A/N: Yada, yada, no excuse. This fic strays into alternate history further than I had intended…and yes, I introduced Gioca for nothing, basically. Oops.

Chapter Twelve: Stranger

When he awoke that morning, his stomach cramped and his vision swam. Although he had imbibed a great deal last night, he doubted that was the reason for his predicament. He had the horrible sensation that he had missed uproar at the palace and that when he returned there would be hell to pay. No matter how much peasant gruel he ate (very little) or how much he convinced himself that nothing would happen if he was gone for a night, he couldn't shake the feeling. Walking back to the palace exacerbated it and by the time he neared the last bridge, the dread had settled into more or less a permanent position.

Nonetheless, he strolled nonchalantly into the palace and there was silence. It wasn't the expected silence, like everyone had held their breaths and awaited his hallowed return. The silence held ominous overtones...or maybe the chicha last night really had gone to his head. The servants stared, nervous and the guards stared at him like seeing a ghost. Kuzco ignored them after the first odd batch, yet it struck him that they were all like that. Where he passed, whispers broke out almost at the edge of earshot and when he whirled, a couple servants were whispering into each other's ears.

"You really shouldn't go in there, Emperor," the new boy said and bowed, trembling. Kuzco glared at him and then tugged on his chambers' doors. His hands came away with soot. He gaped at them and then wiped them on his robes. Gioca gulped and barricaded the door. The thick, pungent odor of a fire hit Kuzco then and he trembled too, the dread returning in full.

"What happened?" Kuzco said and when Gioca hesitated, the emperor barked the question at him.

"You should...you should go report to the council," Gioca said. "They're waiting for you."

"Why can't I go into my rooms?" Kuzco snapped. He put his hands on his hips. "What aren't you telling me? Why is there soot on the handles?"

"Someone torched your chambers," Malina said. Her face was pinched with fatigue and her hands slipped on the fruit basket she carried. Since the metal eluded her grasp, she placed the bowl on the floor. Mirroring Kuzco, she rested her hands on her hips. "They didn't care if you were in there or not."

Kuzco squeaked, "Well, why didn't you do anything?"

"Like what?" Malina said. She met his eyes. "We kept the fire from spreading beyond your quarters, if that's what you mean."

"Like catch him!" Kuzco snapped.

"Everyone who's seen him has died," she said tartly. "He isn't interested in being caught."

"I don't care what he's interested in!" Kuzco replied, still high pitched. The world spun and Gioca disappeared.

"He's interested in killing you," Malina said. "I think you should care about that."

"Fine," Kuzco snapped, turning on his heel and leaving. "Take care of that."

"Didn't you hear a word I said?" Malina retorted. "I said that-"

"Take care of it," Kuzco said coldly and trembled. Gioca reappeared with a chair and Kuzco waved him off. He stared, resolute, at the doors before yanking them open. Malina and Gioca stood on either side of him. The acrid, bitter scent of smoke and flame choked him and he blinked furiously. Flinging an arm in front of his face, he coughed.

"We haven't had a chance to air it out," Malina said.

"You may not want to uncover your eyes, sir," Gioca said.

Kuzco, irritated by Gioca's tone, lowered his arm and stared. And, for few minutes, all he could do was stare. The paintings in the hall were a wretched mess; the frames were twisted and scorched- there was no sign of the canvas except for ash littering the gold. The doors' handles were contorted beyond the point of opening; once gracefully curving inward, now they were misshapen husks bent around each other. The walls were blackened with large ovals where the torches had been held. Soot extended from the walls and onto the floor. It covered his feet and choked his nostrils.

Yanking on the handles leading to his private sleeping chambers tore his hands up. Rather than whining, he grew vexed and tugged until the skin between his thumb and forefinger split open. At last, he opened the doors enough to admit himself and gawked. His eyes watered and he blinked them several times to clear them. That failed and he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. The bed's frame was still there, but his face on the frame was mangled beyond recognition. There was no mattress. His dressers were warped and impossible to open. The same went for his walk in closet. His spare headdresses had been melted into the floor.

The closet doors shifted and rather than opening smoothly, as they might have yesterday, Gioca and Malina pushed their way into the room. They heard an enraged, frustrated growl and then a man dressed in black ghosted into the room. The blunt end of a scythe butted into Kuzco's stomach and he sliced off Gioca's head like it was butter on the end of a block. Gioca had time to register surprise before his head slid off his body and onto the floor. There was a gaping hole from his torso upward and Kuzco gagged. He backed up, putting Malina in front of him.

"Typical, cowardly Kuzco," the man snapped. "Hiding behind his servants and help."

Guards filed in behind Kuzco and the emperor breathed easier, letting them walk in front of him and protect him. They let Malina be, however, and she cast an uneasy gaze over her head and then at the assassin.

"Seize him!" Kuzco snapped and the assassin whirled, adept with his weapon of choice. Before the two guards had a chance to raise their own mini axes, the man had cut them open from the waist down. The scythe separated the halves cleanly and knocking the blade through the guards again caused the top halves to fall independently of their prior connection. All four pieces fell to the floor with a sick thud and an uprising of blood. Kuzco felt the blood soak his robes. The assassin had struck close enough to nick Kuzco and now he raised the scythe again to bring the blade close to Kuzco's throat. Kuzco gulped and whined. He stared at Malina out of the corner of his eyes.

"Leave him be!" Malina snapped and trembled.

"Do not trouble yourself to protect him, Malina," the man retorted. "He is not worth your while."

"Yes, protect me!" Kuzco cried and darted around the room. Back in ancient times, also known as when his father ruled, he had insisted that the royal chambers should be outfitted with emergency escapes. Kuzco had doubted that anyone would get this far and had loudly and cruelly denounced them and now he was racing to find the damn activation for it.

He leaned against a protruding lever and the wall flipped, slamming him into a roller coaster cart. Before he had a chance to acclimate, the cart dropped and his stomach dissolved. He screamed and ducked before the giant swinging axe. The cart skidded ahead of the giant metal block that swung out of the wall at him. A large club brained him in the head and he keeled over the cart. He was conscious, but his head had the mother of all headaches. His vision blurred beyond hope and his head felt like it was going to split open.

The cart eventually upended him onto the floor and Kuzco laid there, his cheek pressed against the cool floor. Above, barely audible over the pounding in his head, he heard metal clinking.

"Hmm...I don't remember putting a secret entrance there..." Yzma said. Kuzco would recognize that voice anywhere.

"What do we do with him?" a familiar deep voice said and it took Kuzco a few seconds to place it. Kronk. Who else would be here?

"I suppose it would look suspicious if he fell down here and then was never seen again...plus I think that Malina girl was with him..." Yzma said. "Witnesses are no good."

"So?" Kronk plied.

"Put him in the cellar, lock the door and I'll come up with something later," Yzma said.

---

"Stupid lever!" the assassin snapped and then whirled on Malina. Malina froze, trying to place the voice, failing, and needing very much to escape if the assassin suddenly decided she was worth murdering like poor Gioca and the guards.

"There must be another way..." he said and Malina's legs trembled. The paralysis broke when he looked at her and she bolted for the door.

"Give the emperor my regards when you locate him," he said and bowed.

"Who are you?" Malina said and shivered.

"A good friend," the man said. He backed out of the room and darted down the hall. Malina chased after him, but her legs gave out on her.

"Guards!" she screamed. "This man tried to kill the emperor!"

---

Kuzco stared at the assassin, content behind his mask. No one had bothered to strip him of it; they preferred to wait for the emperor's questioning. Unfortunately, though he yearned to know who had sent the assassin and so forth, his stomach hadn't agreed. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw the dead men in his head and by far, he was not the only one. Malina lingered and groaned, recoiling from the assassin. If Kuzco was in a better mood, he would have sent her away to the kitchen. For some unfathomable reason, he found her identical reaction comforting.

Behind bars, the assassin was no less dangerous. It had taken three guards to gang up on him and knock him out, bind him, and then chain him to the wall. The same three guards stood behind him. Kuzco ignored them. Looking at them relived the assassin slicing through them and honestly, he could live without the reminder. Malina averted her gaze too.

Kuzco's nerves were akimbo and he approached the cell only to hesitate and retreat at the last second. He was performing and not only had he forgotten the lines, he had a horrendous case of stage fright. Behind the mask, the assassin's eyes glittered dangerously and Kuzco tripped over his own feet to avoid meeting them. He stumbled and a guard righted him. Kuzco looked behind him at the guard and then shuddered.

At least Yzma had let Kuzco out of that weird, tiny stone closet when he'd come to. Grimacing, he brushed himself off and her sliminess.

"What's your name?" he managed, squeaking on 'name'.

"And how do you know me?" Malina burst out. Kuzco ought to remind her to know her place. The dungeons spun. Formalities could wait.

"It isn't hard, to learn peasants' names," the man replied. "And since I don't deign to tell you my real name, you may know me as 'Poma'."

Kuzco's lips twitched near a sneer. The man's blade had been removed and placed in the royal armory. Kuzco wanted it destroyed. Apparently, the deaths of two guards and a peasant wannabe servant were enough to merit concern and ignorance of his declarations. (He'd never admit that if he had to listen to himself, he'd be too spooked to obey).

"Then you don't know me," Malina said and stood, putting her hands on her hips. The guards stared at Kuzco and he pointedly ignored them. Swallowing hard, he fought back the bile and waited for the dungeon to settle down. Candle light flickered and waved.

"Aren't you curious why I'm here, Emperor?" Poma said. Removing the mask, Poma revealed thick black hair that flowed to his shoulders. Unlike the Incas, he wore no ceremonial earrings. His face had a square chin and his brown eyes sparkled coldly. Underneath the black clothing, his muscular, well toned body was evident. He was about Kuzco's height.

"Fine," Kuzco said, voice wavering. "Why are you here?"

The man leaned back and smiled at the stone ceiling. "They're coming."

"Who?" Kuzco snapped and balled his trembling fists. Malina came to his side and Poma looked at her. His lips quirked.

"You owe him no allegiance," Poma said. "None of the peasants do."

"What are you talking about?" Kuzco said coldly and wanted to be anywhere but here. Malina glanced at him but, thank the gods, made no attempt to touch him.

"The peasants are rebelling, Your Highness," Poma said, delighted. "They've been discontent since the hundred tribes were assembled and now, forced to toil under the Sapa Inca, they want rescue. Whether you like it or not, they will join us."

"And who is us," Kuzco spat. "People who dress all in black and talk in riddles?"

Poma laughed. The cruel sound echoed in the stone chamber and Malina and Kuzco shivered. The guards flinched and concealed it by squeezing their half axes tighter. The crazy jack rabbit man scuttled across the floor to gape at Poma.

"You really aren't worth the ransom," Poma said.

"Silence!" Kuzco snapped and gulped. "If you're not going to offer me anything useful, then I'm leaving."

"You can kill me," Poma said in a singsong voice. "But you can't prevent what's to come."

"And what's that?" Kuzco retorted.

"The end of the Inca Empire," Poma said. He grinned and relaxed in the cell. "Nothing you do will stop it."

Kuzco, rather than acknowledge that, swept out of the dungeon. He thought he deserved an award for his acting, because while he pretended to be relatively unaffected, he was terrified. While he might have accused the man of bluffing, it was hard to say that in the face of him assassinating well over a half dozen guards. The nonchalant manner in which he spoke too gave credence to his words. Credence was bad. Kuzco didn't want to have to worry about the peasants rebelling and siding with someone else other than their emperor.

Malina and the guards followed him. When the guards shut the dungeon door behind them and the rush of air escaped, Malina squeezed Kuzco's shoulder. He was surprised to find compassion in her warm brown eyes and he recoiled from it. Who the hell was she to worry about him? Disgusted, unnerved, and wishing a little he wasn't so appalled at her comfort, he strode down the hall to his chambers before he remembered they were burned to a crisp and the bodies were probably still there. He stopped in the hall and groaned.

Malina disappeared. She might have said something about returning to the kitchen, but Kuzco barely heard her. People were able to slip into the palace and nearly kill him. The peasants, according to Poma and his council, were rebelling and wanted to bring about the end of the Inca Empire. That was it. Kuzco was officially in over his head.

The worst thing was that his royal adviser was supposed to be his closest aid and companion and Kuzco couldn't trust her not to kill him. No one around here wanted to give him an honest opinion or they had ulterior motives; everyone except for Malina. That was absurd. Why should he turn to the peasant turned servant? He had a hard enough time defining why he was attracted to her; he didn't need to complicate things by confiding in her.

Unless she could keep a secret, then it might be worth it.

Was he even listening to himself? How desperate had he gotten to contemplate confiding in her, of all people?

His feet had disregarded his internal warfare. Leaning against the kitchen wall, he stared at the servants and cooks, hustling and bustling to prepare his next meal.

"Don't bother," Kuzco said and the words belonged to someone else, someone apart from him. "I'm not hungry."

Apparently, his appearance was far from expected, because someone dropped a heavy pot and water sloshed over the floor. Kuzco scowled and stepped away from the spill.

"Let me guess," Malina said, walking with a youngster in tow. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Kuzco huffed and turned on his heel. "I must have been mistaken."

"What do you want?" Malina said, annoyed but worried. He wondered how she balanced that act. Despite himself, he looked into her eyes and scowled. His body tingled and he cursed himself.

"You have to stop doing that," he snapped.

"Doing what?" she retorted.

"Never mind," he said. "I don't need your help."

"Why are you so infuriating?" Malina said.

"Why are peasants so touchy?" he retorted.

"I'm not a peasant anymore," she countered, hands on her hips. "You've made sure I'm your servant instead."

"I'll find someone else," he snapped and sped out of there. Malina growled, but stayed where she was. Talk about infuriating. What in the name of the gods was he going to do with her? Well, he could always free her from servitude and return her to the village, but no. Especially considering the peasant rebellion...

Kuzco's stomach turned.