by James Gurley
“Come!” He grabbed the king and picked him up, rushing him to the door. A squad of heavily armed guards burst through the door as he opened it. Two took the king from him and carried him deeper into the Tower, leaving Tad standing alone in confusion. The rest ran to the window and began firing their weapons, adding blinding gunpowder smoke to the already dense pall of smoke in the room. Tad followed them, standing safely behind them. He saw one female Trioc fall from the sky, her wings trailing behind her as she spiraled onto a rooftop before sliding to the street, obviously dead.
The male dropped the device he carried and, folding his wings, rushed toward the ground. The device shattered as it hit the cobblestones, scattering the soldiers below him. The male Trioc pulled up at the last moment, gathering momentum as he careened across the courtyard at the height of a man’s head. Soldiers dropped to avoid his sharp talons. The second female followed him but could not avoid the fulisade of bullets from the window. With a shriek, she crashed onto the courtyard and bounced several times, leaving a bloody swath across the cobblestones. The male looked back over his shoulder, hesitated, and then continued, calling out in a plaintive squawk.
One of the guards, a Saddir lieutenant, looked at Tad and smiled.
“Your quick wits saved the king.”
“What was that thing?” he asked.
The lieutenant frowned. “It is unknown to me. Some magical device of the Plin, perhaps, though why they would wish to harm the king I do not know.”
Tad felt called upon to defend the Plin. “They would not.”
The lieutenant looked skeptical. “Perhaps, but it was a strange device. Who but the Plin know of such things?”
Tad had no ready answer.
He turned toward the door. More men rushed in carrying a large fire hose. With a stream of water, they doused the burning bed and furniture, adding a cloud of steam to the billowing smoke filling the room. He watched for a moment, and then turned back to the lieutenant. “Where have they taken the king?”
“He is safe deeper inside the Tower.” The lieutenant looked at Tad with a sad smile. “Lad, your shirt is burned beyond recognition and your back is sorely blistered. You need the assistance of a Medico.” He offered Tad his hand.
Tad waved off the lieutenant’s hand. His back ached and his hand blistered where he brushed away the hot stone chips, but he was too dazed and too concerned about the king to feel the pain he knew would soon come. “I need to be with the king. He will be frightened.”
“Loyalty is a virtue indeed, Tushima, but your health is important also. The king is safe. First, the Medico, and then you may see the king.”
Tad was too woozy from the smoke to argue.
Later, as Tad sat on the cold steel bench of the Medico’s office, he wished he had not come. So far, they had drawn vial after vial of blood for tests, drained the blisters, and applied an irritating salve that smelled of garlic and animal dung, though he doubted dung would itch so badly. The Medico, a Saddir with the name Jesic emblazoned on his white smock, had no bedside manner and acted as if he were patching up an injured animal.
“Almost done,” he said as he wrapped a bandage around Tad’s chest and back. “In ten days, the burns should be healed. They will leave small scars but for a Tushima such as you, they should be a badge of honor.” He smiled for the first time.
“Tushima? The lieutenant called me that. What does it mean?”
“It is difficult to translate to Terran, but it is an honorific that roughly means ‘Selfless One’ or more precisely ‘Brave Heart’. To a Saddir warrior, selflessness is the first of the Four Steps of Awareness.”
Tad felt a flush of excitement. A Saddir had complimented him. “What are the other three?”
“Devotion to Duty, Devotion to Arms, and Honor above All,” he said, his voice taking on that singsong rhythm of oft-repeated words.
“Are you a warrior?”
The Medico flushed slightly. “Most Medicos are applicants who undergo the Training but fail to complete it.”
“Oh,” Tad said, embarrassed by his prying.
“It is all right. Failure to complete the Training is not the same as failing. My heart was not in the taking of lives but rather in the healing arts. I became a Medico instead. Each Company must have its Medico, even in battle.”
“I see.”
“You may leave now, Tad de Silva, but do not overtax yourself or re-injure your wounds. Apply the salve each morning and each evening before retiring to sleep. I will check on you in two or three days to see how you progress.”
The Medico replaced his instruments and left the room. One of the Saddir guards brought him clean clothing and helped him dress, being careful of his wounds. Tad returned to the king’s chambers. The Council had cancelled the tour of the city, but the young king had not returned to his rooms. Tad examined the molten hole in the wall above the charred remains of the bed. Stone had run down the wall like melted butter, forming a still warm glassy black puddle on the floor, like congealed lava. What substance could melt stone? Holes in tapestries and scorch marks on wooden furniture marked where stone shrapnel had landed. The large four-poster bed was a shambles of burned wood and ash. Soot marred the ceiling and walls and black water stood in puddles on the tiled floor. Looking around the room, Tad knew that he had been lucky he had not sustained greater injuries. The question was who would want to kill the king? Was the strange device truly a Plin machine? Tad did not want to think so. The Plin had no need to kill the king. In fact, they seemed quite enamored of him. The rebels? No, the king was Terran and Tad doubted they had the organization for such a feat. Besides, the Council would be their logical target. The Council? Perhaps, but surely there were easier and quieter means with which to seize power.
A mob of servants scurrying to clean up ushered Tad from the room. Stonemasons would follow to repair the damaged wall. As he walked down the corridor to his room, the servants were already trundling away damaged furniture. By nightfall, the room would appear as though unscathed and all would be sworn to secrecy about the attempt on the king’s life. Rumors would probably abound, but without proof, they would remain unsubstantiated tales.
Tad’s injuries ached too badly to roam the city, but he was too agitated to remain in his rooms. No one would speak with him about what had occurred or tell him the location of the king. His frustration grew into anger at the Council’s behavior. He stormed out of the Black Tower. Walking aimlessly, he soon found himself in the Garden District. He sat on a bench by the lake, being careful of his tender back. He did not see Quagly, the Royal Groundskeeper’s assistant, listening to trees, but scores of geese and ducks, looking remarkably like their Earth ancestors, and small flocks of colorful dreebs, native waterfowl the size of his fist, surrounded him, clambering around his legs begging for food.
“I brought nothing,” he told them, but they paid no heed, continuing to announce their displeasure loudly. He wondered why Triocs did not eat the waterfowl. Was it because they too had wings? It seemed too simple an answer.
“Perhaps you should have come better prepared,” Sira chided from her position near a large flowering shrub, startling Tad. She tossed a handful of bread bits from a cloth bag into the water and laughed at the fowls’ mad rush to feast. “I see you have found my favorite spot.”
Tad was delighted to see her. “This was as far as my weary body would carry me,” he said.
Sira frowned. “Are you injured?”
He knew he should not reveal events in the Black Tower. Instead, he said, “There was a small fire. Some embers burned my back. That’s all. It will heal.”
She came over to him and sat down beside him. Concern shone in her eyes. “A fire? Where?”
“In an old wing of the Tower,” he lied. “There was little real damage.”
Sira smiled in relief. “I’m so glad you are well. Were others injured?”
He returned her smile. “No, only my luck was bad.”
She tossed another handf
ul of breadcrumbs to the birds, smiling as the dreebs darted beneath the larger birds’ beaks to steal food from them. He leaned back on the bench. Her hand found Tad’s. “I’m so glad you were not seriously injured.” She turned to him with a puzzled expression. “What were you doing in the Black Tower?”
He had forgotten that he had not told her about his new job. “I, uh, I work for the Watchers. I am a companion to King Karal. I live in the Black Tower.”
“You and the Watchers?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. Tad thought he saw a hint of jealousy in her eyes as well, but it could have been his imagination. Suddenly, her nimble mind made a connection. “Was the king injured in the fire?”
“No,” he replied quickly to allay her concern. “I saved him.”
She smiled at him. “Then you are a hero.”
His face turned red. He had not meant to sound so courageous. “Hero? Not I. I was nearby, that is all.”
“Still,” she said, “It required bravery.”
“You think me brave?” he asked, delighting in her compliment.
“You stayed in the city alone. That is brave. You saved the king. That, too, is brave.”
“You stayed in the city alone,” he reminded her.
“Oh, I live with many others, mostly Terran. It is much like home except for the absence of my parents. You are among strangers. I think that is very gallant.”
“You swell my head,” he said.
“I would not want that,” she said. “Have you met many pretty courtesans yet? Gone to any royal balls?”
Tad laughed. “No courtesans, no balls. I am the king’s constant companion. It takes most of my time.”
She made a quizzical expression. “Then why are you not with the king now?”
He thought quickly. He did not want to reveal the threat to the king or the aborted trip with the Regents. “He has taken to his bed. Too much stress. They allowed me leave for a short time.”
“Oh? What are your plans?”
He had made none and told her so. “Wander the city with me?” he asked.
“What of your injuries?”
“We can go in easy stages, resting for lunch.”
“I would like that.” She threw the remaining bread bits into the lake amid a cacophony of bird noises, folded the small cloth bag, and stuck it in a pocket of her school dress.
“I thought you had classes in the mornings.”
“They were cancelled. One of the professors did not show up for class.” She frowned. “It was odd. The older students said he was always punctual and always attended class. This was his first absence in twelve years. Oh well, I can use the break. It has been hectic and science is not my best subject. I am ill prepared for University after the small college I attended. It is so different.”
Tad nodded. “Different is the word I find myself using most often since arriving in Delphi.”
Sira placed her arm through his and leaned closer to him. “It is good we have each other to remind us that we are not alone.”
He enjoyed the feel of her body against his and the smell of her freshly washed hair. He touched her hand with his and held it there a moment. “Each other, yes.”
As they walked back toward the city, they passed an acrobatic troupe practicing their routine in the grass of the park, two young Terran males, a Saddir female, and a Haffa male. The men were bare-chested, well muscled, and wore loose-fitting silver pants with red flecks. The Saddir female, looking as delicate as a carved figurine, wore an alabaster one-piece leotard that clung to her ivory flesh like a second skin. The Haffa wore a red hat and silver tunic. Tad had always thought of Haffa as pious and reserved, but this one delighted in working with the others, using his long arms and strength to hurl the girl into the air where she landed atop the shoulders of one of the men. The four assumed shapes he would have thought impossible. One was a three-person rolling hoop pushed along like a child’s toy by the Haffa with a T-shaped stick.
In another feat of strength and dexterity, the Haffa leaned as far back as possible with the feet of one of the males planted firmly on his chest. This man held the girl’s feet in his outstretched hands while she stretched backwards until her hands almost, but not quite, touched the ground. They remained this way for some time, swaying gently before her companion released her. She rolled across the ground and leaped to her feet. The two men broke apart and stood aside as she performed a series of handstands that ended with her upside down over the Haffa’s outstretched arms. One of the males quickly scurried up both and lay on his back on the girl’s feet as she spun him. As the speed increased, she flipped him from back to stomach several times, each time higher into the air until he suddenly flipped aside and jackknifed, landing headfirst, grasping the girl’s arm with one arm, suspending himself parallel to his companions like a flag from a mast.
Sira clapped madly, laughing as the trio collapsed in a heap. All three quickly rebounded, joined the fourth to stand in a line, hands clasped, and bowed to their small audience. Tad tossed them a silver coin, which the girl tossed back, saying, “Rehearsals are free. Save your coins for one of our shows at the street fair next Friday.”
“Wasn’t she wonderful?” Sira exclaimed to him as they walked away. “I wish I could bend like that.”
“She’s a waif, almost pixyish,” he replied. He had never considered the Saddir beautiful, exotic yes, yet she had commanded his attention.
Sira stood with hands on hips glaring at him. “Are you saying I’m too fat?”
Tad gulped, angry with himself for speaking at all. How could he get out of the mess he had created? “Fat? Not at all. You have a wonderful body. I meant only that she has no, uh, her body, ah . . .”
Sira giggled. “Are you saying she has no breasts?”
Tad’s face turned red. “Well, hers are quite small, compared to yours I mean.”
Sira smiled. “Why thank you, Tad. I didn’t think you had ever noticed. Still …”
She raised her hands, threw herself sideways, and did a series of handstands in a circle around him. Her skirt rode up when upside down, revealing tiny white panties and long muscular legs. When she stopped in front of him, she was breathless, her chest heaving and her breasts jiggling. Tad knew he was staring, but could not help himself. His cheeks were already beet red from seeing her near nakedness. The thrill of it made his blood race madly.
“There,” she said. “My breasts don’t get in the way at all.”
He looked up and saw her grinning at him. “No,” he mumbled in agreement, “They don’t.”
Their eyes locked for a few moments. Tad felt the urge to grab her and kiss her; then felt shame wash over him at such a spontaneous act. He turned away.
“I embarrassed you,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. I, uh, you didn’t.”
She covered her mouth with her hand, blanching. “I can’t believe I did that. You must think me a fool.”
Tad stared at her. It had only been a week since he had last seen her, but already she was adapting to Delphi’s air of freedom. Was he changing as well?
“Walk with me,” he said.
A woman strolled through the park with two small dogs tugging on their leashes. Tad remembered what the Cloud Flyer had said. He looked up expecting to see a triad of Triocs circling high overhead, perhaps waiting for the opportunity to swoop down and snatch the animals. If the three at the Tower were abroad in the daytime, any of them could be. He held his breath until she and her pets made it to the safety of an arbor. That seemed to be the theme of Delphi—hidden dangers amid the sublime serenity of the city.
“There is a small café nearby that serves delicious sandwiches,” Sira suggested.
Arm in arm, they strolled through the park. Tad felt as if nothing could take away his feeling of joy.
11
SUSPICIONS
THE REMAINDER OF THE MORNING AND EARLY AFTERNOON passed too quickly for his liking. He enjoyed Sira’s company, her banter, even her polite jibe
s at his country ways. At the café, he had paid little attention to what he had eaten, enthralled by Sira’s presence. He was amazed at the change in her from the Caravan and a little startled. There, she had been quiet and somewhat aloof until the last few days of the journey when she had revealed just a glance at the girl behind the mask. Now, the mask was gone. She seemed bolder and surer of herself, more open and honest about her obvious effect on men, though often blushing at her own honesty. She was coming of age. He liked the change in her, but feared that she might be outgrowing him, maturing faster than he was.
With the thought of a mask, Tad realized what was different about her. She was wearing makeup. On the journey to Delphi, she wore no makeup and dressed plainly. Now, she wore rouge on her cheeks and the crimson juice of a cassaberry on her lips. The shimmering powder of the crushed loret plant, whose berries were poisonous to all except the Quarn, highlighted the flesh beneath her eye. On some women, he thought it looked gaudy, cheapening them. On Sira, it worked well. Life in the city was changing her. He hoped it did not remove all traces of the girl he knew.
Tad’s mood soured quickly when two of the King’s Guards approached them as they walked down the city’s main boulevard sightseeing.
“Tad de Silva,” one guard said, bowing slightly. His voice was louder than necessary to cut through the street noises. “The Regents request you return to the Black Tower with us. The king asks for you.”
Tad nodded and turned to Sira. He clasped her hands in his. “I’m sorry. I must go with them.”
She nodded and kissed him lightly on the lips. He saw one of the guards smile. “I will return to the University,” she said. “Contact me when you can.”
“I will,” he promised. He watched her walk away.
“Sorry, lad,” the guard who had smiled said. “She’s a real looker, but the Regents brook no delay.”
Tad sighed. “Let’s go then.”
As they marched back to the Black Tower, a guard on each side of him, he felt like a condemned prisoner on his long last walk to the gallows.
