Teramar: The Gathering Night

by Thomas Michael Murray

  Fresh from the lawless world on the other side of the shield, three farmwomen and a little girl respectfully waited for the prince and princess. Claudia recognized these women. They were indeed the king’s people. Smoothly, the princess walked before them. The supplicants tried to kneel but Claudia pulled them up. In a show of empathy, she herself kneeled before the girl who was frail.

  “Is this your mum,” the princess asked indicating with her head?

  The girl had smudges on her face. She nodded slowly. Her hair ran in a messy braid down the back.

  “Can you tell me what you saw at the farm?”

  With a trembling lip, the girl answered bravely, “When the wire went through the town, my father came out to the fields to fetch us. We were planning to leave for Carpinia with the rest of the workers. Out of nowhere, soldiers rushed the compound. There was a tall man in a black uniform. He was from the family. The man knew my father.” She bit back tears that began to well up.

  Titus and his commanders hadn’t yet received official confirmation that Charles North was personally leading the invasion although there were solid rumors. “Was that him,” Titus thought? “For what could Charles be looking at the king’s vineyard?”

  Claudia said gently, “And what happened next?”

  “He separated the men from the rest of us and called my father to him. He asked if any of us knew the whereabouts of Prince Hadrian.” Tears started to roll down the girl’s face. “He wanted to know if a hover had landed recently.”

  Titus leaned forward and whispered to his wife, “The prince favored the estate. It is possible they had a false lead.” Claudia nodded to her husband and returned to the child.

  “Your father said he hadn’t seen the prince or a hover?”

  The little girl nodded and then burst into tears. Choking out the words, she finished the story, “The officer in black ordered our men against the wall and the razor wire cut them. All of them.” Claudia put arms around the girl who started to sob. Another woman began to cry.

  Speaking to the surviving adults, Claudia said, “Are you all that’s left of the town?” At this point, the girl was loudly wailing into Claudia’s dress. The princess had to raise her voice.

  One of the women, the tallest, answered in a brave note, “Yes, my lady. We’ve been on the run for many weeks. Hiding. We heard that Carpinia remained a refuge.” The woman bit her lip as involuntary tears welled. “The killed all of our men… and the boys too.” A lone tear also ran down Claudia’s face.

  Titus heard enough. “All of this for what?”

  Bleecker Street, NYC

  The prince had studied the map and thought he could get there by memory and without Jessica’s assistance. Unfortunately for the young cartologist, Greenwich Village was a confusing maze where most streets bore the names of people, not numbers. He didn’t want to admit to his machine that he was terribly lost.

  By American standards, New York is an old town. Founded in the early sixteen hundreds, the Dutch originally called the lower part of the island, New Amsterdam. During the revolutionary war, the British torched Battery Park and their army marched over Queens. Due to the city’s long and storied history, lower Manhattan evolved into a complex warren of streets and old buildings; many of them still bearing Dutch names. The southern part of the island was therefore a confusing contrast to Manhattan’s orderly, skyscraper grid where the prince lived.

  That evening, Hadrian made plans with his lovely Angela Munoza. Hurried at work, she said in a rush, “There’s this place called Raul's on Prince. Six o’clock ok?” He barely had time to reply when she abruptly hung up. “The earth girl must have judged that she had provided sufficient information.” And now, the prince had lost his way. Clinging to hard-won independence, Hadrian refused to check with Jessica. “She does everything but wipe my ass.” Moreover, he enjoyed being lost in this part of town. The neighborhood reminded him of New York from the Hollywood movies. As the day had turned warm, winter weary New Yorkers shed their great coats, making everyone appear small.

  Ahead, Hadrian saw a gaggle of very tall women approaching in brightly colored dresses. “Women basketball players?” He knew there was a women’s league, another earth novelty. The approaching group crowded out the sidewalk. The girls had to slow their pace and make room for the prince. Hadrian moved to the right but he still snuck a good look at the giantesses. The first wore flashing earrings, sunglasses and had shiny red hair.

  “Hey there boy,” it said.

  “Sssup teacup,” another brashly smiled.

  “Those weren’t girls.” Blood flushed his face. As they clicked and clattered past, Hadrian pressed against the building to avoid even the touch of their heavy fragrance.

  The prince knew of these “gays.” They were all over the media and out in the open in this city. The prince hadn’t had a chance to process this particular earth eccentricity. Teramar had a small eunuch class that ran much of the monarchy’s administration. These half-men sadly came from the son’s of the conquered; slaves who had to forever serve the occupant of the living throne. The prince therefore knew of nothing Teramarian that was comparable to the New York gays. Yes, close relationships between young men certainly existed on Teramar. They were earned out on cold nights and bloody training sessions. The prince also knew that any Teramarian male who regularly ventured past his society’s clear line was quietly put down just like a lame animal or deformed child. Every few years, the prince invariably saw one or two of the boys removed from his school due to charges of unnatural intimacy. Deep down, the prince thought his people were close-minded and cruel. He approved of how New Yorkers all seemed to get along.

  Jessica watched her charge bumble around the neighborhood. There was a limit to her patience. She abhorred inefficiency. Just as Hadrian was about to turn down another wrong street, the computer intervened whispering, “The next one ahead is Prince.”

  Raul’s is a classic bohemian, French restaurant - crowded, easy, dark but dingy. Angela leaned against the bar with a small troop of people skating round the floor. Hadrian ploughed over. His big frame cut through the crowd like a ship in choppy water.

  “Baby, you look down,” she asked?

  “Angela, I’m fine. This place looks great.” Although his English was improving, acceptable social conversation still took some thought.

  Smoothly fitted in tweed slacks and a starched white shirt, Angela looked like an Arabian princess on a polo outing. Fresh from her work, she said in a bright voice, “I hope you’ll like this place. The steaks are fantastic. The service is also very good so we should have no problem making tip-off.” Her smile then turned to knitted eyebrows, “You’re not going to have problems getting into the garden due to the thing with Ben Smith?”

  “No,” Hadrian said curtly. Before he could say another word, the maître d’ waived the couple over and guided them to their table in the main dinning room. As they settled into the booth, Hadrian quietly glanced at his date. She was truly so beautiful. Without asking for permission, she orchestrated vodka drinks for both of them.

  “Tell me what happened in there? The locker-room I mean?”

  Eager to finally discuss this with someone, Hadrian carefully recounted the story. Angela listened and asked respectful questions. In the end, she was truly astonished that Shayne Wright appeared at the police station. The media hadn’t reported any of that.

  After ordering a bottle of wine, the meal quickly progressed. Angela was a well-versed sports fan and a good conversationalist. “I have two brothers who are fanatics,” she added. As their discussion bounced around, the prince had to tiptoe past certain subjects. He was getting adept at steering people away from his own background. Angela displayed no suspicions whatsoever. Winding down the meal, they decided to split a dessert. Hadrian then paid the bill.

  Their tickets came with drop off passes but the driver couldn’t get close to the stadium due to the traffic. The young couple opted to walk. Pushing through the crowd, they eve
ntually made it to their seats near the New York bench. Angela sat next to a movie director who was a frequent fixture at the games.

  The prince surveyed the scene and immediately spied Ben Smith practicing free-throw shots right in front. Ben also noticed the prince. Hadrian saw recognition creep across the big man’s face. To his surprise, Ben lumbered over in his giant’s gate. “Hi Hadrian. Can I call you Hadrian? Everyone in New York knows your name now.” The big man chuckled at their shared joke. Meanwhile, the prince felt the entire stadium focusing on the two of them. Ben Smith was certainly hard to miss. He hoped Jessica found a way to distract the audience. Sure enough, the jumbo-tron presented close ups of stretching cheerleaders. The prince smiled.

  Ben added, “Sorry about the other night. No hard feelings?”

  “Ben, please I attack you. Lucky no charges. Thank you for that.”

  The television announcers did notice the exchange. “There is that Hadrian Capet at courtside. John, what the hell kind of name is Hadrian?”

  “Yes, it is certainly an interesting name. For those who are not familiar, Mr. Capet was involved in a physical altercation in the locker-room where he was arrested and forcibly removed from the building. You can see Ben Smith over there speaking with the young man. What a distraction!”

  The garden was ablaze with lights and seventies music. The players continued to warm-up with passing routines and easy lay-ups. The trainers were also on court stretching the long legs and backs. Shayne observed Ben speaking with Hadrian and his pretty date. He moved in their direction.

  The prince spoke first, “Hi Shayne. This is my friend, Angela Munoza.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said with easy confidence.

  Shayne smiled and nodded his head in a greeting. As he gazed down on the handsome couple, he privately thought, “I bet those too look great in bed.” Shayne pushed the rowdy thought away.

  One of the assistant coaches waved his two stars back over. Ben moved off. In a rush, Shayne quickly said, “Since there’s no practice tomorrow, I can go out and play tonight. Do you guys want to see some live music afterwards?”

  Hadrian saw friendship reaching out. He shouted over the swell of sound, “That would be great. If not too tired.”

  Hurried and looking over at the New York bench, Shayne added, “I gotta go. Speak with the usher after the game. I’ll shower quickly.”

  The game was a good one. Shayne scored twelve points, which was low for him, but he also delivered eight assists. After the final buzzer, an usher presented herself and led the couple through the bowels of the stadium depositing them at the loading dock. An impressive line up of expensive cars and SUVs quietly waited with their valets. Angela’s cool veneer had worn away due to the beer and she was quietly jumping around like a small dog. “I cannot believe we are going out on the town with Shayne Wright.”

  Hadrian tried to ignore her. This worship of celebrities seemed to be one of the weaker traits in these people. Two players strode out and hopped into their cars. The space echoed like a cave when the engines roared. Then, Shayne appeared, tall and handsome for an evening out. “There you are. I thought they’d bring you inside. Sorry you had to wait out here in the fumes.”

  The prince smiled and said, “Don’t worry about it. Better to keep a low profile and avoid the locker room.”

  Angela pushed in front. “Nice game, Shayne. New York hasn’t had a winning year since you came along.”

  He smiled politely, “Tonight wasn’t my best. If everyone can stay healthy, we might have a shot. This season is really a team effort.” The star honestly believed what he preached to everyone. Ben Smith had pounded it into him.

  Shayne’s six-figure automobile finally glided into place. The machine was a four door. The basketball star shouted as he got into the driver’s side, “Hadrian, you sit up front.”

  Midtown’s horizon quickly shrank to store fronts and red buildings. They pulled up to the Village Gate at Thompson and Bleecker. Shayne left his car with the attendant who couldn’t possibly reach the automobile’s gas and break pedals. The young valet had to sit on the edge of the seat to even grip the wheel. “Be careful with her,” Shayne hopelessly shouted at the closed door.

  The Village Gate’s cashier waived them into the music room. An open table with a reserved card beckoned them. Shayne self-consciously looked around the room to make sure he wasn’t blocking anyone’s view. They hadn’t even ordered drinks when a man in a business suit approached the table and asked for an autograph. A flash went off.

  All three of them ordered the same lemon-zest beverage. Angela was glad Hadrian took a real cocktail. As soon as the drinks arrived, the legendary blues singer, Nashy Slim, appeared and assembled himself behind the microphones. With a wink and a glance, Nashy acknowledged the tall black man at the front table. Another musician appeared holding a worn acoustic guitar and he too saddled up to the sound system. Without any fanfare, the two quickly tested their vocals and struck up the first song. Like old trees, their arms began to sway generating a rich brown river of music. Hadrian was immediately caught by the undulating flow of the slow melody with important words.

  On Teramar, Hadrian earned a small reputation as an accomplished musician. Music was taught to every warrior. The academy even hosted competitions for musical excellence. To his mother’s chagrin, the prince took second place in last year’s event. After he presented the award to her, she said dismissively, “A music award, Hadrian?”

  Regardless of his mother’s small opinions, music had always fascinated the prince. Tonight was the first opportunity to witness an earth performance outside the torch singer at the hotel. Immediately, the swinging chords grabbed at him as the tune pushed the audience down a silty waterway. When the last verse floated by, the song ended in a quiet little swamp about unrequited love. The final note hung like wet Mississippi mist.

  Nashy Slim didn’t move, allowing the music to evaporate over the stage. His brown skin looked like petrified wood. Nobody in the room dared to move. Quite suddenly, the hard face cracked into a galaxy of wrinkles and a re-made Hollywood smile. A generous audience showered applause on the performers. Riding the wave, Nashy said, “I’d like to give a shout out to my good friend Shayne Wright who buys all my music and pushes it on his friends. I think you won tonight’s game?”

  Shayne nodded his head to confirm that they had indeed won, but then he shook it from side to side saying, “Don’t call me out.” Ignoring the request, the older man gestured to the table of young people and smiled warmly through his old fashioned face. “Let me dedicate this next one to Shayne and his young friends.” His guitar then launched into a hip-bending growl. The small crowd quickly fell into a great mood with encouragement from the musicians. Laughing and with the fanfare of a host, Shayne ordered a round for everyone in the club. Hadrian followed suit. And then, they both did it again. The patrons reciprocated by sending drinks back to their table. While the prince was still working on his last cocktail, another icy vodka appeared. Inexperienced with alcohol, the prince felt dizzy.

  “Where can I get one of those things,” he slurred?

  “What?”

  “Instrument with round hole.”

  “You mean the guitar,” Angela asked with a look of you didn’t really ask that?

  Hadrian replied, “Yesss, Angie. That’s what you call it – hic, a guitar.” He didn’t mind her sarcasm. The prince knew he was showing his ignorance. The alcohol made him careless.

  Worried, Jessica hissed, “My lord, please control yourself. Everyone your age knows what a ‘guitar’ is.”

  Shayne saw his new friend twitch to the earpiece. He noted the quiet muttering. “Why would someone wear an earpiece at a music club?”

  Annoyed, Shayne complained, “Dude, take that fucking thing out of your ear. Whoever you’re talking to is not important right now. You need to learn how to disconnect.”

  “It’s his mother,” added Angela, indicating she noticed as well.

  Th
e prince ignored them, “In my country, we have a similar, a more traditional instrument they teach us.”

  “And what country is that? I thought you were from Norway?”

  “Yes. Norway,” the prince quickly confirmed. “We have something similar but tuned differently.” The prince waived at the waitress to order another round for the club. Angela saw the credit card go down.

  “Whoaaaa, Hadrian. Maybe drink some water,” advised the basketball star, who wore an amused expression? The prince was flirting with everyone and everything. For Shayne, there was something endearing about this little sideshow. But Hadrian wasn’t so forgone that he could not see the wisdom in the advice. He didn’t want to appear the fool.

  Water and coffee had a calming effect and the trio unconsciously returned to the performance. Nashy Slim’s grand finale prodded them into a slow and easy groove. Knees touched but no one seemed to notice. Each had fallen to private thoughts. When the show finally ended and stifled yawns emerged on all the young faces, Shayne chauffeured them to the prince’s hotel. Under the elegant canopy, the athlete leaned over and said, “I’m also off tomorrow - or I guess it’s really today… Well, we might work out at my gym? I mean after a good night’s sleep. I figure my gym’s got to be better than the hotel’s.” Eyes met.

  A sociable prince replied, “Yes. No training for me in two days. I need. Please call me. I forget. I drunk.”

  “Sounds good. If you can teach me some of that judo shit, I’ll show you some moves around the court. No one will bother us there.” Then to Angela, he said, “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime… And Angie, make sure he takes an aspirin before bed!”