The Pearl Savage (11 page)

Stephen grimaced. “That may be.
But, as I see it, if the negotiations fail,” he paused for effect,
“I, for one, will be inclined to sway them to see reason.”

Bracus saw a vision in his head of
the Princess, being coerced into cooperating by means of force or
anything. He did not like it. He was managing his emotions again.
Something as foreign to him as imagining life as a
sphere-dweller
.
When he clamped down enough to not let his emotions show, he
responded, “That would not aid us. If we are to convince the
sphere-dwellers
to come to our aid, coercion and violence will
not be the way of it.”

Matthew looked between the two of
them, the least volatile of the three. “Perhaps you are both in the
right.”

The two Band members looked at him
in surprise, he as steeped in logic as twenty bags of tea.

“Do you now?” Bracus quizzed.

“Do listen. If the Princess is
disinclined to assist us, we may be able to persuade the other
sphere-dwellers
with our logic.”

“She as hostage?” Stephen
intuited, and Matthew nodded.

“It is the same,” Bracus argued.

“Do you not see? She will either
say yea or nay. If she does not, we go to her sphere, and tell them
any matter of thing that we wish. And they may be so inclined with
the sure knowledge that we have her. As you are well aware, they
presume us primitive.”

Stephen said, “Only you. I, on the
other hand, am naturally sophisticated.”

Bracus gave Stephen a sound punch in
the arm. “Say Captain! Why do you strike me?”

“Your voluptuous laziness in the
field today. Nary an ounce of sophistication was in evidence then.”

“He speaks true,” Matthew said.

They laughed together for the
moment. Soon enough, Bracus imagined tensions would run high as the
time drew near to acquire the Princess.

The guard watched the shy female
with Joseph of the Band. He kept his smirking to himself. His time
would come. A female would not be his weakness. He would bend her to
his will. This slobbering obsession with protecting the females and
groveling before the sphere-dwellers in the hopes of acquiring their
females made his blood boil. His patience was a built thing, a
manufactured thing. It was his greatest weapon. No one was as sly as
he. He would use their emotions and weakness towards females against
them. No female would ever be important to him again.

Bracus took stock of the Band, all
in attendance by the great fire. He had not spoken with three of his
team: Joseph, Jacob and James. He would wait for tomorrow. He did not
wish to disturb Anna and Joseph with their fragile bond linking
together before his eyes, sitting at the huge log worn smooth from a
hundred years of fire watching. Joseph dwarfed her form from a solid
two feet away, she was less than half his size. He was a good hunter,
fighter and protector, he liked the man at his back.

The clans were not always on good
terms with one another. Bracus’ face darkened. He wished that
all
the Bands could see the strength of uniting.
President Bowen did:

*

“Before the Earth Breathed Ash,
Bracus, there was a force such as the one I am proposing, named the
Po-lice. Their sole job was to serve and protect,” President Bowen
stated.

“We are a different people,”
Bracus stated.

“Not so different, warrior.”

“I have read the accounts. They
were civilized, they gave people trial. There was much time spent on
proving innocence when guilt was guaranteed.”

“It was flawed, however, we are as
well. I accept that. But our strength lies in that which the Evil
Ones gave us. This physical manipulation was initialized for a
reason. You were bred to protect. It is physical; it is instinctual.
We must come together and embrace that purpose.”

“We do have a cooperative with
some clans,” Bracus said.

“Not all. That is the goal. I
endeavor to acquire the Princess, and the negotiation being a
successful thing, may create a positive ripple, one which inflates a
sense of hope in all the clans. Once they see there is a possibility
of a future for our peoples, they may be more willing to listen.”

Bracus nodded. Much of what Arthur
said made sense. But Bracus understood human nature, and where there
was not reason, fear would do as a handy substitute. He had seen the
evidence of such.

He snapped out of his reverie as
Jacob and James approached,
cousins
.
Many of the Band were related, some distantly. They looked as
different as two men could be. One fair haired and skinned with blue
ice chips for eyes, cheeks a ruddy mask, the other with ink black
eyes, dusky skin and hair that blended in with the surrounding night.

When James spoke, his teeth flashed
in his mouth, “We see that Joseph has managed to get Anna to
speak,” he said in a hushed tone.

The three men (and Philip, who had
added himself to the group) smiled and nodded; Stephen the only one
with a stony expression. They hung back at the edge of the forest
clearing, enjoying the fire at a distance.

Jacob said, “A good thing, that.”

The Band nodded, with the ratio of
males to females a dismal fifteen to one, any match was celebrated,
births were greeted with a feast.

“I would give much to know of this
clan that she comes from. That they would give up a female…”
Jacob began.

“She was not given up, cousin, she
escaped,” James said.

Bracus pressed hands to his hips,
legs spread apart. “What say you? She has not mentioned any detail,
nary one.”

“Nor to I,” and he leaned
forward and all heads neared his, until there was a circle of six
heads huddled together. “But Lillian has managed to get some story
from her.”

The Band stood silently, James loved
drama but would eventually get to the end of it. A great story
teller, was James.

“She did not say all, but only
that a male had attacked her.”

“I knew it!” Stephen intoned.

Bracus looked at him sharply,
too
loud
, his look said. This would explain much. Her shyness of the
males, where none had transgressed against her.

He had suspected as much.

Matthew and Philip stood quietly,
thinking it through, as was typical of them.

“Is there anything more?” Jacob
asked.

“Yes. Lillian thinks he was part
of that clan’s Band.”

There was a pregnant silence as the
members deliberated on a female being in the hands of a Band member
that meant them harm.

They would come to harm, of that
there was no doubt.

“How
could
she escape him?” Matthew asked. Excellent question, if phrased
oddly.

Philip looked at Matthew in
question.

“Come now? You are all thinking
it. How would that female,” he gestured to Anna, still sitting
semi-stiff beside Joseph, her small form looking tiny next to Joseph,
“defend herself against any of us?”

It was disturbing. All the Band felt
similarly about females. Who would know how they would feel if the
situation were not so desperate? But, they seemed uniformly
protective toward females in a way that was above that of other males
of the clan. The few clans that were allied with them had a similar
urgency and protectiveness. To hear that there may be a faction
desiring to abuse was against
all
that they stood for
. It was expected from the
fragment,
but not of the clan.

Philip asked the most pressing
question of the night, “Did he beat her? Or…”

“It was the other,” James said
significantly.

“A terrible abuse!” Stephen
whispered fiercely, looking covertly at Anna, still beside the fire.

“He should be flogged,” Philip
said.

“Yes, he should,” Bracus said.

“Or possibly something more
creative,” Jacob finished.

The men straightened up, Philip
inclining his head toward the fire, leaving the subject for the
moment. “Let us discuss the business of the sphere. I wish to be
informed.”

Matthew and Stephen nodded.

The Band walked as one to the
communal fire, commanding and deadly, an ancient force of reckoning,
prepared to make a historic move destined to change their lives
forever. As the heat of the fire washed over Bracus’ body, that
feeling of foreboding stole over him, the chill fighting the warmth
emanating from the blaze. His senses, ever acute, were on full alert.
As if there was something right under his nose he was missing, if he
just sniffed a little harder, he would discover it.

He shook his misgivings away,
heading toward Joseph and Anna, his spirits momentarily lifted at the
sight of them together.

CHAPTER 13

Charles stiffened as soon as he
entered the queen’s chamber.
Chamber
did not accurately
describe her quarters. The bed was in an entirely different area, a
door between where he now stood and the place where she slept. This
was a parlor of sorts, resplendent in every covering, dimension and
scale. But for the blight upon the room, it would have been a
reflection of beauty. Queen Ada made the room
dim
in Charles’ estimation. She stood in the middle, her back to the
audience of Clara and he. The deep purple folds of her dress were a
rich warm velvet. The wrong material for the season, but she ran
cold, he had heard, her scrawny form encased in the richest fabrics,
regardless of the season.

He
knew just how cold she really was
.

Charles was acutely aware of the
stickiness of his clothes as Prince Frederic’s gaze lingered over the
result of his day’s work. The Prince was supremely fresh in his linen
trousers, silk blouse of the finest weave and an overcoat of a rich,
deep blue. King Otto sat beside him looking decidedly uncomfortable
which struck a lingering question for Charles: what had they walked
in on? What conversation aborted?

Ada turned suddenly, her back now to
the Outside her dark eyes boring into Clara’s, her subdued figure
standing steady under the onslaught of the Queen’s stare.

“Tell me, daughter.”

Clara sucked in a breath, girding
her loins, no doubt. “The yield is as expected…”

“But?” Ada asked the question as
a statement.

“…the cream has taken on a pink
wash.” Clara kept her shoulders back and straight with effort. If
she was uncomfortable it did not show to Charles. Of course, Clara
was well-schooled in keeping her expression to herself.

The Queen’s hands clenched and
unclenched, she looked from Clara to King Otto.

“May I address this, Queen Ada?”
King Otto requested.

She nodded stiffly and Charles heard
a vague, grunting sound.

“I will trade the pink pearls for
the rare grapes. That is not important.”

Clara looked confused for the
briefest of moments. “Did you not wish to trade for the cream, King
Otto?” Was it possible she would not be the whipping girl for the
wrong color?

The King looked profoundly
uncomfortable and Charles’ stomach clenched moments before King Otto
articulated his worst fear, “For the pleasure of a hastened Wedded
Joining I will forgive the color and sweeten the exchange with the
grapes that are so coveted.” His gaze slid to Queen Ada then back
to Clara, “…and forgive even
red
pearls
for the opportunity of a melding of our
respective kingdoms.”

Charles was flabbergasted. Clara
freshly ten and seven years! She was too young by far to be joined
with Prince Frederic.

Before he could comment, Clara
interjected, “We agreed that we would wait one year hence. Upon my
Day of Birth celebration, marking my womanhood, ten and eight years.”
Clara’s face had a pinched quality and had paled but there she stood,
resolute in her bearing.

Charles thought again how beauty had
a faceted quality and
hers was many
.

Prince Frederic spoke, “I have
decided I cannot wait to appreciate our new status, my Princess.”
His smarmy tone indicated that which he referred.

Charles felt he would be sick, his
anger infused his body, vibrating to his extremities. “She cannot
wed
legally
,
she must
be ten and eight years, the age of legal consent. Even
you
must understand that, Prince Frederic, you being twenty and one years
yourself?”

Prince Frederic sharpened his gaze
on Charles, opening his mouth to say something scathing when Queen
Ada interrupted, “He matters not. What he
speaks
matters not. He is here by my sufferance alone.”

She looked at Charles. “Yes?”

“Yes,
my
Queen
.” Charles said with the greatest reluctance. He could
not bear this man touching Clara. That she did not love him, want
him… nay,
that she did not even
like him
, was a misery he could not tolerate for one more
moment.

Charles said, “Mayhap she does not
wish to rule, my Queen.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed as she
stared at Charles. “She has told you this?”

“Not in so many words.”

Clara turned to him, gripping his
shoulders. “Do not try to help me, dear friend. You know that I
must rule one day. Queen Ada will step down so that I may, once
Prince Frederic and I are joined… rule this sphere.”

Charles’ fists clenched into balls
of anger. “You cannot mean that you wish this joining
now.
”

Clara’s face looked pained while she
searched for a way of diplomacy when there was none. “I wish for a
proper betrothal, the length as originally negotiated upon. Not a
rushed affair.” Clara stared at King Otto, who looked away from the
naked accusation he saw there.

“You get what you wish,
daughter…to rule the people that are so precious to you, and I get
my grapes.” Ada threw up her hands triumphantly.