Zealon went first, and her competent performance drew thunderous applause. Racknay followed, but his performance was a bit spotty and was met with a polite response. The smug expression on Dobraton’s face as he exited the stage told me that she undoubtedly saw this as positive proof to support the widely held belief that males were worthless as musicians. However, I still had my ace in the hole, and Uragus was bouncing up and down before going out onstage, barely able to contain his exuberance.
“Do you think they’ll like me?” he asked anxiously.
“Are you kidding?” I scoffed. “They’re gonna love you! And you won’t believe what they’ll do after they hear you play!”
“Really?”
“You bet, buddy,” I assured him. “You just get on out there and knock ’em dead! They won’t know what hit them.” Giving him a big hug, I aimed him toward the stage and tweaked his tail.
Grinning at me over his shoulder, Uragus scampered over to center stage and climbed up on the bench while the audience waited in silent anticipation as the lights dimmed.
I’d given Uragus three pieces to choose from, and he’d picked “Für Elise,” a Beethoven composition, which was one of my own personal favorites. I’d been skeptical at first because, though it isn’t terribly difficult, it is played with both hands and isn’t your usual beginner’s first recital piece, but the way he played it gave me goosebumps.
Halfway through it, I looked out at Dobraton. Her expression was neutral, but she had to be impressed. Even a bunch of tone-deaf Darconians couldn’t help but realize that his performance was outstanding—for anyone, and not just a tiny little guy who couldn’t even reach the pedals. Scalia looked so proud of him, and I was happier than I’d been in a very long time. Sometimes being a teacher has its rewards.
As the last notes died away and Uragus took his bow, the applause and tail-thumping was positively deafening. Standing just offstage, I was watching Dobraton, trying to gauge her reaction, so I was staring right at her when she raised a pulse pistol and shot Scalia point blank.
***
I never heard the shot, and, given the noise level, it was doubtful that anyone else had, either, but when Scalia hit the floor with a loud thud, it got everyone’s attention. Uragus was crossing the stage toward me at the time, and I knelt down and held out my arms. He ran to me, oblivious of what had just happened, and as the curtains closed, I gathered him up in my arms, turned, and ran. Zealon and Racknay were waiting in the wings, so they hadn’t seen, either. They both stared at me in surprise.
“Run!” I shouted as I hurried past them. “We’ve got to get out of here!” It didn’t take a student of history to know that when a queen is deposed, her children are in just as much danger as she. I had no idea which direction we should take, but away from the Hall seemed best. The Shrine seemed like a good place to go, but for the life of me, I couldn’t have said why I was thinking that, other than the fact that Tychar was there.
I knew we’d have to get out of the palace somehow, but Dobraton undoubtedly had followers, and I had an idea that any conventional entrance would have been blocked by then. They were probably swarming all over the palace, killing off anyone loyal to Scalia. But how to get out? The Shrine was high up, but the portico went all the way around the palace…
Rope. We needed rope to scale the wall. Surely backstage there would be something! The Edraitians were all milling around back there, doing stretches and practicing their leaps, and I ran to Nindala screaming for help. “You’re in danger!” I yelled. “Dobraton hates offworlders! If she’s taken power, she’ll probably have the whole lot of us executed!”
Stately Nindala seemed taken aback for once. “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “Who has taken power?”
“Dobraton!” I shouted. “With any luck, all you’ll be is deported, but I wouldn’t count on it. Dobraton would just as soon kill you as look at you.”
“She would not dare!” Nindala said with all the conceit of her kind evident in her tone.
“She just killed the Queen, Nindala!” I snapped. “I’m sure killing a bunch of blue acrobats wouldn’t bother her a bit. We need food, water, clothes, and a way out of here, and we need them now!”
The Edraitian manager looked at me aghast. “They have killed the Queen?”
“Either that or stunned her real good,” I said in a grim voice. “We’ve got to get moving. Bring anything you can carry. Don’t suppose you’ve got a gun or two in your bags, have you?”
“We are entertainers!” he insisted, sounding rather prim. “Not soldiers!”
“Are you people stupid, or what?” I yelled. “This is a coup, and if we don’t get going, we’re all dead!”
Still holding Uragus, I looked around wildly. We needed rope and lots of it. Zealon and Racknay just stood there, apparently struck dumb by the news. Then I remembered the curtains! “Cut the lines to the curtains!” I shouted. “Bring the rope!”
No one moved. They all just stood there, staring at me like I was insane. Then the sound of screams and pulse-rifle fire from the Great Hall became more audible. “Believe me now?” I yelled. “Let’s go!”
If he wasn’t off duty by then, Dragus was probably still guarding The Shrine. I was sure he would let us in, and we’d go out on top of the portico and climb down the wall. And then go where?
“The mountains!” I said aloud, echoing Tychar’s reply to my question as to where he would go if he ever left the palace. “We’ve got to head for the mountains!” It seemed like eons ago when I’d asked him that. Perhaps he and the other slaves had already escaped. If so, I’d find him there—that is, if he lived after crossing the desert wearing nothing but a collar! Oh, God, we needed clothes! And I was the only one who had any. The trouble was, my quarters were nowhere near The Shrine.
One of the Edraitians, presumably their pilot, said, “We should go back to our ship and leave this world.”
I wondered how organized this coup was and decided that it had to be pretty well planned, because if Dobraton killed Scalia and didn’t intend to sacrifice herself in the attempt, she had to have backing. “They’ve probably got control of the spaceport by now,” I warned. “It might not be safe.”
Zealon and Racknay may have been momentarily speechless, but Uragus was not. “My mother is dead?” he asked.
I’d almost forgotten he was still in my arms. Looking down at his bright little eyes, I said gently, “I’m not positive, babe, but it sure looked like it to me.”
“Put me down,” he squeaked. “I want to see.”
Wriggling his way out of my grasp, Uragus ran to the edge of the stage and peered through the curtains. “They are fighting!” he reported. “I can’t see my mother.”
Just then, Wazak came storming across the stage with six guards and Scalia’s other three boys. “We must flee!” he shouted, scooping up Uragus. “There are too many of them for us to fight.”
“Do you believe me now?” I shouted at Nindala, who still appeared to be in denial. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” With Uragus no longer in my arms, I looked around. There was a tablecloth where the food was laid out for the performers—presumably their own, because I’d yet to see one during my sojourn on Darconia—and I gathered up the corners and handed the bundle to one of the guards. “Take this,” I said. “We’ll need it. Got any water?”
“We will get it when we reach The Shrine,” Wazak said. “It is the only way out.”
“That’s what I thought,” I agreed. “We should bring the curtains. We may have to shred them to make rope.”
“No time,” Wazak said tersely. “Besides, there is a way down from The Shrine.”
“Really?” I said. “There’s a way out from there? How do you keep the slaves from escaping?”
“They do not know of its existence,” he replied.
So, the tigers had lived there f
or twenty years without knowing they were sitting on an escape route from the palace. I stared at Wazak in frank disbelief.
“They are slaves,” he reminded me. “We do not tell them everything.”
“Oh, yeah, right,” I mumbled. “But couldn’t you have at least told me?”
Wazak herded us out into the corridor. If he thought this was a ridiculous question for me to have asked, he didn’t let on. “There was no need,” he said simply. “Now, run!”
With the possible exception of their stage manager, the Edraitians were all in prime physical shape, as were the guards. I was probably the weakest one there, and I wished I’d done some running with the tigers, but I’d never been in The Shrine at night, so I’d never had the chance. Still, I was in better condition than I’d been when I arrived and somehow managed to keep pace with Zealon and Racknay. My only hope was that Wazak wouldn’t mind carrying me again if I crapped out, because I had no desire to be left behind to become Dobraton’s slave. I could imagine just how much she would enjoy torturing me to death, and it made escape seem that much more imperative.
Of course, staying alive without Tychar was… well, simply not acceptable! It occurred to me then that with Scalia dead or at least deposed, the slaves were now freed, which was one obstacle out of the way, but her death also created at least a dozen others.
We sprinted on through the corridors with Wazak and half of the guards in the lead and the other three bringing up the rear. I’d have felt a lot better if we’d all been armed, but all we had to rely on was the safety in numbers. Then I heard shots behind us. We were being pursued.
One of the Edraitians fell, and we kept right on running. Wazak barked out an order, and the guards fell back slightly and opened fire on our pursuers. I didn’t look back, but, after a moment, I noticed that the shots being fired at us had stopped.
It was hard to believe just how fast those Darconians could run! Wazak was setting a blistering pace, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to go the distance, but I’ll have to say, being chased by a bunch of trigger-happy Darconian rebels will put wings on your feet.
We passed through an intersecting corridor and—thank God!—met up with Hartak, who must have just been relieved by Delorian at my quarters for the night. Wazak bellowed out another order—presumably in Darconian—and he joined up with us.
A squadron of the rebels met us at the next corner, and Wazak and the guards fought a fierce battle while the rest of us waited further down the corridor for the outcome. It was apparent that Wazak resented the slowdown, because after several shots, which demonstrated that the battle would end up in a standoff, he fired wide beam stuns and took them all out at once, and then covered us while we ran on to The Shrine. I heard Wazak trying to call ahead to someone called Jataka, telling him that the Queen had been overthrown and to open the passage—whatever that meant—but he received no reply.
Arriving at the doors, we saw why. As Zealon gasped in surprise, I was horrified to see a dead Darconian lying there, and the doors to The Shrine standing wide open. Realizing that it wasn’t Dragus made me feel much better, but I had no idea who it was, though Wazak would certainly know. Running past the dead lizard, I realized that he must have been the night guard on The Shrine, but I’d seldom seen him and didn’t even know his name. Still, he was dead, and with the doors unlocked, I was terrified at the prospect of what we might find inside.
Whoever he was, he must not have been down long, for when we passed the fountain and headed for the door to the outside, we caught up with Dragus and the slaves who were running for the portico.
“Jataka was the traitor!” Dragus shouted at Wazak. “He tried to kill me but slipped and fell. I have the keys.”
Dragus saw me in the pack, and our eyes met. I had no difficulty imagining why Jataka had slipped, and just exactly what he had slipped on. It would make a great story, if either of us ever lived long enough to tell it.
“Good,” said Wazak. “Open the passage.”
Dragus continued on to one of the pillars which supported the domed roof of the patio and pulled out the keys. Inserting one of them into the intricate carving, he turned it. A large section of the pillar then detached itself from the whole, revealing a hollow interior with a spiral stair leading downward.
“Arrgghh!” Trag shouted, tearing at his hair in frustration. “After all these years of being locked up in here, do you mean to tell me that we could have gotten out that way?”
“Yes,” Dragus said with a grin. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
Trag appeared to be speechless for once, and Tychar appeared at my side, slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me into his embrace. He didn’t say a word, but kissed me fiercely. Just knowing he was still alive was enough for me.
“I’m glad to see you, too,” I whispered. “When I saw that guard, I thought you were all dead.”
“But we are not,” he said. “Stay close.”
“This passageway has always been a closely guarded secret,” Wazak said, “but Jataka knew of it. We may meet opposition at the exit.”
I was hoping that the rebels had counted on Jataka being in control of the keys, though it seemed rather stupid of them to underestimate Dragus that way. I’d have sent more than one man, myself, though if Jataka hadn’t fallen, things might have turned out differently. It made me wish I hadn’t told Dragus to clean it up, because all that semen in the corridor would have brought down an entire squadron. As it was, he must have missed a spot.
Wazak sent Hartak back with the keys to lock the main doors to The Shrine. It wasn’t much, he said, but it might slow down anyone else who might have been following us. Then he chose four of the guards to send down the stair first.
“Hey, Wazak?” I asked tentatively as I peered into the dark stair. “Where does that stairway come out?”
“Below here on the portico.”
“Well, can you see it from here? Like if you lean out over the wall or something? You know, to see who might be down there waiting for us?”
“The wall is very high,” he replied.
“Yeah, I know, but we do have a bunch of acrobats with us,” I reminded him. “They could probably climb up there to take a look.”
“And we could then spray any of the rebels standing down below with a wide stun beam.” Wazak rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yes, that would be helpful.”
“Hear that, Nindala?” I said eagerly. “See if you guys can climb that wall.”
The Edraitians had all been running and were undoubtedly as tired as the rest of us, but they were still quite nimble, and several of them formed a pyramid with Racknay and two of his brothers joining in to form the base. Even so, they still weren’t high enough to top the wall.
“Hey, Sladnil!” Trag shouted. “Why don’t you take your sticky fingers and climb up those guys and take a look.” In an aside to me, he added, “So, these are the blue redheads you were telling us about, huh?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Pretty cool, aren’t they?”
“Well, maybe,” he said, not sounding terribly enthused. “If you like blue.”
“You don’t like blue?”
“Not particularly.”
I thought this was a rather odd prejudice for him to have, but then I remembered the crack he’d made about Tychar’s blue eyes and wondered if that had anything to do with it.
Sladnil was climbing up the pyramid of blue-skinned acrobats, who were getting completely weirded out whenever his fingers sucked onto one of them. He slowed down when he got to Nindala, seeming to savor her “essence” just a bit before moving on.
“He’ll come all over himself if he keeps that up,” Tychar muttered. “Stop that, Sladnil!” he called out to him.
“Oh, all right!” Sladnil said, his voice even more shrill than usual. “But if I am to die anyway…”
“You won’t die,” Tychar called
back. “You’re too ugly to die! Heaven wouldn’t let you in, and hell would probably spit you back out!”
“Known each other for a long time, have you?” I commented as I watched Sladnil reach the top of the wall. Crawling on his hands and knees, he crept toward the outer edge.
“Too long,” Tychar said. “He’s the strangest one of the bunch—but also one of Scalia’s favorites.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to tell them. “Um, you guys, about Scalia. I think, that is, I’m pretty sure she’s…” I stopped there, hating to say it aloud again. In the heat of the moment, I’d spat it out at Nindala—and in front of the children, too—so I don’t know why I was finding it so difficult to tell her slaves, but for some reason, I did.
“Dead?” Tychar gasped. “So that’s what’s going on here? Someone else has taken the throne?”
Nodding, I went on, “It was Dobraton, and she doesn’t like offworlders one little bit!”
“In deep shit, aren’t we?” said Trag.
“You bet,” I agreed. “Along with any of the royal family and anyone else loyal to them.”
I could see the slaves were having trouble grasping this. I wondered if they realized that Scalia’s death would probably set them free—most slaves would see the death of their master as a blessing, but this was an unusual situation, one which could just as easily result in their own deaths, in addition to hers.
Of course, Dobraton wasn’t the only thing we had to fear, and I abandoned that line of thought as another problem occurred to me. “Hey, we shouldn’t be standing around here watching,” I exclaimed suddenly. “You guys need clothes! You won’t last long naked outside the palace, especially if we’re heading across the desert to the mountains! Get a sheet and make a poncho out of it, at least. Bring one for me while you’re at it—and some pillowcases, too. Wish I could have gone back to my quarters,” I grumbled. “I hate being unprepared.”
Tychar came back with some sheets and asked, “What’s a poncho?”
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