise. "Not strictly Mendelian, I don't think, but-" Apparently realizing Collins had exploited her own interests to throw her off track, Quinton returned abruptly to her point. "How many ladybugs do you think it would take to fill up a full-grown lion, anyway? Hard enough supplying adequate protein for the innocent people. According to my studies, iron deficiency anemia is rampant here. I'm surprised they don't see more kwashi-orkor, too."

  Collins went quiet, picturing large-eyed, African orphans with skeletal limbs and enormous bellies caused by the severe protein malnutrition she had mentioned. In fact, Quinton had several valid points.

  "Our rich society gives us a lot of leeway these people just don't have. You notice a lot of small people here? Nutritional adequacy's a constant battle in an undeveloped society, and the kids can't just pop a Flintstone's with Iron." Quinton's blue eyes seemed to drag Collins' gaze deep inside of them. "You can't coddle murderers when you can't properly feed the loyal and innocent. Kapish?"

  "Kapish," Collins said in a small voice, turning his attention back to his meal. As he ate, he wondered how much of their exchange the king had understood and whether or not he found any of it offensive. Abruptly remembering what had brought them to this point in the conversation, Collins attempted to turn it back to his original question. "What does all this have to do with Zylas anyway?"

  Quinton and King Terrin traded glances, and the king took up the explanation again. "He had a daughter."

  The rest seemed obvious. "A carnivore?" Collins guessed, chest tightening and food once more forgotten. His mind formed an image of the albino standing in stunned silence while guards hauled his little girl away to die, his face a white mask that defined abject, depthless sorrow. He remembered the earlier tears when Zylas mentioned not having a family.

  "Yes," King Terrin said.

  Collins could not help saying, "Poor Zylas."

  The king pursed his lips, head falling. Quinton's jaw tensed, and she wrested the discourse from him again. "I thought the same thing. At first. Then I discovered how many daughters and sons, mothers and fathers died because of his… his junta. His rabid schemes to destroy the Barakhain hierarchy, to ravage the kingdom and the royal family have resulted in so many deaths: guards, his own followers', innocent bystanders'." She tried to catch Collins' gaze; but, this time, he dodged her. "Bystanders like Bill the janitor and Amanda the coed. Like me, almost. And you."

  Collins swallowed hard, head ringing. The information he had gained revealed so much he had never suspected, explained so many of his former companions' nudges and lapses. Zylas, Falima, how could you do this to me? He felt like a lost child.

  The king's voice was soothing, fatherly. "What happened to the horse, Ben?"

  The horse? Collins was momentarily puzzled by the question, and then understanding hit. His nostrils flared, and his eyes widened. He means Falima. They know! They know who I am. What I did. "The horse?" he repeated, trying to hide his nervousness. Perhaps he had misunderstood.

  "The one who saved you from the gallows," King Terrin said, without malice. "The buckskin who goes by the name of Falima."

  "The gallows," Collins repeated, a tingle passing through his neck where the rope had once lain, and a shiver traversing his body. "You…" it emerged in a desperate squeak, "… know?" He added quickly, "Sire?" This did not seem like a moment to skimp on propriety.

  "Of course we know," Quinton said. "And unlike the renegades, we're not going to lie to you. Didn't you think Olton would let the king know about a murderer on the loose?"

  "Olton?" Collins did not know whether Quinton named the place or an informant. Though it did not matter, he focused on the detail to delay the moment when he discovered his fate. Whether they sent him back to that town or performed the execution here, he would end up just as dead. He wondered why they had not just left him to rot in his cell rather than bring him here to talk to Quinton and the king. Within a moment, he had the answer. Because they plan to get as much information as possible from me first. His manner grew guarded.

  "Olton's the town that sentenced you," the king explained. "We'd still like to know about the horse."

  Collins could not get past the matter of his future, or lack of one. "Are you going to hang me?"

  The king and Carrie Quinton jerked. Simultaneously, they said, "What?"

  Collins rose, scarcely daring to believe how calm they remained, how surprised they seemed that he might worry about his neck. "Are you sending me back or performing my execution here?"

  "Neither." The king's leonine head swung up to follow Collins' movement. "As soon as Carrie and I figured out what you had to be, I pardoned you."

  Quinton added, "Didn't you notice no one was chasing you anymore?"

  "I…" Collins started, sinking back into his chair. "I thought we just eluded them."

  Quinton's wispy brows rose nearly to her hairline. "Eluded human-smart hounds? Please."

  Collins could scarcely believe it. "So I'm not going to be hung?"

  "Hanged," Quinton corrected. "The past tense of 'hang' when you're killing someone is hanged. Laundry is hung."

  How do you like that? Falima was right. "Thanks. My grammar really is more important here than whether or not I'm flung off a platform so a heavy rope around my neck chokes me to death!"

  Quinton's lips twitched at the corners. "Sorry. Just one of those pet peeve things." She added, "If you were actually going to get hanged, I wouldn't have said that."

  Collins grunted, still sarcastic. "Of course not. That might have seemed… well… tacky."

  The smile became genuine. "Just so you know, if they had to drag you there, you'd be dragged, not drug."

  With his life spared, Collins enjoyed the banter. "But a load of laundry would be drug?"

  "Dragged, too," Quinton said. "It's always dragged. Drug is a noun or a verb, but the past tense of drug is drugged."

  "Not drag?"

  "The doctor drag her prior to surgery." Quinton laughed. "Nope, doesn't work."

  Though not a part of it, the king smiled broadly at their friendly exchange.

  Growing remarkably comfortable, Collins had to wonder whether or not he had been drugged. "Not that I'm complaining, Sire, but why did you pardon me? You didn't know me."

  "Ah, but I did." King Terrin turned his gaze to Quinton. "Once we figured you for an Otherworlder, Carrie could innocently explain all your actions."

  Collins poked at his food, considering. "I spoke a completely different language." He popped some mashed roots into his mouth, delighted by the flavor. He tasted cinnamon and allspice in a mixture halfway between sugared pumpkin and sweet potato.

  "That was a big clue." Quinton pushed her plate aside. "Also, that you made no attempt to hide your crime from the guards showed you had no idea you did anything wrong."

  King Terrin reached for the serving bowl of mashed roots.

  "You killed and ate in human form. Murder rarely happens like that and cannibalism never."

  Though he craved more of the root dish, Collins put his fork down. He schooled his features. "I want you to know I'm very very sorry about what I did. I've suffered a lot of recriminations, tears, and soul-searching to deal with it, and I still have moments of heart-wrenching regret. If I had known-"

  The king raised his hand. "You would not have done it. I understand."

  "Thank you, Sire," Collins said, this time without difficulty. If his original companions had forgiven him this easily, they could have spared him and themselves a lot of bickering and discomfort. "I don't have the words to express how much I appreciate your understanding."

  The king ladled root-mash onto his plate. "You nee
d say nothing more."

  As it sounded as much a command as a suggestion, Collins obeyed.

  The king sat straighter in his chair, steam from the root-mash twining into his beard. "You have a choice, Ben. You may stay here and become another adviser."

  "A generous offer, Sire," Quinton inserted, and Collins wished he had had the chance to say that first.

  "Or you may show us the way to the portal so that you and Carrie, if she wishes, may return to your home."

  I'm going back. Excitement trembled through Collins. I'm going home. "Thank you, Sire," he said, not voicing his choice because his quick decision to leave might offend the king.

  Quinton clutched the front of her dress. "So you know the way to the portal?"

  "I-" Collins started, then stopped with nowhere to go from that point. "I… don't you… I mean…"

  No one jumped in to help him.

  "The way to the portal?"

  Quinton's hands sank to her lap.

  Collins shook his head to clear it. "Shouldn't be that hard to figure out. It's in a set of ruins on a hill not far from Olton. The guards caught me in a field close by. They should know."

  The king and Quinton exchanged glances.

  Quinton shook her head. "We sent guards to where you got caught. I remembered coming in through ruins, too; but the only ones they found that looked right took us nowhere."

  Collins crinkled his eyes as the impossibility of the statement overtook him. "How can that be? How many ruins are there?"

  "A lot." The king answered before Quinton could. "Centuries ago, the kingdom sat in that very area, sprawling for miles, with cities and towns at myriad locations. You can't go there without running into the ruins of something."

  Collins' eyes slitted further. "Maybe if Carrie and I went with your guards, Sire. Taken place to place, surely we'd recognize-"

  "Tried that," Quinton interrupted. "Amazing how similar a crumbling pile of stone and mortar can look to another crumbling pile of stone and mortar. Over hundreds of years, things get picked through until nothing of value remains for a landmark."