Rezac and Cheelar moved one to either side of him with the other three following behind.
Scan for anyone showing signs of recognizing me, Kusac sent to Rezac as they began to climb the stairs.
On it.
“I don’t know if you remember the apartments well, my Lord,” said Laazif, slowing down to let Kusac draw level with him. “They’re not large, but there’s rooms for your aides and guard as well as yourself. The public rooms, a dining room and a salon, are large enough for about ten to twelve people.”
“What about yourself?” he asked.
Laazif glanced at him, his expression slightly shocked. “There are adequate servants’ quarters, plus the necessary kitchen, my Lord. Your personal standard of living will remain the same as it would in your home.”
“I never doubted that, Laazif,” said Kusac, trying to suppress a faint smile.
Inside, the Palace layout was very different. Presumably built mostly underground, the upper stories looked to be used only for offices and the living quarters of those employed there. The main entrance hall led to heavy elevator doors, guarded on either side by well-armed soldiers in green dress uniforms. As the doors opened to let them into the elevator, Kusac realized how thick they were.
They’d stand up to a pretty heavy bombardment, sent Rezac, catching his thought as they filed in.
“There are already several invitations waiting for you, my Lord,” said Laazif. “I put them on the desk in your office.”
“Thank you,” said Kusac, clasping his hands behind his back as he felt the elevator begin to slow.
“The central cavern is full of construction crews right now,” his steward added as the elevator settled and the doors slid open. “Apparently, there was an attack here a few days ago, rebels of some kind, if you can believe that.” He stepped out into the cavern.
“Rebels? How can there be rebels here?”
“You’ve been in space for several years, my Lord. In that time, some of the mountain folk have grown bold, challenging the rightful order. Not our tribe,” he added hurriedly, slowing as Kusac stopped to look around at the ordered chaos of workmen and rubble shifting that was still going on.
“Not our tribe?” Kusac asked as Laazif led them through the safest route past the workmen filling in blast holes and shoring up stone pillars. Guards were everywhere in sight, in groups of four at every tunnel entrance and exit.
“No, my Lord. Your people remain loyal to you. Harvests are always on time, and always the right amount.”
“Good to hear,” he said as they stopped at the familiar large elevator that they knew led down to the Royal living quarters. “I should pay them a visit.”
“Indeed, they will expect it, my Lord,” agreed the steward as once again, they filed in.
* * *
This time, they took the opposite route on leaving the elevator, heading away from the Royal apartments.
Kusac dug deep into Nayash’s memories as they passed what appeared to be several small stores.
“I see the court still needs the tailors,” he said dryly.
“Oh, there are dressmakers here now,” said Laazif. “The old Emperor, may His . . . spirit rest with the Gods, allowed the wives of the court to meet with his harem when they wished, provided they were safely escorted there and back, of course. The dressmakers were always attending them.”
“Generous of him.”
“Emperor K’hedduk does not believe in such laxity, but he allows the wives to gather once a week.”
“Surprising.”
“Not so, my Lord. Most of the court ladies come from the Tribute from Ch’almuth. Letting them meet weekly helps to keep them docile, they say. This is your apartment, my Lord.”
Kusac turned and walked back a few steps. “The damned doors all look alike,” he said, glaring up the long corridor at the handful of doors, some with coats of arms showing on a small plaque next to them.
Laazif reached out for the plaque next to his door, pushing aside the cover to reveal his coat of arms. “We use these now to show when a Lord is in residence,” he said, opening the door. “Welcome to your Palace apartment, Lord Nayash.”
Kusac stepped inside. The entrance was brightly lit, and carpeted in a dark burgundy color. Walls, where they could be seen, were cream and almost completely covered in portraits of what he knew were Nayash’s ancestors. Pride of place was one of K’hedduk, wearing the crown he believed to be from the Palace of Light.
“The apartments are clean, and I’ve had all your late father’s personal effects packed and put into storage until you wish to go through them. I’m afraid the furnishings are not very modern . . .”
“That’s fine, Laazif,” Kusac interrupted, looking around the room, pulling memories of which door led where, to the surface. “We can see to refurnishing later. Right now, I want hot maush and something to eat for myself and my men. You can show them their quarters while I look around my office.”
“Yes, my Lord,” said Laazif, bowing.
With a few surreptitious hand gestures, Kusac signaled Rezac and Cheelar to search for electronic devices.
They rejoined him some fifteen minutes later with word that the apartment was clear of any listening devices. Shortly after, Laazif arrived accompanied by a servant carrying a large tray.
“I have provided refreshments in the greeting room for the rest of your staff, my Lord,” he said, signaling the servant to lay the tray on a table set against the wall near the door.
“Thank you. We’ll serve ourselves. You’re free to go, Laazif,” said Kusac, glancing up from his desk where he sat going through papers with Cheelar.
Once the steward had left, Cheelar continued from where he’d left off.
“From the records, the estate looks to be in good financial health. Whoever was actually managing it knew what they were doing. Of course, I have to check it over properly with the estate manager.”
“Do that. Call him here. Rezac, would you . . .” He looked up to see the other already bringing a couple of plates of sandwiches over.
“I’ll get the drinks,” said Cheelar.
* * *
They’d finished eating, found out who the estate manager was, arranged for him to visit the next day, and begun to open the various letters and invitations that had arrived when Laazif knocked on the door.
“Chamberlain Garrik is . . .”
“Yes, yes,” snapped an irate voice as the door swung abruptly open. “I can introduce myself!”
Into the room swept a stocky M’zullian dressed in brightly colored long robes. Behind him trailed a couple of drably dressed attendants carrying a variety of books, papers, and envelopes.
“So you are the new Lord Nayash,” he said, imperiously gesturing Kusac’s entourage aside as he glided up to the desk. “I am Chamberlain Garrik.”
Kusac had risen to his feet as the other advanced on him and subjected him to an intense scrutiny.
“Hmm, I suppose you’ll do. The court tailor should be able to run up something half decent in two days.”
“Excuse me?” Kusac asked, raising an eye ridge.
“Not your concern, mine. Itinerary!” Garrik snapped, holding out an imperious hand.
Behind him, one of the two anonymous drone underlings began leafing through his armful of papers, drawing out an elaborate envelope bearing what Kusac assumed was a Royal Seal.
“Emperor K’hedduk, Long Life and Prosperity to Him, has summoned you to an audience,” intoned Garrik. “Tomorrow morning, after the Dawn Rites, in his office.” Taking the envelope from his underling, he thrust it at Kusac. “I have arranged for you to attend the court tailor for an appropriate dress uniform to be made for you. In the meantime, one will be provided by them. You’ll attend them in three hours, at noon.” He held his hand out to the other servant. “Booklet!” he demanded.
The resulting booklet, about half an inch thick and the size of a popular book, was thrust at him. Noolgoi deftly intercepted it.
“These are the rules of court etiquette. I strongly suggest you have your steward help you learn them for your meeting with the Emperor, Long Life and Prosperity be His.”
The flow of words stopped for the space of five heartbeats before continuing. “The court you remember is gone, Lord Nayash,” Garrik said very quietly. “We now have more—exacting standards. I advise you to be sure to meet them. Your audience is, as I said, tomorrow morning, after the Dawn Rites, which you will be expected to attend. After a short break for breakfast, you will also be expected to attend the Council meeting along with the other nobles and the Generals.”
With a slight bow, the Chamberlain turned and swept out of the room, leaving only a faintly perfumed scent behind. Laazif scuttled after him and his minions, closing the door behind himself.
“If you let me read the book, Lord Nayash,” said Noolgoi, “I can give you the highlights. We were all trained in court protocol.”
“Please,” said Kusac, sitting back down.
It seems, sent Rezac, that the new Emperor has many of his staff running scared right now.
Indeed. I think we came at the right time, he agreed, watching Noolgoi settle himself in an armchair and open the court protocol book.
Abruptly, the door swung open again. This visitor filled the doorframe, his dark crimson robes adding to his imposing presence. Sweeping them with an obviously disapproving glare, he stepped into the room, Laazif hovering behind him looking worried.
The scent Kusac sensed immediately, with its overtones of superiority and intimidation. Almost, he responded, before forcing himself to override its programming and sending a brief mental warning to the others.
Searching through his acquired memories, he couldn’t place the official. Ignoring the frantic gestures of the steward, Kusac went back to studying the estate reports in front of him.
“It’s usual to request an audience with me,” he said, keeping his tone mild as his companions all bowed to the intruder. “Have you caught the felon who set fire to my father’s coffin and disrupted his funeral?” He glanced up at the Inquisitor.
The male stopped, a puzzled look briefly crossing his face. “I am no messenger, Lord Nayash . . .” he began.
“But you are intruding into my private space and disturbing my preparations to meet the Emperor, Health and Long Life be His.” A quick probe gave him the inquisitor’s name.
Carefully laying his pen down, Kusac sat back in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him. “Since you have failed to capture this renegade person or persons, Inquisitor Luzaarak, why are you disturbing me?”
Luzaarak folded his arms across his chest, breathing in as he tried to take control of the situation.
“I am the chief aide to Head Inquisitor Ziosh. He requires that you attend him tomorrow morning, after the Dawn Rites in the temple.”
“Could his message, since it isn’t urgent, not have been left with my steward, instead of bursting into my apartment without warning?”
“I was tasked with delivering it to you personally, Lord Nayash,” Luzaarak said stiffly.
“You have delivered the message, Luzaarak. You may leave now, but tell your master that I have an audience with the Emperor at that time tomorrow morning. He will have to reschedule it. In future, don’t just walk into my quarters, knock like everyone else.”
Obviously dismissing him, Kusac unclasped his hands, picked up his pen, and gestured to Rezac to join him at his desk.
Luzaarak hesitated, torn between anger and the knowledge he had overstepped the barriers between the Inquisitors and the nobility. Abruptly, he turned on his heel, thrusting Laazif aside with a hissed “Get out of my way!” Then he stormed out, almost, but not quite, slamming the door behind him.
Do I sense there are two courts in this Palace? Kusac sent to the others.
That of the last Emperor, and K’hedduk’s, agreed Rezac. Though I am guessing, Ziosh ruled the last court. The brother was not a strong king.
That certainly explains the prevalent atmosphere of stress and fear, agreed Kusac.
Camarilla, same day
Azwokkus activated a control at the desk in their safe house. A projection formed, almost filling the wall, of their captive Lassimiss, confined in a cell deep within the complex that housed Unity.
“We sent him straight to this containing cell,” said Azwokkus, looking around the small gathering of members of two of the three political parties in the Camarilla. “He was stripped of his arsenal and comms by the Hunter and myself.”
“The Hunter knows about this?” asked Htomshu the TeLaxaudin, her eyes swirling in distress as she tilted back on the cushions.
“The Hunter knows almost everything,” said Annuur quietly, glancing at the elder TeLaxaudin. “We cannot control him, cannot make him forget any longer.”
“Surely the sedative light pulses . . .” began Htomshu.
“Nothing works,” interrupted Shvosi. “Now we are forced to gain his support by cooperation. What worries us more is the presence of Lassimiss on M’zull. How has he manipulated these sand-dwellers, and for how long?”
“Was the loss of our matter transformer over a thousand years ago actually an accident, or orchestrated so that it could be found by the sand-dwellers and used to their advantage?” asked Khassis somberly.
Annuur gave the TeLaxaudin Elder a sharp glance. “I have come to that thought myself. It has certainly enhanced their agenda of fostering not only a civil war among the sand-dweller planets, but an expansionist one to regain conquered territory lost when the hunters destroyed their rule last time.”
“And thus provides for the Isolationists one of the needs for us to isolate ourselves from the younger races,” said Kuvaa, nodding.
“Won’t the Isolationists demand to know where Lassimiss is?” asked Zoasiss, her large, multifaceted eyes swirling as she looked away from the holoscreen to her colleagues. She wrung her hands in distress. “How are we to answer these questions without revealing our part in his abduction?”
“They won’t ask us,” said Annuur bluntly. “They cannot afford to admit to having an agent on M’zull. Their need for secrecy is as great as ours.”
“They will surmise that we have discovered him,” said Khassis.
“Not if we divert their attention,” said Shvosi thoughtfully. “The sand-dweller ruler is known for his volatile temper and brutality. If what the Isolationists thought were the remains of Lassimiss were found by them . . .”
“They would assume that K’hedduk had killed him,” Annuur finished. “Unity, could this be done?”
If all that is required is a smear of the TeLaxaudin member’s blood on some of his belongings, then that can be done. For anything more, either the member himself, or a clone would need to be used. The latter would take several months to construct.
“We have his belongings—his arsenal. He would go nowhere without it,” said Annuur. “Leave it to me and Kuvaa. We will need his personal effects.”
“Agreed. Unity, release them to Agent Annuur.”
As you command, Leader Khassis.
The Couana, same day
Zsurtul composed himself in front of the comm in the med-bay. It had been decided he should make his call from there as it offered the most privacy right now on the crowded Couana.
The comm chimed to let him know that Toueesut had routed his call to General Kezule, his Second in Command as he was absent from the Palace of Light, and their world.
The official Palace symbol of what Carrie called a dragon on the screen cleared to show General Kezule’s face, brows slightly creased in concern.
“Majesty,” he said, inclining his head in greeting. “How may we help you? Everything is proceeding as pla
nned at your end?”
“Not exactly . . . I mean, yes, General,” he said cursing himself for being nervous.
“Nothing is wrong with my daughter? You told me she was doing well. Has her condition deteriorated?” The General’s forehead was now creased in real worry.
“She’s fine, a few nightmares still, but that’s to be expected,” he said hurriedly. “Her memories of her captivity are still . . .” he hesitated, “. . . as basic as we’d wish.”
“Were you followed? Is there a problem with the Couana?”
“No, we’ll still be home in three weeks. It’s good news, at least we think so,” he said in a rush. “We’re married, Zhalmo and I. It was what she wanted, I swear it, General.”
The look of utter surprise that crossed Kezule’s face made the young king almost smile. Almost, but not quite.
“She wanted this?” asked Kezule, sitting back in his chair, obviously in shock.
“Yes, sir. The connection we felt before was still there, despite all she’d been through. I didn’t take advantage of her; she came to me.”
“She isn’t in her right mind, she’s still . . .”
“Capable of making my own mind up, Father,” said Zhalmo, jumping down the last of the steps and walking over to where Zsurtul sat at the console.
“Zhalmo,” said Kezule, studying her as she draped an arm familiarly across Zsurtul’s shoulders. “You look well.”
“I am,” she said, relaxing against her husband. “I am much better. Zsurtul makes me laugh and smile, and each night is less dark with him there.”
Both Zsurtul and Kezule didn’t miss the faint hesitation that entered her voice, nor the slightly bewildered look that very briefly crossed her face.
“You should’ve seen our wedding,” said Zsurtul quickly, lifting her hand to his lips. “Well, you can. Toueesut recorded it.” He pulled a face as Zhalmo begun to chuckle. “Here we were thinking we’d avoided the fuss of a state wedding!”
“Toueesut certainly knows how to hold celebrations!” she said. “And we had an excess of priests to help Toueesut conduct the ceremony.”
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