by Renee Duke
“He might not be so named,” said Mr. Skoko. “And your appearance at the tribunal is hardly likely to gain him the throne.”
“It will. Taz gave us letters proclaiming us his official representatives. They give us the right to speak at the Succession Tribunal.”
I gave the Ralgonian my own letter. By the time he finished reading it, he was frowning thoughtfully. “The High Prince does appear to place considerable trust in you. Did you say you each have such a document?”
The others pulled out their letters. Mr. Skoko walked all around the room appraising them before coming to rest beside the counter again. “These would indeed impress the tribunal members if you were to present them to them,” he said carefully, “but there is little likelihood of your being able to do so. Councilman Drazok will have people watching for you all over the Council Dome.”
He smiled as something suddenly occurred to him. “In fact, his men will probably not even bother to look for you anywhere else. Getting you off the planet might be easier than I thought.” He thrust the letters inside his tunic.
“Aren’t you going to give those back to us?” I asked, knowing he wasn’t.
The Ralgonian shook his head. “As long as you have them, you will consider it your duty to try to attend the Succession Tribunal. If I have them, you might not feel as obligated. After all, no one is likely to listen to you without them.”
Our pleas and indignant protests moved Mr. Skoko not at all. He pulled an armload of mattresses and blankets out of a cupboard and threw them on the floor.
“Arrange these to your liking. It has been a long day for all of us.”
He put his own mattress down in front of the door and placed two conical beacons at each end of it, sensors that would alert him if anyone tried to approach him as he slept. Sensors that would be as effective against us as they would against Drazok’s men.
I spent a restless night. So did the others, but Mr. Skoko awoke the next morning looking quite refreshed. He disappeared into the kitchen to make breakfast, leaving us free to confer in urgent whispers.
“All right,” I said. “The Succession Tribunal meets in less than two hours. We have got to get out of here. But the door with the impenetrable lock is the only exit, and this Skoko person is certainly not going to open it for us.”
“We could open it ourselves if we had the unlocking device,” said Simon. “And I know how to get it. Now that he doesn’t have those sensors around him, I could undo the clip that fastens it to his belt without him even knowing.” He paused. “My friends and I often played at being pickpockets at school. I was considered quite good at it.”
“I’m sure you were.”
He ignored me and went on to suggest that one of us engage the Ralgonian in conversation while he tried for the unlocking device. “You could do that, Meda. And Jip and Kirsty could look around for something to slow old Skoko down with if he turns on me.”
Kirsty glanced down at the blankets lying in crumpled heaps on the floor. “I know the very thing.”
We tried to eat breakfast with an air of being resigned to our lot. I then, very casually, closed the panels above the counter and offered to help Mr. Skoko with the dishes while the others tidied up.
He grunted in assent. Pushing open the little swing door at the side of the counter, I followed him into the kitchen. The dish sanitizer was positioned in such a way that, to load it, we had to have our backs to the door, and with the counter panels closed, the Ralgonian had no way of monitoring the activities of the three in the sitting room. Intent on what he was doing, he did not notice when Simon crept in behind us.
I did, though. Snatching up a plate, I handed it to Mr. Skoko and asked him if Professor Vor-Zoag was aware of what had been happening to us.
“Fortunately for the emotional well-being of that dutiful parent, no, he does not. I have not contacted him since Sustra.”
He shifted position slightly and Simon slowly stretched his hand toward the unlocking device.
“That was ages ago,” I said. “He must be getting worried by now.”
“I know. I am not usually so remiss. But you might recall that, after Sustra, life became somewhat hectic for all of us. Reports to my client did not seem as important as…other things.”
“When do you plan to get in touch with him again?” I tried not to look at Simon, who had almost unhooked the unlocking device from the man’s belt.
“As soon as I can safely do so.”
A dish chose that moment to get jammed in the sanitizer. Mr. Skoko leaned forward to dislodge it, moving so suddenly that Simon overbalanced and stumbled up against him.
“What in—?” Mr. Skoko began. He bellowed indignantly as Simon ducked under his arm, twisted around behind him, and emerged with the unlocking device.
“Got it,” he yelled. “Run.”
I ran. We flung open the swing door and dove to one side to avoid the blankets Kirsty and Jip threw over Mr. Skoko’s head and then wound around his entire body. Ignoring his muffled curses and threats, Simon attached the unlocking device to the door and pushed the buttons in the same order he had seen Mr. Skoko push them the night before. The door slid open at once.
“We did it,” cried Kirsty. “Come on. We’ve important business to attend to.”
Simon reactivated the lock. By the time we got down to street level, a high pitched whine from above told us Mr. Skoko had untangled himself and was blasting the door down with his liquidator. We ran for a ground bus approaching a stop across the street and jumped aboard.
The Succession Tribunal was being held in the Council Dome, an ancient structure in the heart of the Cholarian capital. The bus we’d caught didn’t go there, so we rode it as far as a little tourist stand and got off to procure a schedule for a line with stops in that area. We knew Drazok would have people watching for us on every form of public transport serving the Council Dome, but we could no longer afford to waste time looking for the place on foot.
We decided to keep our forces divided en route and join up with each other at the Council Dome. Jip and Kirsty walked to a ground bus stop on another street and Simon and I boarded one near the tourist stand. I felt as though eyes were on us all the way to the Council Dome, but no one challenged us.
The Succession Tribunal was open to the public. Alighting from the bus, we found the courtyard of the beautiful old multi-domed building full of anxious Cholarians. The spectator’s gallery could only accommodate a certain number, which meant the rest had to be content with watching the debate on large outdoor viewing screens.
A few minutes later, another ground bus deposited Jip and Kirsty at a stop down the street. We waved to them, and as they approached the Council Dome, I saw Jip slip into her rapid transit dimension. Confined to the initial plane, Kirsty had to employ conventional push and wriggle techniques to elbow her way through the crowd.
Simon and I did the same, but found it impossible to keep beside one another amid so many people. By the time I got to the broad stairs leading up to the big entrance doors, Simon was already there. We looked around for Kirsty, but couldn’t find her.
“We’ll have to go in without her,” I said reluctantly.
Two Royal Guardsmen standing at attention outside the doors smiled at our approach. One put out his hand. “Halt,” he said in mock severity. “We cannot let you in, little ones. The public seats have all been taken. You will have to watch everything on the outdoor screens.”
I shook my head. “We didn’t come to watch. We came to speak to the tribunal on behalf of the High Prince.”
The two men looked suddenly desolate.
“Would that someone could say something that would help His Royal Highness today,” the first Guardsman said sadly, “but without his presence, no attempt to uphold his claim to the throne will meet with success.”
“Ours will. Once the tribunal members hear what we have to say, they’ll have to give him the rulership.”
“And what is it that you have to say?
” asked the other Guardsman.
“That it’s Crown Councilman Drazok who’s the traitor to Cholar,” Simon avowed. “He’s been keeping the High Prince prisoner. Us, too. We only got away a few days ago.”
I told them about the letters with the High Prince’s seal on them. “They were taken from us, but we really are Taz’s friends. We’re here to help him. You’ve got to believe us.”
“I believe you want to help him,” the first Guardsman replied, “but to convince the tribunal His Royal Highness is the victim of a conspiracy, the Supreme Chancellor must have proof, not just the accusations of children, however well-intentioned.”
“The Supreme Chancellor? Are you talking about Supreme Chancellor Verim?”
“Yes.”
He was alive then. Encouraged by this news, I asked the Guardsman to take us to him. “Please?” I gave him my most engaging smile. “He knows us. Me, anyway. He met me on the Derridus.”
The two Guardsmen looked at one another.
“Nothing has started yet,” the second one said at last. “We could let them speak to him.”
The first Guardsman nodded and beckoned us inside. We made one more attempt to locate Kirsty in the throng below, but the only familiar person we could see was one of Drazok’s men from the hideout on Klavor. We turned and darted into the building behind the Guardsman.
Chapter Twenty
Inside, Jip startled our escort by popping out of an alcove.
“How did you get in here?” he asked, astounded.
“She’s with us,” I said. “We’ll explain later. We must speak to Supreme Chancellor Verim. Please take us to him.”
The Succession Tribunal was convening in a large room known as Beom’s Chamber. The Guardsman conducted us along the wide, tiled corridor leading to it. This corridor also provided access to a number of rooms of lesser importance.
Much to my dismay, two men came out of one of these smaller rooms and shouted for the Guardsman to stop. Even though they wore security guard uniforms, some inner sense told me they worked for Drazok.
“Where are you going?” one of them demanded. “The Succession Tribunal is about to be called to order. No one can be permitted entry now, least of all noisy children.”
I am taking them to speak to Lord Verim,” the Guardsman replied, a trifle haughtily. To be a Royal Guardsman was to be one of Cholar’s soldierly elite. He probably didn’t appreciate having his actions challenged by those he considered inferior to him.
“His Excellency has taken his seat in Beom’s Chamber,” said the other security guard. “He cannot be approached in there.”
“Not by you, perhaps. I can approach him wherever I choose.”
“For what purpose? Do you think he is likely to be interested in the prattle of children at a time like this?”
“That, we shall see.”
He tried to go on, but the first security guard moved to block our path. “It cannot be permitted. Go back to your post. We will take the children into Lord Verim during the first adjournment.”
“No, they won’t,” said Simon, clearly sharing my distrust of the two men. “You take us in, Guardsman. You promised.”
Simon’s plea annoyed the security guards. One of them grabbed hold of him and shook him. “Be quiet,” he ordered.
Angered, our Guardsman wrenched Simon out of his grasp and turned to meet the blow the other man suddenly aimed at his jaw. He went down, but only for a moment. He came up swinging, and bellowed out some kind of war cry that brought two more Royal Guardsmen running from their post outside Beom’s Chamber. Seeing our way clear, Jip, Simon, and I skirted the resulting mêlée and ran to join Kirsty, who had just emerged from a nearby passage.
“Where did you come from?” I asked as we all charged toward Beom’s Chamber.
“A side door,” she replied.
“Didn’t it have a guard?’
“Och, aye. One of Drazok’s. The poor man ran into his own stun gun blast. Of course, I helped a mite.”
The door to Beom’s Chamber wasn’t locked. Moving as a group, we burst into the room so vigorously, the momentum of our entry took us right past the inner guards standing by the stairs going up to the spectators’ gallery. We came to a stop beside some seats reserved for media people and took a look around.
Three long, beautifully carved tables were up on a carpeted dais in the centre of the room. Crown Council members were seated around the middle table, with Sub-Rulers at the tables on either side of them. At the far end of the dais, the unoccupied State Throne of Cholar stood between two smaller thrones. These were occupied. One by Prince Mardis, a thin, unpretentious looking man a few years older than Taz, and the other by an attractive young woman we took to be Taz’s consort, High Princess Vostia. Members of the Supreme Council who were not directly involved in the proceedings sat at floor level with visiting dignitaries such as Ambrose Ramsweir, and ordinary citizens were up in the spectator’s gallery looking down on the whole room from a series of balconies.
None of us knew the correct way to request speech with such an illustrious gathering, so Kirsty improvised.
“Hold everything!” she shouted.
It was as good an attention getter as any. People who had not already stopped talking when we burst in now did so. Even Supreme Chancellor Verim looked up from his crested chair near Prince Mardis to turn inquiring eyes in our direction. Still a bit shaky from his set-to with Taz’s abductors, he did not try to get up.
Crown Councilman Drazok, however, was on his feet in an instant. “What is the meaning of this?” he thundered, as the inner guards closed in on us. “Guards, remove those children from this chamber immediately.”
“No, no, you’ve got to listen to us,” I said, twisting away before any of them could seize me. “We come from Prince Taziol. He’s authorized us to speak for him. We demand the right of…the right of testimony,” I said, remembering a phrase from Taz’s letter.
The inner guards were not Royal Guardsmen, but they made no more threatening moves toward us after hearing Taz’s name. They looked at Supreme Chancellor Verim uncertainly.
“We’re friends of the High Prince,” I said quickly, before anyone could ask for proof of our ‘right of testimony’. “You know that, Lord Verim. You’ve seen us with him. We were the stowaways you met on the Derridus.”
“Yes, I recall you. But what are you doing in this chamber?”
“I would think that is obvious,” Drazok said scornfully. “We have all heard about the High Prince’s kindness to these girls when they were found aboard that ship. They know Prince Taziol stands to be removed from the succession because of his own questionable conduct and have come here to help him. They’re only children. They think they can convince us his rights are being unfairly challenged by telling us some ridiculous tale of treachery they have concocted.”
“His rights are being unfairly challenged. And we do have a tale of treachery—but we didn’t concoct any of it,” I said heatedly. “Taz asked us to come here and denounce the people who are trying to discredit him.”
“You being one of them,” Kirsty threw in.
High Princess Vostia leaned forward eagerly. “You have seen my Royal Husband? Where is he? Is he safe?”
I briefly recounted everything that had happened the day before. Taz’s consort paled upon learning about his injuries. She stood up and motioned to the Royal Guardsman who had brought us into the Council Dome. He had just entered Beom’s Chamber with the Guardsmen who had gone to help him, a sure sign that Drazok’s men had got the worst of the scuffle in the corridor.
“Search every empty warehouse in Cholaris,” the High Princess commanded. “It is possible the High Prince lies injured in one of them.”
The Royal Guardsmen strode out of the room at once.
“Your Highness, this is most improper,” Drazok said indignantly. “You cannot order your soldiers halfway across the city on the word of four little ragamuffins.”
Vostia reseated herse
lf and gave him an imperious look. “I can order my soldiers wherever I please, Councilman. And I will follow up on every chance to find His Royal Highness that presents itself, however implausible it may seem.”
“There can’t be too many warehouses like the one the girl spoke of anyway,” a rotund middle-aged Sub-Ruler said lazily. “It shouldn’t take the Guardsmen long to find it. Should the High Prince happen to be there, we will at least know to give credence to some of these young people’s claims.”
Drazok’s jaw clenched. “That is ridiculous. Their claims are nothing but childish imaginings, imaginings designed to disrupt this Succession Tribunal and keep its members from determining which claimant to the throne is most worthy of becoming Cholar’s next Supreme Ruler.”
“And you think that’s Prince Mardis,” said Kirsty.
“It is no secret that I support the hereditary successor. Nor am I the only one here who thinks Prince Taziol should not wear the crown our beloved Supreme Ruler, Obruk, bequeathed him. In fact, had it not been for his untimely demise, I believe His Supreme Highness would have realized that himself, and named another successor.
“Since the sudden, and some might say, convenient, disappearance of the High Prince, I have taken it upon myself to question some of those who hold positions in the areas of government the Supreme Ruler allowed his nephew to administrate.” He looked around the room with an air of regret. “It is my intention to have these people speak to the tribunal later in the day. They will present unwelcome, but I am afraid, irrefutable evidence of the High Prince’s untrustworthiness.”
“Then it will be false evidence resulting from bribery or coercion,” an incensed Vostia declared. “Everything Obruk asked Prince Taziol to do was attended to with the utmost care and devotion. He was completely loyal to Obruk. He served him, and all Cholar, faithfully.”
“On the surface perhaps. But by dint of the time-honoured tradition that exempts the chosen successor from taking the actual Oath of Loyalty, we cannot take Prince Taziol’s integrity for granted. Successors have been known to exploit their positions before.”
