The Abulon Dance by Caro Soles Page B

He looked up into the wizened face of an old man who was rubbing his stubby chin anxiously. “Who the hell are you?” He tried to sit up and was hit by a searing pain in his shoulder. “Oh, shit! I’ll have to take a double shot of pain killer to dance with this.” The man laid a cool, dry hand on his forehead and smoothed back the black curls. “Hush, now,” he said softly, as if to a sick child. “How do we feel?”
    “I don’t know about you, sweetie, but I feel like shit. Where am I?”
    “In jail, young one.”
    “Why? Did I kill one of the bastards?”
    “Oh my dear, no. I do wish you Merculian people wouldn’t wear such tight pants. It can’t be good for the circulation. Here. Drink this.” He handed Triani a tall, pottery mug of steaming liquid.
    Triani wrinkled up his nose in disgust. “What the hell is this? Rat poison?”
    “Hush that talk now and drink it all up. It’ll take the ache out of your bones.” The old man patted his shoulder.
    Triani looked at him quizzically, shrugged and drank the potion. He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead, trying to clear his thoughts. He looked around the bare cell. There was no door, just heavy, old-fashioned bars across the opening. There was no window, either.
    “Where’s Cham?” he asked, sudden panic constricting his chest.
    “No one was brought here with you.”
    “Oh God! They took him! They’ve got Cham! I must talk to someone in authority. Now!”
    “The Chief of Concord is not here at present. Who is this Cham person?”
    “He’s my…my ward. They kidnaped him! Oh shit!”
    “Hush that talk, now. He is just a child, do you mean? He was with you at the bar?”
    “Yes, yes. He is quite young and…very beautiful.”
    “Well, then, no one will harm a hair of his head, will they?”
    “Man, what are you on? It’s not his head I’m worried about!” Triani’s laugh was harsh. He swung his feet to the floor and tested his legs. “Who’s in charge here?”
    The old man stood up and patted Triani’s shoulder again. “There was no one at the bar with you, young one. You need rest, now.”
    “Look, old man, I’m a Merculian citizen! I demand to see my Ambassador! That’s my right!”
    “Oh, but I’m afraid you’re an accused criminal, you see. You have no rights here. Just rest awhile and someone will come to talk to you in good time.” He laid his palm over a panel in the barred doorway and it silently slid open. “Wait!” Triani sprang for the doorway but the bars clanged to in his face. “Damn you!” he shouted after the slowly retreating figure. He pulled the remains of his tunic together and tucked them neatly into his pants. He glanced at his hands, checking for broken fingernails. “Shit! They even took my rings,” he muttered. He went back and sat down on the hard cot and thought about the Serpian crystal figurine hanging around the neck of the man with the blue earring.

EIGHT
    “I have been in jail all night! All night! Do you realize that? Me, Triani! Star of the Merculian National Dance Company, languishing in a filthy alien cell! Why? Just tell me that, will you?”
    “I will, if you give me a chance.” Beny felt at a distinct disadvantage sitting behind his desk. He stood up. “We only heard this morning. The instant we heard, we acted.”
    “You sent Thar-von Del! That’s acting? Why didn’t you come yourself?”
    “Because I thought he could handle it better.”
    “He doesn’t have your authority.”
    “He has their respect!” Beny sat down again and wished he hadn’t admitted this last fact. “Triani, you broke their law. They had every right to put you in jail. At least he persuaded them not to press charges.”
    “And what about Cham?”
    “According to their law, no one is officially missing until three nights have passed.”
    “I thought we were operating under our laws here?”
    “Only in our private quarters.”
    “You’re telling me no one is going to do one damn thing!