Authors: Jennifer Kewley Draskau
The reply was brief and sharp. Morgan held the receiver away from his ear, nodded, and replaced it softly. When he looked back at me his handsome face had tightened and the gleam of the blue gaze had dulled. He appeared tense.
‘Dr Raven, I feel you are owed an explanation. May I suggest you take a shower and we eat some brunch together? I’ll send a car for your effects. Mrs Drinkwater will assist us, I feel sure.’
‘There’s something else I must tell you.’ I chose my words carefully. ‘Two young Thai women were present at the Rachanee with me. I need to know that they were uninjured, that they escaped the fire.’ I watched the imperceptible twist of distaste that passed quickly as a cloud over Morgan’s fastidious countenance.
‘It can be pretty hard to keep track of these ladies,’ Morgan said coldly.
I answered, equally coldly, ‘One of these ladies is the granddaughter of the owner of the Rachanee, Miss Chee Laan Lee, of the banking family. The other is the former fiancée of his late Highness, Prince Toom Premsakul.’
‘Ah.’ Morgan relaxed. ‘That sort of young lady. You know.’ He leaned confidentially toward me. ‘Miss Lee’s grandmother is the richest woman in the city, probably in all of Southeast Asia! The word is the granddaughter will inherit.’
The thought of Chee Laan’s fortune, which I habitually repressed, ambushed me now with irritation. If Morgan noticed my doleful expression, he doubtless courteously ascribed it to my recent ordeals.
‘I am hoping they have managed to leave the hotel,’ I explained. ‘If they are able to do so, I am sure they will be on their way to seek help from their friends.’
‘Any idea where these ladies might be headed in that case, Raven?’
‘To Hua Hin, to the king. We need to move quickly. They are most certainly in danger.’
‘Dr Raven,’ said Ambassador Morgan, ‘I think you’d better tell me the whole story.’
‘I would be happy to get it off my chest, sir.’
Chee Laan drove through the night like a demon. The handcuff and heavy chain on her wrist clattered against the gear lever and occasionally she cursed out loud, but she never took her foot off the accelerator. The little car clung to the road, bouncing through potholes, veering violently to avoid the occasional sleeping buffalo or pye-dog, or the wrecks of burnt-out trucks. Salikaa at first crouched beside her, grinning through the windscreen, teeth bared, exhilarated by the speed and her driver’s reckless dexterity. But she soon grew bored, huddled down, and dozed.
They reached Hua Hin Thonburi-Paktho Road, Southbound as dawn was breaking. The sunrise blushed the fairytale summer palace into a confection of pink barley sugar, and kissed to radiant life the pink and scarlet of roses and hibiscus. The palace of Sans Souci lay like a turreted toy amid its enchanted garden, nestling in a half-moon of wooded compound dotted with the holiday villas occupied by the Inner Circle, and beyond this, the outer half-moon containing military barracks and guardrooms. Along the palace’s colonnaded façade, silver waves lapped indolently on a beach as fine and white as table salt. The palace compound was stirring. The raucous awakening of the sacred cockatoo on his perch had in turn roused the sacred elephant in his wooden hut, and the royal doves crooned and caressed in their bamboo cages. The kitchens clattered into life.
Chee Laan drove up to the guard post and the car bucketed to a standstill. The soldier on guard approached. Salikaa rolled down her window and said in her haughtiest voice: ‘I am a member of the Premsakul family. Please let us into the royal compound.’
The guard was young and eager to oblige his betters, but he had heard the gossip. He hesitated, at a loss. ‘Heartbroken, ladies.
Sia chai
.’ He touched his heart. ‘You wait. I call someone.’
Salikaa raised her voice. ‘Are you defying me? How long do you intend to keep us hanging about here?’ She tapped her hand loudly on the side of the car door. The boy pressed his radio to his ear and with his free hand made a placating gesture, entreating them to wait.
Chee Laan chewed on the last strands of her patience for a moment, fighting the surge of adrenaline within her. Then she made up her mind.
‘Down!’ she shouted to Salikaa. She gunned the engine and the little car shot under the barrier, passing beneath it with only an inch or two above the windscreen, and into the compound, carving up the edge of the lawn. Salikaa only just managed to cower down in her seat as the barrier swept overhead. The guard began shouting and ran a few strides after them, but Salikaa had already pointed the way to the king’s private apartments; she had the door open before the car came to a standstill and was racing up the steps, Chee Laan hard on her heels.
Outside the king’s portal, two yawning footmen were adjusting their headdresses and scratching beneath their baggy silk pants. They were too surprised to stop Salikaa, who rushed past them, thrusting open the massive carved teak door and disappearing inside.
Chee Laan was slower; one of the footmen seized her by the arm. Through the open doorway she could see Salikaa had thrown herself on the floor before the young king. The startled boy, rudely awakened, was still in his sleeping robe, standing beside his untidy bed. Barefoot and drowsy, his hair ruffled, he had the bemused truculence of any teenager awoken from his slumbers. He stared down in bewilderment as Salikaa clutched his bare feet and panted, gazing up at him.
‘Your Majesty must listen to me! Save me, Majesty! They tried to murder me!’
‘Salikaa!’ the king exclaimed. Then there was silence.
Chee Laan felt the moment imprint itself on her brain. Salikaa and the king stared at each other. The footmen, holding Chee Laan between them, gaped at the Chinese girl with a handcuff dangling from her wrist; they looked at the king and Salikaa, glanced at each other, and then prostrated themselves, overawed.
Before another word could be said, they all heard it—all five turned their heads toward the sound. Several pairs of heavy boots were approaching at a run. Up the steps behind Chee Laan thundered a squad of Border Patrol Police at full speed. They halted briskly and stood to attention. From behind them emerged the figure of Sya Dam, and his presence ripped at Chee Laan’s heart.
Sya had replaced his motorcyclist’s gear with his uniform and now stepped forward, his formal cap under his arm. ‘At ease!’ he barked to the soldiers. Then he sauntered forward and bowed to the king’s feet. ‘Good morning, Your Majesty. I fear we have disturbed Your Majesty’s rest.’ To the footmen he snapped, ‘Hand His Majesty a more fitting robe, and look sharp!’ They scurried to obey, throwing a heavy robe about the king’s shoulders.
Sya pointed to Salikaa, crouched like a cornered leopard, her flashing eyes fixed on him. She was breathing hard; through her open mouth the points of her sharp white teeth gleamed. She was still clutching the flame-coloured gown she had snatched from the Rachanee. Now, as they looked on, she threw the chiffon dress over her head. Chee Laan caught a glimpse of a smooth golden shoulder as Salikaa removed the blue top Chee Laan had lent her. She eased off her jeans under the skirt, and loosened the band that held her hair.
Fully transformed, she spun round and faced the king, holding her arms out wide. ‘Don’t say you don’t recognise me, my dear, dear Majesty!’ she cried, falling to her knees once more. Chee Laan thought she had never been more beautiful, with her vivid face, her cloud of blue-black hair. The king could not take his eyes off her. He drank in the vision.
Sya stepped forward, determined to break the spell, a cruel smile on his lips. ‘We should not waste Your Majesty’s time with these unworthy matters. This criminal,’ he indicated Salikaa, ‘managed to escape. Now we have recaptured her.’
‘Sanctuary!’ shouted Salikaa, feeling her moment of power evaporating. She lunged in a desperate attempt to grasp the king’s leg or the hem of his garment. With a visible effort he pulled himself together and moved adroitly out of her reach.
‘On the contrary, Colonel. Everything that concerns my subjects concerns me,’ he said loftily, and it struck those who heard him that for the first time the teenager sounded like a sovereign, projecting something like the measured dignity and self-assurance dictated by the role. ‘You may await me in the great hall. I will join you in a moment. Go now.’
Sya bowed slowly. Then he signalled to his men, and they rushed forward and grabbed Salikaa, dragging her unceremoniously from the chamber. The footmen relinquished their grip on Chee Laan’s arms and entered the king’s chamber, closing the door behind them. As the soldiers hauled Salikaa, kicking and shrieking, down the steps toward the great hall, Sya turned to Chee Laan.
‘You don’t need to see this,’ he remarked, with affected casualness. ‘Why don’t you go home?’
‘I came here with Salikaa,’ Chee Laan replied, walking down the steps. ‘I’m not leaving without her.’
Sya’s mocking laughter rang in her ears as she followed the echo of Salikaa’s screeches and made her way to the great hall.
When she entered, she saw the soldiers standing just inside the doorway, with Salikaa slumped between them. She was no longer struggling. It looked as though the soldiers had nearly dislocated her shoulders. She stood quietly, marshalling her forces for the last confrontation. At Sya’s signal a soldier reached for Chee Laan. Furiously she shrugged him off, and he relaxed his hold, but remained standing very close to her. If she made any rash move, it was clear that he would seize her again.
At last the king entered the hall from the other side. Now formally attired, he stood on the steps, looking down at them all.
‘Would someone please tell me what this is all about?’ he demanded.
‘Your Majesty,’ Sya said, stepping forward, ‘it is simple. This woman is a murderess.’ He pointed to Salikaa.
The king studied Salikaa as if he had never seen her before. Reflectively, he said, ‘Well, she is very beautiful, whoever she is. Whom did she murder?’
‘She murdered her husband!’ Sya announced triumphantly. The king shook his head in disapproval.
‘Your Majesty,’ Salikaa shouted, ‘it’s a lie! General Sya tried to have me killed. He is a traitor and a murderer!’ She jerked her chin toward Chee Laan. ‘Say something, Chee Laan! Tell him!’
The king noticed Chee Laan for the first time. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What is your involvement with all this?’
‘She knows the truth!’ Salikaa cried. ‘She knows what Sya Dam is! Ask her!’
‘So you are a witness?’ the king said. Chee Laan bowed and nodded.
‘In a manner of speaking, Your Majesty,’ she said.
‘Hm,’ the king murmured. ‘A witness wearing a handcuff.’
He was nonplussed. They could all see it. He was, after all, only a boy. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this situation. A turmoil of emotions flickered briefly across his countenance before his features composed themselves once more into the mask of regal impassivity. He looked at the soldiers. ‘Who is second in command here?’ The sergeant saluted and grovelled. ‘Arrest both of these accused persons,’ the king commanded. ‘I will listen to their statements and the evidence later.’
‘Your Majesty—arrest the colonel?’ stammered the sergeant, looking from one to the other in an agony of doubt.
The king nodded. ‘Precisely.’
‘Your Majesty!’ Salikaa screamed. Sya said nothing. The king turned on his heel.
‘Get these people out of my sight!’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I have not even had my breakfast yet.’
Sya marched out in silence, upright between the soldiers, overshadowing them, although they were tall men, too. Salikaa thrashed about until the strong hands of her guards overpowered her.
Chee Laan had been kindly received and escorted, after her interrogation, to one of the small villas to spend the night. She had lain awake for much of it, falling into an uneasy slumber a few hours before dawn. She awoke disorientated. Then memory of where she was and why came flooding back. She got up and went to the window and stood contemplating the luxurious view.
In her practical way, she considered her options. Salikaa and Sya were under arrest. She was desperate to start her search for Raven. He couldn’t be dead. She’d have known if he were dead.
She had tried the door of her spacious en suite bedroom the night before. It was not locked, but two armed men dozed fitfully outside. Now a servant knocked discreetly—just as Ah Lee once had, in case Chee Laan’s spirit had not yet returned to her body from its nocturnal wanderings, causing her to wake up mad beyond any cure. When Chee Laan responded, the servant padded silently in with coffee, toast, and a courteously written summons to come to the guardroom.
The coffee was black as hot tar. Swilling half a cup of the bitter brew, she showered and threw on her clothes, travel-stained and crumpled. When she emerged from the room, the waiting servant silently led the way.
Her interrogators were two elderly princes taking their holiday at the palace. Conveniently, both were judges of the Thai Supreme Court. They showed the most curiosity about Salikaa’s huge warder, Archin, and questioned Chee Laan closely on what she knew about Sya Dam’s radio broadcasts, but when she admitted that she spoke no tribal language, they lost interest in her.
The Prince Regent entered unannounced, and the judges bowed creakingly to the floor. He abruptly demanded their decision. With a startled glance at Chee Laan, one judge said: ‘He throws himself on Your Highness’s mercy.’
The Prince Regent shook his head sadly. ‘Personal sympathies cannot interfere with the course of justice. The colonel must face a military tribunal.’ He sighed, looking old, his eyes hollow. ‘It is a temptation to take betrayals personally, and to forget that they are usually dictated by mere convenience. I confess I have little appetite for vengeance.’ He examined his supple musician’s fingers, flexing the joints. Then he announced, with renewed resolve, ‘I shall not grant audience to the prisoner until sentence has been passed. It might prejudice the course of justice.’
Chee Laan, wrestling with her own betrayals, was engulfed by a wave of surprise and respect.