Alabaster Emissaries

The air was redolent of rank mold and peeling paint. The queen sat in an old, Formica chair, bound by thin ropes and a ratty bungee cord. She bore several bruises from rough treatment when her would-be assailants had dragged her to the parking ramp. Minister Salbard had acted more valiantly than she would have anticipated. Bookish though he was, he’d stood up to the ruffians who had accosted her. If he weren’t unconscious right now, she would have thanked him.

  The raven-haired woman who’d knocked Salbard over the head and taken them prisoner was nearby. She talked into one of those small, palm-sized boxes everyone in this world seemed to carry. Tony had had one, too, and called it his “cell phone”.

  “You heard me,” she was saying, “one hour. I want Arnau out and back here by then or I start cutting up the tourists. Got it?” She flipped its tiny lid closed. Other than her abductor, there were two others in the room. Each wore similar, brutish clothing suffused with red.

  “She said she’d see what she could do,” the raven-haired woman said. She indicated Allasande and Salbard with a nod. “Keep an eye on ‘em. I’m getting something to drink.”

  “You want we should call th’ others?” The man who spoke had a dusky look to his skin. His hair was short and black but his eyes were bright brown.

  “Yeah,” the woman replied. “See how many got out; tell ‘em we got ‘insurance’.”

  “And Meza?” The second man brought up the name Allasande had heard several times since being brought here. Arnau Meza, she gathered, was their leader. “What do we say about him?”

  “You say nothin’. Let everyone think Arnau’s good an’ fine. They don’t need to know he got pinched.”

  The queen said nothing but listened carefully to their guttural, brutish words. This trip had become a true adventure not unlike those she’d had as a child. Unlike most royalty, she had experienced an exciting life before ascending the throne.

  A faint moan escaped Salbard’s lips. His eyes fluttered open to confusion before focusing on the fearful realization of their predicament. She nodded to him.

  “I’m sorry, majesty,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”

  She smiled and kept her voice low. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she assured him. “But should you feel compelled to any more acts of bravery, let me know, first, that I might be of more assistance.”

  His sallow features lightened but he did not smile.

  “What are your orders, Majesty?” he asked.

  “Bide our time,” she whispered. She idly fiddled with the bird-shaped buttons on the wrists of her blouse. “We wait and watch for opportunity. Until then, try not to be afraid.”

  She watched Salbard nod in agreement but knew that fear was foremost on his mind.