Justice and Juniors (A Cat Among Dragons Book 2)

by Alma Boykin

  “Shai-lak, you are a fool,” he hissed under his breath. No that he would ever admit that he had even thought such a thing if asked. But it was obvious to the green and cream reptile that his liege lord was not doing his duty to the Empire. Kaeshiri well remembered the circumstances of his elevation to Minister of War and that invasion’s repercussions. He did not care for the mammal Lord Ni Drako, but neither did he desire to have his afterlife interrupted because an invader had killed off his lineage after landing and hiding on the southern continent. What was the place’s name again? Kaeshiri rubbed a brittle talon under his muzzle and tried to remember. “Sseekhala” he spoke aloud. The “home place,” as compared to Likhala, the “cold place,” not that the southern coast and lowlands were ever really cold, the Azdhag mused. He’d had a distant relative by mating who lived down there, in the area where soft, sweet leetah fruit grew so plentifully that it was free for anyone who wanted to collect it.

  Kaeshiri whapped his tail against the floor, then growled at the pain in his arthritic joints. Cloud prowling would not solve the problem at hand, he reminded himself. The Lord Defender needed information and Kaeshiri had that information at his talon tip, in a form that he could show to Ni Drako without working directly against the King-Emperor’s wishes. He had never defied his liege before and he did not want to do it now. But neither did he want to face the Lords of Hell knowing that he could have done more and had not. Kaeshiri finished his tea and forced himself to walk over to his writing table. Ni Drako’s concubine had said something at a social gathering several moons before that the old reptile could make use of to explain summoning his very junior colleague to a private meeting.

  “Damn and blast it to powder,” Rada growled in Trader. According to the reply to her leave request, she “could not be spared” to go up to Singing Pines “at this juncture.” This is beyond irritating, she griped silently. There’s nothing going on within the three closest star-systems that needs even one of my shed hairs. This sucks like an open airlock and I hate this sticky, stinking heat. Blessed Bookkeeper but there are times I wish I was not an endotherm! The Azdhagi loved the heat, something Rada had observed early in her tenure but had never really thought about. If you came from a warmer climate and were forced to live in a colder one, you might look and act like they do, the mammal reminded herself. She was the exact opposite, but the observation remained valid.

  Someone clopped on the door to her quarters. “Enter.”

  One of the messenger servants entered, bowed a little, and handed her a folded message written in beautiful calligraphy. Rada read the note with growing puzzlement, then inquired, “To your knowledge, does Minister the Great Lord Kaeshiri request a reply?”

  The small, yellowish-brown reptile made a gesture of negation with his tail. “No, Lord Mammal. Only if you are unable to attend him.”

  “Very well. Thank you and you may go.”

  Kaeshiri had never invited his associate to a private meeting before. What does he want? I know next to nothing about Theenalae art and not much more about Azdhagi talon painting. That’s Zabet’s job... “Lizard, I’m going to kill you,” the mammal growled very quietly, covering her eyes with her hand. Zabet had been opining about art styles at a reception several moons before, one where the Great Lord had been in attendance. And of course my concubine would never say anything that I had not approved or taught her, or so Azdhag custom maintained. Blessed Bookkeeper, but I’m going to scorch her when she gets back if I have to spend two hours listening to a defense of Azdhag graphic arts. With a loud sigh Rada flopped down into the chair at her worktable and began calling up everything she could on Theenalae painting and ink art. It felt all too much like when she’d been an apprentice Trader and her master had informed his apprentices and journeymen “I need appraisal data on a glass sculpture, hand cut, from Erwali’s Tsaw Dynasty,” and she had spent several hours looking at data and making a report, only to discover that it had been a test.

  “I believe you will find that you greatly underestimate the aesthetic qualities in Azdhag art when compared to those of other species,” the Minister of War informed his colleague, who sat across a low table from him in the reception area of his private quarters. As he spoke, Kaeshiri very carefully unrolled a map printed on cloth.

  No, Rada realized, it was a talon painted work of art that happened to be a map of the southern landmass. She blinked and looked towards the old reptile. “This is a work of utter beauty. So spare, yet so striking,” and she gestured with her hand, mimicking one of the Azdhag praise gestures.

  “It is indeed,” he grunted in agreement. “My sire’s sire’s brother was an artist of great note, although he preferred a military career. It was a time when the visual arts were out of favor with the nobility, I regret to say, or he might have done more and we might have preserved more of his works.”

  “One regrets most what one sees over the shoulder,” the Wanderer quoted, studying the depiction. It dated from the fifth year of Shi-Dan’s reign, just after he had quietly allowed two nobles to return to their family holdings in the south. She only knew that because he’d mentioned it to her many years later while discussing a different matter. The artist-as-cartographer had delineated both the new and the old holdings with their lords’ House symbols, over-scored to show that they were cadet or minor branches of the main noble lineage. The two settlements clung to rivers on the western margin of the continent. The coastline had several good ports, or so they looked on the map. The far southern coast narrowed before spreading out again, as if someone had jammed a hill-covered plate onto the bottom of the landmass. A narrow channel of the polar ocean separated the end of the southern continent from a large peninsula on the southern ice cap. Rather ferocious mountains covered the eastern quarter of the continent. The range slumped into a deep, broad, valley-like lowland before rising again in a set of low hills that divided the eastern coast from the valley. Rada knew the central plateau from the limited chart she had access to, but this depiction showed a sere and desolate highland, part of which was marked “Deathlands.” A river curved east and then south along the rim of that forbidding upland before it meandered into the sea off the western coast, well south of the “new” settlements. “Does this piece have a title?” she inquired after studying the piece while Kaeshiri thought his own thoughts.

  “My sire’s sire called it ‘Arrogance,’ but his brother referred to it as ‘Long Memories.’ He tended towards the poetic,” the reptile snorted.

  Rada had met a few true warrior poets in her long years and she raised an eyebrow, saying only, “This is a priceless artwork and an honor to the lineage that produced such a craftsman.” It was true: the map was beautiful as good maps often were.

  Kaeshiri gently re-rolled the heavy fabric and secured it closed before placing the map in an elaborately carved and inlaid box. “You see why I disagree with your assessment of the Theenalae ink-work.”

  “Yes, my lord, and having seen this treasure, I concede that you are correct and I was in error in my appraisal of their merits compared to Azdhag talon work.” She bowed at the waist from where she sat opposite the old noble.

  “Good! I did not wish to have to challenge you in the salle to prove my point. Mammal blood is most difficult to get out of Court robes,” and he flicked a talon towards his pale green- and cream-colored lounging garment.

  “True. The red would clash, even after it faded,” she replied without a trace of emotion. His tail-tip quivered with suppressed laughter and she bowed her head again, smiling very slightly.

  A servant almost as old as Lord Kaeshiri brought hot tea and small, savory pastries for the two nobles. Rada waited until Kaeshiri had been served before helping herself to a small cup of tea and two of the luscious-looking bites. The smooth, lightly fruited beverage complimented the prickly flavor of the potted meat.

  After more talk of commonplaces and court gossip, Kaeshiri dismissed his semi-subordinate. “A trail word, Ni Drako,” he advised as she began to t
ake her leave. “Do not accept a challenge from his Imperial Majesty until his footing is firm and his talons are secure on his blade.” A strange warning, but after almost a century living among the Azdhagi, Rada understood the old reptile’s meaning. She bowed her head and swept her strong-side forefoot and tail in agreement. At the Minister of War’s gesture of acknowledgment the mammal bowed again and left him to his other duties.

  On her way back to her office in the Defenders section of the Palace-Capitol, Rada detoured by Lord Blee’s chambers. “My lord Blee is out at this time,” one of his senior servants informed the mammal.

  She presented the male with the carefully re-wrapped manuscript. “Then please give him this with my gratitude. The value appraisals for the manuscript and the textiles in question are inside the protective cover.” That was Zabet’s idea, in case someone pried into why Blee wanted to loan Ni Drako an old book. The tan servant accepted the parcel, repeated her message verbatim, and wasted no time shutting the door as soon as she began turning away. At least he didn’t cover his nostrils, Rada grinned to herself, rolling her eyes.

  Because of the Azdhagi top-down command and control philosophy, the Lord Defender possessed copies of every type of military software used by each subdivision of the Defenders. Normally this caused nothing but headaches because of how much memory the programs sopped up in Rada’s official computer. This one time it proved useful and Rada grinned a little as she called up the cartography display and mapping program. Designed to be used by soldiers in a hurry, the program required no security codes for access. Instead, the user simply began drawing any additions or specific features that he needed and from that data the system (in theory) determined the level of access allowed. This assumed, of course, that no one had any information that they were not supposed to have. Rada had been surprised to discover that with the Azdhagi, this was generally the case. Not so with their mammalian mercenary commanding officer, however.

  As a result, when she ran the stylus that served as her writing talon over the virtual touch pad, more and more data appeared on the southern continent. Rada drew in the unnamed river and details about the valley came into view. She delineated the two holdings and a third and fourth emerged, one of them a mining town in the eastern mountains that also guarded a major pass through the range. What she’d gleaned from Blee’s manuscript and from Kaeshiri’s “artwork” was enough to unlock the full dataset in the files. If the Lord Defender knew that much about the terrain and settlements, obviously “he” had permission and clearances enough to see everything else. Or so the network and programs believed. Rada saved the resulting maps to two separate back-up devices, just in case. She also noticed that more information had appeared on the northern landmass and in the Numberless Islands as well, including a Defender post that she’d not been aware of.

  After she finished and cleared her electronic back trail, the Wanderer swished her tail with satisfaction. I win this round, she gloated briefly, then forced herself to settle down.

  “That is a dangerous attitude,” she could dimly hear Captain Radko Maladi’k twittering in her memory. “Never act like, or even think that, you’ve stolen a march on your employer, even when you have,” the Komets’ intelligence officer had cautioned her and the other officer candidates.

  Why not? Half the nobles go around acting as if they know something no one else does, the mammal snorted to herself. Because if you do it, it will just make someone curious and make the King-Emperor suspicious, the part of her that valued her life pointed out.

  Rada snorted again as she stripped off her jacket and double-checked her weapons in preparation for supervising the afternoon’s last edged-weapons practice. She preferred combat to administration—see enemy, fight enemy, defeat enemy, repeat as needed. None of this maneuvering, politicking, and other time-wasting foolishness she currently had to deal with.

  Eight mornings later, a palace messenger clopped on the door to Rada’s quarters. The small reptile was breathless from running and the Lord Defender assumed the worst. “Lord Mammal, Minister Great Lord Kaeshiri is dead,” he informed her.

  “Kaeshiri is dead,” she repeated. “Has his Imperial Majesty named a successor?”

  “Not that I’ve been given. Your pardon, my lord,” and the grey-robed servant hurried off to notify everyone else on his list.

  Rest well, you sneaky old lizard, Rada thought towards wherever his spirit had gone. You more than earned it.

  2: Weavers of Dreams

  The Dreamweavers’ Planet – circa 3660AD

  Zabet’s very firm tail tip prodded Rada out of blissful slumbers. Her boss all but yelled into the mammal’s head, «Wake up! We have a commission call you lazy hairball. Come on,» and she poked her pilot again.

  “Mgrmf,” the humanoid managed. “Huh wha?” She blinked at the increasingly impatient True-dragon.

  «Co-mmis-sion. De-li-ver-ry. Pay bills,» Zabet repeated slowly and loudly, enunciating each syllable as she glared down at Rada.

  Rada rolled onto her back and sat up, stretched, and got to her feet, stretched again, and rolled up her pad and blanket. She’d opted to sleep out, taking advantage of the luscious fall weather and the quiet of the Sisterhood’s cloister garden. She yawned, then hoisted her gear onto her shoulder. “Right. I assume you have coordinates for our destination?”

  «The Sister responsible for shipping the tapestries will have it for us in an hour or so. They are being wrapped right now.» The iridescent blue and silver reptile turned and minced across the sandy path that led to the grotto. «There’s food in the guest dining room if you want any.» Zabet, careful to keep her talons out of the black sand, hopped onto the tiles of what Rada called the cloister walk.

  An hour before the weavings would be ready? Rada stared at her “boss,” her ears flattening as she growled in the back of her throat. She could easily have slept another half hour! She stifled half a dozen very, very rude names for her employer, walked across the garden, stuck her hand under the flow of a small fountain and wiped her face with the result. The cold water stung her cheeks and finished waking her up. She followed Zabet towards the guest dining room, detouring to leave her sleeping gear in the appropriate cubby and to relieve herself. Rada also re-pinned her hair and quickly claw-groomed her tail fur, smoothing a few sleep ruffles. Then, and only then, did she stroll into the dark and quiet dining area.

  Because members of different species visited the cloister, each food item bore three labels. One stated the name in Trader, one gave the nature of the item, such as “fruit” or “animal product—egg”, and the third listed general edibility. Rada selected a bread-looking item, along with a brown thing in sauce from the section for carbon-based, carnivorous mammals. What the Sisters ate Rada and Zabet never asked, in case they did not want to know.

  As Rada finished, one of the Sisters approached. Her translator box clicked and a smooth, warm alto voice said, “Come with me, please. Sister Tweeli will speak to you.” The mammal put her dishes in the designated place and followed the meter-long, iridescent green insect through a cloth-draped doorway, down a short passage, and into a fabric-lined room. A small tapestry hung on the wall and Rada knew instantly what it was, or rather what it represented. Identical weavings hung in every room of the cloister except for the guest entrance hall, depicting the deity that the Sisters worshipped and served. Rada heard something rustling and turned, bowing to a slightly larger iridescent black insect.

  Sister Tweeli turned on a table-mounted translator with her left mid-foot. “Please sit,” she invited. Rada found a suitable cushion and sat on it. “You rested well and dreamed,” the beetle-like senior Sister stated.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “We captured your dream; already it has inspired two works.” Another statement, but Rada thought she detected satisfaction in the artificial voice.

  She bowed slightly from the waist. “I am glad that my dreams can be of use to the order.” Rada never noticed the Dreamweaver’s mental presence
, if that was how they “captured” dreams. She just accepted what the insects did without asking about the mechanics. They worshiped a female deity who manifested in dreams and who could be venerated by bringing the visions into physical reality. The Sisters did this by weaving tapestries based on the dreams.

  “Your dream-essences and cores are clear and sharp, even if they are difficult to capture,” Sister Tweeli explained. “Return and dream again, once you finish this delivery for us.” The tone suggested invitation rather than command, and Rada bowed from where she sat. The iridescent black insect turned off the translator and scuttled from the chamber. Rada got up, stepped outside, and found a novice, so new that her scales had barely started changing color, waiting to guide the merchant to the landing area outside the cloister walls.

  Zabet and another novice, this one pushing a cart with four bundles, entered the landing area’s protective shield. Rada and the novice carefully loaded the tapestries into the external cargo pod as Zabet supervised. Then the True-dragon signed for the weavings. The novice hurried away with the cart, obviously unwilling to chance being inside the shield when the timeship departed.

  «Well, what are you waiting for?» Zabet demanded.

  “A destination.” Rada let her partner’s impatience wash over and past her. Zabet had no need to fret; the Dark Hart would bring them back an hour after they departed. It was becoming an old argument between them.