Emperor and Clown (30 page)

Khaki
skin, lank black hair ... straggly bristles around an oversized mouth spread
now in a gruesome smile ... teeth like white daggers. He was about the shortest
person present, except for the prince, but very thick and burly. This was the
same young goblin Inos had seen with Rap before, the one Rap had said wanted to
kill him. The one who did kill him in the casement’s vision. She had forgotten
his name.

Courtiers
cleared out of his way with glances of distaste.

“Hello,
Flat Nose.” Angular eyes gleamed.

“Hello,
Little Chicken,” Rap said evenly. “I sort of expected you would turn up soon.”

The
big grin grew wider yet. “The witch gave me a promise!”

“You
would be a strong swimmer, I expect; once you learned.”

The
goblin nodded cheerfully.

“Would
someone care to explain?” Ythbane said in a dangerously low voice. “Witch?”

Rap
shrugged. “It is another prophecy, your Highness. The anthropophagi tried to
eat him, but I expect he was too tough for them.”

The
goblin chortled and the regent flushed furiously.

“We
have taken all the insolence we will tolerate. This court will adjourn to the
palace, and we will have some real answers if it takes hot irons to get them.”

“But
we have a challenge to consider,” Kalkor’s mild protest stilled the fidgeting
courtiers. “We were trying to stiffen the faun’s backbone. You did meet the
dragon, I suppose?” he asked of Rap.

“Yes.”

“I
thought you would. And yet you distrust the casement? Such a shocking lack of
faith! Or are you trying to break the chain before our green friend gets his
hands on you?”

Rap
said, “No.”

“What
then of your great love for Inosolan?-the love you confessed to me so
touchingly when we had that delightful chat on my ship?”

Rap
said, “No,” a little louder than before. Oh, Rap, Rap!

“And
where is the courage you displayed so convincingly last summer? Where is the
hero who tried to sink me and my crew?”

The
onlookers drew breath in surprise. Rap said, “No.”

“Afraid,
Master Rap?”

Rap
looked down at the turf and said, “Yes!”

“Truly,
I am chagrined!” Kalkor’s sapphire eyes danced with mockery. He turned and
stared thoughtfully at the arena, almost empty of civilians now. The
legionaries were forming up, preparing to leave also. Again Inos noted the
little prince beside the throne. He was very pale, and shaking as if he had a
fever. The mute stare he was directing at his mother seemed to hold some sort
of appeal, but she was hunched in her chair, sulking and paying no attention to
anyone. Had she no concern for her son’s health? And why would a boy of his age
not be more interested in this talk of fighting and sorcery? Was he halfwitted?
Had Epoxague been hinting at that this morning?

Kalkor
sighed, regarding Rap again with his habitual contempt. “I suppose I shall just
have to bear my sorrows and accept the responsibility of kingship so harshly
thrust upon my reluctant shoulders. Here, then, my friend-a remembrance! A
parting gift.”

With
a flick of his hand, he tossed something across the group to Rap, as if playing
catch.

Apparently
without thinking, Rap reached out and caught it ... whatever it was ...

Something
red.

Something
about the size of a closed fist ...

Rap
yelped and leaped back, dropping the strange object as if it had burned him. He
vanished, completely. Courtiers cried out and recoiled in alarm from the empty
spot where the faun had stood.

The
gift, whatever it was, had vanished also, but the grass there was spotted with
blood.

Ythbane
leaped to his feet. “What was that?” he barked. “What’s happening?”

Kalkor
moved his rain-streaked shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “I really have no idea,
your Highness. Apparently Master Rap has been called away by urgent business. A
friend unexpectedly taken sick, most like.” He chuckled gutturally.

The
regent was clearly at a loss, andthe onlookers flinched as realization came to
them also-there had been two evident sorceries. The faun had vanished, but the
jotunn had thrown something that he had not been holding only moments before,
and he certainly had no pockets in that tatter of fur he wore.

Then
Rap was back. The courtiers surged away again, isolating the two antagonists.
Rap’s face had turned sallow and his eyes bulged. He stared at the thane and
made choking noises.

Kalkor
sighed. “Not literally a heart of gold, of course, but I’m sure he had many
admirable qualities.”

“Monster!”
Rap cried, his voice breaking. “Demon of Evil!”

“Flattery
will avail you naught. Spare me your unseemly protestations of gratitude.”

“Heartless
monster!”

“Heartless?”
Kalkor repeated, looking hurt. “Oh, no! Not me! Him, yes, but what would you
expect of a mere sailor? You didn’t try to put it back, did you?”

Rap
turned on Inos; and_ she cringed before the unexplained horror she saw in him.

“All
right!” he shouted. “I’ll do it! Take his challenge and I’ll kill the swine for
you!”

He
spun on his heel and ran.

“You!”
Ythbane yelled, starting. “Come back here! Guards-catch that man!”

Praetorians
jerked into motion. Courtiers scattered. Chasing him would do no good, Inos
knew. Not if Rap was now a sorcerer.

“Inos!”

She
glanced down at Kade, who was staring at her with obvious joy. “Your cheeks,
dear!”

Inos
raised fingers to the cosmetic flaking from her face, and there was no soreness
there at all.

The
afternoon seemed to go on forever.

When
Ythbane selected his victims, Inos was first on the list. She was shipped off
to the palace in a very bouncy coach, accompanied by three steely-eyed
legionaries who refused to talk, or explain, or answer questions of any kind.

The
Opal Palace was world famous, but she was taken in through a back door and
hence saw nothing to impress her. Then she was left in a room of blank walls
and hard benches where her jailors were now women, built like basalt basilisks,
and no more interested in conversation.

Of
course imperors and their replacements were dangerous persons to offend, and
Inos knew she was in considerable danger. She discovered that it did not seem
to matter very much. If they boiled her toes, they could not spoil this day for
her. Rap was alive and well! Nothing else mattered. Let Azak worry about his
curse, and Arakkaran, and the stupid war. He could go home alone and chase
goats all day for the rest of his life-and breed sons all night, for that
matter-and Inos would not care if he didn’t even say good-bye.

Kade
had escaped, too, and that was wonderful, but the big thing was that Rap lived,
and he loved her. He had cured her burns. He would be her champion at the
Reckoning. Rap was a sorcerer! Indeed Rap seemed to be able to work miracles,
and she would never doubt him again, nor doubt the power of love.

She
had likely been sequestered to give her time to worry herself into a panic. In
fact, she had indulged in an hour or so of dreamy contemplation when she was
taken off to be questioned by the regent himself. He was obviously in a foul
temper. With half a dozen secretaries taking notes, she talked and talked and
talked. She had no secrets to conceal, nothing to keep back. Ythbane himself
paced the floor like a caged animal, and did not suggest that she might wish to
sit. He was a shrewd interrogator; he had a very powerful personality. She did
not think she could have held back anything had she wanted to.

But
she had nothing to hide. Did she love this Rap boy? Yes. Had it been he who
healed her scars? Who else? Did she want to go back to Arakkaran? Never. Did
she want, hope, expect to become Queen of Krasnegar? If it would benefit the
people, yes; otherwise no. Where was Rap now? She had no idea. Would he turn up
to fight Kalkor at noon the next day? Certainly! He had said he would, and he
had always been reliable.

At
last Ythbane sent her away, demanding that Kade be brought in next. Inos was
returned to her cell, but three of the men she had thought to be secretaries
came with her, and they began the questioning all over again. Hunting for
inconsistencies, they took her through her story three times more-twice forward
and once back-until her head ached and she could barely croak.

The
early dark of winter had already fallen when she was rescued by a messenger
from the regent. At last she was allowed to wash her face and freshen up. She
thought she might have won a battle, somehow, or that Ythbane had lost one.

She
was escorted to a delightful pink-and-gold drawing room, where Kade and Eigaze
sat by a cheerfully crackling fire, cheerfully sipping scalding green tea from
exquisite porcelain cups and nibbling tiny sandwiches. Inos collapsed into a
very soft chair and stared at them in disbelief.

“A
slice of lemon, dear?” said Kade. “Do have something to eat. Try the cucumber
ones. Do you suppose the cucumber is occult at this time of year?”

“Imported
from Pithmot, I expect,” Eigaze said,

“but
I still think the fresh, local ones have more flavor. “

Rap!
Come and rescue me from these maniacs! “No cucumber for me,” Inos said. “It
makes my nose shiny.”

Eigaze
switched targets in midreach and went for the watercress instead.

“Well,
do eat something, dear,” Kade said. “We may have a long night ahead of us.”

Inos
gulped the hot tea gratefully. “Tell me!” Kade beamed. “The wardens! His
Highness has decided to invoke the Four, and we are to visit Emine’s Rotunda
and attend! Isn’t it exciting?”

“And
so rare!” Eigaze exclaimed. “Outsiders are very rarely admitted when the Four
are called. You are greatly honored.”

“We
are to be fitted for our gowns very shortly)” Honored? Exciting? Inos drained
her cup. Rap! Quickly)

Kade
was squeezing Inos’s hand very tightly. But then Inos was squeezing her, also,
as they walked together through the gloom.

Emine’s
Rotunda might not be as large overall as the Great Hall in Arakkaran, but it
was certainly large enough to humble anyone, and no internal pillars marred its
wide expanse. Whether the fabled Emine had ever set eyes on it was unknown-it
was old beyond record. Tradition said that sorcery had built it; only sorcery
could have preserved it since the shadowy dawn times of the Impire. It smelled
old. It was filled with curious little echoes and dark whisperings. Somewhere
overhead was the famous dome, with its soaring stone ribs and crystal windows,
but on a rainy night like this there was nothing to be seen up there but
impenetrable blackness.

In
the center stood a forest of giant candelabra, each one twice the height of a
man, branched like a golden tree with blossoms of fire and fruits of crystal.
Inos wondered how many servants had taken how long to light so many hundred
candles. Yet each gold tree stood on its own plot of brightness, with shadow
seeping in between them-the Rotunda was just too big to illuminate properly.
Beyond the enchanted glade the darkness lurked unharmed. The banked seating
around the walls was barely visible, still and empty, and the roof remained a
mystery. Whatever drama was to be played, this was quite the creepiest setting
Inos had ever seen; Rasha’s dome in Arakkaran had been a country kitchen by
comparison.

When
she arrived with Kade, half a dozen men were already present, wearing military
uniforms or crisp white togas. Others came drifting in behind her, and a couple
wearing red togas were necessarily senators. Another sported a purple border
and would be one of the consuls. They stood in groups, muttering together in
low voices-she had already noticed that all the imps in Hub, even the oldest,
held themselves in stiff-backed soldier style. She did not recognize any of
them, but she caught some glancing in her direction.

She
would have felt slighted had they not. She and Kade had been hastily fitted out
with white chitons. They felt like costumes for a masquerade ball-probably
because, like togas, they were garments normally seen only on statues or in
historical lithographs. The folds clung to her body, and her arms were bare.
Chitons were not unlike nightgowns, and whereas Kade’s was woolen, warm, and
matronly, hers was sheer enough to be unpleasant on this damp, cool evening.
Men had just better look!

Two
women entered wearing red chitons. They were both elderly, of course. More men
in uniform: proconsuls, and a tribune.

She
noticed a newcomer staring at her, a man in an especially impressive uniform.
His breastplate was inlaid with gold, and the horsehair crest on his helmet was
scarlet. She thought back to a lecture that Proconsul Yggingi had given her
once at Kinvale, and decided that this must be the marshal of the armies. She
could not recall his name, but it was short . . . Ishy, maybe? . . . something
like that. He looked tough, but not unpleasant. She turned her gaze elsewhere
so he could admire her profile also.

She
found herself staring at the Opal Throne.

Of
course all this playacting and the whole great building-everything was designed
to draw attention to one spot, the center. Unconsciously she had been fighting
back, perversely refusing to look where she was supposed to look. Like a rabbit
ignoring a snake, in the hope that it would just go away.

The
heart of power. It was a wide and ugly thing in itself, squatting on a two-step
circular dais and lit by two candelabra of its own. This was the imperor’s
chair, the seat of power, the hub of Hub, the navel of the world. She assumed
that by day it flamed brightly. Under the candles it was mostly black, glowing
here and there with baleful embers, crawling hints of blood and gold, grass and
sky; restless stains of ancient evils. She thought of a dreaming dragon asleep
on a hoard of candlelight.