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 is not surprising that the minister almost fell off his 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, the beautiful woman who had turned a ceremony into a coup. Then their eyes turned to the regent. The gaily dressed dictator advanced six ominous steps toward Tatja. His pale eyes reflected hatred and complete disbelief. For twenty-five years he had ruled the most powerful country on Tu—and now a lone girl 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 impostor,” he ordered.
Twelve
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 Tatja’s treachery. Brailly Tounse —who seemed to hate Tatja as much as Svir did—had provided him with five pounds of Michelle-Rasche powder. Now that powder lay in the heavy weave of his jacket.
“It’s safe until the cloth gets twisted tight,” he whispered to Cor. “Then almost any extra friction will set it off.”
He struggled out of his jacket. 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 off 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.”
‘Tou did the same for me.”
“I—I’d do it again.”
Her reply was clear and firm. “I, too.”
When they came, there was plenty of warning. It sounded like a whole squad. The heavy footsteps stopped, and when they began again, there were 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
He forced himself to his feet, and pulled Cor up. Svir was scarcely aware of blood flowing down his jaw from his ear. The doorway was a dim patch of light beyond the dust and smoke. They gasped futilely and ran for the opening.
The blast had destroyed the bottom hinges and blown the rest of the door 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 backup 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 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 couple 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 with 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, Marget, 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 took a tone that brooked no argument. “Now jump!”
“Yes, Marget!” 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—
Tatja turned to them. “You two look like hell,” she said.
Svir started angrily toward her, his fright and pain transformed into hate. 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 Cor. “Queen? Really you are the Lost Princess of Crownesse?”
Tatja looked beyond them, at the departing guards. “You might as well know the truth. You can’t do anything about it. I was no more Marget of Sandros than you; now I am incontrovertibly the queen. My footprints match those of the infant 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-five years ago. The job was botched 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 his own guilt.”
Svir looked across the curving dome of the keep at 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.
Svir 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 wondered 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,” he said, the hate rising in his voice, “or will you one day rule all Tu?”
Tatja smiled at Cor and Svir, the scornful smile that was now so familiar. ‘You never were very bright, were you? It’s possible that I’ll take over the world. As a matter of fact, I probably will. It will be a by-product of my other plans. I chose Crownesse very carefully. The country has immense physical resources. If there are large heavy- metal deposits anywhere, they are in Crownesse. The government is talented and dedicated. Most administrative posts are awarded on the basis of civil service tests. And the entire bureaucracy is fanatically dedicated to one person: the legal holder of the crown. They served Tar Benesh and his evil for twenty-five years, and they will serve me just as faithfully. I will not be bothered with coups and elections, as I might be if I took over one of the archipelagates.
“We’ve reached a critical point in the development of civilization, in case you haven’t noticed. In the past
