Alien Chronicles 3 - The Crystal Eye (45 page)

Tonight, at least, in this magnificent home, there was no evidence of financial hardship. Lord Rakiel was in his otal cycle of life—quite ancient, in fact—but his mental powers had not yet failed him. He had been minister of finance before Israi’s father was Kaa. Some whispered that during his term of office, Rakiel had dipped deep into the public treasury to line his private coffers. Certainly he had not allowed his personal fortunes to fall with the imperial ones. Israi studied her host tonight, wishing she could persuade him to return to public duty. But no one in the otal stage of life could be asked to serve, not even by the Kaa.

She sighed again. It was a pity.

Oviel leaned over her. “Is the Imperial Mother unwell?” he asked softly.

She looked up at her egg-brother without affection. He had been well-behaved and quiet enough since his return to court. At Chancellor Temondahl’s urging, Israi had been persuaded to let Oviel join her entourage this evening. But she remained cool toward him, for she would never trust him or forgive him for his past treacheries. “We are well,” she said curtly.

Oviel bowed and backed away from her. His manners were perfect and gracious. He acted as though he only wanted to serve her as the others did, but just as he bowed his head, she caught a flash of resentment in his eyes.

At once she felt vindicated. No, Oviel was not the mealy-mouthed courtier he was pretending to be. She had been right to distrust him. In the morning, she would remind the Bureau to continue its surveillance on his activities.

The music swelled and soared in a complex, intricate passage. Israi wondered how long until it would end and stifled a yawn.

From his chair at the foot of the dais, Lord Rakiel immediately gestured to the conductor. The Myal shrank within herself but had the musicians cut abruptly to an abbreviated flourish. The music ended.

Slaves raced about to light lanterns hanging from tree limbs. The surprised audience broke into polite applause. Israi rose to her feet, grateful this ordeal was over at last. Had she liked the composition, it would have been customary to speak briefly to the composer and perhaps award her a small token of appreciation. Israi did not even look in the dejected Myal’s direction.

Lord Rakiel stood up with assistance from one of his house slaves. All of them wore broad collars of real gold and sleeveless livery with the crest of the Twelfth House embroidered across the back. Lord Rakiel found his balance and came toward Israi with a very slow but extremely graceful stride.

In otal cycle, most Viis were considered too ancient and ugly to be seen and hid themselves away from the public gaze. But Lord Rakiel had managed to preserve his fine looks despite his advancing age. He was still unstooped and lean, with the stored fat in his tail concealed by the skirt of his long coat. His rill—the skin still firm and elastic—lay arranged in attractive folds across a very tall collar. His jewels winked in the lights.

He bowed to her. “May I escort the Imperial Mother through my sabellia garden? I imported new varieties this year from Rantoon. They are exquisite, quite at the peak of their bloom.”

Israi was ready to go home, but to depart so early would be an insult to a powerful family. Lord Rakiel had donated many expensive sabellia blossoms to the memorial funeral rites conducted for Lord Commander Belz earlier in the week. It was a generous gift, indicative of the tremendous wealth he still possessed.

She needed to find a way to persuade Rakiel to share some of that wealth with the imperial treasury. More important, she wanted to find out which cosmetic surgeon he employed. Rakiel looked so natural that she couldn’t tell whether or not he had been augmented and lifted. Which meant he had surely had it done.

She smiled and allowed him to take her hand. “We would be honored to see your gardens.”

They set out at a slow, stately pace along the white paths of crushed shells. Other guests parted to make way for them, bowing low to Israi. She was not used to walking quite so slowly, but Lord Rakiel was tall and very handsome. He had the grand, antiquated manners of Israi’s grandfather, and his great air of dignity and refinement pleased her. She found herself relaxing in his company. He told her charming little anecdotes, revealing a wit as sharp as it was wicked.

Israi laughed aloud, enjoying herself for the first time all evening.

The sabellia garden proved to be a tiny enclosed area filled with large, sword-leaved plants. In the light of lanterns bobbing in the cool, artificially created breeze, stalks of scarlet blooms as large as Israi’s head stood in stately formation. Their fragrance filled the air with heady perfume that made her feel slightly intoxicated. Oh, indeed, this was an exquisite garden, the perfect spot for a tryst with a lover. In the distance, more informal music now played, traditional rhythms throbbing through the warm summer night.

Israi leaned over to inhale the fragrance of a magnificent bloom just as one of her attendants came hurrying up.

Rakiel raised his head and his rill stiffened. He thrust out his gold-banded staff, planting the tip in the attendant’s chest and holding him back.

“What do you want?” he asked sternly.

Israi had closed her eyes, letting her senses swim in this perfume like no other. She moved her face closer to the giant flower, but the attendant said, “I bring the compliments of the Lady Lorea. She says the imperial litter is waiting to conduct the Imperial Mother to the palace at once.”

Lord Rakiel never lowered his staff. “Who is this Lady Lorea? Does she have the power to summon the Imperial Mother? Begone with you! I’ll have your tongue for this interruption.”

Pretending to be totally absorbed by the flower, Israi buried her face in its petals again and smiled to herself. Oh, if only the messenger could have been Oviel, she thought. She would have loved to see his chest poked by Rakiel’s staff.

But the attendant did not withdraw as ordered. “I beg your lordship’s pardon, but Lady Lorea told me to insist that the Imperial Mother return. A message has come from the palace. It is terrible news, I think.”

Now Israi did straighten. She turned to face the nervous attendant—a Viis male vi-adult of excellent family, sent to her service so that he might acquire court polish. Flicking out her tongue, Israi asked, “Are we to run home in a panic? This emergency can be dealt with by Lord Temondahl.”

The attendant bowed, looking as though he did not know what to do. Rakiel poked him hard with his staff. “Go!” he ordered.

“I beg the pardon of the Imperial Mother and of you, Lord Rakiel,” said Oviel, walking up through the darkness. A lantern bobbing overhead from a tree cast an uneven glow across his face. “It was thought best to give the Imperial Mother this news in the privacy of her litter, but if she will not come I must convey the news here.”

Israi glared at him. “Then say it,” she said impatiently.

Oviel bowed very low. “I regret that Lord Temondahl has called from the palace. The sri-Kaa is dead.”

Rakiel dropped his staff and turned to Israi with an expression of shock and profound dismay. “Oh, no,” he said.

Israi stood there, her hand suddenly crushing the stem of the sabellia bloom. For a moment she felt nothing at all and wondered why these three males should be staring at her with such expressions. Even Oviel showed no satisfaction, no triumph, but only regret.

“It was just a fever, a trifling affliction,” she said.

Oviel stepped forward. “Majesty—”

“No!” She whirled away from him, standing with her back to them all. She thought of Cheliharad, with his narrow, serious face and big eyes. His frail blue-skinned fingers had clung to her hand tightly only a few days ago when they’d stood in the processional for Lord Belz’s funeral. He had been so little, so fresh from the egg, so somber in his tiny coat of indigo blue and his jeweled sash of rank. Now there would be another funeral.

Regret touched her. She felt guilty for having chosen him as her successor so callously, knowing he might die, knowing she might have to choose another of her progeny. She had calculated it all so coldly, and now too soon it had come to pass. As though . . . as though she had wished it upon him. As though she had cursed her own son.

Her shock, however, lasted only for those few moments. Lifting her rill as she regained her composure, Israi turned to face Lord Rakiel.

“Forgive me,” she said, her voice cold and toneless. “We must depart at once.”

Rakiel bowed low. “Of course, majesty. May I offer my most sincere condolences—”

“Thank you.” With a gesture, she cut him off, in no mood to receive sympathy. She hated funerals and all their attendant mourning ceremonies. The public rituals of grief were a dreary business, and she was tired of conducting them. Turning to her egg-brother, Israi flicked her fingers impatiently. “Oviel, conduct us to our litter now.”

It was late at night and the warehouse stood deserted. Inhaling the powerful scents of kafalva beans emanating from the sacks piled nearly to the ceiling, Ampris pushed back the hood of her robe and tried to wait patiently while Elrabin finished rubbing finger oils off the container which had held the stolen viruses. He dropped it, eyed it a moment, picked it up, rubbed it carefully, and dropped it again. This time it landed on its side, and he seemed to approve. He unstoppered a vial bearing the distinctive yellow label of the Dancing Death and dropped it beside the container. The vial shattered, and liquid seeped onto the floor.

Elrabin glanced up, his eyes very serious in the dim torchlight, and met Ampris’s gaze.

She nodded back and thumbed on the hand-link. She used the correct codes to call straight into the palace, on Israi’s direct line.

Years ago, when she’d first been sold to another owner by Israi and Ampris had still been naive enough to believe it was all a mistake, she had called Israi directly. That time, she had not gotten through. This time, she believed she would. The hand-link had been programmed—at great expense—to connect with a coded, inner-palace channel not normally accessible to outside calls.

The hand-link beeped softly and a Viis voice said sleepily, “Who is calling, please?”

“Tell the Kaa that it is Ampris.”

There was silence, as though whoever had answered was too stunned to speak. Ampris waited, mentally counting off the passing seconds. She only had so much time before the trace would be made. Standing a short distance away, Elrabin did not move. He seemed to be frozen with tension. All the strain of this attempt could be seen in his eyes.

“The Kaa is unavailable right now,” said the voice at last.

“Awaken her,” Ampris said harshly. “Quickly!”

“How did you get this coded line?” asked the voice.

“You’re delaying me so a trace can go through, but it takes a long time to route the trace out of the in-palace loop and out into the city, which is where I am. Meanwhile, Israi is missing the opportunity to speak with me.”

“The Imperial Mother is in mourning and cannot be disturbed by—”

“Who is this?” a female voice said sharply. “I am Lady Lorea, chief lady in waiting to her majesty. You are—”

Muffled noises came over the line. Ampris lowered the hand-link and took some deep breaths. She was still counting in her head, feeling the time flashing by.

A faint series of little beeps sounded on the line. She knew then the tracer had left the in-palace loop and was now searching city channels. Only a few seconds were left.

“I have a message for the Kaa,” Ampris said clearly into the link. “Tell her the current troubles are just the beginning. She must let the abiru folk go free. If she does not—”

“Ampris!” Israi’s regal voice came on, cutting her off. “How dare you call us this way? How dare you threaten us? You—”

“I don’t want to threaten you,” Ampris replied. “I just want freedom for my people.”

“Your
people!” Israi said angrily. “They are
our
people.”

“Not anymore. You’ve abused them, and that has cost you the right to be their mistress.”

“Ampris, you are a fool,” Israi said. “We know you are behind the current unrest and riots. We blame you. And we warn you that your location is being traced at this very moment. In seconds you will be arrested and shot on the spot for treason.”

“You’ve already condemned me to death,” Ampris said calmly. “The Bureau let me go.”

“You escaped,” Israi said, her voice sounding furious now. “But you can’t elude arrest forever. If you think the abiru have been oppressed, you are wrong. But now, you have condemned them along with yourself. We warn you of this. All the blame shall be on you.”

Elrabin stirred, running to the door of the warehouse and gesturing urgently. Ampris could hear the sound of a patroller shuttle approaching fast.

“No, Israi,” she broke in on what the Kaa was saying. “I’m afraid it’s your people who are doomed. I’m sorry it has come to this.”

She broke off and dropped the hand-link on the floor next to the torch and the broken vial. Elrabin was already running across the warehouse, gesturing for her to hurry. Ampris limped after him, struggling with her brace, and together they vanished through a trapdoor just as the main doors of the warehouse burst open and patrollers came running in.

An entire squad of patrollers entered the warehouse ahead of their officers, shouting for Ampris to come out of hiding. Two sniffers were activated and released into the air. Clicking and whirring, they went floating through the large building in opposite directions.

By then, however, one of the patrollers was already kneeling to pick up the abandoned hand-link. “She was here, all right,” he called back to his sergeant. Then his gaze fell on the broken vial and the empty container with its biohazard warning labels.

The patroller jumped to his feet, running backward with a curse that brought others to him.

Too horrified to speak, he pointed at the vial. “The Dancing Death.”

The rest of the squad also backed away, breathing hard.

“What is it?” the sergeant called to them. “What is wrong with you?”

The patroller who had found the broken vial turned around to face him. “Sir, Dancing Death has been released in here. We have found the stolen—”