LOST IN THE EMPIRE
PART 12
He was having a difficult day. Never mind that Proximo had caught onto his
giraffe gambit: his walk was still recovering from the gladiator trainer’s
assault. Proximo had also given him
short shrift over the number of men he had trolled for as he passed through the
hinterlands, traded, bought. And now
what did he have to show for it?
Scatterlings, animals, dregs of items to pass around because no one else
wanted them. His only chance at recouping
his losses in the sale of the gladiator slaves was the small number of monkeys
he had tucked away in an alley. One in
particular would fetch a worthy drachma, he was sure of that: a young black and
white colobus monkey. The Egyptian he
had bought it from said it was called a ‘messenger of the gods.’
The grin he was sporting by the time he made his way
back to his temporary enclave disappeared instantly at the sight of a young
woman with shockingly red hair bending over feeding said prized monkey.
“Leave!” he cried, raising his cane to shake at
her. “You are not to touch my stock
unless you have enough drachmas to make me a rich man!”
“I was only feeding the one,” cried Diedre, glaring
back at him. He wasn’t much bigger than
she was, although portly, bound to pack some strength in his round body. He had her cornered, though, and the swing of
his walking stick came close to clipping her.
“You’re starving the creatures,” she added, putting as much fierce
bravado as she could, trying to turn some aggression on him. “You’re an idiot if you think people are
going to buy them!”
“Your pelt will fetch a pretty price once I sell you,”
he snarled, reaching out to grab for her hair.
“Hair such as this is prized in
Diedre shrank back as far as she could, feeling the
little fingers of the monkeys begin to grab for her as well as she bumped up
against their cages. The merchant’s hand
fell to her shoulder, gripping it as if he were testing for firmness…relaxed
and began to drift down towards…
“Get off of me!”
she shrieked, and pushed forward as the man stood unsupported by his
cane, and the hissing mangabey leapt again.
A collective clamor went up among the monkeys as the merchant fell into
the pile of cages and Diedre scrambled to get out of the way. Down came the piles of haphazard, poorly made
containers, out leapt numerous creatures…and the colobus cage slid away,
crunching against a wall, its door knocked wide open.
Diedre almost forgot about the merchant, who was
battling the escaped captives as they jumped around, shrieked, hooted, grabbed
his robes, bounded away. The mangabey
was still trapped, barely to be seen underneath the broken cages, as furious as
ever. She watched the colobus cautiously
move out of the confines of its cage and look about as if it couldn’t believe
its luck.
“Move it, colobus, move!” Diedre cried, waving her arms to startle it
into action.
“GAAAUUURRD!”
the merchant howled, nearly upright once more, searching for his
cane. The freed monkeys were already
making their way into the other market stalls and people were beginning to
collect nearby to see what all the fuss was about. “Take that girl! GAAAUUURD!!!!”
Diedre fled back into the market, spotting some
monkeys cantering through the stalls with merry abandon, shocking the proprietors
with overturned crockery, ripping through cloth dividers, demolishing carefully
piled fruits.
She heard a familiar voice call her name; stormy,
panicked. Terry! There he was in the street, looking as though
he were going to explode with worry and frustration. She looked behind her. The merchant had recovered and was chattering
in ferocious rapidity to others, all of them looking around for her…
Diedre saw Rachel and Cort too, the looks on their
faces reflecting her realization: they had to get out of there fast! She felt a chuckle rise, then outright
laughter. The whole market place was
filled with voices and raucous noise.
The merchant and a group of boys spotted her as she hesitated, pointed,
launched after her.
She ran like hell.
“Gotta go!” she
called out to Rachel as she dashed by, in the wake of three monkeys loping
through the open spaces. People shouted
at her as she passed. Several tried to
grab for her, but she slipped by, laughing.
They appeared to be heading for the streets of Zucchabar, sloping
avenues that immediately lost direction as they got further up, the red-stucco
walls of the village towering overhead.
She willed every step to take her further into the alleys, to get her
lost in the maze.
Discovering a large cart shoved into the corner of one
alley, Diedre found a place to tuck in and hide. She would have to wait until things calmed
down before finding her friends again.
Up above on a ledge, she heard a call….ehhruuuhuuuu
huuu!
There on the ceiling of the building that shaded her
sat the colobus as he surveyed the path of his escape.
^ & ^ & ^ & ^ & ^ & ^
"God DAMN it!" Terry roared as the crowd
filled completely in behind the fleeing Diedre. Instantly he'd lost sight
of her. He choked, coughing, in the dust-filled
air, blinking rapidly, trying to find a path through the milling, yelling
humanity in front of him. The large bag he had over his shoulder didn't
make the going any easier, but he simply had no place to leave it.
He turned rapidly on one heel, trying to locate Cort
and Rachel, but there was no sign of them, either. His mouth squared, his
teeth clenched tightly. Didn't they KNOW the importance of remaining
together? A running boy rammed into the backs of his legs, almost sending
him sprawling. Staggering, he managed to keep his feet, hitched the bag
up a bit, and shouldered his way into the crowd, his eyes darting from side to
side as he moved. He heard the distant sound of a shrieking monkey and headed
in that direction. Brown hands clutched at his bag and he turned sharply,
jerking it away. He wanted to shout her name, but kept his lips pressed
tightly. No use calling even more attention to his being out of place
than was necessary.
Sid shook his head. Bungling incompetents, the
lot of them! At least when they all got
themselves killed on this assignment he wouldn't have to fire them back at
Grabbing Rachel's upper arm, Cort flung himself
through the flapping curtain that covered the entrance to the small shop where
carpets were sold. The owner was out in the street, watching all the
shouting and runnings about. Inside, it was dark, with shafts of light
coming in through the small window and it's thick wooden bars. He stopped
and they both stood there, panting, trying to catch their breath. Leaning
forward, he braced his hands on his thighs, but kept his head tipped up, his
eyes fastened on Rachel. One of the narrow light shafts lay across her
face, highlighting her eyes and part of her dark hair. Her hair had come loose
in their run and tumbled now over her shoulders. A slow smile crept
across his lips as he looked at her. He straightened, reaching out his hand,
taking a long curl in his fingers.
"You are, you know," he said softly,
"the loveliest thing in Zucchabar."
She chuckled slightly, though she liked his
words. "I saw a pretty cute monkey just a bit ago."
His hand moved to her cheek. He was
serious. "Will you marry me?" he asked.
"Always," she replied, feeling that sudden,
deep clutch in her being when he looked at her like that.
A hand gripped the curtain from the outside. The
owner was returning. Cort looked quickly
around, spying a small storage area to the rear. Pulling Rachel along, he sprinted for
it, practically falling atop a large pile of carpeting that nearly filled
the space. He twisted so that his back landed on them and Rachel came
down atop him.
"Tuck your feet up!" he whispered.
"Why...Cort!" she grinned, but did as he
asked. The drape closed then over the narrow entry, leaving them lying
there, trying to breathe quietly. They
heard the proprietor pass, his slippers making a soft scuffling sound as
he walked. Someone called to him from the front and he turned, retracing his
steps and soon they could hear him engaged in a lively conversation just
outside his shop.
"Wanna buy a carpet, sir?" Rachel mouthed in
Cort's ear.
He shifted slightly, centralizing her weight above
him. "No, but I want...you."
"I know," she whispered. He did.
She could tell.
One corner of his mouth twitched, then he put his palm
on the back of her head, gently pushing her lips to his. He let them rest
there, just lightly touching, soft and warm, then the tip of his tongue parted
her lips. A great urgency to love her...there...now...took him completely
and he fisted his hands in her hair.
She was yanked backwards off him with such sudden
violence that he was left gasping. What? There was no time to
think. The shop owner was standing there, pointing at him.
"There!" he said. "There's the slave you sold
Proximo!"
He half sat, trying to prop himself on his
elbows. Rachel was being held by a large, robed man.
"No!" he cried, reaching an arm toward her, but as she was pulled
away, two other men grabbed him, hauling him to his feet.
"Thought you could disguise yourself, did
you?" the slave trader snarled.
Cort jerked frantically, trying to free himself, but something hard slammed
into the side of his head and he felt himself falling.
Rachel, looking back over her shoulder as she was
being hauled toward the street, saw the club being swung at Cort.
"Nooo!" she shrieked, but then was tossed out the entrance, sprawling
in the dirt. Instantly she was on her feet, but the man blocked her way,
not letting her pass. "CORT!" she shouted.
"CORT!" She was frantic, out of her mind with fear for
him. Attempting to dart around the man
proved futile and when he raised his arm and advanced toward her, she was
forced to back down the street.
She was gasping, her chest heaving with her attempts
to breathe as she backed slowly, her vision blurring as large tears
formed. This couldn't be happening! It couldn't! She backed into
something solid.
"Rachel?"
She turned. "TERRY!" she cried, her knees
almost buckling in relief.
"What's wrong, Rachel? Where's Cort?"
"They've got him! Terry, they've got him!"
"Who's got him, Rachel? What are you
talking about?" He dropped the sack beside his leg, grasping her
shoulders to steady her.
"Men! They...they...just came in and threw me
out."
"Men? What men? Where?" He looked down
the street in the direction she'd come from.
She pointed a shaking finger toward the carpet
shop. "In there. We were in there." The man who had
pushed her out was completely gone now.
Narrowing his eyes, Terry felt quickly for a small
lump in a hidden breast pocket under his robe. Grabbing the sack, he
tossed it next to a wall. "Stay
there...with that," he ordered. "I'll be right back."
He sprinted to the entry, pushing back the curtain
cautiously, his eyes taking in the room carefully before he entered. The
proprietor sat at a tiny table, just putting away a bit of coin. Terry
frowned. There was no sign that anything was amiss. The man looked
up. "Carpet?" he asked.
"You wish fine carpet?"
Ignoring him, Terry strode across the room, pulling
back the drape over the storeroom. Just carpets. A big pile of
carpets. He stepped back, noticing to his right a small back exit.
Quickly he pushed it open and found himself in a tiny alleyway, filled with the
flotsam of a desert village. No sign of
Cort. Walking rapidly back through the shop, he hurried down the street
to where Rachel sat huddled atop the large sack, her arms clasped around her
knees, her shoulders shaking.
He knelt in front of her, resting his hand on her
knee. "He wasn't there, Rachel."
She lifted her face, tear tracks streaking her dusty
cheeks. "They hit him, Terry. I saw him falling." She
closed her eyes.
"Did they say anything, Rache? Did they say
why they took him?"
She gulped, her throat tight and choked with
sobs. "I...I... heard...one of them....I think it was the man who
owns the shop...say that he was the slave Proximo had bought."
Terry's breath hissed inward through his teeth.
"Maximus," he sighed heavily. "They think Maximus
escaped."
"What?" she gasped.
"It has to be that," he said.
"Someone must have seen him." He stood, licking his lips as he
gazed thoughtfully down at her. "They'll be taking him to
Proximo's."
"Oh....God!" Rachel moaned.
Dimetri watched, his eyes mere hard slits, as the
unconscious Cort was dragged roughly out the back of the small shop.
"A... complication," he said to Brianna, standing at his elbow on the
flat roof overlooking the alley. "But one that must
be...attended...to."
^ & ^ & ^ & ^ & ^ & ^
Instead of the unconscious Cort, she watched the
colobus make its call as it sat on the edge of a rooftop, then skitter off to disappear
into the jagged corners of the hillside village.
“Two for the price of one,” Dimetri said, as if he
could read her thoughts.
“That may be so, but we still have to get to them, and
you’re wasting our time.” For the second
time since they entered, Brianna was irritated by her partner’s interest in
Cort. She picked up Dimetri’s satchel
and prodded him with it. “If he’s there
when we find Maximus, then I will help you take Cort. But keep your mind on what we’re about,” she
snapped.
“It’s not necessary that you hurry this! They will take the entire movie to get the
gladiator. Mr. K&R has weakened
their position with ethics and procedure, and we have no need of such dogma,”
Dimetri growled in return. “Mikol
understands potential much better than Sid.
You would be wise to accept that as your mission.”
Diedre huddled beneath the cart for what felt like an
hour before venturing out back into the street.
This had given her time to sit and mull over her actions…and what
replayed through her mind was not a pleasant picture. Those in the market would be on the alert for
her now, and Terry had looked as though he would murder her himself if he got a
hold of her. In calming down, she came
to the conclusion that she would probably do the same. Shame took place of the exhilaration of
setting free the captive monkeys…no, no justification could be found. Terry said ‘stay close’ and there she had
gone and…
They could be anywhere in the city right now, looking
for her. She found herself caught
between remaining where she was, to die a quiet unobtrusive death of ignominy,
or venture out into a market place where not only merchants were ready to leap
on her but the very people who were probably under intense scrutiny
themselves. She spent a good part of
that time talking herself into heading down the hill, finding some small
comfort in lifting a couple of robes from an empty doorway to wrap herself in,
until only her eyes showed. Only by
chance did she recognize the street of the inn where they chose to stay and she
clutched the robes closer as she neared their room. She heard Terry’s voice talking with Rachel
and lifted the tapestry that covered the entrance to their room.
Terry spent a split second to see who it was that
intruded and pulled her into the room with a sharp jerk.
“I’m sorry…,” Diedre choked, sensing the intensity of
emotion in the room. Rachel’s face was
haggard with tears and Terry radiated…fear.
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t….”
“They’ve taken Cort,” Rachel rasped. She was huddled on their mat, sounding as if
she had just now gained control over her voice.
“They saw him and thought he was Maximus and took him as a slave.”
Diedre didn’t dare look at Terry, who seemed to be
taking this moment to watch her. She
felt caught between the hammer and the anvil now.
“Oh God, Rachel, I’m so sorry…,” was all she could
think to say. Every other word in the
English language seemed like an invitation to screaming.
“Why,
“I thought that…the merchant tried…” Deidre stammered,
and bit her lower lip because her stomach was threatening to come up through
her mouth. “I’m sorry…”
“They’ve got Cort, do you hear me? They’ll put him in the arena and they won’t
let him go until…,” Rachel minced the words between her teeth.
Diedre felt Terry’s hands take her by the shoulder and
pull her down to her own mat and she obeyed, wishing she could sink into the
ground and disappear underneath the robes, hoping Terry wouldn’t choose this
moment to confront her, too. Maybe, she
told herself, as she felt her own hot tears sting her eyes, she should have
just followed the colobus into the sunset.
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PART 13
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