The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin (25 page)

After an hour
or so, Sabre had consumed a great deal of ale, and his head spun.
He blearily eyed the new man who sat at his table, bringing him a
fresh drink. The man was blurry, and the room swayed like a ship at
sea.

The stranger
smiled and leant close to mutter, "I know who she is."

Sabre tried to
focus on the stranger, but the room slid away to the right, taking
the man with it. "Really." His tongue was numb, and the word was
barely intelligible.

"Yes, I work in
the palace, and Torrian's messenger has already been there." The
man peered at Sabre, but he merely quaffed his ale, pawing at the
beer that spilt down his chin. His hands seemed to have turned into
bunches of bananas, and he studied one in amazement.

"Torrian has
offered a reward for her, and I think the King will be glad to take
it."

"'Owdoyouknow... oosheis?" Sabre enquired as clearly as he
could.

"The
description was very good, and you give her away. There are not any
other men with a... thing stuck on their foreheads."

Sabre raised a
hand to finger the cyber's crystals. "Showhat?"

"I just thought
to warn you, is all. Do not let her go to the palace."

Sabre glared at
the man. "Thalilbitch... hic!... cangotohell." His tongue stuck to
the roof of his mouth, and he drank some more ale to loosen it. The
strange, periodic convulsions that gripped his chest preoccupied
him. The sensation was novel, and annoying. Then again, it must be
part of being human, unless it was some sort of covert cyber
attack. He shook his head. Surely not. It did not seem to be very
effective, if it was.

The stranger
laughed and stood, thumping Sabre on the back. "A good fight, my
friend." He wandered off.

Sabre drained
his glass, then tried to stand. Another tiny, irritating convulsion
made his breath catch. The room tilted, and he staggered into a
table, grabbed it and hung on. Several men laughed and joked about
his current ability to fight, but Sabre ignored them, for he had a
sudden and inexplicable urge to vomit. The innkeeper must have had
a good eye for green men about to hurl all over his floor, because
he appeared at Sabre's side and helped him to the door.

Outside, Sabre
emptied his stomach, and the innkeeper left him with a grunt of
disgust, his common room floor now safe. Sabre had never
experienced nausea before, and found it singularly unpleasant. Of
all the new sensations his freedom had brought, this was by far the
worst, he decided. The cool night air made the nausea worse, and he
discovered that he could not walk. The ground refused to stay
still, and he clung to the wall. When he tried to take a step, he
found himself flat on his back, wondering how he had ended up
there.

The irritating
convulsions continued, accompanied by strange noises that echoed
down the street. Just around the corner were the stables, and he
levered himself to his feet with a great deal of aid from the inn's
wall. He worked his way along it, leaning against it, then stumbled
across the stable yard. The straw's sweet smell made him ill again,
and he retched before crawling into the nearest pile, cursing the
tiny spasms that gripped his chest with annoying regularity. The
paroxysms kept him awake for a while, but when they stopped he fell
asleep.

Chapter Fourteen

Tassin woke at
cockcrow. An amazing number of roosters inhabited the city, most of
which, it seemed, were perched outside her window. She had never
heard such a cacophony of crowing in all her life. Certainly there
was no chance of a lie in, so she rose and washed in the basin of
water, deciding to ask for chicken at supper time.

Only after she
had washed did she realise that Sabre had not returned. She
frowned, wondering where he was, then remembered his plans to sleep
with one of the inn's many sluts. His behaviour disgusted her, and
she made her way down to the common room and ate an unappetising
grey paste that was served for breakfast. With that sitting like a
lump of lead in her stomach, she set off for the shops to buy some
new clothes.

The pretty
garments and reasonable prices in the bustling marketplace
delighted Tassin. The redolence and crowds were unpleasant and the
men rude, but the abundance of goods was so distracting she hardly
noticed the curious stares and dark looks she received. As the only
unveiled woman, she was out of place, and that was the reason for
the hard glances, but she refused to allow it to bother her.

Tassin spent
the morning picking out a pair of black satin pantaloons
embroidered with gold thread and a blue silk blouse, over which she
chose to wear a natty tunic of a darker blue, ornamented, like the
pantaloons, with gold embroidery. A pair of black velvet slippers
completed the outfit, and she went back to the inn to change. There
was still no sign of Sabre, so when she was ready, she left a
message with the innkeeper and set off for the palace.

Sabre jerked
awake as a deluge of cold water splashed over his face. The icy
shock made him try to spring to his feet and drop into a fighting
crouch, but most of his limbs did not seem to work, and all he did
was roll over and raise a hand. A grinning stableman stood over
him, holding an empty bucket. When he saw that his wake up call had
been successful, he wandered away. Sabre sat in the wet straw and
groaned. His head pounded as if the cyber had just staged another
take-over attempt. His stomach squirmed and complained with loud
rumbles, and bile stung his throat. His mouth tasted like he had
been eating cow dung, or a rotten cow, he was not sure which, and
his eyes flinched from the sunlight. He staggered into the stable
yard, holding his head, since it seemed liable to fall off.

Locating the
nearest water trough, he plunged his head into it, gasping as the
cold water redoubled his headache, and the shock made him vomit
again. His shaking legs buckled, and he sank down beside the
trough, clinging to its side. The dried blood on his chest pulled
at his skin, and he tried to wash it off. Stablemen chuckled as
they walked past, calling rude advice. Digging in his pouch, Sabre
swallowed some pain killers, then groaned and rested his aching
head against the trough. He had no idea how long he lay there, his
stomach a tight knot and his throat burning.

A hand touched
his shoulder, and he looked up into the brown eyes of a smiling
young serving girl. She held out a mug of tea, and he muttered his
thanks as he took it, washing some of the cow dung flavour from his
mouth. The serving maid coaxed him to his feet and helped him into
the kitchen, where she plied him with more tea and bread. When his
stomach stopped growling, she presented him with a bowl of creamy
porridge. Only when he had finished eating, did he remember Tassin.
By that time, the maid was washing the dried blood off his chest,
and ordered him to sit still when he would have left.

Deciding that
the ungrateful Queen could wait, Sabre basked in the warm concern
of the pretty girl, whose long golden hair framed a plump,
rosy-cheeked face. Her ministrations soothed his sour mood, and her
admiring gaze was a salve for his battered ego. How she could
admire a man she had found lying in a pool of vomit was beyond him,
but he was grateful for the attention. Her appreciation did wonders
for his self-esteem, even though she did not know what he was. He
tried to forget that and enjoy her ignorant regard. After she had
finished washing his cuts, he sat and watched her work, sipping the
tea she had made him. She cast him a lot of coy looks that made him
look away in confusion, yet he found the experience interesting.
After she had dropped two plates and spilt a pot of hot water on
the assistant cook, however, the cook ordered Sabre out.

By then, it was
mid-afternoon, and Sabre was still in no mood to confront the
Queen. He went back to the water trough and scraped the stubble off
his face, then cleaned his teeth and washed. That done, he decided
to face Tassin, whom he was sure he would find sulking in the room,
ready to pounce on him and give him a tongue lashing. Steeling
himself, he knocked before entering, and was surprised to find the
room empty.

After a few
seconds of dull contemplation, he went down to the common room. She
had probably gone to spend her ill-gotten gains, he thought sourly.
The common room was almost empty, since the evening crowd had not
yet arrived. He sat at a table and ordered more tea, foreswearing
ale. The innkeeper who served it relayed Tassin's message, and
Sabre frowned, trying to remember something he had heard last
night.

The last man to
buy him a drink had said something about Torrian. His numb brain
chugged through the memory, which was distinctly fuzzy around the
edges. Torrian had sent a messenger to offer a reward for Tassin's
capture, and she had gone to the palace. Sabre leapt up and went in
search of the innkeeper, to ask him how long ago Tassin had left.
The answer made him angry, and he cursed the stupid girl, leaving
the inn at a lope.

Tassin reached
the palace tired and angry at the crowds' rudeness. People jostled
and pushed, and several times she had narrowly avoided being shoved
into the gutter by hurrying locals, whose lack of manners rivalled
Sabre's. Her new clothes were dusty and sweat-stained, although
they still retained most of their glory. The walk would have been
arduous even without the crowds, for the palace was located a fair
distance from the inn, atop a low hill. The dusty roads had almost
ruined her new slippers, and her feet ached. She had been unable to
hire any form of carriage, and was forced to arrive at the palace
on foot, hot and dishevelled.

A high wall
surrounded the king's abode, and the tops of spreading trees hung
over it, filled with exotic fruit. Beggars and urchins camped
outside to collect fallen fruit, and numberless caracans kept up an
incessant chirring in the sweltering sun. Bright fire birds and
keeters added their raucous cries to the din. Tassin had to walk
around the wall for some distance before she found the main
entrance, fending off the grasping hands of beggars who accosted
her. Tall gilded gates kept commoners out of the paved courtyard
that swept away to the palace's pillared entrance and the manicured
gardens around it.

One of the
bored guards who stood outside the gates, clad in Olgara's rich
green livery and silver chain mail, enquired as to her business in
a laconic drawl. Tassin raised her chin and glared at the insolent
man.

"You may tell
King Xavier that the Queen of Arlin wishes to see him."

The guard raked
her with a scathing glance and smiled. "Sure, and I'm the Duke of
Tarlon. Be off with you!"

Tassin stood
her ground. "I am travelling incognito, hence I have no retinue,
but I assure you, I am Queen Tassin. Tell the king at once!"

The guard
looked uncertain, apparently unsettled by her confidence and
strange accent. He glanced at the other sentry, who shrugged, and
the first man left, presumably to call his superior. Tassin mopped
her face while she waited, trying to brush the dust from her
wilting finery. A soldier in a silver-trimmed tabard arrived, and
called for the gates to be opened, ushering her inside and bowing
low. Tassin smiled, pleased to be treated with the respect to which
she was accustomed. The guard sergeant led her into the vast,
echoing marble entrance hall, where he handed her over to a
white-liveried flunky.

The manservant
showed her into a richly furnished room, its walls adorned with
murals and its floor patterned with intricate mosaics. Arched
windows hung with silk allowed sunlight to brighten it, dappling
exotic tasselled carpets. Within minutes, the servant returned and
announced that she had an audience with the king. Once again, she
followed the man along a cool, tiled passage, past an indoor garden
filled with twittering pinbirds and lush foliage. Trellises
supporting creeping flower plants covered the archways that
separate it from the passage, and the sweet scent of blossoms and
damp soil rode the cool air.

The manservant
showed her into a vast chamber adorned with more murals, the floor
tiled with alabaster and the arched windows hung with swathes of
embroidered silk. Two massive tusks stood beside an empty
fireplace, relics of a long-extinct beast whose name she could not
recall. The fireplace did not look like it had ever been used, and
since Olgara was a hot country, she wondered why it had been built
in the first place. A pair of glass-paned doors opened onto a cool
terrace shaded by a pagoda, over which a flowering marru-plant had
been trained. The seeds of the marru-plant, whose huge white blooms
opened only at night, were reputed to be a powerful
aphrodisiac.

Painted urns of
all shapes, sizes and colours stood in corners or on mantels and
tables, according to their size. In a small one, several incense
sticks filled the air with a spicy aroma. A panel of embroidered
velvet swung from the ceiling, powered by a string that vanished
through the filigree ventilation holes along the edge of the
ceiling. Outside, some patient servant tugged the string to stir
the air for his king's comfort.

King Xavier
VIII was a short man, dark-skinned and slant-eyed, with a pointed
beard. He wore a long, gold-embroidered coat of heavy green satin
edged with white fur over a white silk shirt and dark green
trousers. He smiled when Tassin bowed her head, and returned the
regal inclination. With a languid gesture of a slender hand, he
invited her to sit on one of the many velvet-covered chairs that
dotted his audience room. Gilded pillars upheld a high domed roof
adorned with exotic paintings and gold inlay. The effect was a
trifle overdone, but suited Xavier's exotic looks and obviously
lavish taste. He sat behind his coalwood desk and regarded Tassin
over folded hands.