The main vulnerability of his rooms was precisely what kept them secret – one entrance down a long, zigzag corridor. However once someone knew this was his place, they could trap him in there. Only Gyle had ever known, and perhaps the king. It wasn’t something he’d dwelled on much, not after he’d added a few measures.
He’d always thought Gyle a plain man when not in uniform – his short brown hair, though cut well did not make for a presence. Perhaps neither did his own shaved blond hair, though he’d argue that. Ryke ran his finger down and over the scars on his forehead. For the first time in years he was not shamed by these.
This was good, surely.
He straightened. This spot was a little way into his long corridor, yards from where a secret door joined this one to another corridor. It was an invisible T-junction. The other corridor was very quiet and deep in the history storage areas of the palace, in the catacombs of the past of the Mekkers. Few except scholars roamed this area.
The secret door swished open then shut.
Here was Gyle, dressed in his best black-and-gold court uniform.
He never wore that in Ryke’s rooms.
Treachery antennae twitching, Ryke emerged from his concealment behind a wall rug and nabbed Gyle as he was about to pass. He brought him into the small space and let the rug fall back into place. Long ago, during a loud palace celebration, he’d ripped out rivets and removed this rectangle of metal from his corridor wall. Patched with thinner metal, this left a big potential niche, one that could be knocked through if need be, to the other side of the wall. Once through that, he’d be in a pantry in the kitchens.
“Shhh! It’s me, Gyle. Make no noise.”
With his back braced on the wall, he waited for Gyle to calm. No mechlings came here, so this would go unrecorded. He still wouldn’t care to be near his rooms for longer than it took for a fart or two. He’d acclimatized to the Underdeck and up here was making him uneasy.
He flicked on a light mounted on his lapel.
The ghostliness of this encounter was appropriate. Shadows and yellow light played over Gyle’s face.
“Why are you in uniform?”
“I...” Gyle dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “A court appearance I could not avoid. Why this concealment? We’re hiding instead of going to your rooms?”
“Yes.”
“But no one is here. Except for me.”
If Gyle was nervous, it wasn’t showing. A little flustered, but no more than expected for someone wrenched into darkness under a wall rug. The man wasn’t that easy to read, of course. No one who was a court official would be.
“You don’t trust me.”
A statement. Ryke smiled. “No. There are factors, such as the coming Gathering. That someone caught me and Gio on our first outing. That others were looking for Gio and that Ormrad was involved. I’m a cautious man when need be.”
“I’ll forgive you, this once. Let’s have a snuggly conference then. So... Have you found a portal mage? You’ve been working on this, I assume? Or is there any other information that will help us?”
“No. Not yet. I have been working on it. I need to ask you some questions.”
Gyle only grunted. “Ask. I may or may not answer.”
What should he ask? Gyle was as solid and blank as a piece of new metal. He should’ve known. He had, really. Even so, he’d needed to try.
“Anything I find out will reach the king?”
“That’s almost treasonous of you to ask, but the answer is yes.”
“Then tell me why we, the Mekkers, the king, need to make portals.”
Gyle’s face twisted in disgust. “Definitely treason, that one. Let me sum up. Economics. Money. We sell the humans to the Scavs, we get Factor H. It’s prestige even. They do make great fuck toys. More questions?”
“Why hasn’t anyone been told the ship is badly damaged, and that we aren’t travelling as fast as we need to?”
Gyle sighed. “Do not say this to anyone. Even the King’s Own Lawgiver would be executed so fast –”
“The whole of the Underdeck knows.”
“Well...” Then he added, slowly. “They don’t count though, do they, Ryke? Not really.”
An insult. He brushed it off, having had an inkling of where this led.
“Repairs and so on will be accelerated. We have a procedure planned. Keep it quiet and don’t worry.”
He couldn’t see how all that was possible.
A niggling doubt in the back of his mind insisted on being asked. “The Gathering...is something happening then I should know about? Something big?”
“No. Done?”
Shortest answer yet.
Perhaps...that was a sign.
He stared and Gyle, the negotiator for and advisor of the king, waited him out. All his knowledge and also his instinctive assessment of the psychology of clients ratcheted into play. There were lies here, simmering. Gyle was not the stalwart friend he’d always thought he was. Which left him zero friends above.
And how many below? He shook that off.
At least no one had prowled past. No one followed Gyle.
Ryke drew his Thelk 10, showed the long weapon to Gyle, let the light dribble down the barrel. The blue, safety-off light blinked slowly. “Make sure no one follows me.”
“I’m not stopping you, Ryke. I’m loyal as you are. Just find out that information. Before the Gathering.”
“I will. Go.” He noted that Gyle didn’t challenge him about the threat of the gun.
It occurred to him that an innocent man would’ve done so. If Gyle was purely loyal, he should have reasserted his authority. The man was unsure of his standing, perhaps.
Perhaps. It was difficult to be certain one hundred percent.
Gyle slipped out and he listened to him leave the corridor and slide shut the door.
He checked the area again, and holstered the Thelk.
Too soon for accusations of treason from his end, but Gyle wasn’t the rock-steady man he used to be. The Gathering was almost certainly going to be more than just the king stepping down and another being chosen. The King’s Own should aim to protect the king, but the king mightn’t be the king soon. He’d seen images of birds squabbling over a corpse, pecking, throwing entrails. This reminded him of that.
The predators would emerge from the background. The dark men. Secrets within secrets. His position might disappear. He might. Gyle also, unless he juggled things carefully.
Ryke began to quietly undo the false rivets on the section leading into the pantry. The idea of following Gyle out, using that one exit, made his gut ache.
One should never be careless when one has just been accused of treason.
The return to the Underdeck took longer than planned due to having to use a particularly circuitous route. But he made it without being followed or having to kill anyone. By the time he was in the Underdeck, it was late at night. He opened the front door of the king’s residence and felt relief flow through him, down to his tired feet.
Gio was here and that he acknowledged was a part of this feeling.
Emotions? Fuck emotions, he thought as he strode down the hallway to the bedroom with the cage. She was there, sleeping. He continued on to the large bathroom and had a fast shower then dressed in fresh clothes.
When he entered the cage bedroom, he waved at the mechling, Aunt Mary, and it spun away. Its legs must have rollers beneath.
“Wait.” He held his arm out straight, fingers spread wide, and whispered, “Can you manipulate screens? I want food arranged regularly for us both. I want fresh bed linen and anything else you can imagine us using. I need you to find where the king kept his gear for use during sex, that must’ve existed, judging from the artworks here. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir. I can. I will do this.”
“I have a list also. You can leave the residence to get whatever you can find, tonight.”
“Certainly, sir.”
He nodded then approached the cage where she slept.
She was as perfect a woman as ever. Curves and prettiness, and secret places where a man would always lust after seeing, touching, fucking. All would have been wonderful, if not for one terrible thing.
Ryke froze.
The mask covered her beautiful golden hair but it left the rest of her exposed.
Before her hand, almost touching her fingertips and overwhelming the brilliance of her gold fingernails, a fiery green disc danced.
This couldn’t be what it looked to be. Yet... He’d glimpsed a portal once and heard them described.
This was one, though small. He’d found his portal mage.
Careful not to wake her, he lowered himself until he was sitting on the floor, then he wrapped his hands about the back of his neck. Every possible pathway this might create in the future seemed to open up then slam back down, closing. Anything could happen.
What must he do?
He didn’t want to hand her over to Gyle.
And Ormrad too...that man was snarled up in this.
A week ago, his answer would’ve been automatic.
He could either betray her, or keep her, or he must betray the king.
Why though? How could this be? It was all too much for him to believe a coincidence. Did her vision have anything to do with this? Was being able to create portals somehow infectious?
He sat there thinking, rocking a little, staring.
After a while, the portal winked out.
He had to wake her but he wouldn’t tell her of this. There was no need for her to know. Yet.
Then he sneaked forward on his knees and unlocked the cage. The clicks and clinks of metal woke her.
This luscious body uncurling before him, stretching, reminded him of what they’d agreed. Since he didn’t need her to look for another talented person who could make portals being nice was no longer necessary.
“Greetings.” Finger hooked in one of the D rings at the side of the mask, he encouraged her to get onto her hands and knees. If she didn’t know what she could do, would that be to his advantage? It seemed so.
Aunt Mary could watch her when he wasn’t around. Tell him if any more of these appeared. But he needed her close to him as much as possible.
“Up, girl. From now on, you’re going to sleep with me.”
“Oh.”
No other protest came from her. The mask was clearly responsible for that. She became a cute little slave with it on – an effect he was more than thrilled with.
A pity this couldn’t be on her all day.
Ryke smiled. “Come out.”
With two fingers in that D ring, he led her from the cage, on hands and knees.
He would put the mask on her at night with the caps clipped over her eyes, until he found out if she only did this in her sleep...until he found out more about what happened above and knew what was going to happen at the Gathering.
Though he had no spies, no way to do this.
There had to be a way. He only needed to infiltrate the inner circle of Judge Ormrad and the king’s advisor. Simple. Simple as a Mekker living on the surface of Aerthe.
A vision shivered into his head – a man’s feet in soil, a wild wind sweeping past, whistling in his ears. Then the world pixelated and turned to dust.
Sure, and that was so promising. Ryke grimaced. He rushed this decision.
Gio was valuable to everyone. He must not rush.
“Look up.” He tugged the D ring. Being positioned on one knee before her put his crotch at her head level.
Circled by the anonymity of the black mask, her lips tantalized. The spikes around it threatened minor blunt trauma. Gio opened her mouth then licked and he glimpsed her tongue. Small, squirmy pink thing. He wanted to make her run it over his cock, wanted to feel that on him, to make her suck. He also wanted to fuck her on the spot.
“Mouth dry?”
She nodded.
There was a jug of water in here somewhere. He went and found it where it sat on a table, brought it back and fed her a cupful. The mechling would have better instructions if he left her like this again, alone and masked, caged.
Again, there was that jarring bounce from ruthless interrogator to this...a somewhat caring man. It wasn’t him, was it? Maybe years and years ago. Not now.
He needed to stay on track. This Gathering might be a disaster rolling toward the royal swathe and landship.
Anything might happen.
What if the Followers were correct?
What if. They offered a weird brand of hope for all Mekkers with their theories.
He’d never thought that before but the world was shifting.