by Sharon Joss
“If I don’t freeze to death, first,” he grumbled. “Isn’t there a heater in this thing?”
“Sorry. This is a company runabout. I live at the corporate housing near the stables. I don’t leave the festival grounds too often, and hardly ever come out this way. Won’t be much longer. Been here so long, I kinda forget about the cold. What ya need is a set of these robes.” He fingered the dark blue fabric. “Spun from traggah wool. Light and warm as anything.”
“Traggah. Some kind of sheep, right?” No doubt the same weave as the blankets on his bed at the hotel.
Wayne gave him an incredulous look. “I guess ya haven’t seen the racing program. I thought ya knew. It’s well, hmmm. It’s kind of like a cross between a buffalo, and a wildebeest. They’re big and fast. Ya wouldn’t believe how fast. Faster than a horse, by a long shot.”
His teeth began to chatter. “Where can I pick up a set of those robes? I’m freezing my ass off here, Wayne.”
Wayne grinned and pointed to a cluster of buildings in the distance. “We’re almost there. That’s the site of the Gold Festival.”
* * *
What Renly assumed to be a cluster of buildings turned out to be an enclosed city, complete with hotels, casinos, shopping, and even indoor parks. When they cleared the security station and stepped inside; Renly breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was the air soft and warm as a summer afternoon, but the filtered air bore not a trace of sulfur stench he’d endured since leaving the hotel. He breathed deeply, savoring the spicy scent of roses massed outside the monorail depot.
“Now this is summer,” he marveled. Skylights and clerestory windows provided plenty of natural daylight, while the lush garden-like plantings lent a tropical atmosphere. The sound of fountains and music and laughter blended together in a pleasant hum.
“Nice, isn’t it? All the buildings at the festival site are geothermically heated. We also got dozens of greenhouses where we grow fresh produce year-round, including all kinds of exotic fruits and vegetables. And we got huge freezers and refrigerators filled with imported meats and the best exotic provisions. Our guests are used to the best, and won’t accept anything less.”
“This is the central plaza,” Wayne motioned to the general mall area around them “We got shops offering the finest jewelry, clothing, and art gathered from every corner of the universe. But if you want to shop for robes, the booths in the central market offer the best aboriginal crafts.”
Quaint storefronts ringed the cobblestone marketplace, displaying elegant jewelry, massive gems, and above all, fanciful whatnots of gold and platinum, safely protected behind walls of thick glass. The marketplace design suggested a colorful reinterpretation of a fantasy bazaar, complete with turreted pavilions, brightly colored pennants, and the enticing aroma of roasting meats. Even the street vendors wore appealing costumes out of tales of the Arabian nights, with flourishes of tinkling silver bells and yards of gossamer scarves. The market was busy, but not crowded. After the stress of the trip and his arrival in Aurum, Renly began to relax.
Wayne led him through the tent city maze in the plaza to a pavilion displaying bolts of bright, hand-woven fabrics. Over the shopkeeper’s protests, Renly insisted on a set of black robes without any ornamentation.
“But sir,” the Khirjahni saleswoman protested in lightly-accented English. “You are too young for such a dark costume.” She eyed the cut of his Nehru jacket. “And too thin, I think. Look at this deep blue. Or the mauve here. The color matches our twin suns Oratei and Ahipu.”
“No, the black is fine. Thank you.” He’d been disappointed to discover the robes had to be custom fitted. He posed uncomfortably as she took his personal measurements. “When will they be ready?” Renly made a silent appeal to Wayne, but man stood across the way speaking to a veiled woman at the wine seller’s.
She assured him they would be ready the following day.
After he paid for his robes, Wayne took him to the hotel district, where they checked the reservation lists at the three largest hotels. At each hotel, they checked the registry and he showed the engraving of his brother to the desk personnel, the concierge, and the doormen. With each shake of the head, his hope of finding Garrett began to fade.
By late afternoon, they still had two more hotels left to check. They hadn’t even set foot in the casinos or the track. Not wanting to miss his meeting with the King, he reluctantly asked Wayne to take him back to the hotel.
On the drive back, Wayne tried to console him. “Hey, don’t get discouraged. If he’s here, we’ll find ‘im.”
“I don’t think we’re looking in the right place. We’re not going to find him at the hotels.” Renly couldn’t escape the feeling that they’d wasted the entire day. Yesterday, he’d been certain he’d find Garrett at the most expensive hotel at the festival, but now he wasn’t so sure.
When no one at the hotels recognized Garrett’s picture, Renly started thinking more about what kind of trouble Garrett might have gotten in. Whenever he’d asked for help in the past, it was because he had a big score he was sure was going to come through and didn’t have enough money to buy in. But he’d wrangled an invitation to the gold Festival four years ago. He must have had more than enough to buy his way in.
“What happens if someone gets into trouble,” he asked. “What do you do with them? Where do you put them?”
Wayne laughed. “What kind of trouble? This is the Gold Festival. Our guests are the most powerful people in the universe. Ya can’t lock up a billionaire. A lot of business gets done here. Far as I know, we rarely have a problem. Long as everyone plays nice, they let it go. Our security guys keep an eye out, and if there’s anybody complains, they step in, but usually it’s just the case of someone having too much of a good thing, if you know what I mean.
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that they would find Garrett at either the casinos or the track. Maybe he owed someone money. Garrett knew how to keep a low profile. He might be staying in a room under an assumed name, or with a friend. Of course.
“I want to start at the track tomorrow. If Garrett is here, I’m pretty sure I’ll find him there.”
Wayne looked pleased. “Works for me. Your brother like bettin’ the ponies?”
Renly shrugged. “We grew up with horses. He played polo for a while; thought about going pro, but never did.”
“What time you want to start tomorrow?”
A distant memory of watching Garrett practicing in the early mornings came to him, and he took it as a sign. “Let’s start early.”
“You’re the boss.”
* * *
The audience with King Okanga Hakaroa took place in the throne parlor of His Majesty’s residence in the capital city of Khirj, along the rocky shoreline of the Merkehle Sea. Instead of a castle or magnificent estate, the royal lodgings consisted of a rather modest, two-story, terra cotta and stone home with a walled garden close to the central marketplace. Like the other Khirjahni homes in the neighborhood, the royal residence was built around a central courtyard; no windows faced the cobblestone streets. The only obvious difference between the royal estate and its neighbors was the pair of guards stationed at the front gate.
After Renly gave his name, Ambassador Reinhardt emerged from the house to escort him inside.
“You will only have a few minutes with him. His English is excellent, so don’t worry about your Khirjahnese. Your name will be announced, and you will enter the parlor, and stand no less than two body lengths from him. He will remain seated. You will bow slightly from the waist when introduced, but you will not address him directly unless he asks you a question.”
“So how am I supposed to make my offer?”
“Apparently, he knows your work,” Reinhardt stopped him just outside the parlor, and gave him an appraising look. “Did you really design the medals for the 2448 Olympics?”
He gave a small nod. “Not exactly a topic one brings up in casual conversation.”
&nbs
p; * * *
“Though I come from far away, I come in peace.”
Renly bowed slightly at the waist. Reinhardt had coached him in the proper Khirjahni greeting. “I am but one of many. I am herd.” A faint scent of pineapple mingled with the prevailing sulfur, and through an open window, Renly caught a glimpse of the royal garden.
King Hakaroa motioned him closer. The massive carved chair on which he was seated was decorated in an organic design of whorls and spirals placed incised in such a way that mimicked both ocean waves and the curl pattern in the young king’s horns. Renly admired the hand-rubbed patina that only comes from long wear. The king and he were probably close to the same age.
His Majesty cut a striking figure, with his high forehead, a topknot of shiny black hair, broad cheekbones, and tribal tattoos. For the first time in many long months, Renly felt an itch to draw him. In the very best sense, the young king had a memorable face; a warrior’s face. A charismatic face; one that inspired trust and could rally a nation. He wore a simple costume of rough spun breeches fastened at the ankle, and a dark leather vest studded with polished brown shells resembling scales. As he waited for the king to speak, he debated whether to use an inlay to depict the regent’s tattoos, or whether he should omit them.
“While I appreciate your offer to redesign the national emblem of Khirjah, I have no desire to have the image of good King Kehreru simply replaced by mine. I wonder, Mr. Harkness, if you would be willing to consider a different sort of commission.”
He glanced nervously at Reinhardt, but the Ambassador only nodded encouragingly. “What do have in mind?”
“I want an image which will convey the essence of our land and culture instead of just another portrait of the current ruler. Something timeless and meaningful to those beyond our borders, yet relevant to our people as well.”
Renly bit back his disappointment. He had always been so careful in his choice of subjects. Portraits and the human profile were where his artistic strengths lay. How would he even begin to design a logo for a plague planet? Monsters and microbes? An open pit mine? Something like this could turn out very badly for his career. Ambassador Reinhardt was giving him the high sign as the king and his aides waited for his answer.
“I will do my best.”
The king beamed and thanked him. The audience was over.
The Ambassador handed him an envelope as they walked out to the Ambassador’s PV. “Compliments of King Hakaroah. A royal invitation to the Gold Ball.”
He shook his head. “You take it. Edward Duprees gave me a pass to search the Festival grounds. I was over there all day today.”
“Excellent. Any luck?”
He shrugged. “It’s only the first day. They gave me an escort, and I’ve got full access to everything. I’m checking the race track and casino tomorrow.”
“I don’t suppose they mentioned the Gold Ball.”
“I’m not much for parties. Besides, I think I’ll have better luck finding Garrett at the track.”
Reinhardt shook his head. “That is the King’s personal invitation. He gave it to you. Your will attend as the Royal Family’s representative. This is not something you can turn down without giving insult. Go. The Gold Ball is the pinnacle event of the festival; only the highest rollers are invited to attend. It may be the only place you’ll find him.”
CHAPTER 8
The first race started at mid-day, but at Renly’s request, Wayne picked him up early. They arrived at the track a few minutes before second sunrise. Even at that hour, spectators lined up along the rail, watching the traggahs and their riders warm up on the course. Pastel colors of sunrise glowed softly through the transparent dome overhead, but the stadium lighting more than compensated for the hour. After the freezing commute, Renly appreciated the relative warmth of the climate-controlled venue. The designers of the festival site seemed to have anticipated everything.
Wayne got them both coffees, served in mugs emblazoned with the Gold Cup logo.
He cupped his hands appreciatively around the warm porcelain. Hostesses wandered by, offering complimentary fresh-baked pastries and finger foods. It all smelled so good, he nearly forgot about his resolution not to eat the local cuisine. The hotel catered to the Terran palate, but the menu options were limited and uninspired.
He focused his attention the faces of everyone around him. The sound of hoof beats and smell of straw and animal sweat triggered powerful memories of his childhood days spent watching Garrett practice out on the polo grounds at first light.
More than anything, he’d wanted to join Garrett and his friends out on the polo field. You are much too young; his parents told him, and his pony, Brownie wasn’t a proper polo pony. They would not even allow them to practice on the empty field. So he and Brownie practiced in the paddock behind the barn. Even after he demonstrated their proficiency, his parents would not lift the ban. He would have to wait until he was twelve to join the older boys on the field. Until then, his time on the field was limited to the rest period between chukkers, when, along with the rest of the spectators, he was allowed to stomp divots back into the grass.
The ground shook. A trio of bulky creatures thundered past, and Renly jumped back from the rail.
Wayne chuckled. “Them’s racing traggahs. Fastest four-legged beast in the galaxy. “
The jockeys brought their mounts around for another go, and Renly got a good look at them. Other than hooves and a thin mane, traggahs bore little resemblance to a horse. Wayne had been correct; traggahs looked like a cross between a buffalo and a large, long-legged antelope. A disproportionately large head and graceful, muscular neck rose above powerful shoulders. Their well-balanced body colors varied from rich mahogany to an ash grey, alternating in white and darker stripes in a handsome pattern down their faces, throats and underbelly. The attractive striping continued on the animals’ legs as well, which stood high as a man’s shoulder.
His overall impression was one of speed and power, but as he studied the animals dodge through the trees and leap the obstacles of the steeplechase course, their apparent bulk did not hamper them one bit. The traggahs appeared every bit as agile as a goat.
Indeed, the ram’s curl of black horns around their ears and the creatures’ long beards added to their goat-like appearance, softened somewhat by a broad nose and face, and large, expressive dark eyes.
“No kidding.”
The earth rumbled beneath Renly’s feet as they thundered past him down the track. The horned men astride were a far cry from the diminutive jockeys of Earth. These were big men; and they had their hands full trying to control their mounts as they thundered toward the jumps. Renly recognized them as Khirjahni.
“No Terran jockeys?”
Wayne flexed his gloved hands. “No Terran in his right mind would want to get that close to one of these; all the animals on this planet carry diseases. Besides, Traggahs won’t allow any but Khirjahni on their backs, and they’re too big to try to force ‘em to think any different.” Wayne tapped his forehead. “The Khirjahni say they got some mystical connection with the herds. Fine by me.”
“They don’t race anywhere else?”
“Nah. The locals won’t let us export ‘em. They’re the Khirjahni sacred cows. We spend two years pampering and training and feeding ‘em, then we have ta release ‘em back into the wild after the festival. What a waste.” Wayne made a sound of disgust. “Thrillin’ to watch, though. You a bettin’ man, Renly?”
He shook his head. “No, but my brother and I grew up around horses. He’s the gambler.”
Wayne nodded and showed him the betting windows. “We accept off track betting here, so your man could be placing his bets elsewhere, but he would have to be in one of the casinos. Still, most of the betting action happens here. Even rich folks like the experience of a day at the races, so you might want to station yourself nearby. Behind us is the clubhouse. That’s the best place to see the action, once the races start.”
“Thanks.”
He pointed to a cluster of buildings on a small rise outside the stadium. “That is the stable yard. I’ll be there if ya need me, or I’ll meet ya in the clubhouse after the last race.”
“You’re leaving? I thought you were my chaperone.”
Wayne waved his hand dismissively. “Ya don’t need me and I got things to do. You know the drill now. Talk to anyone ya like, as long as they’re wearing an Arkady uniform. Don’t bother the guests or I’ll hear about it.”
Surprised and pleased at being allowed to wander around without an escort, Renly thanked him, and returned to scanning the faces of the bystanders along the rail. He showed Garrett’s picture to anyone wearing the Arkady logo on their uniform and asked if they’d seen him. So far, no one had.
The warm-ups ended, and the trainers, jockeys, and their mounts headed back to the stables. The crowd began to thin. Garrett had not come for the morning workouts. With the start of the first race just two hours away, he couldn’t shake the hunch that his brother had to be nearby. Like any gambler, Garrett would make it his business to know the trainers and familiarize himself with the fastest stock. Perhaps the stables.
He decided to take a quick look. Once outside the filtered air of the festival site, the stench of sulfur hit him like a blow. In spite of the dual suns and his brisk pace, the outside temperatures reminded him that his new traggah-wool robes he’d ordered were ready. He made a quick mental note to pick them up later and promised himself he’d make the stable check a quick one.
Six different racing teams appeared to share the eight rows of stables; with the Arkady team being the largest. As he turned down the first row, his stomach tightened as he sensed Garrett’s presence growing stronger with every step. He’s here! I knew it!
As he passed the first stall, a traggah put his big head over the half-door and whistled, nearly knocking him over. Renly backed away, intimidated by the size of the creature, more than twice the size of a an earth horse. The traggah seemed to be whistling at him.
