Emperor and Clown (55 page)

Then
she saw a tall man being helped through the crowd toward her, and her heart
jumped into her mouth.

It
was the factor, Foronod. His silver helmet of hair was unmistakable, and yet
she thought that it was now more white than ash blond. He was ten years older
than he had been in the spring. He was stooped, leaning on a cane, and dragging
one foot. A patch hid one eye; his nose was misshapen. Who had done thisimp or
jotunn?

The
faces closest around her were aging rapidly. The young bloods had been trusted.
to handle the fighting, but now the elders of the town were arriving to oversee
the political consequences. The burghers, the merchants, the senior
craftmasters-these men she must win over, and they would be her opponents. All
the cheering, blood-splattered, baby-faced smiths in the kingdom would count
for nothing compared to the factor or a rich fishmonger. One thing had not
changed since the last time. Foronod was still the key.

“Factor
Foronod!” she cried out as he drew near. “You are a sight for sore eyes! No, do
not kneel!” The single ice-blue eye blinked angrily. Kneeling had likely been
the last thing on his mind. Inos held out her hand to be kissed.

He
ignored it. “No Imperial army this time?” he barked. His sufferings had not
broken his spirit, obviously, nor improved his manners.

“The
imperor has recognized me as Queen of Krasnegar! I bring a signed treaty of
nonaggression between his realm and mine.” She saw the imps among them react to
that.

“And
Thane Kalkor? What happens when he hears of this?”

She
had been expecting the question and could barely restrain a smile of triumph.
She was much better equipped this time than last, when Andor had been newly
exposed and her father not yet in his grave.

“Thane
Kalkor is dead. I saw him struck down by the Gods.”

The
jotnar recoiled. The imps beamed.

Foronod
recovered quickly. “And who is his successor?”

Senator
Epoxague had put that very question to Ambassador Krushjor for her.

“That
is very uncertain. There will be many claimants, and it may take years for them
to kill one another off. Forget the Kalkor line, Factor. I am queen here by
right of inheritance-or by right of conquest, if you prefer. I bring peace with
our neighbors and peace among ourselves. I demand . . .” Demand. what? She
could not recall any ceremony of homage or oath of fealty in rustic little
Krasnegar. “I require your duty, Master Foronod.”

She
watched him wrestle with his heritage. Yet what alternative did he have? He
must have been praying every day for months that Kalkor would arrive and turn
out to be better than his odious young brother. Vain hope that had been, had
the factor only realized! But now she had taken away even that thin chance.
Unless he wanted to raise up a local king, such as himself, then she was the
only claimant. And the young men were with her.

Foronod
thumped his cane forward one pace. Leaning heavily on it, he reached for her
hand and raised it to his dry lips. “I am your Majesty’s loyal and obedient
servant, and welcome your return with all my heart.” Then he straightened and
stepped back. “Gods save your Majesty,” he added as an afterthought, pouting as
if the words hurt.

It
was a fair surrender. “As you were for my ... our ... father, so for me you
will always be one of our ... er ... my most trusted and honored counselors,
Factor.” A little muddled; she needed practice.

She
recognized one of the senior imps nearby, a merchant whose name she had
forgotten. He was something important in the import business, she knew, and had
also been a member of the council. She scrambled down and settled herself on
the scarlet cushion. Rap reached out and laid a small hassock at her feet.

Inos
glanced expectantly at the merchant.

He
shuffled forward and went down on his knees before her.

There
was almost no daylight in Krasnegar in midwinter, but the full moon rolled all
around the sky. Clocks were rare in that easygoing town, and Inos lost all
track of time. There was so much to do that she forgot to eat or sleep or even
sit down.

She
hardly saw Rap at all, but occasionally he would appear and order her to the
table. Then she would gulp down whatever repast was there without noticing it.
Even at those moments, the turmoil left her no peace. So many had gone-she was
appalled. The bishop, dead of a fit. Mother Unonini, slain by a jotunn while
trying to prevent a rape, and Sergeant Thosolin under similar circumstances.
Chancellor Yaultari had died in a dungeon, Seneschal Kondoral of a broken
heart, they said. .

Mistress
Aganimi the housekeeper had survived, though, and she set to work restoring
order in the pigpen that the jotnar had made of the castle.

With
her unending supply of gold, Inos hired men and women by the hundreds. There
was normally little to do in winter, but she put the idle hands to work. Her
money began to surge through the town, and that helped, also. Clothiers and
carpenters and tradesmen of all descriptions suddenly found themselves doing
business on a scale they had never dreamed of. Prices soared and she had to
issue decrees against profiteering.

She
named a new council, expanding it from the eight or so her father had preferred
to twenty-four, bringing in some women and even including a few youngsters of
her own generation, like Kratharkran, the high-pitched, exuberant smith. The
elders scowled at her innovations and she faced them down with the assurance of
an adept and with the queenly glamour that Rap eventually admitted having cast
on her. Her deadly green stare became legendary, deflecting query or argument
like a steel shield.

She
demanded an inventory of food supplies, and the records were found to be in a
hopeless muddle.

That
was partly due to Rap, who was quietly going around filling warehouses and
storerooms when no one was looking. Foronod was driven almost to distraction,
and Inos was very happy to have the old factor distracted; at least he could
not then be stirring up trouble. Apparently the beating that had lamed him had
been done by the jotnar, not by imps, but he was obviously not the man he had
been, and she began to ponder a replacement for him.

No
one knew how many had died, nor how many mouths remained to consume the
foodstocks, so she ordered a census taken, the first in the history of
Krasnegar.

Jotnar
could always be counted on to let celebrations get out of hand. Inos was
delighted to discover that Corporal Oopari had repented of his desertionor
wearied of his fiancee, perhaps-and had returned by ship during the summer. She
promoted him to sergeant and put him in charge of the guard and the militia. He
moved fast, but the aftermath of a riot was a full jail. King Holindarn had
acted as his own chief justice. Unable to see herself in that role, Inos
appointed an independent judiciary.

Many
houses had been deliberately burned in the Terror, and often the flames had
spread to adjoining buildings. Timber was almost nonexistent, because in the
past it had always been imported.

At
her first council meeting, the queen pointed out that there was unlimited wood
a few days’ trek to the south.

But
no way to transport it, Foronod told her snappily.

Why
couldn’t we bring it in on sledges?

Goblins
... causeway ... weather ... horse fodder ... Objections rolled out from the
elders like smoke from wet peat. Inos looked at the grinning younger faces
around the table and put the matter to a vote. The council promptly decreed
that the Royal Krasnegarian Militia be expanded from eighteen to eighty, armed
with Inos’s swords, and trained as soon as possible in ways of defending
lumberjacks from goblin attacks.

The
expedition would need horses, and moving them across the causeway in winter had
never even been attempted before. She ordered it done, and stabling made ready
on the mainland.

She
wanted a special service of thanksgiving, and there must be funerals for the
eight men who had died in the ephemeral war of liberation. Her former tutor,
dull old Master Poraganu, was horrified when she appointed him acting bishop.
She knew he was conscientious and would do a good job, but she wondered
guiltily how much she was spiting him for uncounted hours of boredom.

Almost
every woman of bearing years in Krasnegar was pregnant, either by an imp
legionary or a jotunn raider, and many were near their time. The medical
facilities were hopelessly inadequate, so Inos ordered a whole wing of the
castle converted to a maternity ward. That led her thoughts to a midwifery
school and also a public child care organization for the summer, when the women
would be needed to work.

Half
the fishing fleet had fled during the troubles, so she had to think about boat
building and manpower.

All
these things pretty well took care of the first three days of her reign.

“And
now you’re going to go and have a good night’s rest,” Mistress Aganimi said
firmly.

“Oh,
I’d love to, but-”

“No
buts. Your bedroom’s ready at least, and I’ve had a good fire going in there to
take the chill off. Off with you now! Can’t have our dear queen working herself
to death . . .”

As
a child, Inos had disliked the bleak old housekeeper, who had often stolen her
friends away to put them to work, while laying down laws that came from no
statute book Inos had ever discovered. These last three days, though, the
formidable Aganimi had been almost as indispensable as Rap.

She
tried to find some better arguments in her fatigue-softened head, and saw that
there weren’t any. Gods, if the kingdom couldn’t last a night without her, what
good was it?

Was
this really bedtime? The sky was a bright smear above the hills to the south,
and that meant either sunrise or sunset, but noon for certain. There was enough
light dribbling in the windows that she didn’t even need a lantern, for once.

As
she began dragging her feet up the stairs from the Throne Room, she wondered if
she had the strength even to reach her bed. The kings of Krasnegar had always
slept at the top of Inisso’s Tower. That was holy writ, although no one had
known that the reason was to guard the other chamber, above the bedroom. Well,
everyone must know about that now.

She
crossed the Presence Chamber, smiling at the boys there trying to bow to her
while encumbered with shovels and buckets. The cleaning up was going well now.

She
crossed the Robing Room, and here girls were working with mops and rags. Why
would Aganimi have kept boys and girls apart? Efficiency, probably. Less fun,
though. Remember to change it.

She
crossed the empty Antechamber. Timber needed sledges and sledges needed runners
and runners needed iron; so she had been informed. Iron was in short supply. To
melt down dwarvish steel swords for such a purpose was unthinkable, the smiths
had told her. Don’t think, then, just do it, she had replied.

She
crossed the Withdrawing Room, also barren now. If they could build boats, they
ought to be able to make furniture that didn’t look as if it had been thrown
away by trolls. Of course she could always slip down to Kinford through Rap’s
magic portal, then order what she wanted shipped north in the spring.

She
crossed the Dressing Room; slowly, puffing hard. She could steal timber from
the goblins, but nails didn’t grow on trees. Rap could make nails, but she
would rather not ask Rap for help, except when she had to. It felt like
cheating. She wondered how many nails she could smuggle in through the magic
portal before people became suspicious, and why that didn’t feel like cheating.

She
dragged herself up the last stair and into her bedroom, and shot the bolt.
Peace!

As
the housekeeper had said, there was a cheerful fire glowing in the grate. The
temperature was almost comfortable close to the fireplace. The only furnishings
were a faded old rug and a small bed that Inos had not seen before. It was
piled high with furs and quilts and Rap.

He
was lying on top with his hands behind his head, watching her without
expression. He was still wearing the same garments as before, but he was clean
and fresh shaven and his goblin tattoos had disappeared. She wondered when that
had happened.

She
went over to him, and he raised eyebrows in welcome.

“Not
tonight, I’m too tired,” she said. He pulled a face at such off-color humor.

“Of
course you could fix that,” she added hopefully. “I want to show you
something-upstairs.”

Inos
shook her head quickly. “No! Not now!” She was so tired that even the thought
of ...

Rap
nodded. “Good, it works!”

“What
does?”

“The
aversion spell. I restored it.”

Inos
looked at the sinister, forbidding door. “I don’t care. I’m not going up there
right now. Maybe tomorrow, when I’m not so tired.”

“Use
the same password.”

“Holindarn?
Oh . . . see what you mean.” Her apprehension and dislike vanished, being
replaced by normal curiosity as to what a sorcerer might have to show.

Rap
swung his legs down from the bed. “Come on! I’ve also repaired the shielding
round the castle, so no one can spy on you from outside except when you’re in
the topmost chamber.” He opened the door for her and she began dragging her
feet up yet another narrow staircase.

His
voice echoed behind her. “I’ve even raised the causeway a little-I think it’s
subsided since Inisso’s time. And now it’s goblin repellent, just in case. And
I’ve restored the inattention spell on the whole kingdom. I made it as strong
as I dared. Any stronger, and the ships would forget to come.”

“You’ve
been busy.”

“You
haven’t exactly been lazing around yourself.” Then she had reached the chamber
of puissance. It was astonishingly warm. Rap’s doing, no doubt. It had been
cleaned out. Again, Rap’s doing-only sorcery could have removed every trace of
dust like this, and even put a shine on the floor.