Seven of Nine - Christie Golden [48]
Seven took another bite, savoring the flavor, and wondered why there was suddenly a peculiar lump in her throat.
As he strode through the airy, exquisitely crafted corridors of the First Imperial Domicile, Xanarit was hard put to conceal his pleasure.
Within the last turn he had received a message that to anyone else would sound like so much nonsense, but to him was the sweetest news in the world:
Little One to Big One. House here, it flies well. Torch on fire.
Light results. Purple flower in bloom and the star is falling.
The translation, according to the code that Xanarit and his people had worked out, was: Tatori government, via Elebon Boma, to the Iora. The water extraction system is in place and is functioning well.
We have enough water to save our people and to irrigate crops. The food shipment is being distributed and we are deeply in your debt.
It had been a tense few days, but the apprehension had been worth it.
The Iora, acting in secret and under the leadership of Xanarit, had saved millions of innocent Tatori lives. Even if Beytek had discovered the deception and ordered them executed-or worse, put a price on their heads for the Ku to claim-all the members of the Iora had determined that the risk was a worthy one.
Xanarit's greatest fear was that he would be intercepted before the supplies had been successfully delivered. There was still the chance that Beytek had stumbled onto the plot and was setting up this meeting to order to capture him, but that did not distress the council's leader. The only regret he had was that if the lora's treason was discovered, they would be unable to continue to help those whom the Emperor had wronged.
Mintik, his Second, fell into step with him. He acknowledged her presence by dipping his head and flicking his black tongue. She returned the traditional greeting and they continued in silence.
Most of the eleven others had already assembled in the council chamber by the time Mintik and Xanarit entered. Formal greetings were exchanged, but otherwise the mood was silent and tense. Emperor Beytek, of course, would delay his entrance for the maximum impact.
They heard the Emperor long before he appeared.
This time, he had brought his cadre of musicians with him, and their sprightly tunes carried through the halls. Xanarit and Mintik exchanged glances. For a brief instant Mintik's eyesacs flushed red, conveying her annoyance, then returned to their normal shade of purple.
One of Xanarit's tasks was to oversee the Emperor's personal expenditures. Not that he had any control over it, but it was one of the ritual duties of his stature as leader of the Iora. He knew that the amount earned by a single one of these musicians, who did nothing better with their great gifts than to dance merrily before their ruler while playing cheerful melodies, would have bought three hundred thousand danos of food for the starving Tatori populace. He felt his own blood rise at the obscenity of it, and had to quickly bring his emotions under control.
The music was loud now, and the first six musicians leaped into the room. They were indeed talented the songs were lovely and in addition to playing music the performers did astonishing leaps, tucks, and rolls-but they were unnecessary, a frivolous expense incurred by a corrupt, careless ruler. The second six followed, followed by the third set. Eighteen was a sacred number to their people, and the Emperor liked to make sure that, when possible, he had eighteen of everything. Or eighteen sets of eighteen.
Beytek, as usual, was borne on his litter. A famous smile was on his scaly face and he waved and nodded languorously, as if the powerful, honored Iora were nothing more than a crowd at a celebratory parade.
He was set down gently and assumed his traditional place, on the embroidered cushion on the highest her. He fussed with his