The Courtship of RD Rivero
Part 3
Zhyan awoke in the dark, his hands bound painfully behind him, pressing against his wings in an awkward manner.
His legs were bound at the knees and ankles, and there was a gag in his mouth that he suspected was a dirty
sweatsock. Certainly, it tasted like one.
Despite the pain in his joints, and the embarrasment of having stumbled into a trap, the archangel's first
thought was for Spark. He rolled over in the darkness, straining his eyes to see, but the gloom was absolute.
Zhyan cursed - RD's thugs had been doing their homework. His powers of teleportation were limited to eye-shot.
Anything else risked teleporting into the ground, a tree, a wall or person, with potentially fatal consequences.
A blind shot in the dark room might make him one with a dinette set, or worse, a toilet
He rolled over onto his side and thought for a moment. He knew what he had to do, but wished desparately for a
way to avoid it, since the pain would be, well, memorable. Then he thought about his beloved Sparky in the
clutches of those ATB philistines, and set his jaw determinedly.
Like most of his race, Zhyan was born with bat-like wings. Black and leathery, they were suprisingly small when
folded, owing in part to their design. Unlike bat wings, which where modified paws, his contained no bones.
Instead, they were supported by tough rods of light-weight cartilege, sturdy and flexible.
Zhyan concentrated on his right wing, trying to feel it's position accurately. Then he shifted the muscles of
his back and shoulder, pushing his bound hands down while forcing his wing upward. He strained hard, trying to
gain as much clearance as possible, then unfurled the wing.
Cartilage strained against the knot that held his wrists together over the wing. He flexed harder, and the
muscles in the limb strained, not used to this unfamiliar burden. The pain was ungodly.
Then, with a final push, his wing was loose. Zhyan gasped in relief, and rolled to his knees. He manipulated the
wing until one of the small dew claws at the end of the support rods caught on the ropes binding his wrists. He
scrabbled at the tough cord until he caught a few strands, flexed his wing and broke them. Then he dug in again
and repeated, breaking a few strands more each time.
Zhyan glared uselessly into the darkness, all too aware that this process would take hours to free him.
********
Chanur was pissed. He'd waited in the clearing for over two hours, convincing himself that Peachyra was just
being "fashionably late" again, but her behavior had gone from cute to infuriating without passing "go" and
collecting 200 dollars.
He stalked through the entrance of the Fercious Females' lair and began a systematic search of Peachyra's
favorite haunts, beginning with the arboreum and ending at her apartment door, where several minutes of pounding
got him nothing but sore knuckles. In the process, he noticed that Spark and Zhyan were also missing. This only
aggravated him more, since he now had nobody to complain to.
In the end, he was forced to content himself by raiding the refrigerator of most of it's contents and tromping
to the fortress rec room to eat and watch TV while he waited for somebody to come home. Eventually, he dozed off
on the sofa, and when he woke up, the stars were out, and nobody had returned.
He was still too angry to admit he was getting worried. He recalled Peachyra mentioning going out to the new bar
that had opened up a few months back, and decided to check it out himself.
********
The human was an anomoly in many respects. In a realm of hybridized creatures and undead wizards, she was very
ordinary. Medium height, medium build tending towards thin, dishwater-blonde hair cut in a typical modern style.
Her face was neither unattractive nor striking. Nothing stood out about her, nothing to make another person take
notice of her, or remember her if they did.
Her voice was similiarly non-descript, trained to sound like a thousand other voices. Careful research had gone
into every pronunciation of every word in her vocabulary. Her inflections were calculated to make no impression,
her sentence structure reflected all the common patterns.
The only thing remarkable about her was her laugh. It was a musical sound, like chimes ringing, soft and
lyrical. It was prevented from achieving beauty, however, by a thin note of strain in the upper reaches. Those
who took note of such things might have detected a concealed dissatisfaction with the tightly-controlled life she
led, and a resentment for the man who had conceived her path before he had even conceived her. But such people
are rare, so this went unnoticed. Axelle was aware that her laugh could blow her cover, so even her amusement was
tightly controlled.
The Clan assassin watched the security camera footage of TygrisHawk's capture again, including the prelude
before the young tigress had arrived on the scene. She watched Thunderwolf and Shark lay out their plan, locate
and track the young tigress to their chosen site, then execute it. Her kidnappers were only of middling skill,
but they clearly had the inexperienced, rambunctious kitten out-classed.
Axelle glanced at the time and noted that sundown was less than an hour away. She came to a decision, and left
her office to seek her father, Gunnar, the Chief of the Clan. She reached the door to his office and waited
without knocking. After a few moments, she heard a bass rumble from the room, as though a volcano were speaking.
"Come," the voice said.
Axelle opened the door and entered, face lowered, eyes downcast. Gunnar, his massive frame seated in front of a
glowing computer terminal, did not turn to face her. He said, "What concerns you, Master Assassin?"
"One of my apprentices has been taken prisoner by a rival faction," she said. "Request permission to depart the
compound and retrieve her."
Gunnar's reply was instant. "Permission denied. If she was fool enough to be captured, she is fool enough to
remain so."
Axelle did not retreat. "The Master Assassin is obliged to inform the Chief that the apprentice is young, her
training incomplete. She was not adequately prepared for the challenge she faced."
"Survival favors the fit," Gunnar replied. It was all he said. Axelle knew that his answers became more terse as
his patience waned. If she pressed him much further, she risked incurring his wrath, but her pride compelled her
to continue.
"Her capture is an affront, Father, to our Clan as a whole, and to myself personally. Permit me to redress this
indignity," she said. Gunnar turned and looked at her and said nothing. Axelle bowed and backed out of the room,
closing the door behind her as she went.
The assassin's face was a mask of serenity, even her omni-present half-smile in place, but inside she was
raging. She returned to her office, closed the door, sat down at her monitor and reviewed the tape again.
In all the years of her life, Gunnar had never been wrong. Ever. She suspected that this had something to do
with his small circle of expertise, but she could not deny his proficiency within that circle. If he wanted to
abandon TygrisHawk, he surely had a good reason. She watched the tape again.
She had only defied her father once. She'd been in the infirmary for two weeks. Eventually, the limp went away.
She watched the tape again.
Tygris was foolish. She was impetuous. She regarded the skills Axelle imparted to her as a game to be played.
She took none of her training seriously. She watched the tape again. Then she got up, walked out of her room, and
out of the compound.
She doubted Gunnar would kill her.
********
Chanur walked into Silverkat's pub, just before ten. The Hani noticed two things immediately: Fianna was playing
the piano, and the pub was otherwise empty. At the sound of the door chime, the dog turned on the stool.
"Wow, a customer," he noted in his soft Irish lilt. "The first one ever! Hey Skat! Service!"
As the nominal leader of the newly-reformed Team Tyger hastened out of the back room to the bar, Chanur turned
to the dog. "What are you, the bouncer?" he asked.
"Nope, I just play the piano," the caninoid answered. "SHE's the bouncer."
Chanur's blood turned to ice in his veins. He turned slowly to face the bar, and found himself nose-to-nose with
five pounds of fluffy white fury.
"H-hi, Missus Fianna," he said weakly. The poodle growled ominously, and the Hani sprang back a few feet.
"Hey, missus, we can't have you terrifying the customers, okay?" Skat said. The poodle looked at the tigress,
and Skat wondered abruptly if interjecting here was a wise move. But the fluffy little dog snorted and warbled
something, went to the end of the bar, sat down on the countertop and glared at Chanur.
"What did she say?" Skat asked her pianist.
"'What customers?'" Fianna translated.
"Look, has Peachy been by?" Chanur asked.
"Why? She stand you up again?" Fianna replied with his customary sloppy dog smile. Chanur glared at the dog, but
didn't dare make a move while the Poodle was watching him.
"No, we haven't seen her," Silverkat replied. *He keeps goading Chanur, and my bar's not going to survive it's
first busy night!* she thought anxiously. Then, in a flash of inspiration, she drew a pint of Murphy's and slid
it down the bar to the dog. The caninoid lit up with joy and began sipping the bitter beverage like a fine wine,
completely ignoring the Hani warrior.
Chanur said, "Well, if she does come in, tell her I'm--". He was suddenly interrupted as the front door crashed
open and a bloodied Zhyan staggered inside. Everyone jumped, and Fianna dropped his stout with a yelp of dismay.
"CHANUR!" the archangel yelled. "Thank the gods! Spark's been kidnapped!"
"What?! How?! Who?!" Chanur yelled in alarm.
"He said Spark's been kidnapped," came a cool voice from the back of the room. "Doubtless by a trap, probably by
Thunderwolf and Shark. The more significant questions are, where are they now, and why were they taken?" Everyone
turned slowly to face the direction of the voice. Axelle melted out of the shadows of the bar and sauntered
confidently towards them.
Chanur reacted with incredible speed. Without a sound to telegraph his movement, he lunged at the human female's
throat, claws extended. Axelle ducked slightly to the left and snapped the knife edge of her right hand into the
Hani's groin, sending him stumbling to his knees in a retching heap.
"Bad kitty, no kippers," she said, and calmly took a seat at the bar. To Skat she said, "White wine, dry, no
ice."
Skat gaped. She had never seen anyone move so fast, or with such surety as the assassin. Behind Axelle, Chanur
was struggling to stand, one hand on a nearby table, the other on his injured groin. Axelle drummed her
fingernails on the counter, her impatience showing in a slight narrowing of the eyes that sent the tigress
scrambling for her bottles.
"As I was saying," Axelle began. "Thunderwolf and Shark are on a rampage. I know they have my apprentice, and
Spark as well. Presumably, they've taken Peachyra. Is anyone else missing?"
Silverkat blanched as she poured the wine. "Ayanna. She was supposed to be back from her 'nip run over an hour
ago." The leader of Team Tyger dug out her cell-phone and punched a number. A moment later, she closed it,
looking worried.
"Ayanna too?" Zhyan said. "Then it's not just the Ferocious Females. What the hell is going on?"
Chanur finally made it to his feet and stumbled onto a chair. Axelle sipped her wine. Fianna looked mournfully
at his puddle of stout. Mrs Fianna snorted, turned twice on the bar and went to sleep.
"I can't see Thunderwolf and Shark collecting females," Skat said. "It's, uh, out of character for them."
"If they're acting on orders, then it'll be RD Rivero," Zhyan pointed out. He paled as he added, "That means
storming the Anti-Tiger Base."
"Then I propose an alliance," Axelle said. "Temporary, of course, but together, we will be much more formidable.
Agreed?" Fianna nodded readily, as did Skat. Zhyan hesitated a moment, then nodded his assent as well.
"What about you, Chanur? You in?" Skat asked.
"Alright," the Hani growled hoarsely. He glared at Axelle and added, "But I'll be watching my back, killer."
Axelle sipped her wine and smiled. "I won't have to," she said. "You're not that good."
Skat poured a shot of Bailey's for the winged Brit and passed it over the bar to him. Zhyan took the drink
gratefully, but only looked mournfully into it's mocha depths.
"Oh my Sparky," he said. "What is that mad-man doing to you?"
TBC