The Lost Princess

by K Bledsoe

  “Tell me, or I will activate this and walk away.” He waved the wand.

  “Please, no,” whispered Quinn.

  “Then tell me what you took.” He turned it very slightly, slowly and deliberately. Quinn felt the growing tingle, and he blurted out before the shock became too painful.

  “I don’t know,” Oops. He didn’t mean for the truth to slip out, but he couldn’t think. Couldn’t invent a good lie or cover story. The answer was not what they wanted to hear, and the electricity kept getting stronger. What would be worth torturing and more importantly not killing for? Think, Quinn.

  “Last chance.” Jerk Man twisted a bit more. Quinn felt his muscles stiffening, and he forced words out before his jaws locked up with the increased voltage.

  “I…don’t…know…what it was that I took. Some…data stick or…” The sudden lack of pain caused him to gasp and go limp. He wasn’t sure where the words were coming from, but he continued.

  “I … I heard these guys talking about it. They said whatever was on it was worth a fortune, something about a lost princess, which I thought was a stupid story, but if it was worth that much I’d risk it.” He was babbling and knew it, but when Jerk Man’s eyes widened with the mention of a princess, it gave Quinn more courage to continue embellishing. “I saw where they put it, came back at night when everyone was asleep, snatched it and ran. They ignored me, I was a nobody, just someone who was in the background.” Quinn laughed a bit hysterically. “I guess now they know better.”

  Muscles gave a grunt that could have been a cut off chuckle, but he released Quinn who sagged down.

  Jerk leaned back in his chair, a look of doubt on his face, but Quinn saw the relaxation in his posture and concluded that they bought his story. Jerk contemplated his fingernails for a minute, the very picture of nonchalance. He was a very good actor. But Quinn had seen his mother do better. Finally, he spoke the words that Quinn was expecting.

  “So, where did you hide this data stick?”

  “I can’t tell you, not—” Quinn held up his hands to stop the angry looks forming on their faces. “Not that I don’t want to, but I don’t know the area very well and really don’t know how to give directions. I can show you, though.”

  “A holomap?”

  Quinn scrunched up his face, trying his best to look confused and doubtful. “Maybe. I’m not really sure. I could definitely lead somebody in person though. If I got back to someplace I recognized.” He held his breath as Jerk crossed his arms. Was it convincing enough? Was he being too obvious that he needed to be kept alive if they wanted to find the alleged data stick? He couldn’t help but jump a little when Jerk Man stood suddenly. The man’s façade cracked slightly at Quinn’s reaction, a small smirk at the corner of his mouth before he signaled Muscles to open the door. They both left, Muscles taking the chair with him.

  Quinn let out his breath in a small explosion. They seemed to buy his story, but he couldn’t look too satisfied since he knew there were probably cameras in the cell. He settled for curling back up on his cot, facing away from the door, knees brought up in an almost fetal position. He needed to gain some strength back, and all he could really do anyway was wait.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Prince Hahn could barely keep a straight face. This was the best idea he’d had yet. He eyed Lavan sitting on a chair nervously picking at his shirt. All Hahn had told him was that he had a surprise for him. The worry was priceless, and Hahn could feel the delicious fear resonating through the bond, faint but undeniable.

  “How long does it take to walk to the gates and back?” asked one of the two others on the couch. That was Rifkin, son of some Duke or other. Hahn didn’t really care how “well-bred” the idiot was, he was good at procuring illegal beverages and other entertainments. Despite being older than the prince, he deferred to Hahn and did whatever was asked of him. That kind of adoration was the only reason Hahn let him hang around. Rifkin thought he would be the right-hand man of the king when Hahn was crowned, but the prince laughed inwardly at the thought of the idiot in such a place.

  Maybe I should bring back the position of court jester. Rifkin would be perfect for that. He suppressed a chuckle which quickly turned to a frown when Rifkin sloshed the expensive drink, dribbling on the couch.

  “Sorry, Hahn,” he mumbled, aware of the frown. A throat being cleared by his seatmate made him amend his words. “I mean, sorry, Your Highness.”

  Endon was the one who kept Rifkin in line, and he nodded at the prince as he reached for one of the plates of canapes. He was a bit thick around the middle, but Hahn knew his pleasant affability and slow demeanor masked a quick mind.

  “Remember, Rifkin,” said Endon. “It’s not only the walk to and from the palace gates, but identities must be validated, and clearances obtained.” He popped two snacks in his mouth while balancing four more on his lap.

  With those brains, Endon would be a valuable ally or dangerous enemy. Hahn would have to make sure of his loyalty. But how? Hm, he has a sister he dotes on…

  A quick rap on the door shook Hahn out of future plans and back into the moment he had been anticipating all day.

  “Come,” he said, as regally as he could. Might as well practice talking down to subordinates. Everyone would be one soon. Another of his lackeys, Thom, opened the door a crack, mumbled to someone outside the door, slipped in, and nodded to Hahn with a sly quirk of his mouth. He enjoyed these “surprises” as much as Hahn and that was his value to the group.

  “Now, Lavan.” Hahn pulled up a chair and sat so that he could face his companion. “I have been giving much thought to you lately.”

  “You have?”

  The spike of fear through the bond was more intoxicating than the liqueur.

  “Of course. I only have your happiness in mind. You mentioned you were interested in girls, but we all know,” his hand waved at the others who snickered, “You are too shy to do anything about it so that’s what I am for.”

  The fear was replaced by surprise, or at least what Hahn thought it was. The bond was the only time he truly felt strong emotions, and he was oddly grateful for it, but often the exact emotion eluded him.

  “Wh—what did you have in mind? A movie?”

  There was now wariness in Lavan’s voice, and Hahn could sense a hint of determination. Well, that wouldn’t do. He preferred the Companion off balance.

  “Well, a movie might be nice, but it won’t teach you anything. You need experience, and I have thoughtfully provided it for you.” The wariness kicked up a notch which caused Hahn to smile as he gestured to Thom to open the door.

  Thom obeyed, opened the door, then made a beckoning motion. A young girl edged in hesitantly, eyes downcast, not looking at anything but the floor. Thom put an arm around her shoulders and steered her toward Hahn and Lavan.

  “This is Amala, Your Highness,” said Thom.

  At the honorific, the girl’s head jerked up, mouth formed in a surprised “O.” She dropped immediately to her knees and bowed her head.

  “Your Highness, this is an honor,” she said in a small, scared voice.

  “Indeed, it is, young Amala,” said Hahn. “But for more reasons than simply meeting me.” He reached down to put his hand under her chin to tip her head up. He made no move to let her stop kneeling.

  “This is my companion, Lavan.” He gestured to Lavan and a glance showed his companion’s face was bright red. The bond resonated with embarrassment. Delicious, but let’s see if we can up those emotions. “He has need of some education and you will supply it for him.”

  “Your Highness, I…I’m not sure what you mean.” Her voice quivered a little, causing the rest of the flunkies to titter. Her fearful glance at them showed she had an inkling where the conversation was going.

  “Surely you do. A beautiful girl like you must have had several lovers by now,” said Hahn, suppressing a grin at the girl’s mortified reaction.

  “Oh, not at all, Your Highness. You see—"
r />   “Hahn, this is not necessary,” said Lavan at the same time.

  “Stop,” ordered Hahn. Arguing and disobedience has no place here. Time to remind everyone of that. “You have said you are clueless with girls, and I have thoughtfully provided one for you to practice with.” He stood and pulled his companion up as well, Lavan’s face now red with anger. Amala still knelt, but she was covering her face with her hands. The other boys were watching with intense gazes, Thom’s being the most avid of the lot.

  “We will give you privacy and time,” Hahn said and reached down to grasp Amala’s arm roughly and haul her to her feet. Grabbing Lavan also by the arm, he steered both to Lavan’s room. “Now, nobody comes out until the deed is done.” He stared hard at Lavan. “Several times if necessary, yes?” He gave Amala a brief shake. “Yes?” he repeated when she didn’t answer.

  When she nodded, he released her with a small shove toward Lavan. The companion caught her gently and stared at Hahn.

  “Go ahead, get on with it,” said Hahn. “And don’t say I never gave you anything.”

  The comment set off another round of laughs and muttering which Hahn ignored. With a look of resignation, Lavan took Amala into his room and closed the door.

  Thom was at his side the instant the door closed.

  “Do you think he’ll have the guts to go through with it?” His smile was lecherous. “I told her she had to obey whatever you asked of her or else there would be dire consequences.”

  Hahn let the youth think he was successful at being menacing, then shooed him back to the couch with the others. Drink in hand, he lounged in his own chair, reveling in the confusion and anger resonating through the bond. It didn’t matter if Lavan went through with it or not. The end would be the same either way.

  Chapter Thirty

  Diarmin knocked on the door at the address that the detective had given them. He put his hand on his daughter’s elbow as he waited for a response. The door opened, and he gave the bald man behind the door a folded piece of paper with one word written on it. With one hand, the man flipped it open then tossed it into a small flashtray where it incinerated instantly. The two were admitted and pointed toward an archway that Diarmin recognized as a weapons/tech scanner.

  He and the hooded and cloaked girl beside him tossed their various accoutrements into a basket and stood under the arch, one at a time. Diarmin tried not to watch as another guard handled the various pads and trinkets that made up Allison’s device. He stepped through and angled himself so that he could see the scan of Allison. He caught a glimpse at the screen and could make out the silhouette of his wife, complete with an outline of a wig and height measurements posted beside. He carefully hid his satisfaction that his special hologram device could fool their sensors so well. The device not only created a holographic image but sent false data to the machine, so it couldn’t discern that it wasn’t Lenore under the cloak, but Allison. He tried to show no emotion as the guard waved him to the basket of electronics that evidently passed inspection.

  They were given a bidding wand and led through to the inner room which already boasted a large crowd. They maneuvered to a table on the right not too close to the stage and were immediately handed drinks by a live, scantily dressed female. Probably a slave, mused Diarmin, and he let his gaze wander around the room, ignoring the pale hand that slipped from under the cloak to grab the data pad and various electronics. Slight movements under the cloak indicated Allison was assembling her scanner. He noted only one other exit, guarded by two toughs wearing dark glasses and belts with stun sticks and other possible weapons.

  The crowd was an incredible mixture of all sorts. At the very front was an exceptionally dressed woman attended by at least two men with one other that roamed around the room. An Onarian, evident by the pale-blue tinged face and hands, was covered with voluminous wrappings that hid whether male or female. A few other tables had people ranging from a young man with a severe tremor, most likely a drug addict, to the elderly gentlemen in the farthest corner that would not be out of place in any position of power within a government or top business.

  Not one of them seemed interested in Diarmin and Allison.

  A tiny beep from under her cloak indicated the device was working. Allison nodded slightly, and he knew the scans had begun. After one final entry of a hugely fat man with pale, nearly translucent skin and several rings on his fingers, the room lights dimmed, and the stage lights brightened.

  Looked like the sale was ready to begin.

  Two young girls appeared on the stage, one about Allison’s age and the other slightly younger. They stood holding hands and looked relatively healthy but scared. Their features hinted they were born on this planet, and Diarmin could see a strong resemblance as well. The tall, thin salesman with skin darker than Diarmin’s began the pitch. His voice was deep and cultured, almost soothing in its timbre.

  Perfect for selling live beings, thought Diarmin sourly.

  “Strong and hardworking sisters,” he said. “Their parents pawned them off to pay their gambling debts. Will do almost anything to keep from being separated.”

  Many in the crowd tittered at that, and Diarmin struggled to keep his face impassive. Whether that story was true or not, and he doubted it was, the suggestion that anything could be done with the children sickened him. He wished he had a hood to hide emotions, especially when the overweight man won the bid with a lecherous smile.

  The second and third sales involved adults with specific abilities, one obviously for his muscle and the other, an off-worlder with a green tinge to his skin, supposedly had excellent computer skills both legal and not. The strong one had sold to someone bidding off site and the other to the man in the suit. All of them had simply stood, staring, no fight at all, though the muscled one had a glower that deepened every time a bid was made, especially when the elegant woman requested he turn around.

  A nudge at Diarmin’s elbow caused him to put his ear close to the hood.

  “They are all wearing the same necklaces,” whispered Allison. Diarmin had noticed them but was hesitant to guess what they were for without his diagnostics kit. They looked like something to prettify the people for sale, but the makeshift scanner obviously detected more.

  “Zzzzzt,” was all she said but he knew what it meant.

  Electrified to keep them docile.

  “Q?” he asked, but she shook her head.

  Now they knew several things, but the most important question of Quinn’s location still eluded them. In an attempt to distract himself from the next sales, more children, Diarmin cast glances around the audience. Lenore had told him that in addition to the obvious guards, there would be a disguised one, standard practice in these situations. He picked out two possibilities and was wondering if Allison’s device could also take down the force screen surrounding the stage.

  A sudden intake of breath from Allison snapped him back to attention.

  Quinn was on the stage.

  “This is a rare individual indeed. Excellent at thievery and disguise, he has already made a name for himself on the planet Carmal.”

  Well, they bought Lenore’s story, and the talent at disguise was the truth.

  “His parents died on the ship that brought him here, and we found him ragged and stealing food in order to survive. He is incredibly smart and docile and will make a terrific addition to any business or household. Opening bid will be at two thousand credits.”

  The fee brought murmurs from the crowd and Diarmin couldn’t help his eyebrows raising. That was twice the beginning bid of anyone else. The Onarian was the first to signal, followed closely by the fat man, and then raised to three thousand by the man in the suit. Lenore had told Diarmin to wait to begin bidding, but the rapidity of the others forced his hand. He bid a hundred more, followed closely by the Onarian again.

  Feeling a rising panic, Diarmin hissed, “Can you deactivate that shield?”

  “It won’t matter. He’s not even there. It’s a hologram, proje
cting from somewhere else.”

  Diarmin’s stomach dropped. The plan had been to take out the guards and snatch him from the stage but now what? He hurriedly placed another bid that was rapidly approaching the six thousand mark.

  “What do you have?”

  “I don’t know. It needs to be analyzed.”

  “Do something quickly, or we will have to sell the ship.”

  The bid was up to eight thousand.

  The heavyset man had dropped out of the bidding with a grunt, and the Onarian was hesitating after each raise, but now there was a bid off site that was competing with Diarmin and the man in the suit. The plan was to keep going, keep bidding, even if they couldn’t afford it. But all the time in the world wasn’t giving them the essential information of where Quinn was.

  Ten thousand.

  Jaw hurting from clenching, Diarmin raised yet again. They were already way over any money they could manage, but he couldn’t let his son go to anyone else.

  Suddenly the salesman threw up his arms to halt the bidding.

  “We have been offered an exclusive. Bidding is closed.” The stage went dark.

  Diarmin’s heart stopped for a moment only to beat faster and harder when the side door flew open and three armed men rushed in, heading straight for their table. Diarmin and Allison stood and edged backward so the table was between them and the guards.

  “We have detected a prohibited scanner. Hand it over.”

  Diarmin tried to protest their innocence but only got one syllable out before the response.

  “We will not hesitate to shoot and simply take it.”

  Movement under Allison’s cloak caused all three weapons to be thrust forward menacingly. An open pale hand slowly appeared and drew aside the cloak, revealing the other hand holding the device.