The Immortal Prince (19 page)

Mathu looked around with interest as they entered the Crasii village, quite taken with this innovative method of housing slaves. In Herino, as it was in most other places in Glaeba, their slaves were confined in cells or locked barracks. The idea of letting them coexist in a village setting was something he'd never encountered before.

“I'm guessing this was Arkady's idea?” the prince remarked as the word spread through the canine village that their lord and master had come to visit. Crasii pups had appeared on the common the moment they arrived, bounding around their ankles, barking excitedly, while their more reserved parents tried to call them back.

Stellan bent down and picked up the nearest pup. The size and shape of a small human child, he was black and white, his pelt so soft Stellan couldn't resist the need to stroke it. “This is Bounder,” he told Mathu. “One of Tassie's many siblings.”

Mathu smiled at the pup and reached out to pat him. “Hello, Bounder.”

Bounder barked excitedly, licked Mathu's hand and then wiggled out of Stellan's grasp and jumped to the ground.

He let the pup go with a smile. “He's only about two or three, I think. He'll be five or so before he stops barking and starts learning to speak.”

“And you let them live like humans?” Mathu asked, looking around at the neat row of dormitories lining the single street of the village.

“They're part human, Mathu. Mostly human, if you believe Harlie Palmerston's theory. We have them in our homes, we let them cook for us, we entrust our children to their care and we let them fight our battles for us. Why are you surprised they have the ability to live like civilised human beings?”

The prince considered the matter for a moment and then shrugged. “I don't know. I guess I never thought about it much.”

“You should think about it,” Stellan suggested. “You'll be king someday. The Crasii are your subjects, too.”

Mathu smiled. “I think my father would shudder to hear you suggest such a thing, Stellan.”

“You don't have to rule the same way as your father, Mat.”

“Isn't it a little treasonous to suggest you don't like the way he's ruling now?” the young prince teased.

“Ah!” Stellan exclaimed, raising his hand to his forehead dramatically. “You've discovered my dreadful secret!”

Mathu laughed as they continued across the common. “Yes, well, I shall have to report this, you know. Can't have seditious activities like treating the Crasii humanely going on in the kingdom! What will our neighbours think?”

“For the sake of Crasii everywhere, I hope they're impressed, your highness.”

The two men stopped before the slave who had answered Mathu's question, an old Crasii wearing a knitted shawl fringed in red over his shaggy tan shoulders, indicating he was the most senior Crasii in the village. A hunting Crasii, now retired to a life at stud, he bowed politely to Stellan and Mathu, waiting for Stellan to formally introduce them.

“Your royal highness, this is Fletch, the village mayor.”

“You let them have their own government?” Mathu asked in surprise.

Fletch nodded. “Lord Desean allows us to manage our own affairs, your royal highness. Up to a point.”

Stellan smiled. “We disagree about where that point lies, occasionally, but generally, it works well. It's less work for me and the Crasii appreciate a little autonomy, don't they, Fletch?”

The old canine nodded, his lips curling back from his teeth in a smile, although it looked rather more like a snarl to the uninitiated. But Stellan was used to the old dog, and they got along well enough, given the inequitable nature of their relationship.

“There are a few areas of contention,” Fletch informed the prince. “For example, his grace won't let us chase the felines, even for exercise.”

“It's for your own protection,” Stellan reminded him. “You know that.”

“It's a risk we're willing to take, your grace.”

“But one
I'm
not willing to take,” the duke replied. “You're too valuable, all of you, canine
and
feline alike, to risk anybody getting hurt or possibly killed in a pointless game.”

“It's only humans who think chasing felines is pointless, your grace. We think it's a noble and worthwhile pastime. Not to mention, well, fun.”

“The felines think fishing for tadpoles is fun too,” he pointed out. “I don't let them indulge in that game, either.”

“As always your wisdom is exceeded only by your concern for our welfare, your grace,” the old Crasii replied respectfully. He bowed low and stepped to one side. “Please, don't leave it so long before you visit us again.”

“The Tides protect you,” Stellan replied, using the formal Crasii salutation that few humans bothered to remember.

Fletch smiled and bowed even lower. “The Tides protect you also, your grace.”

“Tadpoles?” Mathu asked in surprise, as they resumed their walk toward the feline compound. “You have amphibian Crasii?”

“You've never heard of Lebec's freshwater pearls?”

“Of course I've heard of them.”

“Where do you think they come from?”

The prince pondered the question for a moment. “I never really thought about that, either.”

“We farm the pearls in the lake just north of the estate. The amphibians do most of the work.”

“I heard they were notoriously hard to keep in that sort of setting,” Mathu remarked. “Rumour has it the minute you put them in the water, they're gone.”

“You have to give them a reason to come back,” Stellan told him.

“Well, you certainly seem to have the canines eating out of your hand.”

He smiled and glanced over his shoulder at the old Crasii who watched them walking away with an unblinking stare. “If you're referring to Fletch's grovelling admiration of my animal husbandry skills, just now, don't be fooled. He was a hunter in his day and he's wily as they come. He knows the right thing to say. It's the canine need to please their masters. It can be dangerous to mistake it for what they really feel.”

“Which is what?”

“Ah, now for
that
you would have to ask Arkady. She knows much more about the Crasii than I do.”

They reached the end of the common and the first of the high brick walls dividing the villages from each other. There was a wooden gate set into the wall, with a small round window cut out at about four feet off the ground. Beside the gate was a brass bell with a small metal ball hanging from a short length of rope. Stellan rang the bell a couple of times and then bent down to peer through the hole in the gate.

A few moments later the sound of a bolt sliding back was followed by a metallic screech as the gate was opened by a black-and-white feline who bowed when she realised her visitor was the duke.

“Your grace! Welcome!”

“Hello, Mitten. We've come to visit our new arrival.”

“Of course,” she said, stepping back to let them enter.

The gate screeched closed again, making Stellan wince. “Why don't you oil those hinges?”

The feline shrugged. “Because the noise drives the canines crazy.”

“I could rescind the order about them chasing you anytime I wanted,” Stellan warned with a frown. It was just like the felines to find something that annoyed their canine neighbours.

“We have no problem if they chase us.” Mitten shrugged. “And they have nothing to fear unless we let them catch us.”

Mathu seemed amused. “There's a reason we confine the Crasii to pens back in Herino, you know, Stellan. We're not confronted with any of these discipline problems you have to contend with.”

“You get less than half the productivity out of them, too, I'll wager,” he countered. “This is Mitten, by the way. Mitten, this is Prince Mathu.”

The feline bowed just low enough to be respectful. “Your highness.”

She held out her arm, indicating they should follow her toward the largest building at the back of the compound. Off to the left, against the outer fence, were two separate residences. There were armed feline guards standing outside and caged yards surrounding the cottages.

“It's where we keep the males,” Stellan explained, noticing the direction of Mathu's glance.

“How many do you have?”

“Four at the moment,” he replied. “The three younger males share the larger house. Taryx lives in the other pen on his own.”

“Taryx? The sire of the Crasii you won last night?”

Stellan nodded. “Named for the Tide Lord. He's been a very profitable and prolific sire.”

“Did you tell her that her sire was here?”

He shook his head. “It wouldn't have made much difference if I had. The felines don't pay much attention to familial ties. If they do, it's usually because they're bragging about their lineage. The felines like to brag.”

“Why do you keep him separated from the others?”

“Because he's old and cranky. Did you want to meet him?”

Mathu nodded. “Is he dangerous?”

“Not if you stay out of reach.”

Stellan changed direction and headed across the compound to the smaller cottage with Mathu beside him. Mitten took another few steps before she realised her visitors were no longer behind her, and then turned to find out why, obviously displeased when she saw the direction they were headed.

“Your grace,” she called after them. “Please. Don't encourage him…”

Stellan and Mathu ignored her call and kept walking toward the bars of the enclosure behind the cottage on the right-hand side of the compound. Inside, a figure reclined on a battered sofa, soaking up the sunlight that broke through the clouds. It would rain again before the day was out and the old cat was making the most of the sunshine. He was a huge beast, outwardly human from the chest down, but his tawny fur was black streaked with silver and grew in a thick mane that completely encircled his neck and reached partway down his back and chest. He made no attempt to rise as they approached; instead, he rolled on his back and tucked his hands behind his head, exposing his impressive genitalia to his visitors.

“That's Taryx for you,” Stellan remarked. “The king of good manners and civilised behaviour.”

“He's fairly impressive,” Mathu agreed, sounding a little uncertain.

Stellan laughed. “For the Tides' sake, don't let him know you think that. He's insufferable enough without you feeding his narcissism. Be nice to him, though. He fancies himself king of the pride.” They stopped at the bars. “Good morning, your highness,” Stellan called.

“Good morning, your grace.”

Stellan waited and after a moment, the Crasii deigned to rise from his couch and wander over to the bars where Stellan and Mathu waited.

“What's this then?” Taryx asked, as he leaned on the bars, eyeing Mathu up and down curiously. “Lunch?”

“This is his royal highness, Prince Mathu Debree, Crown Prince of Glaeba.”

“Dinner, then,” the Crasii corrected.

Stellan smiled. Crasii felines no more ate humans than the canines did, but Taryx enjoyed perpetuating the myth. “Mathu, this is Taryx, the king of the Lebec Pride.”

“Your reputation precedes you, your highness,” Mathu informed him, playing along with the notion that the Crasii had some sort of royal rank. “You've sired half the fighting Crasii in Glaeba, I believe.”

“More like two-thirds,” the feline corrected, a little miffed. Then he smiled suddenly and turned to Stellan. “I hear one of my cubs took out a Jelidian snow bear last night.”

Stellan nodded. “She certainly did.”

“Damn, I'm good,” he preened.

Stellan was used to Taryx's arrogance. As far as the Crasii tom was concerned, he was directly responsible for anything impressive his descendants did, while being in no way responsible for their mistakes. Sometimes, Stellan envied this uncomplicated creature, kept in comfort, fed on demand and required to do nothing more than mate with the females of his pride. If his pelt was a little scarred these days, it wasn't all from fighting. A feline in heat was a ravenous beast and intercourse between any two creatures with retractable claws capable of tearing the throat out of a Jelidian snow bear was bound to be dangerous.

“You tell her I'm proud of her,” Taryx instructed.

“I will,” Stellan promised. “And you take care, eh? Those young bucks aren't ready to take your place yet.”

“They'll never be ready,” the tom predicted confidently.

“Your grace,” Mitten reminded them, a little impatiently. “Did you want to see Chikita or not?” She was standing behind them, her tail lashing back and forth with annoyance.

“Of course,” Stellan agreed and they turned to follow Mitten. As they walked away, Mathu glanced over his shoulder at the old feline and then looked at Stellan. “How will you know when one of the other males is ready to take his place?”

“The felines have an annual festival. They call it the Passage of the Tide. Part of the celebrations is a chance for the younger males to take on the head of the pride.”

“And the winner becomes the new leader? That must make for a rather peeved loser.”

“The loser is usually dead, Mat,” he told him. “So it's not a problem we've ever had to deal with.”

The prince looked shocked. “You let them fight to the death?”

“Their idea, not mine. But I can see the logic behind it. Taryx would be dangerous and unmanageable if he was deposed by a younger male. We'd end up having to put him down, anyway. At least this way he'll get to go out in a blaze of glory.”

Mathu shook his head, sighing. “And I thought you were trying to be more humane in your treatment of the Crasii.”

“But they're feline Crasii, Mathu,” he pointed out as they entered the longhouse. “The object is to let them live by their rules, not ours.”