The Invisible Hands - Part 1: Gambit (38 page)

He seemed to have lost his way. He says he has something to deliver—”

“Get out of my way, you horrible, horrible nuisance of a boy,”

Murno Tollbir cut the page short. He shoved the boy aside, making him almost lose his balance.

Anaxantis, who had been looking out of the window, hastened to his chair and sat down.

“It's all right, Woldemar,” he said to the page, who glared indignantly at the man who had treated him so inconsiderately. “Thank you for bringing him here. He is my physician.”

32
Murno Tollbir stuck his tongue out at the page, who thought this

was the right moment to literally bow out of the situation.

“What's your secret? Where do you find them? In a little town called Retardoville in the province of Imbecillia?”

He sat down in one of the chairs reserved for guests, but not before having appropriated the prince's cup. Anaxantis was a fraction of a second too late to rescue it and saw with a resigned look on his face how the doctor took a long, deep draft, then smacked his lips.

“The architect who designed this part of the castle must have been drunk while doing it,” he said.

“There's a reason, Doctor, for this seemingly random tangle of hallways, side-corridors, and corners.” Anaxantis said.

“There always is a reason. For everything. Finding it is the fun part, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I would have been here sooner, but things kept cropping up.

Normally I don't discuss my patients with laymen, but in this case I think you ought to know.”

Anaxantis arched his eyebrows.

“Go on.”

“It concerns the Duchess Athildis. Her friend — let's call him that, although he is as much her ‘friend’ as I am Threndll's — asked me to examine her. She has been behaving strangely lately. Sometimes she seems to think she's still in her twenties. Sometimes she doesn't know where or who she is and wanders around the corridors, totally confused. No wonder actually, since they seem to be designed by a madman, were it not that she ought to be used to them by now.”

He took another swig of his cup and smacked his lips again.

32
“Good stuff,” he said, before continuing. “Too much water though.

It didn't take me long to find out what's wrong with her. It's the brain-maggot disease.”

“What?” the prince exclaimed. “She has maggots in her brain?”

“If she has they are invisible. It's how my father used to call it. He made me assist him, when I was still quite young, when he opened the skull of a man who had been suffering from it. Not a nice sight. The brain appeared dried out, much smaller than it ought to be, and if I remember correctly there were also huge gaps… Soon she won't be able to recall anything from the past. She may not even be aware anymore who she is. All the signs are there. Sir Threnn said there was an incident she didn't recognize him anymore, and another when he was only just in time to prevent her from leaving their apartments in the nude.

She became violent and tried to hit him, but then her consciousness returned, and she found herself standing naked at the door, ready to leave. She was horrified.”

Anaxantis looked at him, shocked.

“I can imagine,” he said. “And she being such a proud woman. The indignity of it must be intolerable to her.”

“Yes, it is. It will get worse. There is nothing I can do.” He sighed.

“I've had far too many occasions to say that lately.”

“Is there really nothing anybody can do?”

“Of course there is. She can do something. She can kill herself while she's still capable of making her own choices. I think she has decided on that course of action already.”

“Poor Arranulf,” Anaxantis said. “He loves her so much.”

“He seemed to be her main concern as well. She and her friend are now thinking about ways to make it seem an accident, or a natural death even.”

32
Anaxantis went to a cupboard to get a new cup for himself and

filled it from the pitcher on the table. He also refilled that of the doctor. They drank in silence.

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot,” Murno Tollbir said after a while, rummaging in his satchel, “I've got something for you. The new batch is ready.”

He produced a small silver box, opened it and put it before Anaxantis. On a dark blue, velvet lining lay, gleaming, five golden pill— shaped objects. Anaxantis looked at them, without touching them.

“You tested them?” he asked.

“Not myself, no, but yes, I had them tested. They're most efficient, I assure you. I saw the result, I'm sorry to say.”

The doctor blinked.

“There seems to be room for six of them.”

“As I said, I had them tested. That's why there are only five left.”

“This silver box, was it really necessary?”

“No, by no means. I could have wrapped them in parchment. But you must understand, the goldsmith who made the pills, like everybody else, likes to make a profit. So, I let him sell me — and by me I mean you — a fine piece of craftsmanship. He was very pleased.”

“I don't doubt it. Just how many rioghals worth was he pleased?”

“No idea, my dear boy. I don't deal in such trivialities. Not to worry, I sent the bill to your treasurer.”

“Tomar,” Anaxantis groaned.

“Some such or other. I don't quite remember. Lethoras will give it to him.”

32
“Ah, Lethoras,” the prince said, perking up his ears and smiling.

“How is he doing? How is his leg?”

“Good. He has a pig's bladder. A piglet's bladder, actually.”

“By the Gods, he has a bladder condition on top of all his other troubles?” Anaxantis exclaimed.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” the doctor said, genuinely nonplussed.

“You, damn you. You said he had a condition called piglet's bladder, didn't you?”

“I most certainly did not. It's actually a bladder. Of an actual piglet.

It is for his leg, of course.”

“For his leg?”

“Yes, for his leg. Am I slurring my words, or are you growing deaf?

Useful animals, pigs. Almost as useful as chickens. Of course the idea came to me when I remembered seeing some youngsters swimming in the stream near Dermolhea. When was it again? Two, three years ago?

Anyway, it was a scorching hot summer. That was why they were swimming. And why the farmers were complaining. Blasted farmers.

Always complaining.” He mimicked a peevishly droning voice.

“There's too much rain, the vegetables will be expensive this season. It has been too dry, the vegetables will be expensive this season…

Whatever weather the Gods send us, the vegetables are always expensive—”

“Doctor. The leg. The pigs. And most of all: what?” Anaxantis interrupted him, exasperated.

“Oh, that. Well, you see, I remembered seeing the boys splash around in the river and how those who couldn't yet swim kept afloat on pig's bladders. You can clean them, you know, and fill them with air. They seemed quite soft. It gave me the idea for sort of a cushion, 32
filled with air, to put between Lethoras's stump and the socket of his

wooden leg. To make him more comfortable.”

“Clever.”

“I rather thought so myself,” Tollbir said. “Except you can't use a grown-up pig. Their bladders are far too big. I had to experiment with piglets of different sizes. It was a bloodbath. Threndll was none too pleased, I can tell you that much.”

He scratched his beard pensively.

“But it turned out all right in the end? You found a piglet that suited you?” Anaxantis asked impatiently.

“Oh no. They're too young, you see. The meat tastes of, well, nothing really. I tried marinating it, but it has too faint a flavor to be really enjoyable. On the other hand, it could be me. I found as I grew older I began to favor the more pungent cheeses, while as a young man I thought they stank of socks somebody had worn for a fortnight. And tasted worse. Younger people might even find piglet meat a delicacy, but as for myself—”

Anaxantis snapped his fingers in the doctor's face.

“The bladders, Doctor, the bladders.”

“Younger people are very impatient as well,” the doctor grumbled.

“Anyway, eventually I found the perfect size. Lethoras now has an air cushion between his flesh and the socket. Together with the lining it makes for a comfortable, perfect fit. Snug, yet soft. He says that now he can wear the damn thing all day long without that chafed feeling he used to get.”

“Wonderful, Doctor,” Anaxantis congratulated him. “You're a genius.”

32
“Oh, I wouldn't go as far as that… Yes, I would. But the main thing

is that Lethoras is more comfortable. He says there are times he almost forgets he has a wooden leg.”

He smiled in a self-satisfied way.

“I'm so glad for him,” the prince said.

“Yes, me too. Mind you, he needed it, what with that man leaning on him for days. That's also the reason we're late, by the way.”

“What man?”

“The father, who else? Poor man. Such a shame.”

“Whose father, Doctor?” the prince asked, deciding it was no use getting upset.

“The father of the little girl. Richild. She's dead.”

Anaxantis, suddenly remembering, gasped.

“Oh dear, the little daughter of the innkeeper of the Cranky Goat.

Poor thing.”

“Yep, that's the one.”

“Wait a moment. You said before that she was dead, and then she lived on after all.”

“Now she's dead. As dead as yesterday.”

He blinked.

“It's for the best,” he continued, as he saw Anaxantis was about to say something. “She was in constant pain, and the herbs weren't helping anymore. Neither were my specially prepared draughts, and they can completely stop toothaches in a minute. Her hair and teeth had fallen out.”

“It probably was better for the poor girl. Still, it can't have been easy for her father when she died.”

32
“No, it wasn't. All the more so because she didn't die. Of herself

that is. Funny thing, the human body. Even when all hope is lost, when it serves no practical purpose anymore, when it is reduced to just a pain-generating prison, it insists on clinging on tenaciously to life. The father had to help her… go.”

“By the Gods, what did he do?”

“I explained the situation to him. He asked how long she would live if we did nothing. I told him she would probably manage to hang on for another week, maybe ten days. In excruciating, senseless pain.

Barely able to speak, howling most of the time. So you can see that after it was done, Lethoras had to stay with the man. He was broken.

Not just heartbroken. And I stayed with Lethoras. Which is why we are late.”

“What… how… what did he…”

“You've got five pills left. They're tested.”

Ryhunzo was standing in the antechamber, where a servant had bade him wait.

After a few minutes Sir Threnn appeared. The page bowed.

“I bring a message from Prince Anaxantis,” he said. “His Highness wishes to visit the duchess and wonders if this afternoon would be a good time.”

Sir Threnn looked at the page with astonishment.

“His Highness? He could have ordered… Yes. Please, tell him the duchess will be ready and waiting for him.”

“Splendid,” Ryhunzo said, giving Sir Threnn a radiant smile. He bowed again in an avalanche of curls, before taking his leave.

32
Athildis stood up from the chair where she had been sitting, her

back straight as an arrow, when Anaxantis was led into her room by a servant. Sir Threnn had been standing behind the chair, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder.

“Your Highness,” she said by only way of greeting. She didn't bow or curtsy.

“Your Grace,” the prince answered, in an equally stately manner.

“I understand you wished to see me?”

“Yes,” Anaxantis answered, not too sure how to proceed. “My physician informed me that you are not well—”

“He should have kept that to himself. I trusted him to be discreet,”

the duchess interrupted him harshly.

“I agree. It was none of my business, and certainly none of his to tell me about your ailments. But I suppose he had his reasons, and that is why I am here.”

“To gloat, Tanahkos?” the duchess bit.

“No, Madam, on the contrary,” the prince replied, keeping his voice even.

He retrieved the small silver box from a purse hanging from his belt, opened it, and took out a golden pill. He offered it to Athildis, who accepted it gingerly, with a mistrustful expression.

“What is this?” she demanded.

“It is my ultimate guarantee that I won't be captured alive. Or rather, that I won't survive capture for longer than honor can bear.

The capsule is made out of thin gold. Put it between your teeth. A simple bite will rupture it, releasing its deadly content. It's fast and painless. Its efficacy is tested, my loose-lipped physician assures me.”

32
Still holding the golden pill in her open hand, Athildis looked at the

prince. Slowly she closed her fingers over the capsule. Sir Threnn took her shoulders, as if to stabilize and support her. She stared at her now closed hand, then at Anaxantis.

“It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude,” she said.

“Not at all, Madam. I believe we all should be able to decide when life has betrayed us so cruelly, that it's time to deny it the satisfaction of dragging on any further.”

“You're a strange boy,” Athildis whispered.

“Hardly, Madam.” Anaxantis smiled. “I'm hardly a boy anymore, whatever appearances may tell you.”

“Were you ever, my prince?”

“A final word, Your Grace. A request, if you will,” Anaxantis continued, ignoring her last remark. “I've asked Arranulf to go on a confidential mission. I expect he will depart shortly after New Year's. It will take him some distance from Landemere. Maybe you could see your way around to waiting until after he has been gone for a while, before taking any action that might trouble him. The decision, of course, is yours.”

Athildis looked at the wall behind him.

“That might indeed be for the best,” she said. “Thank you. That was most thoughtful of you.”

Anaxantis bowed his head almost imperceptibly, nodded at Sir Threnn, turned around, and left.