Poisoned Pawn (13 page)

The woman took me to a storage room full of crates. She opened a large black trunk, a rich piece of luggage. I looked inside. It was empty.

“In,” she said.

“No.” My voice came out a hoarse croak. I backed away.

“Sorry, gentle one,” the large hairy man said behind me, “you don’t have a choice.”

He pushed me into the trunk and shut the lid.

Darkness thick and stifling choked me. I fought back panic. They didn’t want me dead or they would have killed me already. There had to be air, enough air, I kept repeating to myself. I tried to take shallow breaths anyway. The trunk smelled musty and unused.

I curled up and tried to protect my head as the trunk was lifted. It swung side to side, banging me around inside. A final thud rocked me. The faintest of vibrations traveled through the trunk. I was moving.

Another series of bumps and thuds rocked the trunk. A voice shouted, muffled by the thick lining. More vibrations. More shifting. The trunk was lifted and set down more gently. The lid banged open. I blinked in the sudden light and took a grateful breath of air.

“Here she is, as promised.” A new voice, a new person. A pudgy man with rumpled clothing reached for me, his hands soft and white as they hauled me to my bare feet, standing in the trunk like the final act of a magician’s show.

I faced a very elegant man. Tall, broad through the shoulders, waist slim, he wore a loose white shirt and tight dark pants. His face was young; I couldn’t tell if it was artificial or not. His hair was a striking dark blue, tinted with highlights of pale silver. His eyes were cold, dark and hard. He had a slight dimple in his chin. He nodded at the man holding me.

He jerked up my skirt, exposing a round brown mole high on my thigh. The elegant man smiled, a slow spreading of his lips into a wicked curve. The fat man let my skirt drop.

“Miya, my sweet,” he said, looking straight at me. “I do apologize for the zeal of my hirelings. They were told to be completely discreet. You do understand.” He put a look of anxious concern on his face that was as phony as his hair color. “It’s nothing to do with you. Business is business, and I needed a way to influence your father.”

I stood there, keeping my face as still as stone. He called me Miya. Who was Miya?

Sector Chief Querran leaned back in her chair, fingers tucked under her chin. The smuggling ring around Restat had been dismantled with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of arrests. Things should be quiet for a while in the Cygnus sector. She stayed on top of things, supervising many of them personally, and it paid off. Her sector had the highest arrest and conviction ratings and one of the lowest crime rates. Criminals knew it didn’t pay to cross her.

Her desk com interrupted her contemplation of the ceiling.

“Yes?” she answered.

“Sir, there’s a Commander Lowell here to see you,” her secretary, the ever-efficient Marshay, spoke in her crisp accent.

“Send him in.” Chief Querran straightened her silver uniform. It didn’t pay to have higher ranking officers see you rumpled and too comfortable, even if they were old school friends.

Lowell came into her office. He wore Enforcer black, with no insignia except a small red triangle on the collar. He had his hands in his pockets and looked as if he were a tourist on vacation. Or an old friend paying a social call. Chief Querran was very wary. Lowell spelled trouble, and the less official he looked the bigger the trouble. She made herself smile.

“Suella,” he greeted her. His smile looked genuine, his silver eyes lit up warmly.

“Grant,” she answered with the same level of familiarity. “Sit, please. What brings you to my sector?” She leaned back in her chair, hands draped casually on the arms, her legs crossed, foot swinging.

“How are the grandchildren?” Lowell took a seat. He turned her photo frame around. “How many are there now?”

“Seven.”

“The boys are handsome. And the girls lovely.”

“Thank you.” She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, ready to move the visit to business.

She was interrupted by the door banging open. Her secretary tried to restrain the large man who shoved his way into her office.

“The Sector Chief is busy,” Marshay protested.

The man pushed her aside, without even seeming to notice her. “I demand to know what this is about.” He slapped papers on Querran’s desk.

“Hom Daviessbrowun, it’s a pleasure to see you. But you will have to wait until I am finished.” Querran’s eyes said his behavior was unreasonable, even for him.

“I can’t wait. You have to deal with this. Now.”

Lowell leaned forward, studying Hom Daviessbrowun’s paper.

“I’ve called security, sir,” Marshay said.

If Lowell was interested, maybe she could shift the troublesome man onto him. Querran waved her secretary out, her hands saying to hold security for now. Years of working together had given the two of them a set of secret signals. Marshay nodded and left, closing the door briskly behind her.

“Please sit, Hom Daviessbrowun, and tell me what the problem is,” Querran said in her most soothing authoritative voice.

Hom Brun Daviessbrowun paced the room, slapping his hands together. Querran waited patiently while he collected himself. Lowell turned the papers to study them more closely.

Marshay came in quietly, calmly, carrying a tray of assorted drinks and a small silver bowl of ice. The juices were only the finest. Marshay and Querran both knew to treat their unexpected guest with utmost courtesy. Hom Daviessbrowun was the wealthiest man in Cygnus sector, head of a huge conglomeration of businesses that employed almost half of the population. Even at his most unpleasant, Querran knew better than to offend him.

“Would you care for a drink, Hom?” Querran offered.

“Tirtha juice, please,” he said.

Marshay poured the thick yellow juice and added the appropriate number of ice cubes. Querran waited while he sipped, watching him calm. He set the glass on her desk and dropped into a chair next to Lowell.

Querran spoke. “Now, please, Hom Daviessbrowun, what is the problem?”

“This,” he said, stabbing the papers he’d slapped onto her desk. “Someone is claiming they have kidnapped my daughter. They want two million, two million, credits ransom.” His breathing sped up, his face turned brick red.

Querran picked up the top paper, sliding it out from under Lowell’s fingers. It was indeed a ransom note demanding two million credits for the safe return of Arramiya Talieth Daviessbrowun. One million if the Gentle Hom Daviessbrowun didn’t mind her missing a few pieces. Querran winced.

“When did you receive this note?”

“Twelve days ago.” He took another sip of the thick juice.

“Hom, it is imperative that you give us as much time as possible. You should have come to me immediately.”

“My daughter is safe, on my ranch out at Upsilon Ky. As soon as that came,” he flipped a finger at the next page in the pile, “I went and checked on her. She’s busy riding her fool horses and has been for the last month and a half.”

Querran sifted out the piece he’d flipped. It was a photo. Huge, frightened brown eyes stared at her. “It certainly looks like your daughter,” Querran observed.

“I have no idea where they got it.” He slammed his glass onto her desk, ice cubes rattling.

Querran flipped the photo over. “We’ll send this to the lab and have them authenticate it.”

“And what are you going to do about the rest of it?” Hom Daviessbrowun demanded.

“Pardon, Hom?” she asked politely.

“They are harassing my people. Slowing my ships, sabotaging my factories, disrupting my business. I demand you do something to stop it!”

“Who? We’ve had reports of all of this, and I assure you, we have thoroughly investigated every instance. The guilty parties have been arrested.” She put the photo aside.

“May I?” Lowell asked, speaking for the first time. She nodded and he leaned forward to pick up the photo.

“This harassment must stop,” Daviessbrowun said. “I wasted two weeks checking on my daughter. I cannot afford to lose time chasing crank demands for money. It should be a crime to fake kidnapping and ransom demands.”

“It is a crime, Hom. We will investigate.”

“These aren’t faked,” Lowell said. “They do believe they have your daughter.”

The Gentle Hom and Chief Querran both looked at him.

“Do you have a recent photo of your daughter?” Lowell asked, his silver eyes opaque.

“There, in the pile,” Hom Daviessbrowun said.

Querran pulled it out and handed it to Lowell, wondering exactly what he was driving at. Lowell held both photos up, side by side.

“The resemblance is remarkable,” he said.

“It isn’t my daughter,” Daviessbrowun said confused.

“No,” Lowell agreed. He slid the photos onto the desk and tapped the ransom photo. “She went missing from a nightclub on Ytirus two weeks ago.”

“You know this woman?” Querran asked.

“She’s the reason I’m here,” Lowell answered.

The man put me back in the trunk. I would have argued but he pulled out a gun. Not one that would have killed me, it was a nerve gun. It would cause incredible pain, possibly permanent damage, but only where it couldn’t be seen. It was the weapon of someone who liked torture.

The trunk was just as stifling as before, the darkness thick and smelling of dust. It was handled slightly more gently this time. I’d still have bruises. The trip was short, and then there was no movement for a long time. I fell asleep, cramped as I was. There was nothing else to do.

I woke up when the rumbling started. It grew slowly from a barely felt vibration to a screaming roar and faded away. The vibrations stayed, growing stronger. The trunk slid to one side, catching against something with a sudden jolt. I wrapped my arms around my head and hoped it would end soon.

The vibrations ceased after a series of bone-jarring thumps. More waiting in the darkness, now stifling hot and dry. My stomach growled. I promised it food soon. My mouth was so dry it was painful to even think about tall glasses of cold liquid, or any liquid. It was all I could think about.

The trunk jerked sharply and tilted up until I was standing on my head. It shook and tilted farther. I braced hands and feet and held on as best I could. The trunk went down and slammed back over. I tried to catch my breath against new bruises. More thumps sounded on the trunk lid that I guessed were other boxes or trunks. I wondered perversely if they also had people shut inside them.

Another long time passed. The trunk jerked upwards in a long swoop that evened out. Vibrations shook the trunk in a steady buzz. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Eventually I succeeded, despite thirst and hunger and bruises and a growing headache.

I woke with a start when the vibrations ceased. I tried to sit and rammed my head into the lid of the trunk. My whole body was stiff and aching from being cramped for so long. My stomach had gone way beyond merely complaining. I couldn’t work up enough spit to even pretend to swallow.

The trunk was shifted and put down solidly. The lid flipped open. I blinked in lamplight. The air smelled heavily of plants and recent rain. The same elegant man with blue hair stood over me, watching me with a detached interest, as if I were some new acquisition of his. He watched me try to sit in the cramped trunk.

“Rinth, help her.” His voice was cultured, smooth and cold as the water I craved.

A short furry thing waddled into my field of view. It stuck out a chubby three fingered hand and lifted me to my feet without any apparent effort. It blinked eyes that looked like polished gray stones. I couldn’t see any pupil.

“Rinth is very loyal,” the man said. “He will attend to your needs. Until I tell him otherwise. Rinth,” he addressed the creature, “I’m sure our guest is parched after her journey. Fetch her a drink.”

The creature waddled off without a sound.

“Welcome to my humble home, Arramiya Daviessbrowun,” he said and waved around him with one elegant hand. “If your father cares about you at all, your stay should be short and quite pleasant.”

I took it as an invitation to look around. I stood on a wide patio of cut and fitted stone. Lamps of pierced iron surrounded it, standing on squat pillars of more of the same stone. Yellow light spilled out into a night full of the dark sounds of plants rustling in a light breeze. I couldn’t see beyond the edge of the patio but I smelled the faint scent of some blossom. I saw the amusement in the man’s eyes and turned my back on him.

His humble home was an enormous mansion. Huge expanses of glass reflected the lamp glow. Vines climbed up part of the face, spilling tendrils and tiny leaves across the uneven stones that made up the outer wall. High above, very far away, I caught the twinkle of stars. I wondered where Jasyn and Clark were, and if they were looking for me.

“Let me explain a few things,” the man said.

I turned to face him. Rinth waddled up to me holding a glass beaded with moisture. I didn’t care what was in it. I tried not to grab as the creature offered it. I sipped the thick juice. Its sticky sweetness slid down my throat, bringing relief. I finished the glass quickly and licked the last drops from cracked lips.

“I was informed you are very fond of tirtha juice,” the man with the blue hair said. “I took pains to bring in only the freshest for you.”

The creature produced a second glass. It took the empty one away. I took a sip from the second cup, rolling the thick stuff around and trying to place the taste. I doubted I’d ever had it before.

“As I was saying, my dear Miya, there are a few rules,” the man said. “In case you are wondering about trying to escape, don’t try. I like my privacy. The closest city is over a thousand miles away. Not even you can scream that loud. Between here and there is only forest.” He swept his hand out, indicating the dark night beyond the glow of the lamps. “Thick, primitive forest complete with large predators. If you made it beyond my gardens, they would never find your body.”