Voices of Chaos (29 page)

A glance over her shoulder at the turn; no sign of Khyriz.

Her stomach twisted and she tasted bile.
How could he?
She ran faster.

Wake up Alexis and get her to send an emergency message to CLS, now!

She reached the second floor, keyed the door to open/close-lock, and hurried down the darkened hall.

Bright light to her left--the pantries. Odd, she thought; Alexis must have gotten up, but the door normally closed itself, and the light shouldn't stay on like that. She leaned through the opening. "Alexis?" The full battery of lights was momentarily blinding. She felt along the wall for the controller and keyed them down. "Alexis?" Dead silence and an unpleasant, metal ic odor.

She took another step, froze as her bare foot came down in something sticky.

Rohf lay dead at her feet, Edhal just beyond him, against the overturned table. Something had torn their throats out and not recently: Blood had dried on them and on the floor; the pool where she had stepped was congealing.

Magdalena caught her breath in a faint shriek; something moved on the other side of the table. Back to the wall, she eased to where she could see.

Alexis--alive but bound, her head and shoulders covered in a mesh bag that glowed a pale blue. The interrelator's eyes met hers, then jerked sideways; her lips moved, but no sound came. Magdalena took a step toward her, but Alexis shook her head frantically and sent her eyes to her left again.

Magdalena looked up. Half a dozen dark-clad Arekkhi, their faces hidden by dark masks, poured into the chamber. She backed away, turned to run--too late. Something slammed into the side of her neck, just below the ear.

Everything went black; she barely felt hard hands catching her before she could hit the floor.

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CHAPTER 11

***

She could outrun him ... almost any human could outrun an Arekkhi. And by now, she'd have reached the second floor. She wouldn't respond to the door; wouldn't speak to him. "Tomorrow... no, this morning, early," he promised himself. "I will go and speak to them both, and undo what damage I can."
If it
was possible. He felt as ill as she had looked. But even if Alexis was listening to Magdalena right now, they couldn't possibly be gone before he could talk to them. At least, there was that.

He keyed the door closed, the lighting off, and settled, still clad, in the talking-pit. The servants would see him when they entered, he'd hear them and waken. To sleep until midday as one ordinarily would after a ball, that would be disastrous.

But sleep wouldn't come. He shifted his back, eased a bolster from under his legs--no use. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw only Magdalena's face, pale with shock and fury.
She will hate me forever,
he thought miserably.

And I will deserve it.

He had just slipped into a light doze when the servants' door slid aside and brought him Wearily awake. But it wasn't Dinoe. Two of his father's largest and most trusted bodyguards strode into the chamber, and before he could say anything, they had him by his arms, out of the talking-pit and out the 198

servants' door, down the back ramp, and out of the building. Khyriz dangled between them, helpless as a kitten until they reached the moving walkway.

He eased free of their grasp with what dignity he could manage. Both were staring at his out-lander garments.

"What cause have you for this?" he demanded. For a wonder, his voice was steady.

The nearest guard flicked his ears briefly flat in silent apology but said nothing. Khyriz straightened his shirt as best he could and concentrated on keeping his ears and whiskers up and out. For his father to send guards for him ... had the Emperor already heard from the CLS women?

Alexis might have called Zhenu directly to cancel the agreement once Magdalena told her about the Asha.
Things could be worse,
he assured himself.
Zhenu would have sent Ulfar, and my father might never know my
fate.
Unlike Zhenu, his father might be willing to listen to him.

To his surprise, his harassed-looking father waited just inside the new palace ... and so, it seemed, did nearly every other being who lived or worked there. Anxious clerks, frightened-looking servants, cousins, the families of the Council, a few priests clustered near the windows, staring toward the old palace and whispering among themselves. Khyriz glanced back the way they'd just come but could see nothing out of place. But when he would have spoken, the elder royal sharply gestured for silence, then beckoned, drawing him into the nearest private receiving chamber. The doors slid shut, closing them in a bare little clerks' room. "Father--"

But Khezan gestured urgently: "Spy-wires."
He fears the room has unfriendly
listening devices,
Khyriz realized. But... his father did not suspect visual ones, or he would have used a private family gesture. The younger male looked at the nail patch and gestured a negative, then held his hand up so his father could see the little device.

"There are none, Father. I would know."

The elder's ears flicked, and his whiskers came forward very briefly; he spoke rapidly before Khyriz could say anything. "A parting gift, was it, Khyriz? But a good one. However... listen. An hour ago, armed rebels calling themselves the

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Protective League took control of the old palace, the second floor. They hold the CLS women hostage--"

Khyriz's whiskers went flat. "Magdalena?"

"They are both alive and unharmed. We learned of the attack mere minutes ago, when this League sent a sound-only voice-call to warn what would happen if anyone tried to force entry to the second floor; the Council demanded to speak to both the interrelator and the translator, and we were able to do that. Jhue and his brother volunteered to get you out before there was another hostage."

"I..." Khyriz fought for calm. Anger and panic were no use. But his voice trembled as he said, "Zhikna was also up there, Father. And the designer."

"Your designer? No. She was seen leaving the ballroom among the last, and she left the island at once in that--that gaudy flitter of hers. And your cousin was not in his rooms; he had not been since the ball. Jhue sent someone to fetch him, but the rooms were empty." The Emperor's mouth twitched and he looked quite angry. "The father did not think of his son, of course. But Zhenu is in a massive temper at the moment."

Khyriz brushed that aside. "Father, they will kill Magdalena and Alexis!"

"No. I personally sent back the message that either we see and speak via their communications center, every fifteen standard minutes, or I order
oriph-gas
piped into the old palace." It would kill everyone, Khyriz thought dazedly. "Or
venhur."
The latter caused temporary paralysis; but its affect on the humans might not be the same. His father touched his son's cheek in a parent's gesture of affection. "Calm yourself. This League is not here on a suicide mission; that was clear from their first call. They are undecided, confused, and I think unnerved by the strength we showed during that talk.

Once they decide what their demands are, we can negotiate."

"They don't even have a plan of--?" Khyriz spun away from his father and blotted damp palms on his denims. "We. By 'we,' you mean the Inner Council? Father! Zhenu and the Prelate care nothing about Alexis and ...

and Magdalena!" He

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turned to meet the elder's eyes directly. "Permit me to go back in, the back way. I can--"

"No, Khyriz." His father's face was grim. "I had you brought out for good reason. You are safe here."

"But I know the secret ways of the old palace, you know that I do! I can--!"

"No. That is an order," Khezhan said flatly. "Your Emperor's command.

Swear to obey--swear it!" he added as Khyriz would have protested again.

The Prince sighed gustily and gestured assent. "Swear aloud, Khyriz!"

"I... swear it."

"Good. We--the Council and I--we will negotiate a way through this crisis.

And if Zhenu and his allies seek to use the moment against me, they will learn who is Emperor." He stepped back and blinked; he seemed to properly see his son for the first time. "What appalling fashion is this? Go clothe yourself!" he added sternly, then turned and left the room. The door hissed to behind him, cutting off a babble of worried voices in the hall beyond.

Khyriz stood very still in the quiet little chamber and considered his options.

His father's final order didn't matter, any more than the first. "What does clothing matter? And I lied to Magdalena, why not to him?" he asked himself bitterly. Of course, he wouldn't be able to simply attempt the old palace right now--guards would be on full alert, and no doubt his father had just warned them to watch the alien-loving royal. He was no use to Magdalena, shoved into a locked room. He must choose his moment.

Meantime, a sensible being would learn more about what was going on before he acted. And he would eat and drink something--for strength, as well as to bring himself awake.

Automatically, he checked the nail-patch as he stepped into the crowded hall: There
were
listening devices here; at least two, and only one was his father's. He expected that. He ignored the astonished and embarrassed stares at his alien garb and set off for the family apartments.

A full hour later, he had used the facilities in his original rooms to bathe, but afterward resumed his Earth-style clothing. He'd

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left no change of clothing here, and besides, the denims were practical. He'd eaten, briefly, sharing the family dining with a tense and silent eldest brother.

Now, bread and
rih
made a lump in his stomach. He'd learned what Khelyu knew, but it was almost nothing.

There was no record of a Protective League; no one in the palace had heard of it before today. It might be an offshoot from one of the known groups, of course. Those displeased with their lack of progress often separated from the main group and took matters into their own hands. Generally they were more violent than the parent groups. He dismissed that; let the Council speculate endlessly....

The scope of the raid proved nothing, either. A certain level of skill would be required to get into the old palace via the servants' entry, but nothing special, and last night, security had been concentrated on the ball. The old palace had been nearly empty since afternoon; anyone who had ever served there would know how to key into the main servants' entry, and once inside, this League would have hours to find a way to break the security codes that would let them into the CLS suite--if they did not already have such codes, thanks to a traitor. Thereafter they would only need to wait for two pleasantly tired women to return to their rooms; they'd be taken completely off-guard.

But why? The rebels could expect no gain from this. Despite what his father said, it could be a suicide mission, or an attempt to send a direct message to CLS. Though... the Heir had just told him there was no sign of outside transmissions to or from the old palace since before early yesterday. The Council couldn't tap into the transmissions, of course, but they knew when one was sent or received.

He paced, unable to remain still; servants and clerks milled, now more excited than frightened. The halls fronting the old palace were crowded, the noise maddening. But the back passages were mostly deserted. He ignored the few Arekkhi he passed; hesitated for some time outside the closed Inner Council door that had once so frightened him. Now, he would give much for entry. The Emperor's ducat affixed to the wall showed he was inside. But the hallway was deathly silent, and

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no sound came from behind the door.
No entry without invitation.
The Prince sighed heavily and went back the way he'd come.

Khelyu had sworn he would leave messages on the system in his youngest brother's old rooms if he learned anything. I
haven't been back there in more
than an hour. Perhaps...

A elderly servant was just turning away from the door as he came up. He gave Khyriz's alien garb a startled glance, then remembered his manners and gestured a bow as he held out a folded and privacy-sealed message.

"From the designer-she. Fahara. I am told it is urgent." He gave the Prince's blue-clad lower limbs a final dubious look, then backed away and was gone.

Khyriz stared at the thick paper, fingered the seal-tape that would destroy the message if anyone but the chosen recipient opened it.

Urgent--why would Fahara send him an urgent message so early in the day after a successful ball? If she'd seen the guards around the old palace, of course ... But he would know the contents soon enough--if he still had a feature-scan in his old rooms; otherwise he'd be unable to open the message. His only other scan was in the old palace.

It took time to find what he sought; the chambers had been partly emptied, and many things were not where they should have been. Finally he

discovered one of the little devices in a basket, under a few dusty writing tools.
It should have been kept in the lockbox; you are too lax with security
measures, Khyriz.
He aimed it at the spots on his left cheekbone, then held it over the message. The seal-tape sprang apart.

He automatically checked the nail-patch as he crushed the tape, then unfolded the message and read, his ears slowly flattening: "Esteemed Khyriz, all is lost unless you can help me. You are the only one I dare tell. I reached my apartments at sunrise to find An-Lieye gone, a written message, in her hand and in our private code, telling me she has run away with your Cousin Zhikna! I only now learn that he has been to see her often since the first time you presented the CLS delegates to my house. I swear to you I knew nothing of this unsanctioned alliance between him and An-Lieye! He has told her he can find her family and get them to safety, she writes. He speaks