Chloë (20 page)

About
three in the morning, everything cut lose:  an explosion ripped through
the “extra” bedrooms on the third floor and the Shukurae moved in to clean up
the stragglers.  Heather had been sleeping in bed with Chloë in Raymond’s
old room as everything went down, and Heather’s fitful burst of laughter all
but launched Chloë off the far side of the bed.

“Oh,
that was priceless!” beamed Heather.  “They fell for it!”

“How
much explosives did they use?” asked Chloë with real concern; she didn’t want
the hotel to fall down!

“Those
were flash-bangs… stun grenades… you know, like out in the rain
yesterday?  They are more about loud than destruction.  Curious which
ones they set off…”

“Go
back to sleep, ladies,” called Watzkel from the hall.

“Yes,
mom!” yelled Heather.  Heather just giggled as she rolled over in bed.

Chloë
stared at the ceiling and, once again, she marveled at Heather’s
resilience.  To Heather catching the would-be kidnappers was some sort of
joke, a game… no, not a game…  “Heather?”

“What’s
up, Chloë?”

“How…
how do you let it all roll off you?  How do you go back to sleep so
easily?  I mean tonight, or that night back at your house…
our
house… when those guys broke into your bedroom…”

Heather
rolled over and smiled, “I can sleep because I know I can defend myself if I
have to.  I can sleep because I know there are wonderful people all around
me that are busting their butts to make sure I don’t!  Father, Gavin,
Watzkel, even Raymond: they will protect us, not because it is their job, but
it is what they do; their very nature.  They are loving and protective
people.  If I stay up at night worrying, I’m not letting them do their
job.”

“I
guess it is all about trust.  And trust for the right reasons.”

“Exactly! 
This isn’t about money, honor or pride.  It is because they care. 
You
know
Watzkel is going to have to do a lot of explaining when she
gets back to the fleet.  She knows people are going to put her under a
microscope and question her every move.  She knows that and doesn’t care.”

“Doing
the right thing was more important,” finished Chloë as she finally managed an
honest smile.  Suddenly the smile flickered and vanished, “What about
Raymond!  You don’t just quit the palace guard!  They’ll…”

“You
don’t just round up your ward, still in her nightgown, commandeer a ship and
fly thousands of lightyears away to an alien world, now do you?  But your
governess Anna did!  There are good people
everywhere
.  Not
all of them make the tough decisions, but some do.  And some find that
not
doing something is an even tougher decision.  I know the
Crown Prince
is going to be
mad!
  But even he is capable of making tough
decisions, the right decisions.”

“Philip,”
grinned Chloë.  “Just call him Philip.  After all that has happened,
I’m amazed that you hold out hope even for him.”

“There
is good in everyone…”

“Okay,
that’s enough!  I’m with Raymond on this one: if you break into song I’m
gonna hurl!”

Heather
just laughed, “Well alright then!  Sleep sleep!”

“Sleep
sleep!”

Raymond
was late for breakfast.  It seemed
someone
had to explain what all
was going on, and the local constable was terrified of Watzkel.  That did
not bode well for the constable’s long term employment…

“The
man could handle ghastly murders, rapists, rustlers and kidnappers, but could
not handle a Shukurae trying to be helpful,” mused Raymond as he ate his late
breakfast.

“Well,
you weren’t too keen on Shukurae this time last month,” admonished Heather
seriously.

“Yes,
but at least I was professional enough to talk with them,” he replied. 
“We are leaving here soon, aren’t we?” he asked to Watzkel.

“Yes,
Raymond Stratfordslance, we should have a transport here in just a few hours.”

Heather
grinned at Raymond, waiting for some form of reaction to his new title.

Raymond
just grinned and shrugged, “I can live with that.  It’s far better than I
feared.”

“What
is
your family name?” asked Heather.

“You
are crawling all over him and you don’t know his family name?” laughed Chloë.

“Hey! 
I’m interested in
him
, not his family,” grinned Heahter.

“‘Thompson,’”
offered Chloë with a grin.

“Nope,
it appears to be ‘Stratfordslance,’” grinned Raymond.  “I, for one, am not
about to argue with Line Centurion Watzkel!”

Watzkel
cut loose with a belly laugh that made the room shake.

Raymond
grimaced as he poked at his food.  “Not quite as good as yesterday…”

“What
are you talking about?” retorted Chloë.  “The food was excellent!”

Raymond
cocked an eyebrow at her, “Maybe yours was.  Mine kinda tastes, well, like
the eggs went bad.  Kinda sulfury…”

Watzkel
yawned and laughed, “It all tastes the same to me.”

Raymond
twitched nervously as Watzkel
giggled
.  “Um, ma’am, are you all
right?” asked Raymond with growing apprehension.

“Aww,
the little kitty gets all serious,” she giggled back.

 Heather
blinked and stared at Raymond, “Um… that’s not right…”

“Sulfur! 
Rivostone-isothiocyanate!” recoiled Raymond.  “Watzkel!  You are
being gassed!”

It
was all a little too late, Watzkel just sat there laughing at nothing in
particular.  Raymond, Chloë and Heather bolted from the table to find the
other Shukurae already out of commission: sitting in place with a stupor on
their face and giggling.

“We
need to go, now!” bellowed Raymond as he ran for the door.

“Won’t
the gas affect us too?” asked Heather as she followed close on his heels.

 “Only
at very high concentrations!  Ironically, in low doses it’s actually good
for
us
,” replied Raymond as he held the door for the girls. 
“Crap!  We sold the horses!”

“Ugh! 
It smells like boiled Brussels sprouts!” gagged Heather at the smell outside.

“Similar
chemical actually…”  Raymond paused as his eyes went wide.

Overhead,
descending through the thick gloomy clouds were a series of repulsar
gunships.  Not Shukurae gunships.  These had the markings and livery
of House Amsterval!  Suddenly, all along the city streets burst an army of
soldiers, Taiks, palace guards to House Amsterval.  Armed and armored they
closed, their faces blocked by full masks and artificial respirators. 
Briefly Chloë’s mind pondered the need for respirators if the gas Raymond had
mentioned wasn’t dangerous to them.  This idle curiosity was instantly
brushed aside as traditional riot gas started to flood the streets.  In a
matter of seconds they were lost in the putrid fog.

All
around her Chloë could hear orders being cast about in her native tongue: 
“There she is in the middle!”  “Quick, while they’ve escaped from the
monsters!”  “Save the princess!” “Get her air, get her air, get her…”

Chloë
gagged as she woke up.  Between the sulfurous smell and the riot gas, her
sinuses hated her.  She started to roll over to throw up when she suddenly
realized she was surrounded by an army of attendants.  The army of ladies,
young and old, quickly helped her to the sink and cleaned her up.  Chloë
started to zone out; things were back to the way they were before.  She
was standing there, motionless, brainless, while these ladies took care of her
every need.  Cleaning her hair, brushing it, combing her tail and dressing
her in long silken finery.  Absentmindedly she finally managed to get out,
“Are we home?”

“No,
your Highness.  But we should be there in three days! Oh…” the blabbering
started again.  They all liked to blabber.  Never was there any good
to be said save for the start and end.  Things were right back where they
had been… been before…

“No!” 
Chloë shouted at no one in particular.

The
masses recoiled and started blubbering their apologies.

“Where
is Raymond?  Where is Heather?” she demanded.

“Agent
Raymond is still in the infirmary…”

“What
of Lady Heather!  Reddish orange coat, white throat with flaming red curly
hair!  Where is she!” 

“
Lady
Heather?” one asked apologetically.

“She’s
the daughter of a baron and my confidante.  Where is she?”

“She
is in the infirmary as well, your Highness.  We had no idea that…”

“Just
take me to her.”

“But
the infirmary is such a dreadful place and…”

“Did…
I… stutter?” snarled Chloë.

“No,
your Highness.  It is just that…”

“What
happens to those when I have to repeat myself?” glared Chloë.

“I…
I will alert them that we are coming, your Highness.”

“Good.” 
Chloë closed her eyes and growled to no one in particular.  “This dress is
monstrous.  What was wrong with what I was wearing when I came on board?”

“It
was dirty!”  “It stank of gas!”  “The material was cheap!”  “It
was a peasant outfit!” 

“The
first two reasons were good reasons!  So clean it and bring it back!”

“Um. 
We burned it, your Highness.  It seemed so hard to clean and so beneath
you…”

“Burned
it?  At the very least why did you not clean it and save it to give away
to charity?”

“Oh,
I’m very sorry, your Highness.  Yes, an anonymous donation to the poor
would have been very gracious of you.  We are so terribly sorry that…”

Chloë
screamed and they all recoiled in terror.  Chloë tried counting to ten and
tried again, “I want
all
of you to stop running at the mouth. 
Choose your words carefully and sparsely.  I want a new dress, and I want
it now.  I want something simple that I can walk around in without
worries.”

“Like
a garden dress, your Highness?”

“Excellent
choice.  Now why do I need eight people to help me put on a dress? 
Am I infirm?  Ill?  Feeble?”

“There
was concern that you would be unwell after your exposure to the gas and an
uneven series of meals, your Highness.”

Chloë
sighed, “Okay, I’m doing quite well, but I do confess that I am, in fact,
hungry.  My guess is my dearest of dear friends, Lady Heather, will
likewise be hungry… as always!” she laughed.  Chloë gritted her teeth at the
blank expressions looking back at her and then just sighed, “Plan
accordingly.  Lunch for two.  How many of you know the Old Tongue?”

The
last drew a series of blank and astonished looks and one feeble, “I have
studied through Block 4, your Highness.”  The rest seemed to at most have
taken a single class.

“Okay,
ladies, consider learning the Old Tongue your task and duty when I am not
around.  Now… who is running this ship?”

“Count
Alfonso, your Highness.”

Chloë
sniffed, that made sense.  He was the ceremonial head of the House
Guard. 

“Would
you like us to contact him for you, your Highness?” asked one timidly.

Chloë
grinned, “Initiative!  I like that!  Yes, ask that he meet me in the
infirmary. 
You,
with me.  The rest of you will prepare what
you can for Lady Heather and be ready to see to her needs and lunch.  Your
name?”

      
“Elisabeth, your Highness.”

      
“Are you comfortable with ‘Liz’?”

      
“Whatever you request is fine, your Highness,” replied Elisabeth with a
practiced meter.

      
“I do not want to hear the textbook answer.  I asked
you
if were
comfortable with it!”

      
She swallowed hard, “‘Liz’ is what the others called me as well as my mother
growing up… your Highness.”

      
Chloë grinned, “Good!  A real answer!  Okay Liz, please contact the
count and then direct me as I head to the infirmary.”

      
Liz bobbed politely and withdrew quickly to another room while the others
looked on nervously.

      
“Garden dress?  Someone? Anyone!  And then lunch for two!”

      
The rest quickly bobbed and scurried about their businesses.

Chloë
held her head high and fought off the tears. 
What has happened to dear
Heather?   
In a matter of minutes she was changed and headed out
the door of her cabin with nervous Liz at her side.

“Your
Highness: the count was delighted to hear you were doing so well.  He was
very
worried about the rough way you were brought on board.  He will be waiting
for us by the lifts and will happily escort you to the infirmary.”

Chloë
smiled, “Thank you, Liz.”

“You
do not need to thank me, your Highness.”

“No. 
But I can, and I choose to.”

Liz
blinked before quickly firing back, “You’re welcome, your Highness.”  Liz,
with a brighter step in her heart led them along long corridors before finally
reaching a series of lifts to the lower decks.  Quickly they descended to
a great hall where the count and two of his attendants were waiting.

“Your
Highness, Princess Chloë Amsterval, I am delighted that you are doing so
well!  We were worried about your health.  It seems several of the
guards released the riot gas much too early.”

“As
in ‘at all,’” she snarled.  “Which way to the infirmary?”

The
count recoiled somewhat confused, but soldiered on, “This way, your
Highness.  Is there anything I can do in the meantime to make your stay
more pleasant?”

“There
are a great many things, but first on my list is to issue an arrest warrant for
Sir Reinhardt of the Beyscones.  It was men under his direction that
drugged
me, kidnapped me from Afon, and then conveniently tried to squirrel me away.”

“That
is a horrendous accusation, your Highness!”

“
That
was a statement of historical
fact!
  Are you unable or
unwilling to…”

“No! 
No!  He will be brought forward to speak for his actions before your
father!  I promise you that!  But to hear his story…”

 “Does
his story include him running like the coward he is?  Leaving his own men
in a hopeless situation while he fled!”

“No,
your Highness,” grinned the count, “it did not include that!”

Chloë
sniffed, “I take it you do not think much of him?”

“There
are rumors of him trying to move above his station… Cowardice will not suit his
aspirations.”  The count smiled to himself as he opened the door to the
infirmary for Chloë and the ensemble moved inside and surveyed the room.

“What
of Lady Heather and gentle Raymond?”

“Raymond
is over here, your Highness,” offered the doctor in charge.

“And
Lady Heather?”

“Lady
Heather?  Um, your Highness, do you mean crazy girl?”

Chloë
snarled and got right in the doctor’s face, “Reddish orange coat with
fiery
red hair!  Where is she?”

“Um,
your Highness, we had to sedate her… she injured several of the men and
wouldn’t leave poor Raymond alone.”

Chloë
glared at the count, “Is this your doing?  Your men flood the place with
gas and then you have the audacity to act surprised when someone lashes
out?  Who was shooting at your men?   How were they being
threatened?  Was there not a more civil way we could have all met?  I
consider her my most prized friend, and I’m not too pleased how she’s being treated. 
Her father is the baron of Threedales of the Highlands of Afon.  Is this
really
how you start diplomatic discourse?”

The
count bowed deeply, “I’m deeply sorry, your Highness, but she…”

“She
saved me from thugs on at least two occasions!  She stood down
Sir
Reinhardt
when he…”

“I
understand and do apologize, your Highness,” interrupted the count
finally.  “You there! Doctor, see to it that Lady Heather is
released.  I will take full responsibility for the young lady.”

Chloë
smiled through her teeth as the doctor squirmed and bolted for the back
door.  The count continued to run at the mouth, but she ignored him. 
“And Raymond?” she interrupted.

A
smile returned to the count’s face, “He is over here and is doing well…”

Chloë
moved across the room to find Raymond unconscious on a bed with a respirator
covering his mouth and a tube snaked down his throat.   Next to his
pillow sat a gold chain with the crest of Amsterval on it.  “He doesn’t
look so good…”

“He
is in shallow sleep.  Nurse!  Revive the man!  He has important
visitors!”

“I
wasn’t that messed up by the gas…”

“No,
your Highness, but he was laying in the gas for some time.  The girl… Lady
Heather would not let us evacuate him…”

“She
was scared, she didn’t know what was going on,” she turned to face the count. 
“Lady Heather was trying to protect him.  Protect him from a bunch of gas
happy loons that seem to forget that people can
talk! 
 Communication! 
You may have heard of it…  Did any of your men say so much as a word
before we were hosed with the wretched gas?”

 “No,
your Highness, and I do apologize for that.  We…”

“Your
Highness… I’ve failed you…” mumbled Raymond.

Chloë
grinned, “No.  No you haven’t.  You have failed when you stop
trying.  Have you given up trying?”

“No. 
No, your Highness, I have not…”

“Raymond
dear boy,” beamed the count.  “You are too hard on yourself!  News of
your dedication and perseverance has already spread and…”

“Count
Alfonso, I hereby resign my commission,” Raymond managed to get out.

The
count laughed, “Young lads, always so eager to prove themselves and all too
eager to blame themselves when things aren’t perfect.  Well perfection is
a goal!  You have done well lad!  Your commission has already been
dissolved!”

“Dissolved?”
asked Raymond confused. 

The
count beamed, “His Highness, Prince Philip, has knighted you!  Thus your
commission was dissolved!  There, by your bed are your chains of station!”

“I
refuse…”

Chloë
laughed, “No, no you will not refuse.  If you wish to stand well with
Heather’s family, you will accept it!” 

Raymond
looked horribly confused, “How…”

“Trust
me, Sir Raymond!  Trust me!” replied Chloë with an evil grin.

“There
is something going on between our new knight and Lady Heather?”  asked the
count with a broad grin.  “Yes, maybe that could help smooth over a few
political transgressions.”

 
Chloë started to reply but her malicious grin melted as Heather was wheeled
out.  Heather looked
terrible
.  She was strapped to the bed
with thick leather straps and had a respirator strapped to her face. 
Chloë hurried to her side and immediately started to undo the straps. 
With a quick nod Liz joined her.  Suddenly feeling left behind, the count
snapped his fingers and his two attendants stepped forward to finish removing
the restraints.  “Wake her up!” screamed Chloë as she crawled onto the bed
and cradled Heather.

 
“Remove the mask, your Highness, and she should quickly recover,” replied the
obviously nervous doctor.

 Chloë
snarled and everyone stepped back.  The snarl didn’t last long as she
started to tear over as she held Heather tight.

“Heather!”
murmured Raymond as he started to get up; his strength failed him and he
collapsed back into the bed.  No… it didn’t
fail
him: he tried
again!

“Liz! 
Help Sir Raymond!” barked Chloë as she fought through the tears.

“Hey…
don’t cry….they just cleaned your fur… now they’ll have to clean it again…”
came the faint retort from Heather in the Old Tongue.