Imperial Masquerade (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 11)

by J. Naomi Ay

  “How lovely,” Luci commented as the maid erupted into laughs. Apparently, Angelica had just fallen into a large mud puddle.

  Luci returned to the grand dining room, to the walnut table, which she had personally selected years ago, right after acquiring this manor house. The noble crest of the House of Korelesk, a wild turkey intertwined with Fleur de Lis, was engraved in the very center and painted in gold.

  "Oh no, what's the matter?" Luci gasped for Marie's head was lying upon the turkey as she wept loudly and hoarsely, her body quaking.

  "I'm a failure at everything," Marie cried. "I can't even make a chicken dinner worth feeding to the dog. He ran away when I tried to give it to him. Now, he's hiding behind the sofa."

  "Pish tosh," Luci declared, setting down the knives to pat Marie upon the back. "You're a beautiful wife, a wonderful mother, and a charming daughter-in-law."

  "I'm not!" Marie wailed, raising her head and commencing to recite a litany of woes about her life. These included Petya's infidelities, and Loran's addictions to mind-altering drugs. She concluded with the span of her waistline, and her inability to cook a chicken that anyone, including the dog would be willing to eat.

  "Why don't you go to bed, dear?" Luci urged. "In the morning, everything will look much better."

  "No, it won't," Marie snapped, but at least, she got off the table. "I would divorce Petya, but I've got nowhere else to go. My sister doesn't want me back on Cyganus. My life is a total wreck. I should just slit my wrists and end it all right now."

  "Don't be ridiculous," Luci snapped, and in an act of impulsive violence, she slapped Marie's face, not once but twice. "Pull yourself together, and quit this pity party. You're the bloody Duchess of Korelesk, and it's time you stood up straight and acted like it."

  Marie was so shocked by the slap and the chill in Luci's voice, she immediately stopped crying and did as she was bid.

  "I'm going to bed, Mother Luci," she said, looking down her nose at her mother-in-law. "If my lord, the Duke rings, will you please inform him that I am indisposed and will ring him back."

  "Certainly," Luci replied, watching Marie glide away, glad that the girl had ceased to whine. Granted her life was completely fucked up, but not as bad as Luci's had been a few years ago when the Emperor had controlled her brain.

  "Now, what to do about Petya?" Luci turned and spoke to the dog who was still hiding behind the sofa. "I shall ring him," she decided. "I have important business to discuss. He really must approach the Imperial Princes and stop this impending nuclear war. Then, he must come home and deal with his wife, as it’s not my responsibility to keep her happy."

  With that Luci retreated to her study to leave her son another voicemail, after which she would engage in her virtual conversations with strangers.

  Petya had no desire to speak with his mother, and Marie was the least of his concerns at this moment in time. His nipples still ached with an excruciating pain, which prevented him from laying upon his stomach. His backside throbbed from the machinations it had been subjected to, which had included, but was not limited to, an assortment of whips. Consequently, Petya was also quite unable to lie comfortably in any manner. This meant the poor duke had been upright for several days.

  Petya was tired. His feet longed to be propped up, and his stomach growled. Yet, according to that guy, Rosso, he must not rest nor let his attention wane until his task had been completed.

  "Food and rest," Rosso had scorned. "Who needs corporeal pleasures such as these?"

  “What exactly am I to do anyway?”

  Rosso then explained the grand plan and the partner the duke would meet to achieve their goal.

  At the moment his mother rang, Petya was standing out on the street in pain which had nothing to do with his sopping wet coat and shoes. The wind was howling, such that the rain flew sideways into Petya’s face. No matter where the Duke stood, he became even wetter.

  He was waiting on a bus, the evening River Nika Express, which was en route from the SdK campus. Aboard was his new associate, Kell who Petya had never met. Night had fallen in the city, and the temperature was almost to the point where it might have turned to snow, forcing Petya to pull his cloak tightly around his body, carefully avoiding his tender teats.

  “Want to have a good time?” Someone asked, approaching the Duke.

  Through the hazy rain-swept light, Petya looked up.

  “No, thank you, actually not,” he replied, as good times were never quite as fun as they sounded.

  At least for a brief while, Petya had learned his lesson about hiring personal assistants off the street. It did occur to him, however, that the streets were becoming less safe. There was trash and filth nearly everywhere he stepped. Boarded up shops were becoming predominant, more so than the thriving businesses which had reigned during the Emperor’s time.

  “Which is why I need to take control,” Rosso had said. “I can restore this glorious city and empire to her former majesty. First, however, we must ascertain that the Emperor is truly and forever gone. Your cohorts and you must scour the Palace inside and out to ensure there is no trace of Sehron de Kudisha anywhere. If there is, we shall lie in wait, for the day shan’t be too far off. Be patient and your reward will soon come, and believe me, it shall be worth the inconvenience.”

  Petya wasn’t certain exactly what his reward consisted of. He suspected, or rather hoped, it would be substantial. Becoming the new emperor would suffice, even if all he did was obey Rosso’s commands. Petya really liked this idea for it would finally prove to everyone, his wife and mother, that he wasn’t second best, the runt of the litter.

  In fact, this entire arrangement was a double win for the hapless duke as not only had he been rescued from his awkward situation, but he was given this chance to improve his station. All it cost was a tiny bit of his soul which he was certain he hadn’t been using anyway. If Rosso had asked for a kidney or a piece of liver, Petya would have donated it, as well.

  While Petya was reflecting on everything else he would have done for the opportunity to acquire the Emperor’s seat, the evening bus pulled up to a stop before him. Kell stumbled down the three steps to land at Petya’s feet, whereupon he held out his hand and the two associates firmly shook.

  Although Kinar had agreed to meet with Rosso in the Seven Nags Pub for a beer and a bite to eat, he had arrived late. Shika had been raising a fuss about something, demanding this minister and that governor attend the virtual conference, and clamoring for his brother to hurry up.

  When Rent finally arrived at the Big House, he was both agitated and in a disheveled state. Taking pity on the young man, who in the last two years, looked as if he had aged about twenty, Kinar personally escorted him to the conference room and saw him settled in the plush leather executive chair directly opposite his Imperial Brother.

  “Will you stay for the meeting?” Rent asked quietly, his curly blonde hair falling in his eyes, whilst he gazed at the secretary with a look that had his hair been black and his eyes silver, would have oddly echoed his father’s.

  “I shall read the minutes afterward,” Kinar demurred, pointing at his wrist watch and waving his hand, as if he had a meeting far more urgent to attend.

  In truth, Kinar would happily have gone down to the ancient dungeons to have his spine stretched rather than stay here and listen to what would inevitably end up as a shouting match.

  Ah, for the days when calmness prevailed, and all crises were solved by a wave of the Imperial Hand. Of course, as Kinar hurried across the Palace campus en route to the pub, he conveniently overlooked all the times when the Emperor lost his cool. How many floods had there been which overwhelmed the city, or tremblers and tornadoes that came out of nowhere when the Emperor grew angry? There was that night when it snowed more than twenty feet in four hours whilst the Council sat arguing over a budget request.

  Massive storms weren’t all that unusual. The snow storm wasn’t necessarily the Emperor’s doing. Global warming and all th
at could have been the cause. Weather was a fickle thing, Kinar had reasoned as he froze his limbs heading home that Snow-Maggedeon night, which incidentally occurred in late July. The day before had been so sweltering hot that Kinar had gone to work in a t-shirt and swimming shorts with flip flops on his feet instead of boots. By the time he arrived home, he was afraid that frostbite had claimed all of his toes, as well as both legs below the knee.

  Upon arriving at the pub, Kinar stood in the door and glanced around for the elusive Mr. Rosso. The room was dark as the lights were dim, dating back a thousand years to when the Palace was originally constructed. Shadows cast about the walls, leaving everyone with an anonymous gray glow, hence, the reason all politicians favored this place.

  “He said I would recognize him,” Kinar muttered, sitting down at the bar and ordering his favorite after-hours drink. That, along with a bowl of peanuts, kept him occupied for a little while until a stranger approached and took the neighboring stool. Kinar had never seen this man before although, there was something about him that was oddly familiar. On the other hand, the Palace staff numbered in the several thousand

  “Evening,” Kinar nodded as his neighbor raised up a finger, signaling the bartender to pour a double shot of vodka, cold and neat. As the glass was set before him, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag, even though the Palace was now a No Smoking government facility.

  “Are you Rosso?” Kinar whispered, trying not to be intrusive, while at the same time, attempting to ascertain who his neighbor was.

  The fellow’s features were a blur, his clothing hidden by a thick black cloak, yet inexplicably, Kinar felt as he knew the man.

  “Nay, I’m not,” the fellow said, his accent reminiscent of the streets in the old city long before forced public education attempted to drum it out. As soon as Kinar heard that tell-tale lilt, his heart lurched, and filled with longing. Tossing back his own drink, he leaned closer across the bar.

  “Who are you?”

  “A friend.” The fellow raised his glass, firstly to be refilled, and secondly, to toast Kinar in the mirror. “Take my advice, old man. Get yourself out of this pub and away as fast as you can. This man, Rosso, shan’t be a friend to you.”

  “Why?” Kinar begged hungrily, trying to peer beneath the stranger’s hood.

  “He shall want something you aren’t prepared to give. He shall force you to it as that’s the way he works.” The fellow nodded and tipped back his newly filled cup which Kinar suspected had been refilled more than twice.

  "How do you know this?"

  The man chuckled and blew a cloud of pungent smoke into the already malodorous air.

  "Trust me, mate. Finish your whiskey and head on home."

  Whether it was instinct or the stranger's sage advice, Kinar decided not to stick around, so quickly, he finished his drink and paid his tab. He stopped firstly at the men's room, the only place in the pub that was well lit, whereupon Kinar was greeted by several council members, lobbyists, and politicians.

  The restroom served as a place to conduct business in more ways than one could count. Some of it involved the exchange of money and other goods and services, which technically, no one was to know about.

  In the old days, Kinar reflected, the Emperor would have been most displeased. He might have eliminated all of these disparate fellows with a quick but painful death. At the very least, His Imperial Majesty would have banished them from the Imperial Palace.

  "How quickly corruption has returned to rule again," Kinar muttered, zipping up his zip and buttoning his cloak about his shoulders. How disconcerting and upsetting was the perpetual folly of man.

  "Indeed," the stranger from the bar replied, joining him at the door. Together, they departed, walking out into the courtyard where the rain fell heavily around them.

  "Kari-fa!"

  "What?" Kinar gasped. "What did I hear you say?"

  "Sorry? I forgot to do something back there. Let me tell you, getting old is a total crock. I have days when I am lucky just to remember my name.”

  “What is your name, sir?” Kinar demanded, as his companion raised his hand.

  “That is a good question,” the man replied, while Kinar thought he saw a flame.

  He also thought he saw a bit of smoke. There might have been an explosion, or that could have been just a clap of thunder. Of course, the flame might have been a lightning bolt. It didn’t necessarily come from the stranger’s hand.

  This was exactly what Kinar told the Imperial Guard detectives when they interviewed him later. The sequence of events, he could neither be certain nor recall. As to what happened to the stranger, Kinar hadn't the foggiest clue. All he knew from that dark, rainswept night was that the Seven Nags Pub had burned to the ground, taking with it seventeen members of the Imperial Council, who had been mysteriously locked in the bathroom while exchanging bribes.

  Chapter 19

  “Don’t you have a private limo?” Kell asked as Petya hailed a taxi. “I mean, aren’t you supposed to be somebody rich and famous?”

  “Shut up and get in,” Petya snapped, climbing aboard himself, his sopping wet feet leaving puddles on the speeder’s carpeted floor.

  Petya’s head had started to ache with a sinus condition that normally plagued him throughout winter. He had always hated the weather in Mishnah this time of year. Actually, save a month or two in the summer, Petya hated Mishnah nearly every day, year round. He’d much prefer some place warm and dry where he could spend his days lazily basking in the heat.

  That fellow Rosso had mentioned such a place. In fact, he indicated it would be part of Petya’s reward, whether or not he accomplished the task set before him.

  “I’ve acquired a holiday home.” Petya imagined telling his wife, Marie. He’d also inform her that he had been promoted to the new Emperor. “I’m going to make that my new semi-permanent residence on the days that I don’t reside in the Palace. It’ll be just like the old Emperor’s estate back on Rozari.”

  Petya envisioned a large and lovely property wherein he would install a swimming pool. He’d spend every afternoon on a floating mat, a fruity drink with a tiny paper umbrella in his hand.

  Over the pool, Petya would suspend an enormous vid so that he might keep up with the news. His staff would have orders not to bother him in any case. He’d deal with whatever issues had arisen when he returned. His vacation property was to be his haven away from both his family and his responsibilities. The last thing he needed was Marie or his staff to nag at him when he wanted to rest.

  Now, in the cab on this rainy, miserable night, the android driver turned and asked, “Where to?”

  “The Imperial Palace,” both Petya and Kell replied. At least they were both clear on their destination. However, Petya was not about let his newly found authority be usurped.

  “I’ll do the talking from here on out,” Petya informed his assistant. “I’m in charge of this endeavor. You are to do as you are told when I tell you to do it and not a moment before.”

  “Yes, sir.” Kell grumbled and nodded his head while thinking this duke was another pompous ass.

  "Now, when we arrive, we'll request an urgent audience with the Imperial Prince Shika," Petya explained. "When we were kids, Shika was my very best friend. I'm certain he'll admit us right away."

  "And if he doesn't?"

  "No, of course he will. Shika and I go back practically to the cradle." The Duke paused to pull a white linen handkerchief from his pocket. While he sniffed and blew his nose, he glanced askance at the man in the adjacent seat, wondering yet again why Rosso had insisted he come along. "Shika and I will discuss pleasantries for a few minutes. When he asks, ‘What is the reason for this meeting,’ I'll explain I have an urgent message for his Imperial Father. It must be delivered to His Imperial Ears only, and no one else may listen."

  "What will you do if he refuses to divulge the Emperor's location?" Kell knew that it was his job to make certain this was done. If the Prince spurned the Duke
or if the Duke developed cold feet, Kell was to ensure that they warmed up quick. How Kell would do this, Rosso had been vague.

  "He's quite sensitive in many places," Rosso had explained. "I suspect it won't take much to make him scream for mercy."

  "And if he still fails at this task?"

  "Send him down."

  Kell was actually looking forward to the Duke's failure. It would give him the opportunity to practice more of his newly acquired skills.

  "Might I send down the Imperial Princes too?" He had inquired. Taking them out would be a real coup.

  Of course, Rosso had encouraged Kell to act on any and all information that might be divulged. Finding the Emperor's location was the key. After which, Rosso would move on his own accord.

  Rosso’s purpose, Kell never inquired, and frankly, he didn't want to know. Kell's service would be done and a lovely vacation cottage in a warm place would be his reward. He also would be allowed to bring along a companion. Of course, Trudy had first come to mind.

  "Are you sure the Emperor is still alive?" Kell had asked, imagining Trudy tied up in knots and tossed on to his vacation-land bed.

  Rosso laughed in response to Kell's big question, which was also the Big Question on everyone's mind. Two years ago, the Imperial Couple had disappeared with neither a trace nor body to be found. Surely, the Princes must know where they had gone. Katie wouldn’t have abandoned her children without telling them. Would she?

  "Let's put it this way," Rosso had explained. "I know with certainty he is still around. If I can find him before he finds me, I shall have a chance at winning the war once and for all. He's not who you think he is, my friend, but then, neither am I, nor are you, when it comes down to it."

  Kell didn’t question this, as he liked being someone else. Frankly, being plain old stocky, Kell was a bit of a drag. It didn’t matter if he was good or actually, very evil, just as long as he was incredibly cool.