The Nemisin Star (25 page)

Torrullin gave
a wry smile. “As I recall that was Earth’s thinking and look what
came to pass there. As the supply dwindled so too did the
lubrication of the planet’s plates.”

“Earthquakes
and catastrophe,” Breem pondered, eyes widening. “Earth was plunged
into the darkest of dark ages for about five hundred years.” He
drew breath. “Why do we never learn? I must speak seriously with
our scientists.”

“If you have
trade agreements, you must also be capable of space travel,”
Tristamil said. There had been no evidence of landing sites on the
surface.

Breem shook
his head. “You cannot hide something like that.”

“Then ships
land here,” Torrullin murmured.

Breem was
silent. He realised, as many races had, that rulers were not always
transparent, and he liked it not, and was peeved it took two
outsiders to point out something obvious. “Where would they
land?”

“Concealed
sites in a secluded region,” Torrullin said. “I have seen it done
on other worlds, particularly the isolationists, as Cèlaver appears
to be.”

Breem
muttered, and Torrullin and Tristamil did not belabour the
issue.

“What system
of government do you have?” Tristamil asked next.

Breem mentally
shook himself. “Sovereignty.”

“A king?”

“King
Ophuls.”

“A good man?”
Torrullin asked.

“We think so …
I thought so, but obviously much is kept from us.” Breem sounded
bitter.

“Rulers have
their reasons.”

“You also seem
to have quite a bureaucracy,” Tristamil said.

Breem
reanimated. “Far too much! Nothing gets done with speed here, not
even in an emergency! It is a most frustrating situation.”

Torrullin
frowned. “How many Cèlaver are there?”

“The last
census counted three billion.”

“All gods,”
Tristamil muttered. “Then I must tell you I am utterly impressed by
this underworld of yours.”

Breem bowed.
“Thank you.” He glanced at Torrullin. “Surely other worlds are as
populated?”

“Indeed, and
more, but they are on the surface and interact daily with other
worlds. As my son said, consider us duly impressed.”

“Your world is
as populated?”

“No, not even
close.”

“There was a
war two and a half decades ago, and the majority of our people were
killed,” Tristamil explained.

“That is
terrible!”

“We are on the
road to recovery,” Torrullin said with finality. “How have you
managed to study languages and ancient civilisations?”

The linguist
replied, “We didn’t always live underground; once the atmosphere
sustained us well. I am sure you saw the riverbeds and floodplains,
but water flow was a long time ago. As the weather changed and
later everything else as well, we delved. At first only against the
cold … but, I digress. We had many visitors in those times and much
information was collected and stored, and all of it still exists. I
suppose,” and his tone dropped a notch, “much of what I know must
be outdated.”

“Or truer.
What you study is closer to those forgotten eras,” Torrullin
responded.

Breem
brightened. “Because time distorts.”

“That, too, is
very true.”

“Yet I do miss
whole chunks of the past ...”

The guard
hurtling to alert attention drew theirs. A young woman entered the
nondescript chamber. She seemed markedly out of place.

Breem dropped
to the floor and the guard swiftly followed suit.

“Highness, I
am your most humble servant,” Breem muttered to the stone floor.
The guard said something similar.

Torrullin bid
his mind understand the alien tongue, for he did not want to miss
the tiniest nuance. Next to him Tristamil tensed, sensing this was
a breakthrough, one perhaps against every expectation and therefore
of key significance.

Both dipped
their heads to her when she turned to them after frowning at the
drunken snoring in the other cell. “Do you speak my language,
strangers?”

“I am a novice
at pronunciation, Highness,” Torrullin murmured, bowing lower.

She inclined
her head. “Yes, I hear that. We need the linguist then. Rise,
linguist.”

Swallowing,
Breem did as bid, keeping his head lowered.

“Guard,
release them into my care.”

“Your servant,
my Lady!” The guard levered off the floor and ran to do her
bidding, and then came to a halt in consternation. He had forgotten
the keys. He charged back to his desk, grappled for them, and
swiftly approached to unlock the cell door. Pulling the bars wide,
he stood with lowered head.

“Follow me,”
said the young woman, motioning. She walked out. “You, too,
linguist.” Breem fell in behind Tristamil.

As they left,
Torrullin turned to see the guard reach for his walkie-talkie.

Royal
Apartment

She was
royalty and did not deign to climb stairs.

She led them
to a concealed elevator and unlocked it with a silver key. She
stepped inside its plush interior and motioned them in.

“Quickly,
before that buffoon gets here.”

Torrullin’s
estimation of her grew. The three hastened in and the doors shut.
The girl gave an almost inaudible sigh of relief. They went up a
long way and when they left the elevator there was a massive window
before them. Faint stars still shone, but the sun was about to rise
on a new day.

Breem was
astonished at the sight, but Her Highness did not bother with what
was a familiar view. She hurried on ahead along a corridor leading
to an ornate set of doors. Two men stood before them with silver
spears pointing up. When they saw her they opened the doors,
glancing incuriously at the three who followed her within. The room
beyond was in darkness. Her Highness approached another set of
doors, where she rapped. It was opened from the other side and
light from beyond spilled out.

She entered
calling, “Father!” and Torrullin warily led his two companions in
after her.

The doors
closed, but no hand had opened or shut them. Magic? Or a
device?

The ancient
rock was plastered smooth and painted glowing amber. A plush royal
blue carpet lay wall to wall and heavy silk drapes of deep emerald
framed a huge window to the right. Left was a massive fireplace.
Heavy gilt frames adorned the walls, portraits of men and women
holding a golden sceptre; previous kings and queens.

In the far
left corner a copper and silver tree dominated and from its
intricate metal branches hung sapphire and topaz gems the size of a
child’s fist. It was ugly, also priceless.

Flanking the
great window was a giant palm growing and flourishing in a copper
vat, and directly before it on a red cushion two ginger cats
purred. Another set of doors was open directly opposite, but the
interior of that chamber was dark.

A long oval
table stood before the window surrounded by eighteen gilded chairs,
and on the dark wood surface was a large vase filled with colourful
flowers.

The main
feature was a central set of opulent couches and armchairs covered
in an expensive fabric of plum, emerald and blue, to pick out the
various colours in the room, the whole edged with swirls of gold. A
round dark wood coffee table completed the picture and on it
magazines, a number of books, an ashtray, and a shallow dish
containing bright fruit.

A man rose.
Her Highness’ father the King, as Breem whispered.

He was a tall
man with ascetic bone structure. His teeth were an even white as he
smiled indulgently at his daughter, his eyes a twinkling blue. He
was dressed in a burnished amber robe; rings adorned his slim
fingers, two golden earrings hung from each earlobe and a heavy
gold chain from his neck. The room was opulent, the man equally
so.

“And what have
you brought me, Mia?” he asked, his tone amused, his voice
rich.

Her name was
so simple, Torrullin was startled. She laughed and waved her guests
forward.

Breem, poor,
beset upon flustered man, dropped to the floor, and Torrullin and
Tristamil bowed low.

“Daddy, these
are the men …” and she spoke Breem’s incomprehensible name, “…
mother told us about. She was right. The Protection Master
incarcerated them.”

It would
transpire Breem’s mother was a cook to the royal family and Mia
adored her. “Mia, this was foolhardy. Alone in the lower tunnels?
You could have come to harm. I told you I would look into it.” The
king bent a stern gaze on his daughter.

“But he would
have sent them to deep prison, daddy, before you looked into it,”
Mia said. “I was too curious to await the council. Besides, all’s
fine, is it not?”

The king
sighed. “Did you hear who the Master went to for advice?”

She pulled a
face. “I saw the idiot with the guard Lian keeps around.”

“I swear that
witch is trying to take my position …” He may have said ‘throne’
but Torrullin could not clearly follow. The king bent a gaze on the
prone Breem. “Rise, linguist, and present your companions.”

Breen
clambered to his feet, his face white. “Your Majesty, this is
Torrullin and his son Tristamil.” That was what he said, but the
names were uncomfortable to pronounce and emerged strangely.

His Majesty
raised eyebrows and smiled at the two men. “I do hope you do not
expect me to pronounce that - translate, linguist.”

“That will not
be necessary, Your Majesty,” Torrullin said in the Cèlaver tongue.
“Although I may require occasional assistance.”

The king
shrugged and waved his guests to the sitting area, and sat.

His daughter
perched with inquisitive eyes on the armrest beside him. Torrullin
took a seat directly opposite, while Tristamil sat in a single
armchair to the left.

Breem was not
so brave.

“Sit!” the
king commanded.

Breem sat
quickly next to Torrullin.

“Now, what did
you say or do that has my Protection Master running directly to
Lian?” Ophuls looked at Torrullin. “The linguist’s mother
approached my daughter earlier with the tale of your unsolicited
presence and she was firm in her faith that you are no danger to us
and your imminent incarceration should be construed as most
inhospitable of this nation.”

He leaned
forward. “I believe, however, that you are dangerous. In a matter
of hours you have two of my subjects seeking to protect you and you
have my daughter running to your rescue without having seen you.
That displays a charisma that could usurp my power base, and I
consider it dangerous. You have Lufer going off at full throttle
and that jangles more warning bells. I ask myself, given that my
daughter has foolishly foisted you upon me, why I should listen to
you?”

“Daddy!”

“Stay out of
this, Mia.”

“I would think
your curiosity alone will cause you to give us hearing,” Torrullin
said.

Breem stared
at him, open-mouthed.

The king gave
a lazy smile. “I am not my daughter, stranger, but you are
nevertheless not far from the truth. Thus I shall listen without
judgement, but I ask that you speak truthfully and freely.”

“Then we
should speak in private, Majesty.”

“A king does
not subject himself in that way.”

“On my world I
am a king also. I would speak with you in private if I am to be
completely truthful.”

Breem nearly
fell off his seat.

Mia bent to
her father. “I thought as much, daddy. He has that thing … you
know?”

His Majesty
grinned. “Thing?”

“Oh, you know
what I mean!”

She meant
presence, that indefinable something that authority projects.

“Kings do not
generally venture into situations unaccompanied by a retinue,” King
Ophuls murmured.

“I have none.
When there is danger a man must do what is necessary. Alone. Or
with his son, a trusted companion.” Torrullin was unblinking.

“You are the
danger here.”

“Majesty, the
danger is greater than I and it is to all sentience, not merely my
people. I come here seeking a solution.” Torrullin would say no
more.

His Majesty
ruminated and came to a decision. “Out, Mia, and take the linguist
with you.”

Torrullin
glanced at Tris. “You too, son.” He spoke Valleur.

“But …” said
Tristamil.

“Daddy!” said
Mia.

No further
word was spoken.

The two rulers
sat on in apparent patience, with thoughts racing. Nothing showed
in their expressions and, with reluctance, Mia and Tristamil, with
Breem, left, the girl mumbling dissatisfaction under her
breath.

As they
approached the doors the king touched a button on a gadget he
withdrew from his pocket and the doors opened, to shut again when
the three passed through.

A wish is
often a debilitating fantasy.

~ Awl

Royal
Apartment

“
W
hat
does a nation living in the bowels of a dead world have to offer
you?” His Majesty asked the instant they were alone.

“Sire …”

“My name is
Ophuls.”

Torrullin gave
a bow of acknowledgement and answered. “You possess the secrets to
reincarnation.”

The ruler with
his pale grey skin turned white. “How can you know that?”

“I believe not
all your travelling souls chose to return. There are accounts of
this world and its people, and mysteries.”

“That is not
possible.”

“From what
your Protection Master tells me, no visitor invited or otherwise
has left. Barring the trade ships you allow to land.”

“You cannot
know about that.”

“An educated
guess. A dead world has not all product available, not the kind I
have seen this night. The traders arrive nowhere near the hub and
are no doubt willing to keep the secret while they line their
pockets. Perhaps there is a historical connection or perhaps there
is threat and blackmail involved, but they keep the secret. They
would not speak and yet things are known about this world. How else
do you explain it? Surely in your annals there is record of failed
rebirths?”