Garden Maze
© 2023 by Walter Reimer
(Stanislaus Coon and Ivar Vargsson are courtesy of E.O. Costello.)

Thumbnail art by  tegerio


“There’s the palace,” someone said, and I craned my neck to look past him out the window.

We had been awakened at first light for breakfast and to get into formal uniforms or clothes before getting aboard a trio of heavily-guarded ground vehicles. When the doors of the buses closed, the air around each vehicle shimmered as shields were activated. Under a police escort, we left the military base at the spaceport for the ride to the al-Sakai’s family home.

The capital city of the planet Maratha is on the opposite side of the spaceport from the estate and our route was cleared and kept secure by a combination of living soldiers and AI-controlled aerial drones, so I didn’t get a chance to see any of the ordinary citizens of the planet. Still, judging from the clean, clear air and greenery, I thought that they were more fortunate than the furs who lived on Terra.

The fur who had called our attention to the view of the estate added, “Wow.” I had to agree.

Our motorcade had turned off the main road, passing between two flagpoles bearing the yellow Maratha banners, and had wound its way uphill through some trees before cresting the summit. The trees ended several hundred meters from the house, replaced by grass.

The central part of the house was three stories high, with two broad two-story wings extending out on either side. The place was either constructed of white stone, or was painted to look like it. The thing that struck me the most, though, were the windows. There were a lot of them, and if I was any judge of scale, they were nearly floor to ceiling.

Ivar whispered in my ear, “The al-Sakais appear to either have a great deal of trust in the indigenous population, or they are very sure of themselves.”

“Or,” I said, “this is all just a façade.”

“Hm, yes,” the wolf in my mind nodded. “I also note that there’s no sign of any security.”

“Which means it’s all hidden,” I reminded him. “Probably starting a kilometer away.”

Ivar made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat.

The motorcade came to a stop at the front doors, and we all got out and were shepherded into the building. I looked at the doors as we went into the entryway (a rather enclosed space, possibly meant to restrict an invader’s movements). “Real wood, or armor composite?” I asked Ivar.

“I would place high odds on the latter. The occupants would be insane to use simple timber. Although probably wood for aesthetics, and armor for common sense.”

The entry opened out to a great hall, with the stark white exterior moderating into warmer, creamy tones. The room was well-lit, both naturally (all those windows) and artificially, and floored in wood laid out in a criss-cross pattern. Each wall bore a life-sized portrait, and I recognized Admirals Vladmir and Sarafina al-Sakai, the late Emperor Felix, and a quite attractive leopardess with her paw on the shoulder of a diffident-looking young mel in a uniform. Apart from the four paintings, and I stepped closer to the late Emperor’s image and saw actual brush strokes, there was nothing else adorning the room. I couldn’t even see any surveillance devices.

And I know there had to be at least a few there.

The room was occupied by a quartet of melanistic leopards in tactical armor and carrying projectile weapons stationed in each corner, and I recognized them as part of the family’s personal guard. They were the first actual security I’d seen so far, and a stray thought meandered through my mind, notably ‘M’s’ statement about this case requiring a “feline touch.”

The door to our left opened and an ocelot wearing a formal uniform with sergeant’s rank stepped into the room. He raised his voice and said, “His Imperial Majesty will see you now.” He about-faced and we started to follow him in.

Another large room, although not as huge as the one we’d just come from, this one having windows overlooking the gardens and furnished with a collection of round tables and chairs. Each table was set up for each governmental organ present for the conference, so I went to sit with the Intelligence staff at their table, which was near one of the windows.

‘M’ was already there, and smiled as we all took our seats. There was one rectangular table on a dais, with only two seats for His Imperial Majesty, Vladmir ibn Felix and his mother, the Lady Alys. The Regent was tall and almost tail-bottlingly attractive. Naturally, not artificially, if I was any judge.

“Still your beating heart, my dear Stanislaus,” Ivar admonished me gently. “Before others hear it.” I managed to concentrate on my padd as the meeting began.

It was fairly well-managed, with each arm of the government making reports to the young sovereign. ‘M’ spoke for our group, while Admiral-General Gromov spoke for the military. The Foreign Minister, a canine named Balakrishnan, kept her report simple, tailored to an eleven-year old.

I wasn’t asked to speak, which suited me down to my toeclaws.

The session went on, and while each table gave its report I watched the Emperor. Vladmir was taking notes, and would occasionally ask a question of the Minister who was giving the presentation. Carefully thought out questions as well, and once or twice he would bend an ear to his mother or look to her for approval.

By the end of the two hour session, his tail was twitching a little, and we all got to our feet as the Regent announced the lunch break. We remained standing as she guided her son out of the room, and servants entered to lay out cutlery and glasses for the meal.

Lunch was pretty tasty, and after we’d all eaten ‘M’ called for our attention. “I will not be requiring all of you for the afternoon meetings,” the roebuck said, “so those of you who are not required will have the option of staying here or returning to the base.” His glance flicked over me as he said this.

Well, I knew what option I was selecting, and it looked like a splendid day for a walk.


***


“The maps didn’t really drive home the scale of this,” I said a half-hour later.

“I am astonished, Stanislaus,” Ivar said in a shocked tone, “that you failed to understand what ‘one square kilometer’ would portend for the fate of your shoes and feet. Still,” my lupine companion said, “the weather’s quite pleasant, and we have a quarry to track. So, let’s be about it, shall we?”

“Let’s,” I agreed, and I set off from the rear entrance of the palace down the center path toward the huge banyan tree at the center of the garden.

Paths radiating out from the banyan divided the garden into quarters, with the two sections closest to the house comprising what my reading told me mosaic gardens. The patterns were ornate and included various paths paved in either gravel or cobblestones. A third quarter consisted of tall hedges laid out to create a maze, and the fourth was what my reading called a ‘wild garden,’ allowed to grow with minimal restraint. The greenhouses and Bustani’s cottage were located at the center of this section.

There were also statuary, fountains and benches scattered around the entire garden.

My feet crunched on the gravel as I stepped into the shadow of the banyan and I paused, taking into account the moss-hung main trunk, the subsidiary trunks and the overarching canopy of leaves. “You know what this reminds me of?” I asked Ivar.

“Suppose you tell me, and we shall see if our opinions agree,” Ivar replied.

“Heh. It reminds me of the chapel back at Chertwell. There’s that certain . . . I don’t know, a certain feeling about the place,” I said.

In one shadow, I glimpsed Ivar rubbing the back of his head as he looked up. “Ye-es,” he said slowly. “There is that air of a sacred space. I never did much enjoy the odor of sanctity. “

“Hm. Well, the garden maze is a good place to start, since we didn’t see him on the way here.”

Ivar glanced upward again. “And with it still being daylight, he might still be out of doors, and not in his quarters.”

The hedges making up the maze were about two meters high and nearly a meter thick, and I stepped into the maze warily. Just a few paces in I paused at the first intersection and froze.

Around the corner, midway down the next path, was a tiger’s tail. It was waving languidly and accompanied by the metallic clack of shears.

It had to be him. There were no other tigers on the staff, I had verified that.

The tail slipped out of view, and I followed as quietly as I could. The paths here being rammed earth made that easier; there was no way I could stay quiet walking on gravel.

Tracking him proved difficult, and I quickly lost sight of him. I broke into a run, turning left or right randomly and he always seemed just out of sight or out of reach. I ran into what had to be the center of the maze –

My foot caught on a marble coaming –

And I pitched headfirst into a pool of water.

I rolled over on my back, sputtering as more water cascaded into my face from a statue at the center of the pool, and I started to sit up. Sitting up brought my face out of the stream of water, which was now running down my back, and I swiped a paw across my eyes, blinked –

And found myself gazing up at the tiger I had been looking for, suddenly aware of two things.

One, I was at a distinct disadvantage.

Two, the wicked-looking set of shears in the man’s paw.

Ivar murmured, “Oh dear.”