One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 19, page 9

(start of book) (start of chapter) (previous page)



Lawperson Séara Nulıpésha drove her cruiser slowly forward toward the mob of news reporters and photographers. They obviously could see Bhanar sitting in the front seat and focused all their cameras on him.

She didn’t think Vomıvé would agree to let her lead the hunt for Zhudıro at Rosí Spring, but she wasn’t about to call in the information. It could wait until they got to the Kılímos’ house, when she might be allowed to join the hunt. Vomıvé probably wouldn’t believe the divine information, anyway, at least not till he heard it direct from Bhanar. The emperor exuded confidence and honesty.

Once the cruiser stopped, Séara turned off the engine and got out to close the gate, locking the auto door behind her.

“Where are you taking Bhanar?” “Has he been released?” Microphones shoved at her face from all directions. “What does the emperor have to do with the Enforcer murder?”

Séara staggered back against the side of the auto, shutting her eyes to the swarm. Quickly, though, she steeled herself and opened her eyes, her jaw tight.

“Get out of my way,” she commanded, with a wave toward the back of the cruiser. Before the reporters could react, she started walking toward the gate, forcing them to scurry backwards out of her path.

“If I may make a few comments,” declared Bhanar in a loud, clear voice, from the other side of the auto.
The lawperson forgotten, the reporters surged around the vehicle, racing to stick their microphones and cameras in Bhanar’s face and get the scoop.

With a sigh of relief, Séara walked unimpeded to the gate. As she pulled the chainlink gate shut and locked it, Bhanar began his speech. When she turned back toward the auto, he was already standing atop the cruiser’s engine hood, addressing the reporters.

“I would like to thank everybody from all the worlds who has . . . supported me. I enjoy your support. I have not shown this, fully, in the past, but I do.”

For someone learning Sarıman as a second language, Séara thought he spoke the language rather well. He certainly didn’t cover his imperfect vocabulary with timidity. She headed back to the driver’s door of the cruiser.

He waved a hand at the precinct building. “This was . . . a misunderstanding. The Pívo County Constabulary were doing their jobs. They have now . . . let me go and dropped charges.”

What about Pí‘oro’s death? thought Séara. Was that a part of the constabulary’s job, too?

“They . . . concentrate on catching the killer of the Colonial Enforcer, Zhíno Zhudıro.”

A few reporters shouted questions, but Bhanar waved them down, shaking his head.

“I have agreed to help them . . . in their search, as emperor and as having experience with Zhíno in . . . the trouble of last night.”

How skillfully Bhanar glossed over things like Pí‘oro’s death--and making it sound like Vomıvé had asked for Bhanar’s help. Séara knew Bhanar hadn’t forgotten Pí‘oro. He must just be keeping it from the public until the right time. He knew the information would just distract everyone from the true mission of catching Zhudıro and Parızada.

Standing regally with feet apart on the hood of the cruiser, Bhanar kept talking about his experience the night before and his desire to bring justice not just to this one situation, but to the entirety of the old empire. All the reporters were enthralled by the pseudo-emperor who till this moment had shunned their kind.

A man in black burst out of the building, rifle in his hand. Séara placed her hand on her pistol, but didn’t draw. The rifle pointed downward and his hands were nowhere near the trigger.

“Your Royal Majesty!” he called.

Who was this man? Was he really a royalist?

The crush of reporters parted, half the cameras swinging to focus on the newcomer.

Bhanar stopped midsentence, his mouth slightly agape, and stared at the oncoming man in black.

The man raced up to the auto. “Your Majesty, your rifle.” He thrust the gun upward.

Bhanar snatched up the rifle with a crisp nod to the man in black. He raised the rifle overhead and, to the assemblage, declared, “If you will excuse me now, I have a killer to catch!” With that, he jumped to the asphalt.

The reporters shouted more questions en masse, but Bhanar ignored them. With one more glance at the mysterious royalist, Séara reopened the auto door and unlocked Bhanar’s. They climbed in and slammed them shut, cutting off the yells of the crowd.

A gleam in his eyes, Bhanar asked, “How was that?”

(end of chapter)