Elle lay still, breathing harder than she expected. The whole scene was unreal: Centaurs lounging happily in the sunshine? Argiala as their celebrated Queen? It was like something out of a movie, but it was real, and it was playing out in front of her. She skimmed through the photos on her camera, making as little movement as possible so as not to attract attention. The photos didn’t capture all of it, but there were some incredible shots of Argiala, in her long white robes, riding on the back of the one centaur while the throng paid her fealty.
She shook her head in disbelief, and then flipped the camera mode to take more photos. That couple in the distance, happily cavorting over the grass — they were like something out of Fantasia. That clot of women were laying on the grass, chatting, and even without pointing the parabolic dish at them, she could tell every last word was gossip. A few of the men were running, exercising as an early-morning jog. That one girl was sunbathing. And quite a lot of the others were just lounging, relaxing in the early-morning warmth. Elle snapped photo after photo, grabbing as much of the impossible scene as she could. If this was what an empty field became each day on Centaur Island, she wondered what kind of photos she’d be able to capture if she were able to see the goings on at the nouveaux-Greek buildings farther north.
And then suddenly she was hoisted in the air, the leaves she was buried in exploding in a shower of greens and browns.
Elle squeaked, crying out, trying to look this way and that, but she was held firmly by a pair of big strong hands on each arm.
“Well, Darryl, look at what we have here,” said a deep voice behind her from one side.
“Seems like we caught a little mouse,” said another voice.
Elle struggled, but they held her firm. She glanced down. Her camera lay on the ground, upside-down.
The one set of hands loosed her, and she was spun about. She came face-to-face with a man with narrow eyes, a wide nose, a big square jaw, and just a hint of beard stubble. He was easily eight feet tall, and his big burly arms seemed to have no difficulty holding her up. His dark hair was a short, wavy mess, and perfectly matched the dark Clydesdale that he seemed to be attached to. He carried thick saddlebags on his lower half, but otherwise, like all the other centaurs, he was completely bare. She scrambled, but she was being held easily a couple of feet above the ground.
“Well,” he said. “So who might you be?”
“Let me go,” she insisted.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, grinning, and she didn’t like the grin. “I really doubt you’re allowed to be here, what with the hiding and those leaves on you and all that. So let me ask you again: Who are you?”
She frowned, growled a little, and grimaced at him. “I — just let me go.”
“I won’t ask again,” he said, and nodded to his partner.
Her hands were grabbed, and pulled behind her back, and suddenly there was a click. Cold metal pressed against her wrists.
“Hey! Unlawful kidnapping!” she cried, struggling against the handcuffs, kicking her feet valiantly at nothing.
The centaur holding her — Darryl — chuckled at that. “You’re on Centaur Island,” he said. “Your laws don’t matter here.”
“What do we do with her?” said the other centaur. He seemed a little younger.
“Security wanted us to investigate,” said Darryl, glancing at him, “and we sure found something. So we bring her back for questioning. And then it’s up to the Master and Mistress to decide. It’s not the first time we’ve caught an interloper.”
“Let me go!” said Elle, kicking harder. “I’m warning you!”
“Warning us about what?” he said, looking back at her. “You look like a reporter. And you don’t look like you came here with anyone. So unless you have a friend hiding behind that tree with a gun, what are you going to do, huh?”
Elle swallowed hard, and stopped kicking.
“That’s what I thought.”
He twisted at the waist, swinging her around, and slipped her legs over his back. “Now you ride in the back like a good girl, and I won’t have to use force, see?” His eyes narrowed, and he held up a black baton that had been in a holster at his waist.
Elle scowled back, but sat still. She debated leaping down and trying to run, but where would she go? The Island wasn’t that large, and she was up against people who could literally run as fast as horses.
“Mack, grab her gear,” said Darryl, “and bring it back. Glasses is going to want to see it.”
The other centaur nodded, and Darryl turned and broke into a steady trot with Elle, his captive, riding on his back. She glanced at her watch: The boat wouldn’t be back for nineteen hours. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach: She was screwed, and she knew it.