Emperor and Clown (39 page)

Rap
was about to say that it would not matter”Of course I’m grateful!” the old man
snapped, and yet his face was saying that he hated being indebted to anyone. “What
you did may have been foolish, but it was a wondrous thing for me and my
grandson. I will do anything in my power to save you.”

“That
is very-”

“But
I may not have any power!”

“Sire?”

The
old man scowled at the goblet he held. “If the Senate and the Assembly and the
Four all ratified Ythbane as regent ... I wonder how the sly-handed twister did
it, though?”

“A
joint resolution,” Shandie said sleepily, “based on an Act of Succession passed
in the reign of Uggrota III.”

The
two men turned to look at him in surprise. He was awake, but barely. He smiled
without opening his eyes.

His
grandfather beamed proudly. “Clever boy! What else has been going on while I
was sick?”

“Oh
... Lots of things. Thane Kalkor came. And there is going to be a campaign
against the perverts in Zark in the spring, and the dwarves have
agroabro-broken the Dark River Treaty.” Shandie yawned, and then yawned again. “Drought
in East Ambel, good harvest in Shimlundok. The goblins are still killing our
soldiers. The XIXth Legion won the pennant again, but the IIIrd came second.
Marshal Ithy won a lot of money on that, he said. Riots in Pithmot because of
the new tax bill.”

“Well
done, soldier! Good reportl You go back to sleep now.” Emshandar’s fond smile
faded away as he turned back to Rap-he had been shaken by the news, especially
the war talk. “Ithy?” he murmured. “Olybino?”

He
shook his head angrily and swallowed more wine. “That’s politics for you,
Master Rap!”

“Sire?”

“Ythbane
needed support. War? New taxes? He bought it dearly, I fear.” For a moment he
brooded, then glanced around to see if Shandie was listening. He was, but didn’t
seem to be. The old man dropped his voice. “I appointed that half-breed consul
just before Emthoro died. Afterward-” He gestured in Shandie’s direction. “-I
could see there would have to be a regent appointed. I hoped it would be my
daughter, although she isn’t cut out for ruling. I decided Ythbane was smart
enough to keep the great families in line and would promote her interests,
meaning to manipulate her himself. I did not consider him strong enough to take
power personally. Seems I was wrong! He went after . . .” He stopped with a
shrug before mentioning Shandie’s mother by name, but Rap understood.

The
imperor’s face was a gray desert, scoured by the ages, but when he looked up,
his eyes gleamed like sunlight striking rock-girt pools. “So why am I telling
all this to a coachman?”

“Because
you don’t know who rules the Impire tonight, Sire.”

Emshandar
nodded bitterly and drained his glass. It clattered as he laid it down with a
shaky hand. “Oh, they obeyed me today, but that was mere courtesy. The imperor
must be mundane, the Protocol says, and that toad Ythbane stole the throne with
bribery and threats and a sure way with women. No sorcery.”

“While
I used sorcery to bring you back.”

How
would the wardens judge? But they remained unmentioned.

The
old man sighed. “Whom can I trust?” he whispered. “The Assembly goes to the
highest bidder. The Senate? The pompous do not easily reverse themselves.
Coalitions and compacts and corruption! The army? Ithy?”

“The
marshal was a worried man, Sire. I think he will be true to his duty.”

“But
his duty is to the law! What is the law? That is the question! Well, even my
grandson is not worth a civil war. Sorcerer, this is hard for me to say, but I
am asking for your help.” When Rap would have spoken, he raised a hand like a
bundle of dry twigs. “Let me finish! By. rights you should have already fled
from Hub, hoping to evade the wardens’ wrath. That may be possible, if you can
evermore resist the temptation to use your powers and remain one more mundane
among millions. But without your continued aid, I fear that the recovery you
have granted me will be short-lived indeed. If you do nothing but warn me who
is lying and who is true ... that would not be a serious breach of the
Protocol, I think.”

Was
ever pride so humbled? A coachman, a stableboy!

“I
shall do anything I can to help, Sire, but my time is very short. Something
terrible happens to me today. Tonight.”

Rap
explained, and the old man looked shockedand also bewildered.

“You
are sure of this foresight?” Rap shuddered. “Yes.”

“It
does not sound like the wardens. Their usual punishment for illicit sorcery is
to enslave the culprit. If I remember rightly, it is South’s turn to get the
words. The sinner is merely a container, to be discarded when no longer needed.
You know that the words can only be extracted by straight mundane torture?”
Emshandar reached for the decanter and frowned at it for being empty. “I can
see no need for immolation!”

Perhaps
the white glare was not the worst possible future, though.

“I
shall do what I can to help, Sire,” Rap repeated. Emshandar’s problems were his
fault. He who wakes the dog must bear the bite, his mother had always said.
Besides, he could promise anything now.

“I
am grateful!” the old man insisted. It was true, but he hated it. “Is there
anything ... I mean, if I should survive and you do not . . . This Inosolan?
What do you want for her?”

“Happiness.”

A
cynical smile crept over the thin lips and into the hollow eyes, like sunlight
trekking a landscape on a cloudy day. “Happiness is rarely within the gift of
imperors, Master Rap. Misery is our favored coin. But I promise you I shall
try, if I am spared.”

He
sighed, an old man, and a very weary one. He needed a few weeks to recuperate
and he wasn’t going to get them. “I told those dolts to wait on me in the
Emerald Hall long since. To keep them waiting much longer would. be unwise. And
after that, I fear, we must adjourn to the Rotunda and meet with the wardens;
or some of us must.”

Premonition
began to prickle along Rap’s arms as if the room had suddenly chilled. “Which
way is the Emerald Hall?”

He
scanned in the direction the old man pointed, but even a sorcerer needed time
to explore the great sprawling collection of buildings that was the Opal
Palace. “Eight sided, green carpets?”

“That’s-the
place.” The imperor was looking at him oddly.

A
few people were patiently waiting in the Emerald Hall, but not as many as there
should have been. The tingling grew urgent as Rap flashed his farsight around
and sought out Emine’s Rotunda. He could find that one easily enough, because
Shandie had pointed it out to him. It was unmistakable anyway, on the crest of
the hill.

“They’re
starting without you, Sire.”

Most
of the great. dome was filled with night-a menacing sooty evil to Rap’s
premonition-but a score or more tall candelabra spilled a dappled puddle of
light in the center. Within this brightness, twenty or so courtiers were
standing in small groups, talking in low voices. Three were in uniform, the
rest wore the same sort of foolish wrapping as the imperor wore, most white, a
few bright red. Kids in bedsheets, playing at being wraiths! Azak was there,
easily identified by his height. Absurd! If his own court could see him now, he
would be laughed at all the way to Nordland. The women looked good, though, in
loose, manypleated gowns. Inos at her husband’s side ...

The
five thrones were all empty.

“I
don’t see Ythbane,” Rap said. It was hard to make out faces at that range
without starting to use real power-enough power to make him conspicuous to the
wardens. The Opal Palace was a dead spot within Hub’s occult bustle, an oasis
of silence like a city garden. Almost any use of magic here was going to ring
out in trumpet fanfares. “What color?”

“A
consul’s toga has a purple border, but I suppose he may have grown too big for
that now.”

“He
wears the purple,” Shandie murmured sleepily. “Then he isn’t there yet,” Rap
said. “But it can’t be long.”

Even
a mundane could have seen the pain on the old imperor’s face as he gripped the
arms of his chair and tried to rise. He sank back, helpless. He bared his
teeth, gathered himself, and tried again, with no more success. Sweat shone on
his forehead, his breath was harsh. Then he glanced miserably at Rap in a
wordless appeal for aid. The will was there, but the body had been starved and
immobile for too long.

“I
can give you strength, Sire, but I fear there may be a price to pay later. I
have no experience at this.”

“I
will pay the price!”

Rap
poured energy into him, and watched in fascination as color suffused the pale
cheeks and the bodily fires blazed up to match the burning will.

“Aha!”
he shouted. “Thank you, Sorcerer! The old warhorse will tread a measure yet!”
He lurched to his feet.

Premonition!
Rap rose, also, aware that every hair on his body seemed to want to stand up-also-on
its own. His fate was waiting for him in the Rotunda.

There
he would meet whatever it was that had burned out his foresight in white flame.
He would have been shaking like a terrified child had he not been using his
powers to calm himself. At least he thought he was; at that level it was hard
to know what was occult and what was just wishing. But he wasn’t going to let
the old man see his fear, not after promising he would help. Running away would
solve nothing. Back wounds hurt twice, Sergeant Thosolin had liked to say.

“Shandie,
my boy? Wake up, soldier!”

“Grandfather?”
Shandie seemed to smile in his sleep. He rolled over and sat up. The grin
became a yawn, and he stretched his broomstick arms.

Emshandar
had paused before a full-length mirror to inspect his appearance. “My shroud
has slipped,” he muttered disgustedly.

“I
don’t suppose you could make me look ... no, never mind.” He turned to his
grandson. “Come along, lad. We’ve got to go and meet the wardens.”

Already
scrambling crabwise toward the edge of the bed, Shandie froze, and his eyes
fixed on his grandfather in horror. Suddenly his happiness had vanished and he
was petrified. Rap found that curious.

“Hurry!”
the imperor said.

“Do
you really think he need come, Sire?” Rap said.

He
provoked an Imperial glare that could have razed a city. Obviously a chance to
see the Four in action would be an important part of the heir’s education.
Equally obviously, Shandie was a vital element in the cloacal ferment of
Imperial politics and should not be left around unguarded at this important
moment. Most obvious of all, his grandfather had not noticed the boy’s freezing
dread.

“Come,
soldier! On your feet! Pity we haven’t got time to dress you properly.”

With
a gasp of relief, Shandie came back to life. He slid down off the bed. Now he
was beaming again. “All the wardens coming tonight, Grandfather?”

What
was going on inside that maltreated little mind? Somehow the question seemed
important to Rap’s battered premonition, despite that talent’s present
hysterically overworked condition.

“I
could make a toga for him, Sire, if that’s what you mean.”

Emshandar
said, “Of course!” approvingly, but Shandie quailed as if his nightmare had
engulfed him again, gazing up at Rap accusingly. Why should togas bother him
so? Could his fear be in some way related to the savage beating he had received
the previous night?

The
imperor had still not noticed. “Excellent! Pray do that, Sorcerer.”

“What
color?” Then Rap wondered if he was just trying to delay the inevitable a
little longer. He did not look at the Rotunda.

“Plain
white,” the imperor said. “Quick!”

“Easy,”
Rap said. “Stand up straight, tribune.”

The
boy’s fright was as intense as it was inexplicable, but he was trying very hard
not to show it to either his grandfather or his new sorcerer friend. Yet he was
shaking.

“Do
you want a roll of thunder, or just a quiet sort of sorcery?”

“No
thunder please, Rap.” The big eyes stayed locked on the sorcerer. Rap’s humor
had not stopped his chin quivering.

“Very
well. White toga . . .” Rap ensorceled the boy’s garments to a replica of his
grandfather’s tunic and toga, in white. He added gold sandals and ran an
invisible comb over the short wavy hair. “That looks not bad at all!” he said
admiringly, mostly to himself.

“If
anyone tries to beat you, I’ll turn him into a walrus!” he promised.

Shandie
tried a shaky smile and a nod. Then he set his jaw and squared his shoulders in
an obvious imitation of his grandfather, although he was still almost ill with
his inexplicable terror. Rap’s promise of protection was not reaching deep
enough to soothe it away.

But
if a puny child like him could do his duty despite such fear, then Rap should
be able to attend to his. Whatever it was.

Aargh!
Another quick scan showed him that time was running out. “Ythbane’s arrived,
Sire! With his wife. He’s carrying something.”

“A
buckler and sword. Quick, Master Sorcerer! We must hurry. Your garb now.”

Rap
balked like a horse put to the face of a cliff. He was a churl, not a
patrician. Besides, those ridiculous wrappings left half the shins uncovered.

“I
don’t think so!”

The
imperor flushed. “Only foreign dignitaries attend the Rotunda without formal
court dress!”

“I
do.”

“You
can’t go like that!”

“I
go like this or not at all!” An imp toga, goblin tattoos, and faun legs?

For
a moment he thought Emshandar was going to order his head cut off. Veins
swelled under the papery skin.

“Do
you know what you’re going to look like to them? What they’ll think of you?”