Space Trek (Three Novels, Three Worlds, Three Journeys Book 1)

by Jo Zebedee

  “Oh, that reminds me,” she said, untucking her hands from her underarms and reaching into a trouser pocket. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for a while.”

  She withdrew her hand. Sitting on her palm was an escutcheon. It depicted an arch formed from a pair of intertwined red flowers with thorny stems. “I found it on Merenilo’s body,” she explained. “You know, the Housecarl who tried to kill you. Have you ever seen this before?” Ormuz seemed to know so much she found it frankly unbelievable he could know. Perhaps his mysterious source could help her.

  Ormuz plucked the device from her hand, raised it to eye-level and peered at it, brow furrowed. “Yes,” he admitted at length. “Do you know who murdered the Housecarl?”

  “No. We didn’t even have any suspects.”

  He closed his fist about the escutcheon. “This… I can’t tell you where I saw it or what it means.” He turned about to face out at the palace’s gardens. A gust of wind threw strands of hair across his face and he reached up to brush them away.

  “It’s the coat of arms of the Potruzhian family,” explained Finesz. “They died out over 4,500 years ago. They were also Grey Princes.”

  Ormuz glanced at her sharply. “Grey Princes?” he repeated. “They’re not involved. They don’t even exist any more.”

  She barked a laugh. And shivered again from the cold. “As far as we know. They could have killed Merenilo— Damn Gyome. I joked the Grey Princes were behind it all but he just made some cryptic remark. I didn’t take it seriously.”

  “I wouldn’t do so now,” said Ormuz. “The Grey Princes didn’t kill the Housecarl.”

  “Who did, then?”

  “The knights sinister.” He handed Finesz the escutcheon. “They probably put this in Merenilo’s pocket just to throw you off their trail.”

  “They killed him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Casimir, how do you know this?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  When Lieutenant-Commander Rinharte stepped out of the launch’s hatch onto the apron of the ducal aerodrome, she was surprised to find a reception awaiting her. The shields had been kept in place over the scuttles, so she had not been given an aerial view of the landing-field. Arrayed before her were over a hundred soldiers in dress uniforms: pale blue jackets with pale green facings, and white trousers—the colours of the Duke of Kunta. Wings at right angles at either end of this line comprised troopers in the dark green jackets of dragoons, but with dark blue frogging. Rinharte did not recognise either colour scheme, although those in pale blue and pale green she guessed to be household troops.

  A dozen people stood in a small group before the serried ranks of troopers. A tall woman with short blonde hair seemed familiar. It was a moment before Rinharte identified her as the OPI inspector Ormuz had chosen to leave with on Bato. So the squat troop-sergeant must be hers. To the right of the inspector—what was her name? Finesz, that was it—a richly-dressed man with patrician features glowered forbiddingly. Afveni mar Yalosukinen, the Duke of Kunta. And a step or two behind him, a pair of young men, both as finely-dressed as the duke. One had long black hair drawn into a pair of knotted braids, the other auburn hair drawn back into a neat ponytail. After a brief disconcerting moment, Rinharte recognised the latter: Casimir Ormuz.

  “Dear Lords,” breathed Marine-Captain Kordelasz at her shoulder.

  Rinharte descended the short ladder from the hatch. When her feet touched the ground, she gave the hem of her uniform coat a quick tug and checked that her sword hung correctly. Her welcoming committee watched her.

  Once Kordelasz was at her side, and Boat-Sergeant Alus’s squad behind her, she marched forward to meet her host. Coming to a halt before the duke, she bowed. “Your grace,” she said.

  “Lieutenant-commander,” acknowledged Kunta. “Welcome to Linna.”

  “Quite a welcome,” she replied. “I’m impressed.”

  “We were expecting the, ah, Admiral,” the duke said. “I take it she’s not with you.”

  “No, your grace. She’s still aboard Vengeful.”

  “But she will be joining us?”

  “Perhaps later.”

  Kunta turned and scowled at Ormuz, who looked off into the distance with an expression of put-on innocence.

  “I don’t like being embarrassed, boy,” the duke growled.

  Finesz stepped forward. “I’m sure the lieutenant-commander will inform the Admiral of the welcome awaiting her.” She directed a meaningful glance at Rinharte.

  “Oh, of course,” Rinharte said quickly. “I’m sure she’ll be… impressed— ah, grateful.”

  The duke grunted.

  Rinharte turned to Ormuz. “Casimir, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  He blinked. “You do?”

  “It’s Captain Plessant, she’s… well, I’m very sorry, Casimir, but she died on Kapuluan.”

  He stared at her, blinked once. His features slowly settled to a careful blankness. “Who killed her?” he asked.

  Not, Rinharte noted, “how did she die” but “who killed her”. He knew enough to realise her death had not been accidental. “The Serpent’s assassins,” she said.

  She continued to watch Ormuz. He had been close to his captain but he showed a curious lack of emotion at news of her death.

  “We raided the house where the knights sinister were holding you captive—”

  The OPI inspector laughed in disbelief.

  “—but you had already escaped. We caught half a dozen of them searching the place. Captain Plessant was killed in the fight.”

  “Where was the Involute?” demanded Ormuz harshly. He turned a quick suspicious glance on his companion but the young noble did not see it.

  “Probably searching for you. He turned up afterwards.”

  “Well, well,” said Finesz. She had a bright faintly disbelieving grin on her face.

  Rinharte turned to her. “And I’m afraid I’ve unwelcome news for you as well.”

  The inspector’s grin died. “You have?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Your patron, Baron Kaban, has been arrested,” Rinharte said. “We intercepted a dispatch when we stopped at Yuotos.”

  “Arrested? Who by?” demanded Finesz.

  “Noble Bailiffs sent from Shuto. They caught up with him on Vangita. The knights signet have accused him of interfering with the course of justice. Something to do with Viscount Tadris.”

  Finesz grimaced. “Damn the man. I knew he was up to no good.”

  The duke grunted. “My condolences, but I’d rather not stand around out here if the Admiral’s not going to appear.” He turned to Rinharte and fixed her with an intense look. “You are certain she will come down?”

  “No,” Rinharte replied truthfully.

  Kunta sighed. “I see she hasn’t changed then.” He grimaced. “Never mind.” He barked for a seneschal and gruffly gave orders for the party to prepare for the return to Rusko Palace.

  The Duke of Kunta left his guests in a private withdrawing room in his apartments while he went off to cancel the arrangements for the Admiral’s arrival. Unlike other chambers Rinharte had seen during the walk through the palace, it was simply furnished. The furniture was comfortable and serviceable, and no more than a decade old. There were a handful of paintings hanging on the walls, neither ancient masterpieces nor glowering ancestors but tasteful depictions of modern-day Linna. An expensive entertainments console lurked in one corner, a high-end caster beside it. On a table beneath a window sat a samovar and a tray of thick-cut glasses.

  Rinharte watched Finesz help herself to a hot drink. She didn’t recognise the beverage from the smell but it was certainly fragrant. She debated whether or not to take one for herself—she wasn’t thirsty, but she still felt the chill of outdoors. When she saw Finesz grimace as she sipped from her glass, she decided not to bother.

  “Where are the others?” Finesz asked, placing her barely-touched drink
on the table beside the samovar and walking away from it. “Still on Kapuluan?”

  “What others?” asked Rinharte. Ormuz and his noble companion, she noticed, had settled side by side on a sofa. She wondered at the black-haired young man’s identity. He didn’t much resemble the Duke of Kunta, so he was unlikely to be a Yalosukinen.

  “The knights sinister. From Divine Providence.”

  “Ah. Them.” Rinharte turned her attention back to the OPI officer. She frowned. “No. Aboard Vengeful.” Why had Ormuz not asked after his ex-crewmates?

  “Will they be coming down?”

  “Do they need to?”

  Finesz glanced across at Ormuz. The youth sat up straighter, nodded at Finesz, and then spoke. “If they’re here, I’d like to see them again,” he said.

  “It’s up the Admiral,” said Rinharte. She strolled across to him and, hands clasped behind her back, indicated Ormuz’s companion with a nod. “Are you going to introduce us?”

  “Varä,” said Ormuz brusquely.

  The other young man rose to his feet and performed a quick bow. “Omais mar Puoskari, the Marquess of Varä,” he said. “At your service, my lady.”

  A charmer, she thought, for all his lack of years.

  “My dancing-master,” Ormuz put in acidly.

  “You’re in sore need of one, Casimir,” Varä returned. “You have two left feet.”

  Finesz crossed the room until she stood by Rinharte. “Let me get you a drink,” she said, signalling with a flick of her gaze that wished to speak to Rinharte alone. Once at the refreshments table, her back to the two young men, she made busy filling a glass from the samovar. She said quietly, “Varä joined our little party on Kapuluan. He claims to be seeking adventure. The Involute kidnapped him with Casimir and the pair of them escaped and came to me.”

  Rinharte raised an eyebrow.

  Finesz shrugged. “The two are bosom buddies but Casimir’s no fool. Bear that in mind.”

  “I have a question for you,” Rinharte said to Finesz.

  “Uhm?”

  “The troops in green at the landing-field: who were they?”

  “The Duke of Kunta’s Imperial Winter Rangers.”

  Kordelasz, lounging against the wall nearby, perked up at this. He took a step closer to the two women. “An Imperial regiment? Here?”

  “Lent to Afi by the Regimental Staff,” Finesz explained. “I’m inclined to think it was a bribe, as in: the duke has command of them as long as he doesn’t interfere with whatever the Regimental General Staff might have planned with the Serpent. They’re here as much to protect the Regimental Lords as they are the duke.”

  “Will the duke?” asked Kordelasz. “Interfere, I mean.”

  Finesz made a moue. “He’s wavering. If the Admiral backs Casimir, then yes, he’ll probably back him too.” She fixed Rinharte with a sharp look. “Will the Admiral?”

  “Support Casimir? It’s not my place to say.”

  “But you’re close to her,” Finesz insisted. “You’re her lieutenant. She trusts you.”

  Kordelasz snorted in amusement. Rinharte turned and glared at him. To Finesz, she said, “Both the Admiral and Casimir want the same thing.” She made no mention of the conversation she’d had with the Admiral in the battlecruiser’s chapel. Perhaps the Admiral was indeed worried Ormuz would make her “his princess” and a victory led by him could be tantamount to a defeat. But that was not for Rinharte to decide.

  “The Serpent,” Finesz said, nodding.

  “You said, ‘back’,” Rinharte said. Finesz’s choice of words had just struck her as odd. “What do you mean by that?”

  Surprisingly, the OPI officer grinned. “You’ll have to ask Casimir. I think you have a few surprises in store.”

  Finesz was the first to leave. She muttered excuses and departed. Minutes later, Captain Vartio dropped by to say Boat-Sergeant Alus’s squad had been found accommodation in the inner-wall barracks, and Kordelasz left with him. The sounds of a martial conversation drifted into the room as they strode away, cut off when door swung shut behind them. Varä, clearly uncomfortable, declared he had “things to see to” and removed himself shortly afterwards.

  Alone, Rinharte and Ormuz said nothing. The youth, sitting in a relaxed posture on a sofa, one leg crossed over the other, stared at Rinharte and smiled faintly. She found his gaze disconcerting and returned to the table. Idly poking an empty glass, she wondered at the dynamics of the group she had found here on Linna. Much had clearly changed in the weeks since Bato—and not just Ormuz, who was now the very model of a noble scion. There was the marquess, who was both Ormuz’s confidante and an object of suspicion. There was Finesz, who seemed quite sharp and, Rinharte was somewhat surprised to discover, likeable. And the Duke of Kunta himself, Afveni mar Yalosukinen, who professed to be uninvolved and yet hosted Ormuz and his retinue.

  “How are Lex, Adril and Marla?” asked Ormuz, startling Rinharte.

  She turned from the table. “Well. They’re well.”

  “I didn’t expect you to bring them. I had imagined they would find their own way from Kapuluan.” He grimaced. “But, of course, with Murily dead…”

  “It was a sudden decision,” Rinharte replied. She tried to put into words her reasons for abducting the surviving crew of Divine Providence: “I felt I… owed Captain Plessant—” She broke off, a little embarrassed at her admission.

  “You probably did,” Ormuz said flatly.

  “Yes, I think I did.” There was indeed a debt there: Rinharte had, indirectly, caused Plessant’s death. And she had liked her. It hurt when comrades-in-arms died in battle even if, strictly speaking, the raid on the knights sinister mansion had not been battle. “You blame me for her death,” she accused Ormuz.

  He seemed taken aback. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I do. If she was there with you, it was because she wanted to be. I can’t blame you for putting her in danger, so how can I blame you for her death?” He cocked his head to one side and frowned. “You forget I’ve seen the Serpent’s assassins in action once before.”

  “Ah. Ophavon.”

  He nodded. “It was Marine-Captain— ?”

  “Kordelasz.”

  “Marine-Captain Kordelasz who came to our rescue that time, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was,” Rinharte admitted. “Against orders, I might add.” She gave a rueful laugh. “Not that I regret his disobedience.”

  Ormuz smiled. “Nor I.” He sat back and stretched his arm along the back of the sofa, relaxed for the first time since Rinharte’s arrival. “It is good to see you, you know,” he said.

  She grinned at his remark. “I can’t think why. After destroying your ship and the debacle on Kapuluan, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect here.”

  “But I need you, Rizbeka. I always have done.” He leaned forward earnestly.

  “You do?”

  “I need your ship, I need the Admiral.”

  “That’s not my decision.”

  “But,” pointed out Ormuz, “you brought her here. Would she have come if you had not suggested it?”

  “How do you know that I did suggest it?” she asked, wondering if Ormuz had made a perceptive guess or knew.

  He gestured airily. “We didn’t meet on Kapuluan. Thanks to the knights sinister. What else could you do but follow me here?”

  “You seem,” Rinharte said slowly, “remarkably sure of yourself. You’re not the young man I remember from Ophavon. Why is that?”

  He laughed. “I grew up, Rizbeka.”

  “Did you need to?”

  He was sad for a moment. “Murily said I did.”

  “Then you probably did,” replied Rinharte, matching Ormuz’s forlorn smile.

  He nodded soberly… and she thought how essentially unchanged this serious young man was from the cabin-boy she had first met, and yet how so very different he had become. It was not just the clothes, the new-found air of ability. There wa
s a… confidence, a very real sense of his own place in the scheme of things, which he had not had before. It centred him; it brought him into focus.

  And, for the first time, Rinharte realised that young Casimir Ormuz had a very real role to play in the events which were unfolding.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The Admiral was no stranger to Linna. She had visited the world before, both prior to joining the Navy and as a naval officer. The Yalosukinens had long been supporters of the Imperial Family—one branch even boasted a prince, a past connection to the Imperial Family through marriage.

  Preceded by her major of marines, Mattus demar Skaria, the Admiral exited her launch and marched along a corridor formed by two squads of marines. At its end, an armoured command car bobbed gently on its chargers. A Yalosukinen banner hung down beside the vehicle’s hatch and she halted, puzzled by the need for it. She took one edge of the banner and pulled it aside, drawing back a curtain on what lay painted beneath on the command car’s armour-plate. The crest of— It took a moment’s thought before she recognised the Duke of Kunta’s Imperial Winter Rangers.

  “The duke,” she said to Skaria, “plays a dangerous game.”

  Passing off the equipment of an Imperial regiment as that of his household troops was… foolish, yes; but to make the borrowing so obvious the Admiral was certain to remark on it… Such heavy-handed hints were dangerous politics. The Admiral could read the message there and she was disappointed in the duke.

  She glanced along the line of floating vehicles on the aerodrome’s apron: troop carriers, a second command car. But only this vehicle, the Admiral’s transport, appeared to be borrowed.

  Scowling, she clambered into the vehicle, found her seat and buckled into it. Major Skaria joined her, followed by a hand-picked double-strength boat-squad of marines—the most presentable of Vengeful’s detachment but fierce fighters nonetheless. The hatch swung shut with an ominous “thunk” as the last marine racked her boarding axe, settled into her seat, strapped herself in, and removed her pill-box helmet and set it in her lap. The whine of the engine echoed loudly around the confined interior. The Admiral fumbled on headphones as, with a jerk, the vehicle started into motion.