Alien Hostage (40 page)

His footsteps sounded again, this time approaching the doorway. Narpok stifled a gasp. She turned and ran for her room at top speed.

Fortunately, Sitrel wasn’t in the same hurry as she. She managed to get to the sleeping room and close the door before he reached the hall.

She turned on the light. Pretending she’d been sleeping when she still wore her gown would tip Sitrel off that something wasn’t right. She was flustered at the near discovery and fought to calm her thundering heart. Her respiration was too fast. Between the close call and not having run anywhere since she could remember, she gasped for air.

Sitrel didn’t give her a chance to compose herself. He tapped lightly on the door and called, “Narpok? Are you awake?”

Narpok looked around the room frantically. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her wan face was far too flushed, her chest heaving from the brief exertion.

“Narpok?”

“Just a moment!” she cried. Her voice was too loud, too upset. Sitrel caught it right away.

“Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

Desperate, Narpok grabbed one of her new gowns from where she’d tossed it on the back of a chair. She wrenched at the sleeve, tearing it. Before she could overthink her next move, perhaps tripping herself up, she marched to the door and ordered it open.

As soon as she stood face to face with Sitrel, she waved the dress at him, practically shoving it in his face. “Look at this! Do you see this? Torn! One of those idiots working for Dramok Maf tore my new gown!”

After a moment’s surprise, Sitrel’s expression settled into a deadpan look. Seeing him turn dismissive calmed Narpok almost at once. She could well imagine his thoughts: petty Narpok had gotten herself in a state over clothing. Relief made her knees shake.

He held out the small silver com without commenting on her loss. “Someone would like to speak to you.”

Narpok considered continuing to make a fuss over the dress. After all, it would be typical of her old self to do so. She was eager to speak to the Basma though. It might be her only opportunity.

She flung the gown at Sitrel and snatched the com from his hand. “Yes, who is this?”

“Good evening, Matara Narpok. It’s Dramok Maf.”

She blinked. That couldn’t be right. Sitrel had been talking to the Basma, hadn’t he? Poor crippled and bent Maf couldn’t have been more the opposite of the larger than life, mighty leader of a rebellion. Had she heard wrong?

Her thoughts lurching unsteadily, she mumbled, “Dramok Maf?”

The voice was warm and indulgent. “Yes, my dear. You sound upset.”

“Oh. Well. My gown was torn, you see.” Her mind flew. No one had ever managed to give a description of the revolt’s leader. Those who knew what he looked like had not come forth.

“I’m sorry to hear that. You may buy another to replace it, if you like.”

“You’re too kind. I suppose it’s not important.” Maf was smart. Maf hated Earthers. He’d admitted he supported the revolt.

“I’m glad to hear it. Tell me, what did you think of my son and his clan?”

Could he be the Basma? Certainly it had been a surprise when ambitious Sitrel had settled for being Maf’s aide. Or had he settled? Narpok looked at her cousin, knowing all too well how much he’d have loved to be at the side of someone like the Basma—

“Narpok? Did you like Falinset?”

Sitrel stared at her. She forced herself to pay attention. One way or the other, she had a role to play. “Oh, they’re very nice. I think they’d be all right if they show their rank a little more. Their home doesn’t reflect their status at all.”

The indulgent, fatherly tone rang false in her ears … was she listening to the voice of the man the Empire called traitor? Could it really be? “They prefer a simpler life, but for you I’m sure they’d be glad to change.”

She drew a deep breath. As if he could see as well as hear her, she tossed her head in pretended annoyance. “Yes, well, I can’t be expected to live in that hovel of theirs. What would people think of me? I get enough of the public’s pity as it is.” She gave a deeply wounded sigh, letting her hurts embrace her. “It’s bad enough that the Earther replaced me on the throne I was promised. Then to be forced to live in that shack? It will never do, Dramok Maf. I couldn’t stand it.”

“I’m sure we can figure something out, Narpok. Don’t you worry about that. Remember, we want you to regain your rightful place.”

“I hope so. I was born to lead.” The last sentence was snarled with perfect confidence.

“So you were.” He sounded pleased. “Please put Sitrel back on.”

Narpok handed her cousin his com, recalling in her posture the regal haughtiness she’d once worn like a second skin. Sitrel must have noted it because he dipped in a slight bow before he caught himself. Narpok tried not to smirk. Sitrel had no more respect for her than she had for him, and he never accorded her any if he could help it.

Scowling, he turned away and walked out the door. As his footsteps receded down the corridor, Narpok had a sudden inspiration. She hurried to the doorway and called after him.

“Sitrel!” She coughed and cleared her throat. “Before you go, cousin, is there a doctor on staff? A medic or nurse?”

His brows drew together. “Tell me you’re not getting sick?” He acted irritated rather than concerned.

“Maybe. Maybe it’s just the travel and poor food. Maf needs another chef, one who can actually cook. I’ll sleep in tomorrow and see if I feel better.” She waved him away, dismissing him like an afterthought. Which he was.

He shook his head and turned on his heel. He walked towards the study, muttering into his com. Narpok retreated into her quarters, locking the door behind her.

She started towards the bed. Then she thought better of it and grabbed a table, pulling it in front of the door. She added one of the chairs, straining against the heavy piece of upholstered furniture. If anyone tried to come in, the pieces would slow him down.

Ridiculous, of course. No one was going to break into Maf’s home to have his way with her. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. The idea of waking to find a man – or men – looming over her, leering as they stripped away the bed linens and pulled her nightclothes off, holding her down…

Narpok felt tears prickle her eyes. She forced herself to breathe, taking her thoughts away from the terrible visions that night sometimes brought.

Instead she looked at the piles of clothes she’d scattered throughout the room, making it look like she still felt herself the trivial, privileged girl she’d once been. She thought about her next move.

Maf. The Basma. It seemed unlikely they were the same man, as unlikely as Princess Noelle being held by Clan Falinset. Yet Maf was incredibly intelligent. Charming once she got past his looks. Pwaldur had often claimed Maf was someone to watch out for.

Narpok unconsciously snarled at the thought of her dead Dramok father. He fit more her idea of what a man called a traitor should look like. Big, powerful, able to captivate those he wanted to support him … Pwaldur’s true nature had been a shock, particularly to his own daughter. He’d had them all fooled, hadn’t he? He and his co-conspirators had killed the rest of her parents in their bid for power long before attempting to kidnap Empress Jessica.

To think someone who looked as physically unimpressive as Maf could be the leader of a revolution was something of a letdown. But then, it would be the perfect way to hide in plain sight too. No one would ever suspect Maf simply by looking at him.

Narpok needed to be sure. She plowed through a pile of clothes, looking for something she could use the next day. Surely she had bought a pair of trousers or shorts in her shopping spree? In one of the ready-made shops she’d visited she’d grabbed things at random, barely checking for the correct size before having the clerk ring up her purchases.

She breathed a sigh of relief when a pair of cropped trousers appeared. They were ugly, certainly nothing she’d have consciously chosen to wear, but they would be perfect for what she had in mind. After locating a blouse to wear with them, she set her chronometer to wake her before the sun was due to rise.

She climbed into bed. Despite the exhaustion weighing her body down, she was sure she wouldn’t sleep at all. The potential discoveries she’d made and the discoveries she hoped to make had her heart racing again with excitement.

The opportunity to repay so many for what they’d done seemed bare inches from her grasp. Her voice sounded breathless as she said, “Lights, off.”

Narpok stared into the blackness and waited for morning.

Chapter 22

Despite her conviction she wouldn’t sleep for an instant, Narpok managed to doze fitfully on and off through the long night. What little sleep she got was filled with strange, disjointed images and nightmarish creatures. When footsteps sounded outside her door, she woke with a gasp and sat straight up, a scream locked in her throat and searching for a way out.

At first, old memories of sneering men coming into her childhood bedroom confused her with her actual surroundings. It took her a few hideous seconds to remember she wasn’t on Kalquor, back in the home of Dramok Pwaldur. She was in the vacation home of Dramok Maf. She was wide awake and able to move, instead of fully aware but unable to defend herself from attackers.

She noted the old fugue state that she’d taken refuge in for the last few years lurked at the edges of her consciousness. The misty nothing beckoned, whispering there was nothing to fear in the void, nothing to hurt her in the empty spaces where a devastated psyche might hide forever.

The footsteps in the hall continued past her door without pause. They faded as they went on, moving towards the front of the opulent home. No one came into the room. She was not under attack.

Narpok shook her head and grimly forced away the soft invitation to vacate her mind again. She refused to fade out of reality. She had a goal now. She had a mission she was determined to accomplish.

The gentle tug of oblivion disappeared. She was whole. Aware. Strong. “Window vids on. Scroll perimeter of home,” she commanded.

The window vids flashed on obediently, filling her room with the first hints of early morning light. It was just before sunrise. Kalquor was still visible in the sky, it and two of its other moons hanging above the ocean’s horizon. Maf’s home was on the seashore, giving her spectacular views of Lobam’s largest ocean. Narpok had no interest in it, however. The nearby landing pad had a familiar figure striding towards it and the shuttle that waited there. Sitrel was on his way somewhere.

“Vids, lock locations.” Narpok watched Sitrel board his craft. Its lights came on, beacons of color in the still dim light. After a couple of minutes, it rose from the pad and took off, flying inland. She’d pretended to feel sick the night before for no reason then. Sneaking out without his knowledge would not be a problem.

Directing the vids, Narpok tracked the direction Sitrel took until the shuttle’s lights disappeared from sight. Then she grabbed the blouse and cropped pants she’d chosen the night before.

Once dressed, she unlocked a compartment of one of her new travel bins. She took out a frequency disruptor, a tool that had belonged to her Nobek father. It was one of the items she’d claimed from her parents’ home left to her in the wake of Pwaldur’s death. She’d had the notion it might come in handy. Maybe she’d get to use it today.

She grinned to herself, thinking of the hissy fit she’d thrown following her shopping trip, demanding Sitrel let her visit her old home to claim a few sentimental items. He’d been right to think authorities might be keeping an eye on the place, in the hopes she’d turn up there. She railed against the logic, however, going into a towering rage so loud and violent that he’d given in.

“Fine! If you want to go get your stupid self caught and thrown back in your padded cell at the hospital, be my guest!” he’d shouted at her. “I’m well rid of you, you spoiled brat!”

But no one had been there. The locked home had recognized her as one of its occupants after all the time that had passed. The door opened at her command, and she’d walked into not so much a home, but a forgotten tomb. Dust had turned all the fine furnishings gray. The draperies hung like tired ghosts at the sealed archways which had once been open to a seascape far different from the one seen from Maf’s Lobam home. She’d drifted through the cliffside dwelling, a haunt from the past herself. She’d looked in her old bedroom, that place of horrors. Her nightgown was folded at the foot of her bed where the maid had left it that last morning. Her dressing table was neatly arranged, a perfume bottle and comb the only items on the tidy surface.

She’d gone to a small chest where she’d kept mementos. Among them were many items that had belonged to her mother, a few that had been the property of her Imdiko and Nobek fathers. She’d had to dig to find the disruptor, buried deep in the chest.

Grieving her parents after they’d died when she was fifteen – leaving Pwaldur her sole surviving parent – Narpok had gone into their private rooms and gathered any and all items she could that had belonged to them, caring not for rhyme or reason. Pwaldur had confiscated most of the things she’d taken from her father Mox’s room. Since Nobeks were grounded in the idea of being warriors and protectors, a large number of the mementos Narpok had gathered from Mox’s chambers were of a lethal nature. Yet Pwaldur had missed the disruptor and a couple other things, which Narpok had kept hidden throughout the years.