Дэймон Найт: Orbit 4

“And so in the Year of the Discovery Nine Hundred and Seven did the Crown Prince Evard II and his sister, Princess Marget, take themselves aboard the Royal Yacht Avante to tour the western reaches of their Dominions.

“And on the fifth day of their voyage a great storm sent their yacht upon the Rocks of the South—for so we have the word of the ship’s captain and those crewmen who survived the tragedy.”

Tatja stood up slowly, out of their view. She fluffed out her full skirt and waited quietly for the moment that would come.

“The Royal Children were never found. So it is that the Regent continues to govern in their stead until such time as our rulers are recovered. On this twenty-fifth anniversary of that storm, and by order of the Regent, I ask that anyone with knowledge of the Royal Family step forth.” The Lord High Minister glanced about moodily. The ceremony was almost a legal fiction. It had been fifteen years since anyone had dared Tar Benesh’s revenge with a story of the lost children. It was not surprising that the Minister almost fell off the stand when a clear, vibrant voice answered his call.

“I, Marget of Sandros, do claim the Crown and my Dominions.” Tatja stood boldly on the uppermost tier, her arms akimbo. Behind her, and invisible to those below, sat a small animal with large ears. The startled Bureaucrats stared at Tatja. Then their eyes turned to the Regent. How would he accept this challenge? The gaily-dressed dictator advanced six ominous steps toward Tatja. His pale eyes reflected hatred and complete disbelief. For twenty years he had ruled the most powerful country on Tu—and now a female was challenging him at the very center of his power. Benesh gestured angrily to the Guardsmen—the sleek professionals with thousands of hours of target and tactical experience, the deadliest individuals in the world.

“Kill the imposter,” he ordered.

When they came, Svir was ready.

He and Cor had lain quietly in the darkness, telling each other their stories in frightened whispers. As Cor massaged the numbness from his arms, Svir told her of his one backstop against Grimm’s treachery. Tounse, who hated Tatja as much as Hedrigs did, had provided the astronomer with five pounds of Michelle-Rasche powder. Now that powder lay in the heavy fiber weave of his clothing.

“It’s perfectly safe until the cloth gets twisted into a constricted volume,” he whispered to Cor. “But then almost any extra friction will set it oft’.”

He struggled out of his overjacket. Cor helped him wedge the fabric into the door crack. Though only a small portion of the jacket could be jammed in, it would be enough to set oft the rest of the powder. Then they retreated to the far corner of the cell. There was nothing more they could do. He hadn’t said so to Cor, but the best they could hope for was a quick death. If they weren’t killed in the explosion or by the Guards—then the next stop was the torture chambers. Their present cell was a carefully contrived filth-pit, designed to prepare prisoners psychologically for what was to come. Somehow the prospect of torture and death no longer provoked absolute terror in him. Cor was the reason. He wanted to hide his fear from her—and to protect her from her own fears.

He put his arm around Cor’s waist and drew her to him. “You came out here to save' me, Cor.”

“You did the same for me, Svir.”

“I’d do it all over again, too.”

Her reply was clear and firm. “So would I.”

When they came, there was plenty of warning. It sounded like a whole squad. The heavy footsteps stopped, and when they began again, it sounded like only two or three men. Svir and Cor slid under the filthy straw. The footsteps stopped at the door. Svir heard the key turn, but he never heard the door open. For that matter, he never actually heard the explosion. He felt it through his whole body. The floor rose up and smashed him.

Hedrigs forced himself to his feet, and pulled Cor up. The doorway was a dim patch of light through the dust and vapor that the explosion had driven into the air. They gasped futilely and ran toward the opening. Svir was aware of blood flowing down his jaw from his ear.

The blast had destroyed the bottom hinges on the door and blown the whole mass into the ceiling. In the hallway lay the two Guardsmen. Both were alive, but in much worse shape than the prisoners. One, with a severe scalp cut, tried ineffectually to wipe the blood from his eyes. Svir and Cor stepped over them and ran down the hall. Then they saw the men at the end of the passage—the back-up section. The two prisoners came to a sudden halt and started to turn in the other direction.

A Guardsman smiled faintly and twisted a lever mounted in the wall. A weighted net fell from the ceiling onto the two escapees. As the Guard approached, Svir lashed out at his legs, hoping to provoke lethal retaliation. The Guard easily avoided the extended hand, and grabbed it with his own. “You know, fella, for someone whose life we’re supposed to protect, you’re making things damn difficult.”

Svir looked back blankly. He couldn’t make sense of the words spoken. The net was removed, and the Guards marched Svir and Cor down the hall. The proofreader and the astronomer looked at each other in complete confusion. They weren’t even treated to the paralysis the Guards had used before. It was a long uphill walk, and the Guards had to help Cor the last part. Svir wondered if he had gone crazy with fear and was seeing only what he hoped to see. They came to the final door. The Guard captain went through. They could hear him through the open doorway.

“Marget, the individuals you requested are here.”

“Fine,” came a familiar voice. “Send them out, I want to talk to them alone.”

“Begging your pardon, Margct, but they have repeatedly offered us violence. We could not guarantee the safety of your person if you interview them alone.”

“Mister, I told you what I wanted,” the voice said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Now jump!”

“Yes, Margct, immediately!” The captain appeared at the door. He gestured courteously to Svir and Cor. “Sir and madam, you have been granted an interview with the Queen.”

“The— Queen?” Cor asked incredulously. She got no answer. They were pushed past the door and found themselves standing on the top tier of the Conciliar Facet. By the light of waning Seraph they saw a beautiful girl in a full-skirted dress.

Tatja turned to them. “You two look like hell,” she said.

Hedrigs started angrily toward her. All his fright and pain was transformed into hate for this monster who pretended to be human. There was a scuttling sound on the floor, then a tugging at Svir’s clothing. A soft wet nose nuzzled his neck. Ancho! Svir’s hands reached up and petted the trembling animal.

“Marget?” asked Coronadas. “Queen? Are you really the Lost Princess of Crownesse?”

“Since you were in on part of the scheme, I suppose you might as well know the truth. You can’t do anything about it. I was no more Marget of Sandros than you. But now I am incontrovertibly the Queen. My fingerprints match those of the Princess which are kept in the Crown Room. You should have seen the look on Benesh’s face when the Lord High Minister announced that I was heir to the Crown. The Regent had the Royal Children murdered twenty years ago. The job was bobbled and he couldn’t produce bodies that would pass an autopsy. He knew I was a fraud but there was no way he could prove it without revealing that he was guilty of regicide.”

Svir looked out over the curving dome of the Keep toward the city. The crowd sounds came clear and faint through the air. The crowd had moved away from the waterfront. There would be no sacrifices tonight—the people had been told that the Crown had been claimed. Crownesse had a Queen—that called for the largest of festivals, a celebration that would go on for many days. Hedrigs turned to Tatja Grimm. “You had to lie and cheat and steal and—probably—murder to do it, but you certainly got what you wanted. You control the most powerful country in the world. I’ve wondered so many times what could make you as vicious as you are. Now I know. The hidden motive that mystified me so much was simple megalomania. Female ‘Tar Benesh’ has taken over from male. Is this the end of your appetites,” said Svir, putting as much derision and hate into his voice as he could, “or will you one day rule all Tu?”