Empress Hiding Read online

  Dalis paused and looked down at the panel and pretended to fiddle with a few of the buttons.

  “Being just a simple steward,” it was clear both Dalis and Mischief would not let Jaylis’ derogatory use of the term pass, “I usually follow the Prime Magistrate out once the seal has been act …,” Dalis hit the Radiation Warning flashing beacon and chime and both Jaylis and himself jumped at the high-pitched whine that began to sound forth. Dalis and Mischief watched the glowing yellow and green flashes illuminate the passageway behind Jaylis as the Captain’s lips began to quiver in a growl.

  After deactivating the alarm, Dalis smiled impishly into the view screen.

  “Well, that was not it, Captain,” Dalis seemed to concentrate quite diligently on something on the control panel for a moment – the actions that of an innocently ignorant steward, “Let me see if this is the security relea …,”

  Before the words were completely out of Dalis’ mouth, a blue light flashed above the door and a loud hiss began to sound through the comm speaker just as Jaylis let out a yelp – his face completely disappearing from the screen in a downward motion.

  An aggravated growl and a seemingly disembodied voice could be heard through the speakers, “That is decon, you bumbling …,” Jaylis trailed off, probably realizing he still had not gained entrance to retrieve the treaty as the Khedive had ordered.

  Mischief was laughing so hard that Dalis was having trouble keeping the trill sound out of his own voice as he shut off the decontamination steam vents on the other side of the door.

  “I am so very sorry, Captain,” if Jaylis had any sense at all, he would know he was being played as Dalis’ eyes had to be alight with his tomfoolery, but Mischief was quite convinced the Captain had no sense – at least not the kind common beings possessed, “Perhaps it would be better to wait …”

  Paying so much attention to keeping his altare’s laughter contained, Dalis let his guard down just in the slightest to that same altare’s other compulsions, and Mischief’s desire to see Jaylis get wet took control of his littlest finger that rested just beside the emergency extinguisher knob …

  The chemical concoction that spilled onto Jaylis’ head and shoulders was the catalyst for the Captain’s temper to explode, but, instead of waiting for the tirade, Dalis silently turned off the comm panel – the old steward walking calmly away from the pounding door and straight to the kitchen cooler. He removed one of the Prime Magistrate’s fermentis, nervously removed the top, and chugged two large gulps before he got control of his nerves.

  At which point he completely collapsed into a writhing heap on the floor – he and his altare laughing more than they had in years.

  Dalis was not sure who would be in more trouble: he with his Prince or Jaylis with the Khedive, but, as Mischief reminded him, as long as Jaylis was in trouble with the Khedive, nothing else mattered.

  Dalis might even get fired and re-hired again.

  He threw back two more large swallows of the fermenti and made his way back to his quarters to let Mischief out to play for a time while he rested – he only had a couple hurs or so before he had to get busy loading the personal transport for their departure back home in the morning.

  Chapter 9

  Mischief balanced himself precariously on top of the small-drawered storage unit as he reached for the small painting on the wall with his long hands ending in those even longer multi-jointed fingers. It was one of the many old paintings and antique objects the Prime Magistrate and Dalis had brought with them when they moved away from that depressing and almost crushing residence known as the Royal Palace located in Tristanin – it seemed that Rafal was inexplicably drawn to the objects of old that pre-dated the Speciatic Cleansing and all of the horrors it had rained down upon the Blood-bornes.

  Mischief growled at the horrible images that flashed through his mind of what the time must have been like – his thin black lips curling up around his many layers of alternately sharp and blunted teeth. He looped his tail around the power conduit that led to the ceiling and effortlessly hoisted himself onto the far desktop where Dalis kept a special nightlight activated that enhanced Mischief’s already excellent night vision – the light was not even visible to Dalis when it was dark in their room as it was now.

  Mischief held the painting such that it was well-illuminated in the glow of the nightlight and gently brushed one of his protracted hands across its surface to remove the light layer of dust that had settled there.

  The painting had always fascinated Mischief which is why Dalis chose that particular one to hang in their quarters here – although they did not spend a lot of time on the ICT, their quarters were extremely small compared to their residence back in Capital City, and Dalis did what he could to put out new and/or interesting things to occupy Mischief during his “presence” or “out” times.

  The door to their small sleeping quarters was sealed with palm-print security activation – that is, it could only be opened from either side with the scan of either Dalis’ or the Prime Magistrate’s palm. The monger checked inwardly to find Dalis sound asleep then Mischief glanced at his own long, narrow extremity and laughed that funny little monger-giggle – nope, that would not pass for either cognate appendage. He mumbled to himself about Dalis’ not trusting him as he continued to stare at the painting – the most interesting thing about the work being that Mischief was convinced that it was not professionally consigned as all of the other paintings from that long, by-gone era.

  No, from his first notice of the painting in the large crate that had arrived on the moving barge all those decades ago, Mischief had tried to tell Dalis that the painting was special – that the artist was different.

  Dalis had laughed and said something to the effect of ‘whatever makes you happy, my friend’ and had kept the painting for Mischief’s sake, but, inside, Mischief had felt him scoff emotionally at the idea of keeping the odd painting. The monger mumbled again to himself as he continued to run his narrow palm over the painting’s surface.

  To Mischief’s eyes, it looked like a young female hand wearing an odd piece of jewelry – a ring around her middle finger and bracelet around her wrist connected by a magnificently braided chain of three different kinds of metal. The hand rested on what appeared to be a pillow of red or even burgundy velvet material – although the workmanship in the painting made discerning the exact nature of that material almost impossible. Whatever it was, both things were on a beach or something – even though the only beach Mischief had ever seen were man-made ones – because there was foamy water that appeared to be portrayed as lapping up one whole side of the painting and what seemed like sand as a background for everything. But, on top of the curiosity that the red velvet invoked, was the intriguing artist signature that was different from any other painting because it was just a single name: Yasakaşk. Every other antique painting displayed in the Prime Magistrate’s residence as well as here in his personal ICT quarters was signed with a full first and last name with a few of them including a middle initial, but that was not a consistent theme. In addition, every other painter had entwined his name very inconspicuously in at least one other part of the painting – sometimes it was done two or even three times – even though such was never evident unless one studied them the way Mischief did.

  It was there, lost in thought and close scrutiny of the texture of the velvet? Or was it solid and smooth? Perhaps pliable? Hmmmm….such thoughts held sway over Mischief’s full attention when a loud, incessant knock on the door startled him. The spooked monger dropped the painting and scrambled off the desk – scattering Dalis’ neatly organized papers for filing and knocking over the fermenti sise Dalis had neglected to secure in a Mischief-proof manner– as the monger arrowed himself under the bunk with sound of Rafal’s voice booming from the other side of the door.

  “Dalis?! Animal?!” Mischief heard the security seal release as he felt Dalis’ now alert cogn
ate form overtake them both, “I am coming in, Dalis!”

  It was not the first time Dalis had become present in a hiding place, but under the small bed was quite dusty and Dalis sneezed loudly as he peered all the way up at the Prime Magistrate’s form towering in the middle of their quarters.

  And looking down quite curiously at his steward who was trying to extricate his nude body from beneath the small bed.

  “You must have spooked us, Magistrate,” Dalis stood and hurriedly unlatched the palm seal on the top drawer to retrieve his clothing as he glanced at his timepiece around his waist, “We did not oversleep, did we?”

  Rafal tried to keep the laughter off his face as he turned to give Dalis his privacy to dress.

  “No, Dalis, but we have much to do before the morning – the shuttle to Capital City departs in but a few hurs.”

  Dalis paused. He must have heard Rafal wrong – the Prime Magistrate spoke as if they were booked on the public transportation docket or something. It seemed to take him longer to wake up so suddenly these days – maybe his age was trying to catch up with him. Mischief vehemently argued against such thoughts and contended that it would be difficult for anyone to be coherent after being yelled awake like that.

  Dalis managed to fasten his pants and was hooking his shirt as he turned around.

  “But your transport can leave whenever you would like, my Prince, and I have most everything readied and on-board for our departure.”

  Rafal grunted loudly as he turned to leave, but, as he spoke, the painting Mischief had been holding and subsequently dropped to the floor, caught his eye.

  “We are not ta-a-a-king,” Rafal ran a rough finger or two over the piece of jewelry on the hand in the painting, obviously thoughtfully remembering something as he did so, “Our transport,” he handed the painting to Dalis, “And bring this home with us.”

  Dalis frowned at the painting as well as at the Prime Magistrate’s words – the steward really was a bit confused now – and he tossed the painting gently onto the bed.

  “Yes, Magistrate,” Dalis followed Rafal out of his quarters and into the larger living area, “But it is far too late to get the Royal Suite onboard the shu …”

  Rafal stopped short and turned to face him.

  “I already took care of that, Dalis,” he almost grinned playfully and both Dalis and Mischief became alarmingly suspicious of what their Prince was planning or, worse yet, greatly concerned for his sanity, “They are the Royal Suite, Dalis, because they are there when I want them – Hondo and I are the only Royalty that would even deign to take the shuttle anyway. I am quite sure my sire’s courtiers like to pretend to be Royalty and book that particular Suite, but it is mine, yes?”

  Dalis swallowed both his and Mischief’s laughter because he was not sure how serious Rafal was at the moment – and he had certainly never seen the Prime Magistrate want to associate with the crowds that usually packed the public shuttles.

  Then there was that serious bruise below his eye … had the Prince taken a fall or been in a fight?

  “My Prince,” Dalis reached down and found some courage he was not sure he had at the moment, “Did you have an excessive amount of fermenti, perhaps, with your meal at Togo’s?”

  Rafal paused, stood up straight, raised a questioning eyebrow at the steward, and proceeded to truly laugh. The sound scared Mischief so badly that the monger literally balled himself tightly inside of Dalis, a vision of his long, bushy tail completely encompassing his entire body appearing vividly in Dalis’ mind. But, although Dalis was taken aback at first, the old steward let a wide grin creep across his surprised face and a small bit of laughter bubble up inside of himself as well.

  He had not seen that smile on the Rafal since the day they permanently left the Royal Palace to move to the Prime Magistrate’s residence in Capital City – the day Rafal had turned to Hondo at his side and whispered in the young adolescent’s ear, “I need you to trust that I will always be here for you, birader,” and he had hugged Hondo to him so tightly that Dalis had been afraid the strapping youth would break in half, “We begin today, my Hondo.”

  And Hondo had only hugged his big brother back tighter and smiled even bigger, “Together.”

  Rafal had smiled one last time as he had gripped his Hondo’s neck and shoulder, “Always, birader. You and me.”

  Then the smile had disappeared as he turned and waved a final, distant farewell to his sire, the Khedive.

  And laughter? When was the last time the Crowned Prince had truly and fully laughed? Oh, it was true that he and Mischief certainly provided their Magistrate with some comedic relief now and again, but what Rafal did just then was to truly laugh.

  “I only finished half my single fermenti before I spilled the remainder across my food, Dalis,” he turned and began walking toward the kitchen area, “Which reminds me, we are starving,” Rafal opened the cooler and rummaged around until he found the layered dish Dalis had prepared for breakfast, “How long do I warm this?”

  Still unsure of his Magistrate’s state of mind, Dalis took the container from him and placed it in the radiator and slowly punched in the correct setting on the keypad – his movements slow and deliberate as he continued to examine his Prince’s actions and overall attitude.

  “Two ought to take care of it, Magistrate,” Dalis turned to see Rafal seated politely at the table in anticipation of being served – again, completely out of character. Should he not be sprawled on the couch with his … wait a moment! Rafal’s shirt was tucked neatly, and he had gotten his own fermenti from the cooler before sitting!

  Dalis coughed as Mischief tried to catch his breath at the sight, the steward retrieving eating utensils and napkins to place at the table simply to stay busy and to avoid staring at the Prime Magistrate.

  “Is there a reason we will be taking the shuttle and not your personal transport, Prime Magistrate?”

  Rafal only sat and inhaled his palms as if they contained something, although Dalis saw nothing in or on them.

  “We have a dinner meeting tomorrow, Dalis,” he inhaled deeply again, his eyes almost closed this time, “A very important meeting with a particular passenger onboard.”

  Dalis frowned as Mischief suddenly unrolled himself completely inside and became seriously intrigued – this was going to be good.

  “Does this have to do with the treaty Captain Yulstantis came asking about?”

  The Prime Magistrate suddenly became dark again as a growl rolled up from deep within himself – like it was a synchronicity between him and his beast.

  “You told him nothing, yes?”

  Dalis swallow Mischief’s quip, “Told?” Dalis tried not to smile at the memory, “Yes, we told nothing, my Prince.”

  Rafal seemed to pause in his infatuation with his palms and glanced up at Dalis just as the steward turned with the container from the radiator.

  “Do I want to know, Dalis?”

  Suddenly the darkness lifted again. There was almost a light of playfulness in the Magistrate’s eyes as Dalis set the container before him, and Mischief began cheering for Dalis to tell the whole story. But Dalis was still not sure of how much to tell, and he swallowed hard in delay.

  But Rafal merely picked up his utensils to take a bite – and it was not the scoop to shovel as much food into his mouth as possible, it was the spear and the paddle that took grace to wield with something as messy as a layered breakfast dish.

  Dalis’ jaw went slack in surprise until Rafal’s voice brought him back to the conversation.

  “Da-a-alis?”

  Dalis shook his head to clear it and began to quickly ramble off something about the keypad malfunctioning and alarms and steam as he turned to get a drink refill; he somehow glossed over the chemical fire retardant, but the Magistrate had heard enough to get a good idea of what had transpired.

  Rafal hrrumphed in ve
iled amusement as he filled himself with food – he had not realized just how hungry he had actually become. He swallowed as he waited for Dalis to complete the refilling of his glass.

  “And don’t worry about everyone being on the shuttle – just you and me and the Guard Detail. Have everyone else return on the transport and ready the residence for our return,” the Prince politely wiped his mouth, took another drink, and continued, “And I am asking you to personally gather all of the guard Sila’s belongings and make sure they are transferred to one of the private-entry rooms in the Royal Suite.”

  Mischief nearly leapt out of his skin with curiosity – what was going on with the Crowned Prince?

  Rafal’s final request along with the etiquettely-proper napkin swipe was the last straw – Dalis had to sit or he was going to collapse – there were too many incongruities happening here all at one time. The old steward pulled out the chair two seats away from his Prince and actually sat in it.

  Rafal stopped mid-motion of putting a bite in his mouth, the food never reaching his mouth before the Magistrate stopped and stared questioningly at Dalis.

  “Are you alright, Dalis?”

  Dalis girded his loins as he raised his eyes to meet those of the most feared Prime Magistrate in countless generations whom he had served faithfully for nearly four decades – a Prince that he trusted with his life and for whom he would give his own, but one that he had never before questioned in deed or in words.

  Dalis and Mischief both took a deep breath.

  “We would ask you the same question, my lord,” Dalis used that title to convey the depth of emotion in his question even though he was quite sure his barely detectable trembling relayed that loud and clear.

  And Rafal got the message – his Dalis knew something was off. Was different.

  That he was definitely not himself right now.

  He placed his utensils on the edge of the plate, the food still mostly on the spear, and, once again, politely wiped his mouth as he stared directly into his Dalis’ face – unconsciously raising a palm to his nose to inhale again.