Or was I just being paranoid? I wasn’t sure.
Prince Vere certainly wasn’t on Oasis when the Mallard was attacked, he was in New Rome, at least two day’s journey away. As yet, none of his men had been identified on Oasis either, which didn’t fit with the pattern of murder attempts on the other heirs.
Perhaps the murder of the Mallard’s pilot — and the bomb on board — was unrelated to the murdered heirs. If so, Prince Oswald might be far safer with Vere’s hunting party than he would be wandering the cavernous palace alone, easy prey for an assassin every time he turned down a momentarily empty hallway with no witnesses.
Chapter 7
Vere's Hunt
DESPITE PRINCE VERE’S PROMISE THAT THE LUNCH WAS EXCEPTIONAL, he barely picked at his, as if he had other things on his mind. Still, he lingered, rather than immediately calling for the hunting party. It seemed to me that he was waiting to make sure Lord Oswald would be going.
Sometime between the coconut-encrusted breadfish main course and the leechfruit cobbler for dessert, my Lord leaned over to me and said, loudly, “Did I ever tell you I used to be a champion hunter?”
I shook my head, interested to hear the story.
“Yes, Adrian,” Prince Vere said caustically, “do tell.”
Prince Oswald didn’t miss a beat; he ignored Vere’s tone and raised his voice. “It was before I joined the legion. I was looking for a little more adventure, and I heard about a little expedition that Lord Travail was organizing on Five’s Sanctuary. Ever heard of it?”
Of course I’d heard of it. Even on a farm two galaxies away, I’d heard of Travail’s expedition. Lord Travail was the most famous hunter in the empire.
Known for his willingness to endure virtually any climactic hardship for the sake of a new trophy, it was said he once claimed a prize specimen of the now-extinct Fell’s Mountain boar from a dying planet while its sun was going nova.
Prince Vere looked doubtful, but I listened intently, as did several other heirs nearby.
“You know it? Good,” Lord Oswald said, and pressed on, waving his hands dramatically, to the newly rapt attention of the majority of heirs at the table. “The boar had been abandoned in the subterranean research complex humans used to live in at Sensen Five. The heat from the uninhabitable surface of Sensen’s fifth planet necessitated the underground complex, complete with an artificial atmosphere suitable for humans while they studied the effects of the nova on the dying planet.”
According to my Lord, Emperor Seraphim decided at some point that it was just too expensive to generate the artificial atmosphere in the complex and ordered the facility closed. Somehow, the boar — one of a complete zoo of exotic species that had been collected for the amusement of the researchers, gathered together in a place the researchers called the Sanctuary — escaped and disappeared in the maze of abandoned hallways.
Sensen Five was shut down anyway and the boar was left behind. None of the researchers gave it much thought, until the surviving exhibits from the Sanctuary were transferred to New Rome’s Intergalactic Zoo. It turned out that the curator had only glanced at the list when Five’s zoo had been offered weeks earlier, and had decided to purchase the entire lot primarily for the acquisition of the boar. In the seventy years since the zoo had been collected, the boars had nearly gone extinct. Naturally, several generations of scientists, focused on their work, knew nothing of the prize they harbored.
The curator had been so angry at the exclusion of the boar when the rest of the zoo arrived, he had appealed directly to the emperor. The Sensen zoo specimen, hand-raised from birth, would surely die within the week, he said, as the artificial atmosphere dissipated and the heat inside the complex rose beyond the boar’s endurance. He respectfully requested that the facility be started up again and the boar captured.
Five’s chief of operations pointed out that even if the facility were brought back online that day, it would take nearly a month to stabilize the atmosphere, by which time the boar would surely starve.
The emperor had decided not to reopen Sensen Five. He also decided to rescue the boar.
Lord Travail was the obvious choice for such a dangerous expedition, and my Lord joined up to hunt the beast in Sensen Five’s catacombs.
“We caught up with him on the second day,” Lord Oswald said to his mesmerized audience — except for Prince Vere, who yawned loudly. “Travail and I were together, lumbering along in heavy bio-suits. He had a hypo rifle with a sedative that could put a mastadino to sleep in three seconds, and I had a pulse gun just in case the boar went crazy. Have you ever seen the size of a Fell’s boar, Euclid?”
I admitted I hadn’t.
Lord Oswald looked at Vere questioningly. Prince Vere looked away, bored.
“They’re about the size of three men usually. This specimen, I swear, was nearly the size of a family jumper! Travail pumped two hypos into him before he turned, and the beast sure looked mad. He started charging us as Travail loaded another two hypos, and I raised my pulse gun, aiming at its ugly green snout, ready for Travail’s command to fire.”
There was a gasp from several seats away, and a spontaneous outbreak of appreciative remarks.
Prince Vere leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.
Lord Oswald continued. “Two more hypos, and no effect. Travail loaded again and I cocked the pulse gun’s trigger. I had to take careful aim; I knew there’d be only one chance to fell the monster.” He paused for dramatic effect.
“Bang!” he said suddenly, and even I jumped in my chair, startled.
“Travail dropped the hypo gun! The monster boar was only twenty feet away, coming fast. My pulse gun was shaking in my hands, and sweat was pouring into my eyes, obscuring my vision. The boar came at me, and I could see its crazed red eyes, looking at me like dinner on two legs.”
More gasps, and one of the ladies fainted in her husband’s arms.
“I knew it was him or me, and I was committed to making sure it was me. The beast was ten feet away now; Travail shouted at me to fire, but I waited, steadying my pulse gun. Five feet and my finger started squeezing the trigger.”
My Lord took a deep breath; so did his captivated audience. Prince Vere snored lightly.
“It was then that I noticed the beast wasn’t looking at me, but behind me. I leaped out of its path, clutching the pulse gun close to my chest, just in case I was wrong. The beast plowed past me, right over the spot where I’d been standing, and slammed into a wall. It stood upright for just a moment, then toppled over, asleep from Travail’s hypos.”
A collective sigh washed over the room, and Lord Oswald sat back in his chair with a satisfied expression. “I shouldn’t think a tigerdeer will be too challenging, eh, Vere?”
Prince Vere feigned waking up and looked at my Lord blankly.
“I said,” my Lord repeated, “a tigerdeer shouldn’t be much challenge.”
A smile spread across Prince Vere’s lips. “Not ordinarily. But this isn’t an ordinary hunt. Mine never are.” The prince stood and announced gleefully that he was ready to go hunting.
We trooped behind Prince Vere to the palace’s private jumpport, where the palace administrator waited outside a large transport jumper to check us out one by one as we climbed aboard.
The jumper loaded, Prince Vere bounded in and gave the order to launch. The jumper accelerated briefly and started its descent almost immediately after that. Evidently, judging by the short trip, the hunt was to be on the emperor’s personal preserve. Landing only minutes after liftoff, we stepped out onto a grassy knoll surrounded by dense yellow-leaved trees with dark, nearly black trunks.
Several of Prince Vere’s men stood by at the ready in front of a number of bins filled with arrows. Old-style simple recurve bows were pre-strung and lined up on tables before the prince’s men.
“As I said,” Prince Vere announced with a self-satisfied smile, “this is no ordinary hunting expedition. We hunt with bows and arrows.”
The wind blew gently ar
ound us; nobody made a sound.
“Splendid, Vere,” my Lord boomed, breaking the tension. “Absolutely splendid.” He strode to the table and inspected several bows intently before picking one he liked.
“Each of us will have a bow and arrow,” Prince Vere explained, “and a quiver of ten arrows, marked with serial numbers. My men will issue you a set of arrows and note the numbers, so that we can award the kill properly.”
I joined my prince and chose a heavy bow, though I had never used a bow before and didn’t know if the heft would be advantageous or not. After asking for arrows, Vere’s man glanced at my bow, looked me up and down and handed me a quiver with thicker arrows than the ones he gave to my Lord. Another man noted the numbers of both sets and we moved on, picking up a standard hunting helm from another table.
Soon after, the hunting party was armed and we moved out, heading for the yellow and black trees to our left.
Within an hour, Prince Vere raised his left hand in a fist with his index finger and pinkie extended, the standard signal indicating to the rest of the party that he’d spied a tigerdeer. I didn’t see him at first, since he’d allowed most of the party, including my Lord and me, to take positions ahead of him. I supposed he was trying to be magnanimous, ignoring our inexperience with bows by taking an inferior position.
Lord Oswald and I each flipped our helm zoomvisors down over one eye to scan the area that Prince Vere studied with his own zoomvisor. Even though we were closer to our quarry, it took a few seconds for Lord Oswald to find the tigerdeer. After a quick sweep, I spotted the buck, too.
Similar to the Old Earth deer, but with gold and black vertical stripes, the tigerdeer was well camouflaged in this forest, which — if I recognized the species properly — was filled with everaspen trees, a tree that resembled, year round, an Old Earth aspen tree when the leaves turned color. I counted fourteen points on his antlers — a respectably mature buck, even if less than Prince Vere had boasted.
The tigerdeer didn’t seem to notice us, but every now and then he’d incline his head away from us, tipping his impressive rack into the everaspen leaves.
Prince Vere motioned for voiceblockers, so I swung the muffler up over my mouth and swiveled the hunting helm’s earpiece over my right ear, leaving the left ear alone to monitor the sounds of the everaspen forest.
“Adrian,” Prince Vere’s voice whispered in my ear. “As you were once Lord Travail’s hunting peer, I’d like to offer you the first shot at this magnificent creature.”
“That’s kind of you, Vere,” my Lord’s voice shot back quickly, “but I wouldn’t dream of it; it’s your hunt.”
“I insist.”
“No, Hunter, I insist.”
Lord Oswald’s familiarity startled me. It was the first time I remembered my Lord ever referring to Prince Vere by his given name, though Vere usually referred to Lord Oswald by Adrian despite — or maybe because of — my Lord’s obvious dislike for his given name.
“Really, Adrian, I wouldn’t want to get in your way.” Prince Vere’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Tell you what, Hunter, we’ll shoot together, eh?”
“Done. The arrow numbers will prove the kill.”
“Euclid,” my Lord said, putting a hand on my shoulder and looking directly at me. “My boy, give us a count to three, will you?” He flipped his zoomvisor up and pushed away his voice muffler and earpiece, leaving his face free.
I nodded and said, “Draw, please.”
I turned to look back and ensure Prince Vere had drawn, then turned back to Lord Oswald, who had drawn, also. His left arm held the bow, his elbow positioned with the bend perfectly vertical, so that if he pulled his forearm in it would swing parallel to the ground. He didn’t grip the bow as I’d expected, but instead nestled the arrow rest on the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, his other fingers loose, slightly away from the bow. The bow was held securely by the pressure between the arrow rest and the middle three fingers of his right hand, which gripped the taut bowstring where the back of the arrow was notched. His right hand rested on his cheek just behind his right eye, his forearm horizontal, as if it were an extension of the arrow.
I was certainly no expert, but it sure looked like he knew what he was doing. Mentally, I cheered for my Lord, hoping he would best his princely rival in this contest.
“One,” I said, the muffler soaking up the sound of my voice and transmitting it to the other hunting helms.
“Two.” A bead of sweat formed on my Lord’s forehead and his right arm, the one holding the bowstring taut, trembled slightly.
“Three,” I said. I heard a far away beep, then something whizzed through the air between us just as my Lord’s bow twanged. He jumped sideways, away from the bow, and I saw the tigerdeer shoot away unharmed at lightning speed.
At first I thought Lord Oswald’s arrow had broken somehow, sending bits of it flying, but then I saw my Lord’s ashen face. I snapped down my voice muffler and asked him what had happened.
“Hunter’s arrow,” he whispered urgently. “The bastard nearly skewered me with it!”
“Adrian!” Prince Vere called angrily from behind us.
We turned. The prince stalked toward us, dragging a man behind him. I recognized the man instantly, as he was one of Lady Redwing’s missing retinue, Foster.
“This man startled me,” the prince shouted, his tanned face beet-red. He hauled Foster along, then pushed him down to the ground and kicked him. “My shot went wild; it could have killed someone!”
It was true. I couldn’t believe that one of Lady Redwing’s men had tried to get my Lord killed, but there was Foster, who’d been missing since the day before. I could see that Lord Oswald was thinking the same.
Lord Oswald looked from Foster to Vere, then back again to Foster, his eyes cloudy as he weighed the facts. Finally, his emerald eyes shone again, indicating he’d come to a decision.
I wished I could be so sure.
Perhaps Foster had killed the Mallard’s pilot and sent the bomb? It made sense. But the question remained whether he was working alone. If he wasn’t, were there other assassins in Lady Redwing’s retinue? Was Prince Oswald alive only because of my forethought in bringing along two of his Angels?
My blood chilled with the implications.
Prince Vere wrenched a tiny personal laser from his coat and aimed it at Foster. “I should kill you myself for your insolence,” he shouted.
Foster, sitting on the ground near my feet, turned white as a sheet and grabbed my ankles, buried his face in my pants leg. “No, no, no, don’t let him,” he said, looking up at me piteously. “Please.”
Foster looked genuinely scared, as he should have.
Lord Oswald walked around the assassin to stand by Prince Vere. He said nothing for a while, his normal color returning, then reached out to push Vere’s laser away. “No,” my Lord said. “He may have other information. Interrogate him first.”
The prince called on some of his men to detain Foster at the palace until we returned. They dragged Foster off through the trees toward the jumper, ignoring his protests.
Prince Vere pocketed the weapon and I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding until then.
I heard the jumper leave, which only renewed my anxiety.
What was the prince doing with a laser on a bow and arrow hunting party? While not as powerful and accurate as a full-blown burner, it was still deadly at close range. The size of a pen, it was also easily concealed, but I was fairly sure that he was the only one out there armed that way. Nobody else had drawn one. Was he afraid he’d be the next victim? Or was he trying to make sure that his next victim didn’t escape?
Without the jumper, we were at his mercy, alone in the forest, armed only with slow weapons — which I’d bet most of us didn’t even know how to aim properly. Even though we greatly outnumbered Prince Vere, we were no match for a laser.
It was hard to reason out what was the probable truth; either
explanation was valid. And either explanation meant that Prince Vere couldn’t be trusted. If he was indeed killing off heirs — as the rumors seemed to indicate — he was certainly not to be trusted, assuming we made it back from the hunt alive. If he wasn’t, and he thought he was the next victim, he could be just as dangerous. A man who knows he’s being hunted lives with his nerves on a hair trigger; such a man with a laser by his side shoots first and claims self defense later.
“So, Hunter,” my Lord said casually. “What now?”
“What?” Prince Vere asked, seemingly surprised at Lord Oswald’s apparent indifference in the matter of the arrow that had come within inches of snuffing out his life.
“In light of the ... attempt, perhaps we should call off the hunt?”
Several of the other heirs agreed, nodding vigorously.
“Absolutely not,” Prince Vere snapped. He looked around at the surprised expressions, and instantly his face took on a softer composure. His voice turned calm and steady. “A mere accident, with no real harm done. We’ll continue.”
With that, he strode off, ready to begin again.
The other heirs shrugged and followed him. What else could they do? Vere was the highest ranking heir and they all knew it. If any of them lost his favor, they stood to lose more than that if he inherited the empire. Each of them was sure to be thinking about his own standing in the chain of succession, and how to maintain it.
Lord Oswald took a different view, I knew that. He wasn’t looking — as the other heirs were — at the possibility of inheriting on the second or third round, likely after Vere’s death. Prince Oswald’s standing was only slightly lower than Vere’s and he knew it. He was, as Vere was, a first round heir. Either he would inherit or not.
If Prince Oswald didn’t inherit, his relationship with Prince Vere at that time would determine whether he stayed close to New Rome as a trusted advisor or fled to one of the outer worlds of the empire, hiding for his life. If he survived, he could always try to take the throne through a revolution, or simply by seizing it at Vere’s death, which promised to be fairly soon after, if the rumors of Vere’s involvement in the murders were true.
Ninth Euclid's Prince Page 9