The Reluctant Empress

by Teresa Howard

  After turning down a street of shops, she began her transformation. I must not appear to be a poor boy or merchants will question the credits he carries. He cannot be wealthy or noble born or they will question his lack of servants. She purchased clothes suitable for the son of a middle-class merchant. She would call herself Naro. Her imagination took over, and after a day of wandering the streets buying supplies she felt ready to don her disguise.

  The boy’s attire fit loosely and would hide her pregnancy as the baby grew for a while. Shaving the sides of her head and plating the rest of her hair in a long braid finished the transformation. Naro could travel alone without comment. He could sleep in a hostel and eat at any inn in the city. Heading along the busy street, she sought a hostel to spend the night. She was eager to have a good meal and sleep in a bed.

  She walked awkwardly down the street, trying to imitate a boy’s long strides. The clothes were comfortable, and she was getting used to the shoes. The hair was another matter. Every day or two she would need to shave the sides to maintain the style, and the intricate braid wasn’t easy.

  The proprietor of the modest inn smiled as she entered his establishment. “Good day, young master. How may I help you?”

  Ninallia let her hand touch the pouch holding her credits. “I am traveling to my uncle’s home in the northern mountains.”

  “A long journey, young master. How may I assist?”

  Ninallia was thrilled the innkeeper was fooled by her disguise. “This is my first time in the Imperial City, and I plan to spend a few weeks here before I continue my journey. I must arrive before full winter.”

  “We have the perfect room for you,” the innkeeper assured her. “Will you want meals as well?”

  She responded with a polite nod. “Breakfast and dinner.” She followed the innkeeper up the stairs to a small guestroom.

  Seven

  The bells ceased clanging, and a wary silence engulfed the Temple City. News of the death of the emperor and empress frightened people, even in Uban which lay far from the Imperial City and outside the Empire. My Lady summoned Tegani to personal attendance. Instead of performing her duties as instructress of acolytes, she sat in My Lady’s room waiting. She concentrated on a meditation crystal as a heated debate raged between My Lady and Arturon. He paced, his long braids swinging their onyx beads angrily. My Lady stood, her gray braids touching the floor. Her pale eyes remained calm.

  “And what makes you think they won’t attack the Temple City?” Arturon demanded.

  “They aren’t stupid enough to violate the Writ of Neutrality and go to war with the Seven Kingdoms,” My Lady reasoned.

  Tegani listened in silence as the two argued back and forth. Arturon was more upset than she had ever seen him.

  My Lady raised her hand. “Enough! Once we have the girl in the Temple City there is nothing Lord Hanoree can do.”

  “So, who is this girl? Where can I find her?” Arturon asked.

  “Not you, Brother, it is Tegani’s time.”

  “But, My Lady, I have never been outside the Temple City. How will I know what to do?” Tegani dropped her pretense of meditation. A simple mission where she could see something of the world was one thing; this was much more dangerous.

  “You are more capable than you know.” She stepped toward Tegani and embraced her. With surprising speed, My Lady took a pair of sheers from her pocket and cut the bottom half of Tegani’s braids. Tiny beads woven into each braid spilled across the floor. “The Royal Nephew must never know the Temple Order is involved. What you must do has to be done in secret. Many Sisters and Brothers stand ready to assist you when they can.”

  Tegani fell to the floor and covered her face. Cutting off the braids happened when a Sister disgraced themselves. They were dismissed from the Order and cast from the Temple City. It was a thing of shame.

  Arturon lifted the sobbing Tegani to her feet. His expression spoke louder than his words. “My Lady, I cannot stand in agreement with what you are doing.”

  “Then don’t stand against me, Brother. I love this Sister like my own daughter. If there was another way, I would choose it.”

  They let Tegani cry out her pain, giving her a glass of wine when the worst of the tears were shed. There were many questions churning inside her. She didn’t know where to begin. The time for her mission outside the Temple City arrived and came with a terrible price. She would appear to be stripped of her position as a Sister and dishonored. Few would know the truth. My Lady pressed a single page of instructions into her hand.

  Tegani covered her head to hide her shame as she hurried to prepare for the journey. In her room, she removed the remaining beads from her hair, adding them to those retrieved from My Lady’s floor. Before she could focus on what she must do, Tegani painstakingly counted the beads. She sighed. They were all there. She placed them in a jar and sealed the top. Loosening a brick on the side of her fireplace, she placed the jar in a small hole where she kept her few valuables. She replaced the brick and used paint, salt, and flour to make mortar and filled in around the brick to conceal the spot. It wouldn’t last for years, but if she wasn’t back in a few months she was dead anyway, so it wouldn’t matter. She scrubbed her face clean of ornamental makeup and trimmed her hair before twisting it into a common knot.

  Sixteen hours left her no time to grieve and barely enough time to study what was written about the mysterious woman who carried the royal heir. My Lady’s note did not even tell the woman’s name or age. She was to contact Madama Ector, a mother of dumas in one of the Imperial City’s wealthier neighborhoods. This Madama would be able to provide information and perhaps help.

  Eight

  Houston mentally controlled his prosthetics—increasing his speed on the treadmill. He ignored Healer Bannoff’s warning that he needed at least three or four more months to acclimate his new heart and limbs. Houston was eager to escape this sanatorium and leave this remote world. Though recovered sufficiently to be allowed small amounts of alcohol, he could not drink enough to escape the memories of his last mission. Sweat trickled down his face and neck as he pushed himself.

  A buzz sounded, and the door to the clinic’s gym slid open. A voice Houston never expected to hear again greeted him. “Not bad for an old man. Are you ready to escape this place?”

  The greeting caused a jolt of surprise, and the new heart skipped a couple of beats. Houston gasped and grabbed the hand rest for support. The treadmill stopped, shifting his weight even further onto the rail. He struggled upright. “General, I’m glad to see you, sir.”

  Healer Bannoff rushed past General Evans and took Houston’s arm to steady him. “You see, General, I told you the colonel is not ready. It will be months before the heart is functional without monitoring. Your plan is impossible.”

  Houston pushed away the healer. “I’m okay, Banny. The shock of seeing the old man here crossed a few wires. Why don’t you leave us alone for a bit?”

  Healer Bannoff, who despised being called Banny, huffed disapprovingly as he left the gym.

  “Can we talk here?” General Evans asked. He patted his pocket where he kept cigars and shrugged apologetically. They were confiscated upon arrival at the clinic. The healer insisted even the smoke from “safe” synthetic tobacco would have a negative effect on Houston’s new heart-lung capacitor.

  There were mirrors in the clinic. Houston knew he didn’t look like the same man. He was thin and pale. Hell, he looked like death warmed over. Standing straight, he tried to walk with his old gait. The general wouldn’t travel this far for a social visit. There was a mission. Something important must have happened. Damn the news blackout in this place.

  General Evans began as soon as the doors to Houston’s room closed. “You heard the bells a few days ago?”

  “Yes, caused quite a disturbance. I asked what the excitement was, and they told me there was a death in the royal family. There isn’t much direct communication here. No current news or entertainment to disturb the heal
ing process.”

  The general continued, “This facility isn’t in the Empire. The murder of the emperor and empress has caused an uproar all over Bengar.”

  Houston whistled sharp and low. The assassination of the emperor was reason enough for the League of Seeded World’s concern and action. The general must have a mission in mind, but Houston wasn’t sure what he could do without his team for backup. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he could go grocery shopping without help. “Got a smoke?”

  “Not anymore,” the general groused. “I wouldn’t give one to you if I could. You look like hell. What have you lost, fifty pounds?”

  “Thirty-five, and I was fat before. All I need is sunshine and fresh air.”

  The general patted his pocket and sighed again. His voice grew low and serious as he said, “We’ve come into some valuable information, and the League wants you to act on it. Earlier this year the empress hired a high-class dumas to provide an heir. According to our sources, the dumas has reported she is pregnant.”

  “Poor girl,” Houston said. “She won’t last long.”

  “Right, League Command wants us to get the woman and the heir off Bengar. Nowhere here is safe. If you are up to it, you are to locate her and get her to the Kingdom of Romar and from there off planet. After things settle here, the League will announce the heir is in their custody and negotiate terms.”

  Houston laughed. “On a strange planet with over sixty million people, you want me to find one pregnant woman and take her to the League.”

  “Right, I knew you would understand.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to go?”

  “That would be a very big mistake. We’re pretty sure the Royal Nephew is behind the murders. If the palace has the same information we have, she’s as good as dead if you don’t find her first.”

  “You’re talking about a complicated rescue. I take it you haven’t assembled my team?”

  The general looked down at the floor.

  “I thought not. In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t pass as a native. I’m too tall, and my coloring is wrong.”

  The general shook his head. “No, your team is not here,” he said, then answered Houston’s concerns in order. “You’ll be on your own. The Imperial City is very multicultural, and with a few minor alterations you can pass for one of the natives of the Southern Kingdom. They run tall and muscular. Years of living off the sea, I suspect. Healer Bannoff has agreed to let us use his facility to handle the skin and hair adjustment. The effects won’t be permanent. They have state of the art eye tinting here. No one will be able to tell you don’t have silver eyes.”

  Houston flinched. He specialized in disguise work. No matter how many times he used them, he was never comfortable with wearing contacts. He hated having anything done to his eyes.

  The general coughed and avoided looking directly at Houston. “If you are not up to this, I’ll understand. It is short notice.”

  Houston didn’t know what to say. It was short notice, and he was weak, but there was no one else. “I’ll do it. I’ll be ready tomorrow or as soon as the healer can get the work done.”

  The general clasped Houston’s hand and pumped his arm hard. At Houston’s gasp, the general loosened his grip and mumbled an apology.

  Nine

  Trying to contain his excitement, Hanoree paced the length of the royal throne room. All his plans were working. The assassin’s work was done, his own death accomplished, and his body disposed of.

  “There is nothing to lead this back to me,” he said aloud to the empty room.

  He longed to wear the Imperial Crown. His imagination spun fantasies where he led the Empire through a time of terrible grief before humbly assuming his rightful place as emperor. To make these dreams a reality, he planned to leak information tying the deaths of the emperor and empress to the Temple Order. He would launch a crusade to lead the Empire to victory over its enemies.

  A soft chime announced a visitor to the royal chamber. Hanoree rose from the throne and drew his face into a somber expression. “Enter.” He relaxed when his most trusted aide, Lord Varick, entered.

  With uncustomary curtness, Varick dismissed the servants who followed him into the royal chamber. When they were alone he handed Hanoree a small slip of paper.

  He opened it and frowned at the single name written there: Madama Ector. “What is this? Who is Madama Ector?” He hated it when Varick played these guessing games.

  “Madama Ector is an expensive mistress of dumas, my lord.” Varick paused. “My sources report the empress employed her services. There is or will be an heir.”

  Hanoree inhaled sharply. It tested his will not to fall to the floor screaming. After the first flush of shock, rage began to fill him. Nothing would stand between him and the throne. “Does anyone else know?”

  “No, my lord, the Empress Cynthy was very discrete. I have Madama Ector’s name, but not the name of the dumas.”

  “Bring me this Madama Ector and secure all the women in her care. I will have this woman and her child.” Hanoree slammed his fist onto the table. “Go!”

  He knew Varick was loyal, but the tiny smile on his lips told Hanoree the man enjoyed his small moments of power too much. It would be easy to deal with him once he located this Madama Ector and her women.

  Hanoree tried to maintain his composure as he prepared to greet the Nobles who formed the council that would decide if he was worthy of the throne. The Council of Nobles never ruled against the hereditary succession, but he did not want to risk offending them. It would be disastrous for any of the Nobles to learn of his interest in Madama Ector.

  ~ * ~

  Six hired men, dressed in uniform, filed up the steps of Madama Ector’s fine house. Lord Varick was leading them, although no one would have recognized him in the robes of a Priest of Elden. He knocked on the door, and when the housekeeper opened it he could tell something was amiss. The woman was almost hysterical, her eyes were red from weeping.

  “You’ve come,” she said between sobs. “She’s in there.”

  The place was too quiet. Varick followed the housekeeper to the door of what appeared to the Mistress’s receiving room. Madama Ector’s body lay on the floor, a note clutched in her hand. Remains of a large fire smoldered in the fireplace. He rolled the body over, and her sightless eyes stared up at him. He smelled the odor of poison. Lord Hanoree would be furious with him.

  Varick glared at the housekeeper and demanded, “Where are the women?”

  The housekeeper scrubbed her face with her hands. “Gone. Madama sent them away two days ago. Dismissed the servants too, except me and the cook. I knew she was upset but none of us expected this.” She burst into a torrent of sobs.

  He motioned toward his men, and they hurried through the house, searching for anything to identify the women who lived there. The rooms were empty; even the beds were stripped for washing.

  “Where are the women?” roared Varick.

  “Gone, Master. Madama paid them and sent them home. Told them to have their children and live in peace.”

  “Where are the records?” He glanced at the smoldering ashes in the fireplace with a sickening realization of failure.

  Hanoree would have his head for this. The drawers of the desk were open and contained nothing. The housekeeper was being held by one of the men.

  Varick raised a hand and slapped her across the face. “How many women were staying here? I need names.”

  “Names, yes sir, I can give you names. There were twenty girls, and a lively bunch they were.” She described the girls.

  “Last names too. There must be thousands of women called Renalla in the Empire.”

  “Oh Master, Madama Ector was very strict about names. The women were known only by their first names, and none spoke about where they were from. Our clients were very important. They wanted things kept confidential. If you want the last names of the girls, I can’t help you.”

  Varick was an intelligent man. He realized this
woman was telling the truth, and if he tried to beat information from her it would without a doubt be false. He decided to use a different tactic. Smoothing his face into amiability, he motioned for the housekeeper to have a seat.

  “I am afraid your mistress has been involved in something dangerous. We are with Imperial security. We need your help in locating the women who lived under Madama’s care. They may be in danger.”

  The housekeeper straightened. “Yes sir, I’ll do what I can. I am a loyal citizen.”

  He patted her shoulder. He brought a pad of paper and pen to the table. “You’re a smart woman; you will be fine. Write down everything you remember about each one, describing anything you think will help us identify these women: their appearance, how old they are, what did they sound like? Did you notice an accent?”

  “Oh, I can help you. I took care of those girls myself. I knew them better than anyone here.” The housekeeper seemed to unwind as she listed the women, stopping every few to count.

  The guards removed the body and sent away the local police.

  “There were twenty women staying at the hostel,” the housekeeper said. “Do you want the names of the ones who have birthed their babies?”

  “Not now, I will let you know later. I want you to know you are doing a good thing, and there will be a reward.” He placed a hundred-credit chip on the table but kept his hand on it.

  The housekeeper bent with renewed vigor to her task. Soon she handed him four pages, neatly written, describing each woman living at Madama’s.

  “Thank you, mistress.” Varick smiled and motioned for his men to get going. “Tell me, has there been anyone else here in the last few days? A visitor Madama met with you didn’t recognize?”

  The housekeeper pursed her lips for a bit. “No, she stayed in her office alone. I thought she was having personal problems.”

  “We are leaving now, but I will be back. If you remember anything at all...”