The Crimson Claw

by Deborah Chester

  He had come straight here without thinking, without planning. Now, he stood in the center of the room, stunned by his own exertion, and had no idea of what to do.

  Finally he strode over to a table which held a tray of wine cups with a matching ewer. The Kaa pointed to this, and a slave hurried forward to fill a gold and jewel encrusted cup with his favorite wine. The Kaa drank, gulping the exquisite liquid without tasting it. He tried to pull his wits together without success. All he could register was the burning anger inside him. His body had ceased to be made of flesh and bone. No, he was fashioned of wire, stretched taut and humming.

  Only when he turned around did he see Temondahl bowing low to him. The chancellor—silent and unobtrusive until now—wore a coat of red flax cloth very finely crosswoven. He held his staff of office at exactly the correct angle to indicate his respect. With dignity the chancellor approached the Kaa and made a second, deeper obeisance. His motions were graceful and well-executed, but at that moment the Kaa looked at Temondahl without appreciation.

  “If my presence displeases the Imperial Father,” Temondahl said, “I will leave at once.”

  “No,” the Kaa replied, pointing to the wine table again. The same slave hurried forward to pour a cup for the chancellor, who took it politely.

  Then the slave refilled the Kaa’s gold-encrusted cup and placed it in the Kaa’s outstretched hand. He drank, but still tasted none of it. Slamming down the cup, he turned and glared at Temondahl.

  “Speak,” he commanded.

  Temondahl inclined his head respectfully. “I was waiting to hear from the Imperial Father’s own mouth what the governor of Malraaket had to say. Was he more truthful with you, sire?”

  “The same lies and excuses.”

  “What does the Imperial Father intend to do?”

  The Kaa glared at him. “How long until Lord Belz lands in the city?”

  “I believe he has yet an hour of transit time.”

  The Kaa curled his tongue inside his mouth. Nothing he heard pleased him. “These formenters of rebellion in Malraaket have committed a grave error against us,” he said stormily.

  Temondahl, ever calm, regarded him without blinking. “The Imperial Father must weigh all sides of the situation—”

  “All sides!” the Kaa broke in with fresh fury, filling his air sacs until the skin on his throat stretched painfully. “How many turns of the lie must we weigh before we perceive the untruth? We’re uninterested in delicate negotiations, or diplomatic care. We are injured by this. We have been deeply insulted, and we shall not forgive.”

  “Sire, naturally the Imperial Father has been most concerned over the sri-Kaa’s well-being, but I have received another assurance from Lord Brax and Lord Manhaliz that the sri-Kaa is in good health. She is recovering quickly from this experience.”

  “Experience!” the Kaa exclaimed. He pointed at his cup again, and again the slave refilled it. His fingers curled tightly around the jeweled sides of the golden goblet and for a moment he was tempted to hurl the thing, contents and all, at Temondahl’s pale blue head. “Experience! Our daughter mobbed in a riot. Our daughter attacked in open rebellion. The city should be razed to the ground.”

  “Sire, please!” Temondahl said, beginning to sound concerned. “Do not judge in haste. The riot was not treachery planned and executed.”

  “Now you sound like Unstuleid. That whining, shivering fool. He has bowed and cringed to us, but no truth of this matter comes forth. Is the Imperial Father considered stupid? Naive? Is the Imperial Father expected to believe this nonsense of emotional crowds, of excessive zeal and adoration? Bah!”

  “The sri-Kaa is stunning,” Temondahl said carefully. “It is possible her presence overwhelmed the good sense of the crowd.”

  “We shall not hear this nonsense,” the Kaa declared with a sweeping motion of his hand. “Had this occurred on a barbarous planet on the frontier side of the empire, perhaps we might believe such a feeble explanation. But this is homeworld, the very cradle of our civilization! These citizens were incited to rise up and smite the Imperial Daughter. Someone organized them. We shall know who.”

  “The Bureau of Security is conducting its investigation with all due haste,” Temondahl assured him.

  The Kaa paced back and forth, his tail swinging beneath the long hem of his coat. “The Bureau had better discover the truth of this plot quickly.”

  “All preliminary investigations still point to a happenstance, sire. Suppose there was no treason. Suppose there was no plotting involved.”

  The Kaa waved this statement aside, refusing to discuss such stupidity. “Are you asking us to ignore this event?”

  Temondahl’s rill darkened. “Not at all, sire. I merely wish to point out the need for mercy. People have been killed—”

  “Good.”

  “Sire, consider. The guards have killed many, over a hundred citizens at the last accounting. Is that not sufficient punishment?”

  The Kaa stared at him in disbelief. Was Temondahl actually advocating forgiveness? Was he mad? “We have not even begun to consider the appropriate punishment.”

  “Hasty decisions can lead to unwise acts,” Temondahl said as though tutoring a young ta-chune. “Until the Commander General has assessed the situation and received a more accurate picture, let us not speak of destroying such an important city.”

  “Malraaket is no longer our friend,” the Kaa said. “Planned or not, treason was done. They must be punished.”

  “Sire, please have patience,” Temondahl said again, his pupils dilating in visible alarm. “There are other answers to be found. I realize Governor Unstuleid is a fool, yes, and blame must be assigned, but to destroy the entire city! Its importance to the entire homeworld . . . its contribution to our trade, our economy—”

  “We do not wish to hear these assurances,” the Kaa said raggedly. His breathing was coming with difficulty. Again he puffed out his air sacs, but it did not seem to help. He felt as though a band were constricting his body. For a moment he felt quite dizzy. He could not seem to focus or comprehend what Temondahl said. Then he managed to draw breath again. He wished with all his heart for the sage counsel of old Gaveid. Temondahl—possessing the mind of a minor bureaucrat—had no understanding of the warrior heart.

  “You speak of patience,” the Kaa said, his voice hoarse. “You speak of waiting. You ask us to stay our hand until more is learned. But hear this. Already we know enough to make up our mind. Malraaket has much to answer for.”

  “But, sire—”

  “Silence!” The Kaa’s voice seemed to echo loudly in his own ear canals. His heart was thundering inside his torso. He opened his mouth to pronounce the judgment, but the band was back, tightening around him. He felt a sharp pain stab all the way to the vital part of him. Gasping, he dropped his cup. It bounced with a clang on the floor. Wine splashed across the Kaa’s slipper.

  “Sire?” Temondahl said. “Is something amiss? Is the Imperial Father unwell?”

  The Kaa could not speak. The world was spinning around him. It grew dark, as though the lamps had been extinguished by invisible slaves. He could see Temondahl’s worried eyes staring at him. The chancellor leaned forward, yet was too timid to come closer.

  “Sire? Can you speak?”

  The Kaa was swaying on his feet. The band of pain around him tightened even more until he felt as though it would squeeze him in half. Fear touched him for the first time. He could not answer. With all his will he tried not to fall, not to give way to whatever illness had suddenly struck him.

  Temondahl exclaimed something the Kaa did not understand and hurried past him to the door. “Guards!” he said sharply. “Send for—”

  “No!” the Kaa rasped out, somehow by sheer will managing to speak the protest.

  No matter how feeble, it was enough to stop Temondahl immediately. The chancellor spun around, staring at the Kaa with wide eyes. “But, sire, you are unwell.”

  “Don’t,” the Kaa gritted out
. His rill was standing up furiously behind his head. With the last of his strength he gestured at a chair.

  Temondahl quickly beckoned to a slave, who pushed the chair over just as the Kaa’s legs failed him. He dropped heavily into the chair and felt the blackness come nearer. Again he fought it off, refusing to give way. His blood was thudding inside him. The pain grew, encompassing his consciousness.

  Although he could hear Temondahl shrilly giving orders to the personal slave in attendance, the Kaa seemed to be far away. He clutched the arms of his chair harder than ever, feeling the carved wood crush ever so slightly in his grip. Meanwhile, the slave hurried out, then returned moments later with others. They bustled around, competent and well-trained. After peeling off his beautifully tailored coat, they loosened his clothing to give him comfort. One brought him a cup of chilled water, sweetened with the juice of ripe plubiots. The cup was held to the Kaa’s mouth. He sipped weakly, gasping for breath. Another slave brought a cloth dampened with fragrance, which was pressed against the Kaa’s fevered skin. A third swept a fan back and forth, while the first propped a stool beneath his feet. Eased by these ministrations, the Kaa closed his eyes and sighed.

  Temondahl hovered nearby. “Sire,” he said, “in the name of the gods, allow me to summon your physician.”

  The Kaa gestured, and when Temondahl ventured closer, leaning down, the Kaa reached out and gripped the chancellor’s sleeve. “No,” he croaked while inside his rage flailed like something bound within the pain. Temondahl was indeed a fool among fools. Could he not see that no one at this moment—no one—could know that the Kaa was ill? Not when the entire planet was galvanized by the news of the treasonous attack on the sri-Kaa. Not when the whole empire was waiting and watching, some with fear, some with eagerness to find any weakness. There were always enemies, always those anxious to seize the throne. The Kaa had to be strong, had to remain glorious, a figure larger than life to all his subjects, or there was no majesty. For without majesty there was no respect. And without respect, finally, there could be no throne.

  The Kaa held on to Temondahl’s sleeve, refusing to let the chancellor go. He had not the strength or the patience to explain this most basic pretext to his fool of an adviser. No matter what path of bureaucracy and public service Temondahl had taken to get to this position, he did not truly understand imperial politics.

  Finally, after what seemed like forever but was really less than an hour, the band of pain weakened, allowing the Kaa to draw full, deep breaths again. Sighing with relief, he closed his eyes and let his head lean back against his chair. His fingers loosened on the chancellor’s sleeve, but Temondahl did not move, as though he dared take no initiative action on his own.

  Again, deep in his heart, the Kaa cursed his adviser and wished for someone better to guide him at this moment. But there was no one. Temondahl was the best of the available chancellors. The Kaa sighed, weary now to his very bones. In this newest crisis of his rule, he needed help and guidance, but he knew he must make his decisions alone, depending on his own judgment first and foremost.

  A soft tapping sounded at the door. One of the guards stuck in his head. Temondahl hurried to him and stood in a way that blocked the guard’s view of the Kaa. There was a murmured exchange, then the door closed and Temondahl returned.

  “Sire,” he said, his voice anxious and hushed. He crept up to the Kaa as though afraid the Imperial Father might collapse completely.

  The Kaa opened his eyes and gazed at the chancellor in silent acknowledgment.

  Temondahl bowed. “Word has come that the Commander General has landed in Malraaket.”

  The Kaa forced himself to sit erect. He felt weak, but at least he now had breath enough to speak. “Let us know as soon as he makes his report.”

  “Indeed, I shall, sire,” Temondahl promised him. “The technicians are working now, with all haste, to install a new link in the communications center.”

  If there was a note of censure or rebuke in Temondahl’s voice, the Kaa did not wish to hear it. He closed his eyes again, aware that his private linkup here in his study was powered directly from the communications center. “Let them hurry,” he said. “Notify us when the sri-Kaa leaves Malraaket.”

  Temondahl bowed deeply and went away, leaving the Kaa to rest. When he returned, sometime later, the Kaa was startled from the doze he had fallen into.

  “Forgive me, sire, for waking you.”

  The Kaa glared at the chancellor. “Stop apologizing,” he said sharply. “Our illness has passed from us. Now speak. What news do you bring?”

  Temondahl looked at him and flicked out his tongue. “Fresh communiqués have arrived. The sri-Kaa is en route. She should be arriving at the palace shortly after dinner. All has been prepared for her. Attendants are waiting to conduct her to—”

  “See that she is taken directly to her apartments,” the Kaa ordered. “Let none of the courtiers wait on her. She is to be seen by no one in the court. She must have her privacy at this time, if she is to make a swift recovery.”

  “She is reported to be well, and the courtiers are most concerned for her.”

  The Kaa’s tongue flicked out in annoyance. “She is to be cloistered in her apartments, with only her servants to attend her. She must make a complete recovery, with nothing to distress her. Let there be no visitors, except for the physician.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “We shall go to her as soon as she is settled. In the morning would be best,” the Kaa said. “See that she is informed of this and prepared for our visit.”

  “As the Imperial Father commands.”

  “We shall see for ourself what damage has been done.” As he spoke, he felt a tremor of fresh anger, like heat, building inside him. Swiftly he controlled it, not wanting to reexperience that terrible pain.

  A chime sounded on the small linkup, indicating an incoming message.

  The Kaa gestured for it to be activated. Temondahl himself touched the controls.

  The blank screen formed an image of the distinctive argent and azure seal of the Commander General; then that faded and the fierce visage of Lord Belz shimmered into place. Wearing his uniform of bright green, his medals winking and glittering with every breath, the Commander General blinked as though trying to focus, then inclined his head low enough for the Kaa to see the old battle scar that puckered the skin at the back of his skull. Normally such a scar would have been removed surgically, but Lord Belz wore the reminders of his war wounds with pride and honor. No one at court dared avert their gaze from the ugliness of his scars. Seeing Belz now reminded the Kaa of his general’s many years of service, as well as his utter loyalty.

  The Kaa forced himself to sit very straight and regally in his chair, displaying none of his recent infirmity.

  “Greetings of Belz, Commander General, and all due respect submitted to Sahmrahd Kaa,” the Commander General said formally, his voice gruff and terse.

  The Kaa inclined his head every so slightly. “What news?” he asked, dispensing with the normal courtesies.

  Belz did not even blink. He stood at attention on the screen, his gaze direct and his rill semi-erect behind his head. “Evidence of premeditated treason or rebellion against the throne is sketchy. The plotters were clever and kept things simple. Whether the attack was organized locally or from elsewhere has not yet been determined.”

  “Find out,” the Kaa said grimly.

  “Interrogations are proceeding,” Belz answered. “At this stage, the Bureau of Security believes the riot was designed to mask an assassination attempt carried out by Rejects.”

  Shocked, the Kaa hissed loudly. His pain returned, and it took him a moment of struggle to master it. “Who has been caught?”

  “Most of those involved were shot during the rescue of the sri-Kaa. A lone survivor of the gang claims he was only trying to steal the gold cloth she was wearing.”

  “Sacrilege,” the Kaa breathed, unable to conceive of such infamy.

  “He wil
l be executed as soon as his interrogation is finished. The Bureau of Security is determined to discover who paid him for the attack.”

  “Unstuleid?” the Kaa guessed.

  “No, sire,” Belz said without hesitation. “No such connection has been found. The governor appears to be guilty of nothing more than inefficiency and poor preparation for the imperial visit. The crowd turned into a mob from intense public desire to see and touch the sri-Kaa. The assassins seized the chance provided.”

  “It is forbidden to touch the imperial person without special permission,” the Kaa said in outrage.

  Belz nodded. “Exactly so. But the Imperial Daughter allowed two chunes this privilege, and the crowd forgot everything but the desire to be closer to her. We have reviewed the recordings of the incident. There has been no evidence of tampering with these recordings.”

  The Kaa sat there in stony silence, absorbing the information he’d been given. His anger pulsed steadily inside him, stabbing him with pain.

  “Continue,” he said at last.

  The Commander General’s gaze did not waver. “We have established true martial law over the city, by our imperial forces, supplanting Governor Unstuleid’s attempts to control the population. Strict curfews are now in place. Citizens are not allowed to leave their homes. All shops and businesses have been closed. The spaceport has been closed. The army is now in possession of the shuttle takeoff codes. No cargo can be loaded or unloaded. We are surveying all comings and goings at the docks. All land routes to and from the city have been placed under checkpoints. The harbor itself has been closed, and ships have been seized by authorities. We will continue to search for the traitors until they are found. The city itself will remain locked down until the will of the Imperial Father is made known to us. Are there any further orders at this time, sire?”