Coronation: A Kid Sensation Novel (Kid Sensation #5) (13 page)

Having had my powers go on the fritz once already (and suppressing any thought of what might have happened had they failed when I faced the fellow with the stone-stick), I was through playing around. Telekinetically, I grabbed the guys surrounding Berran and slammed them into the ceiling, and then into both side walls of the walkway tunnel. When I released my psychic grip, they flopped to the ground like wet noodles. A moment later, Berran became visible and began walking towards me.

“Are you injured?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I replied. “Who were these guys?”

“Assassins. The more relevant question, however, is who sent them?”

“Maybe we should ask,” I said.

I scanned the two groups that had attacked us. A couple of them weren’t going to be saying anything to anyone ever again. Several others – like the guy with the petrified arm – were either in shock or too much pain to provide any useful intel. More were unconscious, but one or two were starting to come around; one of these was Scar-nose, who had rolled onto his back and was now groaning and holding his hands up to his bloodied face.

I reached out telekinetically, grabbed Scar-nose by one leg, and began dragging him towards us. I had only pulled him a few feet when his groans became actual yelps of pain.

“Stop bellyaching,” I said in a loud voice. Granted, I wasn’t giving Scar-nose the most comfortable ride, but it was a lot less than he deserved (and nowhere near as painful as he was making it seem). In response, Scar-nose let out a high-pitched scream, like I’d just put a pair of thumbscrews on him and tightened them to the max.

“What are you doing to him?” Berran asked.

“Nothing,” I insisted, and then released my telekinetic hold for good measure. Scar-nose kept howling, even louder than before (if that were possible), and thrashing around.

And not just him. His compatriots – those that weren’t too incapacitated – began wailing as well, not to mention flailing about. Something was seriously wrong here.

As I looked at the various members of the ambush party and tried to get a handle on what was happening, I noticed something weird: an odd red glow began to radiate from each of our attackers, even those that were deceased or out cold. Those who were conscious howled in agony as the red glow grew more intense, and soon I saw why: the light seemed to be eating them alive.

Under the red glare, the bodies of our attackers (as well as their clothes and makeshift weapons) seemed to fragment, breaking into pieces. Then, two things appeared to happen at once: portions of the aforementioned fragments began to vanish, as if they were being dematerialized bit by bit. The remnants seemed to melt, liquefying in a horrid and unnatural fashion before disappearing in small, cloudy wisps like water evaporating in a boiling pot. Worst of all, our assailants were apparently alive during almost the entire process, with their screams not ending until the final liquefied fragment disappeared and the red glow vanished.

“What the hell was that?” I asked, so upset by what I’d just seen that I mistimed stepping off the walkway and staggered a little. (The thing had kept moving throughout our entire ordeal with the ambushers, and we had finally reached its termination point.)

“I don’t know,” Berran said, shaking his head. “Some kind of atomizer. I’ve never seen anything like it. Whoever hired those men to attack us must have access to some fairly advanced technology.”

“And he killed them because they failed to assassinate us?”

“I think those poor devils would have died whether they succeeded or not. Whatever device or gear used to terminate them was seemingly embedded in their clothes and weapons – which were probably supplied by their employer.”

“So basically, whoever hired them didn’t want any loose ends.”

“In essence.”

“Well, we should get back to my grandmother. She’ll want to know about this.”

“No,” Berran said.

I stared at him in complete surprise. “What do you mean, ‘No’?”

Berran contemplated for a moment. “From what I observed, Prince, I believe the devices that killed our assailants operated on a timer. I don’t think their employer had a visual of what was happening down here.”

“Well, he obviously has
something
, since he knew when and where to send his flunkies to attack.”

“As someone who was following you, let me note that you had a very public encounter with members of the queen’s guard, not to mention the fact that vast numbers of commoners not only saw you but were practically shoulder-to-shoulder with you. In short, your movements were fairly open and notorious. Almost anyone could have pinpointed your location with a little effort.”

“Okay, but even if that’s the case, so what? What does it matter whether he actually saw us engage with the thugs he hired?”

“If he couldn’t see what happened, he probably doesn’t know his team failed. He doesn’t know that you’re alive. Thus, you have to go on as if nothing has happened, and maybe this adversary – whoever he is – will say or do something to reveal himself.”

“If you mean go on and have lunch with Vicra, that’s not going to happen. After what we just witnessed, there’s no way I can go through with those plans.”

“You can,” the courier said confidently. “You must.”

*****

In the end, I succumbed to Berran’s logic. It only took one of us to report back to Indigo, and if acting as though nothing had happened gave us a chance to find whoever was behind the attack, then I needed to get with the program.

I teleported Berran back to the castellum, and then resumed using the GPS to find my destination. Five minutes (and one walkway) later, I was headed back up to the surface. Once there, I spent a few minutes following holographic arrows and then found myself at the guarded entrance to a walled-in, private nature reserve.

Apparently I was expected; the guards waved me in with little more than a cursory inspection of my bona fides (which basically consisted of the crown and the insignia on my clothes). They then directed me to the backseat of a driverless hovercar, which floated about two feet off the ground. I had barely closed the door before the thing took off, so I assumed that my destination was preprogrammed.

The drive only took a few minutes, but was rather scenic. The route the hovercar took was through a moderately wooded area populated by monstrous trees that were probably twice the size of giant redwoods back on Earth. Flitting through the branches and scampering along on the forest floor were a wide assortment of creatures I’d never seen before. Something like a giant wingless housefly, as big as my hand, dashed across our path on webbed feet at one point. A bright yellow bird with horns and a serpent’s tail hopped through the branches of one of the humongous trees. An animal that appeared to be an earthworm – with a head at both ends and teeth like a shark – chewed on the bark of a young sapling.

I could have watched the various forest creatures all day (and they were a nice distraction from more somber thoughts), but eventually we came to a clearing, where a large tent was set up near a startlingly blue lake. Heading towards the tent, the hovercar slowly ground to a halt as we reached the entrance. As I exited the vehicle (which then zipped away – presumably back to the entrance to the reserve), the tent flap opened and Vicra stepped out, followed by a young woman.

“Thanks for joining us,” Vicra said with a bright smile. “By the way, this is Princess Nylerin.”

Nylerin and I exchanged pleasantries. She was young, easy on the eyes, and – as I would soon discover – a natural flirt. She was dressed in an unusual red wrap that seemed to move and flow around her of its own accord, and was always on the verge of showing too much skin. However, whenever it seemed that the garment was about to reveal more than modesty allowed, it would somehow manage to make sure the appropriate body part stayed adequately covered.

On his part, Vicra wore what appeared to be a maroon and white military uniform of some sort, complete with sash and medals. I later learned that he had several honorary martial titles, but had never actually served in any armed branch.

“Thanks for the invitation,” I said to Vicra. “I don’t really know anyone on Caeles yet, so it was a nice surprise.”

“No problem,” Vicra replied, and then began strolling towards the lake.

Confused, I asked, “Aren’t we going to eat in the tent?”

“Not today,” he answered. “It’s far too nice to be inside.”

Still walking, he then gestured to a spot near the lake, where a table sat in the shade beneath a large, broad-branched tree. Not being overly concerned (and, in all truth, still dwelling on what had happened on the subterranean walkway), I started to follow him.

“Hold on,” Nylerin said. “We’re forgetting someone.”

She turned back to the tent, opened the flap, and then shouted, “Myshtal, come on. We’re waiting for you.”

I didn’t hear a verbal response of any type, but a few seconds later a young woman, quite plainly royalty and wearing a green summer dress, stepped out of the tent and I almost had to catch my breath. She was breathtakingly beautiful.

To clarify, virtually all the royals I’d met thus far were good-looking, but what else could you expect? They’d had the ability to genetically eliminate bad physical characteristics for generations. So goodbye, weak chin! Au revoir, oversized schnoz! Auf wiedersehen, blubbery jowls!

That said, Myshtal’s allure went beyond what genetics alone could do, as it wasn’t confined solely to her features (which were exquisite and framed by thick, flame-red curls that came cascading down about her shoulders). It was in her carriage – her posture and bearing; she actually walked like a queen. It was in her demeanor, such as the way her eyes seemed to smile as they met mine. In those and a dozen other small ways, she embodied an overall appeal that went well beyond physical appearance.

“Myshtal,” Nylerin said as the other woman stepped towards me, “this is Prince J’h’dgo.”

Myshtal and I greeted each other in a perfunctory, how-do-you-do manner, but I barely noted what was said. I focused on reminding myself that I had a girlfriend back home, as well as other, more pressing concerns (like who had tried to kill me earlier).

“Come on,” yelled Vicra, who was already at the table. “I’m starving.”

With that, the two women and I walked over to join him. Once there, we took our places as directed by Vicra, our host, with him and I on one side of the table and the two women on the other.

We were barely in our seats before Nylerin – who was seated across from me – said, “You look pretty healthy for a guy who’s supposed to be dead.”

“Excuse me?” I said, looking at her in alarm. She couldn’t possibly have been the person who sent those thugs in the tunnel after me…could she? My eyes danced over to Vicra and Myshtal. Were all three of them in on it? Was this lunch itself another trap?

“We heard you were poisoned with Yolathan,” Myshtal added. “Every other case has reportedly been fatal.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Nylerin’s question had been about something else entirely, not the attack.

I glanced at Vicra, who put up his hands defensively, saying, “I’m sorry. I told them.”

“Don’t blame him,” Nylerin said. “We practically beat it out of him, and then had him invite us to lunch so we could meet you.”

I understood now. This lunch was just an extension of the dog-and-pony show that had begun at the banquet yesterday. My surviving the Yolathan poisoning had apparently raised interest in me by making me even more of an anomaly. I was here to do no more than satisfy curiosity, and as a result, my initial impression of Myshtal immediately became more banal.

“Of course, I had intended to invite you to lunch anyway,” Vicra said, as if reading my mind. “These two just horned in on the event.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I enjoy meeting new people.”

Myshtal gave me a bright smile at that last comment, but I refused to read anything into it, feeling that any interest she might have in me was clinical at best. (Not that it mattered, I reminded myself, because I had a girlfriend…)

Around this time, servants began bringing out lunch. Apparently they had set up in the tent, which was being used as a kitchen and serving station. I knew without asking that the meal would consist of a number of courses, although hopefully not as many as my banquet. As we began eating, the conversation once again turned to my miraculous survival of the day before.

“Now that I think about it,” Vicra said, “I believe there was another Prince J’h’dgo who died of Yolathan poisoning long ago.”

“Oh?” I said, not really excited to continue this particular conversation.

“Yes,” he said. “Odd how history repeats itself.”

“Except I didn’t die,” I noted.

“True,” Vicra said with a nod. “Still, it’s one of those things that people don’t think about when selecting names for children. I’m named for Plavicre the Glorious, so presumably the hope is that I’ll eventually be celebrated and loved by all, as he obviously was. But what happens if you choose a name that has more negative connotations because of its previous bearers?”

“Like being poisoned?” Myshtal asked.

“Exactly,” Vicra said. “Does that have an effect on a person’s potential, aptitude, or the expectations surrounding them?”

“Are you saying that some names are cursed?” I asked.

“Maybe not cursed,” Vicra said. “More like bad omens, or perhaps just unduly burdensome.”

I thought about this for a moment. It wasn’t a completely logical argument, but it did have some teeth. Back home, there were countries that had made it illegal to name your child Adolf Hitler – the name inspired too much hatred and loathing. (Although imagining that anyone would want to name their child after Hitler – and thereby requiring that such laws be put in place – was beyond my ability to fathom.) Of course, that was a long way from avoiding a name because someone with that moniker in the past had suffered ill fortune.

“Don’t you have another name?” Myshtal asked as these thoughts were flitting through my brain.

“Yes,” I said. “I also go by Jim.”

“Sounds rather pedestrian,” Nylerin said, practically wrinkling her nose.

“We were told it was something a bit more…arresting,” Myshtal added. “Boy Amazement?”

“Kid Sensation,” I corrected with a sigh.

Myshtal and Nylerin exchanged puzzled looks, and – as with Vicra the day before – I wondered if translation into Caelesian had somehow given my sobriquet an unintended meaning.

Thankfully, no one seemed focused on discussing names anymore; in fact, they appeared more interested in quizzing me about my background and life on Earth. (They also asked me about my abilities, which they were keenly aware of, and begged for a demonstration.) However, I wasn’t really feeling it. It was pretty clear that I was only here for their amusement, but I wasn’t in the mood to entertain anyone. Thus, I gave mostly curt answers to their questions – generally responding “Yes” or “No,” without any elaboration – and politely declined to put my powers on display. They’d likely twist the little I did say when they recounted things to their friends, anyway – probably portraying me as a noble savage, or painting my home planet as some kind of ignorant backwater. At the moment, though, I didn’t care.

Eventually, with my unwillingness to speak in more than monosyllables or parade my powers, the conversation turned and for the remainder of the meal my companions primarily discussed people, places, and events that I was completely ignorant of. Needless to say, I had very little involvement in the discussion, since much of it revolved around humorous anecdotes of the you-had-to-be-there variety. Once again, however, I really didn’t care, and found myself trying to make lunch end faster through sheer strength of will so I could leave.

To her credit, Myshtal tried to include me in their chat session on multiple occasions. (And to be fair, I really didn’t get quite the same dance-for-my-amusement vibe from her that I picked up from the other two.) Still, I simply had too many other things weighing on me.

She finally seemed to give up, but I would still catch her looking at me occasionally with an unusual expression on her face. It wasn’t just once or twice, but a constant throughout the meal. After a while, it started to grate on me.

“What?” I finally said to her. “What’s the problem?”

My words, spoken more forcefully than I intended, cut short a conversation that Nylerin and Vicra had been having and caused them both to look at me in surprise.

Myshtal blinked several times, clearly caught unawares by the rancor in my tone. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve been looking at me like I’ve got a nose three ells long, Princess,” I said. “So what is it?”

Myshtal looked nervous for a moment, as if she didn’t want to talk about whatever the issue was. However, I felt her resolve harden as she suddenly decided to simply speak her mind.

“Your ears,” she said. “I was staring at your ears.”

“Oh,” I said, abashed. Once again, I had forgotten what I looked like – how my appearance deviated from the norm here. For all I knew, rounded ears may have actually been the Caelesian equivalent of having a nose three ells long.