Fires of Nuala

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  Nodding her acquiescence, Darame set her glass down on the end table and moved gracefully toward the exit. Invisible hands slid the panel aside; as Darame stepped through the doorway, Brant and Leah both began to speak.

  “Just what is she to you?”

  “Where in Seven Hells have you been?”

  Darame paused as the room sealed behind her. Two different conversations, addressed to… whom? Leah’s comment was surely to Brant; she could not have seen the guaard’s recognition of Darame, she had her back to him and was facing no mirrors. To whom was Brant speaking?

  Moving to a bench, she sat down, considering not just the words but the tone of speech. If Brant was plying his seduction skills on Leah, he would not speak to her in that manner.… Besides, the daughters of the line were holed up in the palace, that had been announced on the omni news. It made perfect sense; surely the palace was the most secure place in the city. So… Brant was most likely speaking to the guaard. What had been different about him? Something.… She glanced up and studied the young man who had waited for her in the lobby. Same matte black uniform, a shadow itself, nothing to reflect.…

  Nothing? There had been something on the other’s collar.… An officer of some type, then. Made sense, since she was mother of the heir. How important a person? I wonder if they will dismiss all the officers after this attack.

  “What is your name?” Darame asked abruptly.

  The young guaard knew she was speaking to him. “I am called Crow, lady,” he said politely in Caesarean.

  “Is there a line I can use to call the hostel?”

  “I am instructed — ” Crow began.

  “I wish to speak to a friend.”

  “This way, lady.” He started over to a niche in the wall. Both vid and wall box — the embassy did not stint its guests. Crow quickly punched in a number. “The hostel where you are registered, lady.” He moved to one side.

  A picture flashed across the screen. Darame recognized the woman who had been on duty when she had checked in seemingly years ago. A few quick questions left Darame with no more information than before the call. Halsey did not answer at his room — he had left no other messages for her. He had left early in the morning with several guaard. Darame told the woman for Halsey to seek her at the temple, and then switched off the vid.

  Perhaps a shred of information… If a guaard is watching me, and they know where I was last night, then certainly guaard are watching Halsey. The thought that he was still being questioned — or questioned again — was not comforting, but there was no help for it right now.

  “Crow, was that guaard tailing the serae an officer?” Darame asked casually, wondering how long Brant would be closeted with his guest.

  “The only officer, lady. Dirk is captain of our troop,” Crow said steadily.

  Before Darame could continue her questioning, the panel to Brant’s private room slid open and Brant’s face appeared. “Maintain status quo, will you, please? Don’t worry about anything, no accusations have been hurtled toward you or your party. I will be contacting all Caesarean citizens and nationals as soon as I have any information. Thank you for coming.”

  So. Translated, that meant: Keep doing what you were doing, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Huh. Keeping a smooth face, Darame rose to her feet. What about Halsey, you fool!

  Always have options. No sense in relying on Brant; it could take days for him to get back to her. She might have better luck finding out about Halsey through Sheel. How to smooth things over with Sheel?…

  She was silent so long, frozen in thought, that Crow’s uncertain voice finally intruded: “Lady? Are you ready to return to the temple?”

  Swiveling her head, Darame fastened a bright black gaze on Crow’s face. “What kind of animal was killed last night at the seri’s home?”

  Crow simply stared at her. Exasperated, Darame started to repeat her question. “A cat,” the youth said quickly. “A sorrel Somali, a female.”

  “How did she die?” Darame asked the question gently, stepping closer to the guaard, to keep their voices lowered.

  The youth paused before answering. “Her throat was cut. Why, we will never know. Perhaps she was startled by the intruder and called out. She was a gentle animal, she would not have attacked…” Puzzlement shaded his voice; realizing he was falling out of duty character, Crow once more became impassive.

  “I want you to take me someplace where I can buy a Somali kitten,” she announced, walking toward the exit.

  “Lady?” This time Crow actually sounded bewildered.

  “He’s obviously fond of the creatures, and he’ll have enough on his mind without brooding about that cat. The best thing to do is bring home a successor immediately.” Glancing over her shoulder, she added: “You can find me a breeder, can’t you?

  MENDULARION S^ATARE

  THIRTYSEVENDAY, NONE

  “That was all he said?” Annoyed, Sheel rearranged himself on the couch and reached for his mug of saffra.

  “All he verbally said, seri,” Mailan replied, her voice falling into neutral duty mode as Jude moved into the other room to relax. “I truly believe he was mouthing words, there at the end. Perhaps even whispering, but I was the only one close enough to hear, I am sure of it.”

  “And he seemed afraid…” This was more to himself than to Mailan, but the woman heard it and said: “Yes, seri — he was quite frightened until he recognized me. It may have had nothing to do with me, however; he was half-asleep when he noticed me.”

  “Irulen should have believed… and I will understand.…” Sheel took another long sip of the warm red fluid. Irulen.… Sweet Mendülay, from where did he know that name? “There had to be more!”

  “No, seri.” Mailan paused, and then added: “He stared at the other guaard present for a long moment before he added the ‘He reads’ portion. When his wife asked what he had said, I mentioned that he sounded delirious, and that he had muttered something about reading. Neither Serae Bette nor the guaard heard his words.”

  “Did you ever find Dirk?” Sheel asked abruptly, pushing Iver’s words into the back of his mind. Maybe he was delirious… or drugged. Why use drugs when Capashan was on duty? What could Iver have been thinking about?

  “No, seri. I was…distracted.” Something in her voice made Sheel look up. “I finally realized what had disturbed me this morning. Both Jude and Crow confirmed that the body of guaard Martin was found at the home of the heir. But I saw Martin last night at the party, and he was assigned to your uncle.” The woman pulled a film ring out of her pocket. “This was given to me yesterday afternoon, to check your location before going on duty. Martin was one of those assigned to Cort for the evening.”

  “Could he have gone to Baldwin’s home after it was obvious Cort was dead, to be sure of Baldwin’s safety and to warn the guaard on duty?”

  “Why not use a call box, seri?” Mailan replied. “But he was not the only one in an odd place last night.” Loading the ring into the ROM set in the wall, she removed the flimsy coder and then loaded still another ring. Adjusting the files, she split the screen and brought up both charts on the huge wall screen. “The second ring I acquired this morning, when I was looking for the captain. Notice how many changes have been made… and that there is no listing of time of changes, authorization, who actually made the changes.…”

  “Is not access to this screen limited?” Sheel said mildly.

  “Usually. Only the captain or a trainer can make changes, except for location of charge — we can call that into the computer ourselves. Dirk makes up assignments several days in advance.”

  Sheel studied the screen for several minutes. Finally he realized it was fading from him, blurring before him. Shaking his head to clear it, he spoke the first thought which came into his head.

  “It is more than a blow in the night. So the code has been broken,” he murmured. “Why? What game is being played? How far was it taken?… Mailan, do you know all the active guaard?”
>
  “Most, seri, at least by sight. But new ones are always coming up, and people going on leave and such,” Mailan said quickly.

  “But if you were relieved by a guaard you did not know, would you not think it odd?” Sheel continued, uncertain of what he was seeking.

  “I am your guaard, seri — I would immediately find a RAM and request to see the roster, to find out who it was… since normally I would know anyone who would be allowed to personally watch an Atare,” Mailan said firmly, straightening once again and moving back to the doorframe.

  “Who could order such a change? Promote a guaard to personal watch so suddenly?”

  “Only the Captain could authorize it; any trainer acting under his orders could enter it.” Sheel gave her a hard look — she was sounding more neutral by the moment.

  “So…it is possible, if slightly improbable, that if a guaard came up to Martin and told him that Dirk had shuffled the roster… and sent him to Baldwin’s home, he would believe it, and go?” Sheel continued, his voice almost contemplative.

  Mailan did not answer for a long time, her face expressionless. Sheel knew it for her thinking silence, and did not prompt her. Finally, a bit hesitantly, she spoke: “I might think it irregular… but we have been at peace for several years, and there have been no threats from any disgruntles lately. If I had been guarding The Atare, I would have called up a screen and checked the roster.”

  “And seen this second chart?”

  “I… have no idea when it was changed, seri. Between vespers yesterday, and when I called up that roster this morning. Possibly,” Mailan offered, her voice even more uncertain.

  “If you had been Martin, and seen your name moved to Baldwin’s home… and seen at least one familiar name left for Cort… would you have bothered to check “ — Sheel leaned forward, examining the categories — “the time of changes?”

  “Probably not.…” Her voice actually trailed off. Sheel glanced her way once again.

  “In other words, probably yes, but you cannot speak for Martin’s frame of mind,” Sheel corrected gently. “You cannot incriminate him in his death, Mailan — and I am aware that only the best normally would guaard The Atare. Which means Martin would know anyone with enough experience to be switched out — ”

  “Unless he thought it was an emergency,” came a voice from the bedroom. Jude stepped into view. “Forgive me, seri, it is difficult not to listen to such a puzzle. But if someone told him something was wrong, that they were short guaard or something — especially if it was at the change, when he normally would be ready to leave anyway! — he might accept a second shift in a row.”

  “I forgot a normal shift is only two bells,” Sheel said, lifting an eyebrow at Mailan. Another of Dirk’s little tricks.… One finger began to tap as Sheel considered the problem. Someone getting into the computer, and someone masquerading as guaard. “Do you not have numbers?”

  “Yes, seri.” Jude walked to the ring and indicated herself, as the morning shift for Sheel. “Name and number.”

  “Would the computer accept the wrong name with a number?”

  Jude’s broad, square face creased as a frown crossed her features. “When a number or a name is entered, the other automatically appears. I… doubt the computer would – could — accept a false name.”

  “Unless someone tampered with the code for the program.” Worse and worse, but still possible. One skilled technician, a handful of assassins posing as guaard, and a story good enough to get one assassin into each position. And then simply jump Caleb’s, Dimitri’s, and Fabe’s guaard? He offered up this theory to the pair.

  The guaard exchanged glances. “You do not care for the theory? Where is the hole?”

  “It sounds unnervingly possible, seri – except…” Jude began slowly.

  “Martin would have been on the call box immediately, asking why a green recruit was on Cort,” Mailan finished for her.

  Sheel jumped to his feet and strolled across the room, running his fingers across the many boxes of rings left out for visitor viewing. Martin was a guaard of many years experience, old enough to have two children in service. A cautious man, to be entrusted with Cort’s care. “A disguise?” Sheel muttered aloud. “It would have been dark.…” His eyes scanned the case set in the wall, titles sweeping past his fingers. Between these and the on-line entertainment channels, an entire library was at a guest’s fingertips.

  His eye paused on one title — Tales of horror. The off-world edition, not the Nualan, which had several stories horrifying only to natives —

  Suddenly Sheel felt very cold. A claustrophobic sensation closed in from all sides, and he could hear ringing in his ears. Reaching out, his hand closed on the protruding edge of the omni. Irulen… Of course, Irulen!

  “Seri?” Jude had moved in his direction, alarm in her question.

  Irrational terror seized him, that she might touch his arm, and he waved her off with a brisk, concise gesture. Do I look that bad? He stumbled toward the sanitation.

  Light blazed at his touch, ignited in passing on his way to the sink. He put too much weight on the foot control — the water came out in a rush, full force. Heedless of backsplash Sheel cupped his hands beneath the faucet, burying his face in the icy offering. Only when his skin was numb and his senses calmed did Sheel lift his gaze to the mirror behind the sink.

  Jude was right — he looked awful, as pale as cow’s milk. Dropping his gaze back to his hands, he saw they were shaking. Sweet Mendülay, now what? Could he confide in anyone? What could he do? Had Iver told Leah and Avis, directly or in the same manner? And if he used the story to tell them, had they understood? Can I trust even Mailan?

  Straightening slowly, Sheel took his foot off the controls and watched the water diminish to a trickle. Lifting a towel from the side rack, he returned to the lounge, gently patting the moisture away. Forcing himself to sit, he reached for his mug only to find it missing. Steam intruded from the side of his vision — Jude had refilled the cup. Do not be a fool, if she meant to kill you, she would have done it this morning. Taking the offering, he sipped carefully, and found she had spiked it with wine.

  Did Cort have time to realize he was betrayed? Sheel roughly pushed the thought aside; no time for grief, not yet. If Iver saw what he claimed to have seen, then the entire family was in incredible danger.

  “Mailan,” he started softly. “Have you ever heard the tale of Irulen Atare?”

  Both guaard looked puzzled. “I do not remember there ever being such a ruler, seri,” Mailan admitted calmly.

  “There has not been.… It is in a story, an old story, at least a thousand years old. It was Iver’s favorite when he wanted to be scared to death, although it always made me sick to my stomach — I was younger, and more impressionable.… It has never been a favorite of the guaard, and there was quite an outcry of criticism when it was published.” Jude studied him intently, while Mailan’s expression indicated she had one ear trained in his direction.

  “Perhaps this will nudge your memory.” Sheel forced his body to relax, his pulse to slow. “Irulen Atare had the same guaard for twenty years, a rather unusual man; taciturn, zealous in his duty.… He was an albino, and always on the outside, so to speak, in social — ”

  Jude’s gasp interrupted him. Mailan made no outward sign, but in the late afternoon light she looked a bit pale.

  “Ah… I have always suspected the trainers hold that one over your heads,” Sheel said mildly.

  “‘Irulen should have believed.…’,” Jude whispered aloud.

  “You understand what he meant?”

  Silence. It was Mailan who finally answered the question. “When Alger finally lost his mind, and attacked Irulen Atare, the ruler could not believe the man had turned upon him. He hesitated too long before drawing his own weapon, and so he died for his disbelief,” she said steadily.

  “Yes. And that was what Iver must have tried to tell me… tell me in the presence of guaard. That the person who attacked
him looked like a guaard.” Something occurred to him; he looked over at Mailan. “A compliment for you, Mailan, that he trusted you enough to give you the message.”

  “Whoever attacked him must have appeared male,” Jude said thoughtfully.

  “Or was someone he recognized,” Mailan offered steadily. “Perhaps someone he felt I did not know, or disliked.… Someone I would not have been in alliance with…”

  Sheel stood at this, tension knotting his body. “You can accept a traitor among your own more easily than an impostor?” His voice was too harsh, but he could not withdraw the question.

  At this, Mailan actually relaxed her vigil momentarily, turning her head to give him her full attention. Sheel was shocked to see tears running down her face, although her voice was still level. “Your brother is not a brilliant man, seri, but he is not a coward. He would have announced that someone dressed as a guaard attacked him, and left others to ferret out the truth. Seri Iver must have recognized the person who stabbed him, and had visions of a conspiracy.… Why else hesitate to speak to four competent guaard carefully watching over him?”

  A knock at the corridor entrance spared Sheel from answering her. Jude moved to stand in the vestibule.

  “Identify,” Mailan demanded as the guaard on duty.

  “Crow, with the lady Darame,” came the response. Jude used the security device on the panel and, satisfied with what she saw, opened the door.

  The two entered quickly, a box with holes in it under Crow’s arm. He promptly handed it to the off-worlder and composed his face, which was anxious but laced with a touch of mischief.

  Calming himself, Sheel sat down and gestured for Darame to do the same. He had expected her to appear more wary, after her behavior that morning — typical behavior for an off-worlder witnessing a healing; they should have removed her, careless — but of course this woman was trained in protocol. Whatever she was privately thinking, she now had control of her expression. How — A tiny squeak, almost a squall, reached his ears, and Faust, who had been sleeping in a chair by the window, lifted his head.