The Parallel Man (13 page)
I snatched young Paul up into my arms and whirled toward the Hall of Kings, but whatever had set the bridge on fire had struck behind me too; I was trapped between two walls of flame. The bridge gave an ominous crack and seemed to sink slightly beneath us. Throwing Paul over my shoulder, I crouched, trying to visualize exactly the distance between me and the battlements as I had seen it before the flames sprung up. I yanked at the scholar’s robe which the young Sobeski wore, pulling it away from the front of his body, which was protected by being against my shoulder. Using the material as a sort of shield over my face I plunged into the flames with a bound which carried me almost to the battlements. My feet crunched on wood already half charred and the stench of the burning cloth was in my nostrils. But with another leap I got close enough to the battlements to sprawl across them. Strong hands grasped Paul and myself and drew us over the battlements to safety.
The Castle Guards were crouching behind the battlements; evidently some danger still hovered in the air between the Castle proper and the Hall of Kings. One gray-haired guide was crouched at the entrance of the stairway, fumbling with something which I recognized as a crossbow. As soon as I had made sure that the other guides had beaten out the flames on my hair and clothing and were tending Paul Sobeski, I got across the intervening space with a rush and a tumbling roll and took the crossbow from his hands. He had it almost cranked up; I gave a few more turns and slipped the crank off and thrust it into my belt. I tested the quarrell with my fingers; it was firmly seated. I brought the stock to my shoulder, made sure that I had a proper grip and stood up, my eyes searching the sky. On a small platform hovering in the air was a man with a long tube in his hands; there was a small flame at the tip of the tube that grew longer as he swivelled it toward me. With one practiced movement I aimed and pulled the trigger, then dropped down again. Flame seared over my head, but before I had dropped I had seen the crossbow quarrell blossoming from the throat of the man on the platform. I raised my head cautiously and saw that the man was huddled on the floor of his flying platform, his fire weapon spouting aimlessly into the air as the platform revolved slowly. As I watched, the flame died and the platform hung in the air, rocking slightly. There were no other enemies in sight, and I handed the crossbow back to the guide with a smile.
He gave me the hand salute of the Knights of Thorn and said hoarsely, “Thank the Mercy that I remembered that this thing hung on the wall in the room below. I ran for it as soon as I saw that bastard start torching the bridge; but I could never have shot it as you did, and there was only the one arrow in it.”
“Thanks to you for your quick wits,” I said. “Perhaps it is a good omen that a weapon from the old times has conquered those of these times.”
That raised a ragged laugh among the guides. One of them called, “One for Old Carpathia,” and another cried, “Casmir’s come again;” at which they all gave a cheer. I saluted them and went to see to Paul Sobeski, who was sitting up, dazed and groaning. His hair, like mine, was singed, but the only severe burns were on the back of his legs, where his gown had not protected his legs. I realized that the back of my left hand which had held him over my shoulder, was smarting. A guide bearing a white box with a red cross on it applied a soothing salve to our burns and we were both soon much more comfortable. A guide respectfully handed me the Coronation Sword which I had dropped when I handed Paul over to the guides.
One of the guides, a well-fleshed man of middle years, said respectfully, “My lord, the Old Carpathian Party headquarters have been notified, but by your leave it’s not safe to parade through the Old Town as the scholar suggested. There’s a balcony on the North Wall which some of the last kings used to address the people and it has some modern safeguards against attack. The fire will draw a crowd to the Castle anyhow; if we close the gates and hang a Jagellon banner from the balcony, there should be a good crowd assembled there in no time.”
“Well thought of,” I told him. “See it done.” He saluted and left and I turned to the remaining guides. “Is there clothing here from the time of my ancestors that could be worn without disrespect to the dead?” I asked them. “No crowns or emblems of royalty, mark you, but the court dress of a Knight of Thorn, bearing the Jagellon arms.” Two guides looked at each other and nodded, then saluted and trotted off.
A young man, not in guide’s dress, pushed through to me, gave an awkward bow and said, “Ser, the Committee has filed the proper notice for the special election of a Tribune. There are 3V crews on their way to record your statement to the electors and the vote will be taken after the evening news. Probably your only competition will be some of the perennial candidates who always file for everything going, but you have to get sixty percent of those who voted on the last issue. Luckily that’s not very many; citizen participation has been low lately. Now there’s the problem of citizenship; I presume you’re not registered on Carpathia and unless your current registration is at Home . . .”
“My citizenship was registered at Home and has not been changed,” I said.
The young man looked relieved. “Oh, that’s all right then; anyone who is registered at Home can acquire Carpathian citizenship by a simple declaration of intention to reside on Carpathia and obey local laws. It’s an old privilege from colonial days. Umm . . . there’s a fax here, ser, with some suggested remarks . . . since you’re, er, not familiar with local conditions . . .”
I looked at the sheet full of rhetorical phrases and references to names about which I knew nothing, smiled politely at the young man, folded the sheet and put it into my pouch. “I thank you,” I said, “but I think that I will make my own speech. You may tell the men who wish to record my ‘statement’ that I will be speaking to the people from the balcony on the North Wall. If that will not serve their turn I will speak to them afterwards. All of you have my leave to withdraw except the scholar Paul Sobeski.” The young man from the Old Carpathians was reluctant to go, but he was tactfully surrounded and led away by the guides. I smiled to myself; it was good to have trusty men about me again.
I turned to Sobeski; “Paul,” I said, “you have until the crowd gathers to tell me all that I must know of the Tribune’s duties and what will give the people reason to put me in that office. I find it hard to believe that many of them care that much for the Jagellon line in these days. What grievances have they that a Tribune can relieve; what hope can I give them that I can in conscience pledge my honor to?”
Paul grinned. “You underestimate the power of the Jagellon legend,” he said, “but there is plenty that a Tribune can do and many wrongs that you can truthfully promise to right. In theory we have a Direct Democracy; the people vote by keying their Views with their C and C chips. Supposedly all matters at general policy go to the people and only technical matters are decided by the elected Council. But if there’s no Tribune the Council decides what is a policy matter and what is merely administrative. The present Council has been using that power to keep the real decisions out of the hands of the people.”
“What particular evils have they done?” I asked.
Paul Sobeski frowned thoughtfully. “We don’t have time to go into specifics, but basically it’s the same old story that you find throughout human history. Szilar history too, for that matter, or the history of any aggressive species, though empathic species like the Caphellans have other sorts of problems. Anyway those in power build up their own little empires, using the machinery of government to get wealth and power for themselves and their toadies, while the ordinary citizen can’t get justice against them. Actually, those in government who only want the luxuries of life are relatively harmless; the ones who do real harm are those who enjoy bullying others for the sense of power it gives them or those who have big plans for interfering with other people’s lives. One thing that’s caused a lot of resentment is the new Eugenics Code, regulating marriage and childbearing. It’s said that Mortifer is behind that and that what he’s really trying to do is to use the entire planet as an experimental laboratory to test out some theories of his about selective breeding.”
Two Castle guides approached us with garments across their arms and waited deferentially just Out of earshot. “That must be enough for the moment,” I told Paul, “but we must speak more of this; stay near me and we will use the first opportunity.” I signed the two guides to approach and put on the garments which they had brought me; a surcoat with the Jagellon eagle embroidered on the breast, ornamental boots, a sword-belt and scabbard for the Coronation sword, and a great cloak of imperial red. One of them had had the presence of mind to find a basin of water and a towel, and I cleansed myself a little before I dressed. The same man offered to find scissors and trim my singed hair, but I shook my head. “For now, let us show our battle scars,” I told him with a smile.
“There’s already a large crowd assembled, my lord,” said the other guide, “and the 3V men have set up to record your speech from the balcony. I’d say that the crowd was getting a little impatient.”
“I come,” I said, and let myself be led through familiar corridors to a room that had once been a solar for the court ladies. The windows had been enlarged and a large stone balcony built out, looking over a stretch of lawn below the castle. The grass was crowded with a great mass of people looking expectantly up at the balcony, over the edge of which a great banner with the Jagellon eagle was hanging.
“There are built-in pickups for the 3V and also a great many hidden defences for this area,” said one of the guides. “Some of the last Jagellons had a great many enemies to contend with.”
I nodded, but as I walked out onto the balcony I felt very exposed. No arrow could reach me here from the crowd, and I was still immune to the flashing purple light that rendered a man unconscious, but no doubt there were many weapons I had not dreamed of in this time and place. Then I forgot fear as I heard a great shout go up from the crowd as I appeared on the balcony. I stood in silence for a moment, trying to reach out for contact with them. There were a great many people there, but in many ways a crowd is but one man, as any leader knows.
“People of Carpathia,” I said, and some device magnified my voice so that it could be heard by all of those below. “Men and women of Thorn. We have a common heritage and a common enemy, Mortifer the Academician.” At his name there was a sort of growl from the crowd that lifted my hopes. “This man, who is trying to meddle with your lives for his ‘experiments’ also meddled with mine. He took flesh from the dead king, Casmir the Tenth, and from it he grew another man, myself, with Casmir’s form and Casmir’s memories. I will not say that I am Casmir, the tenth king of Carpathia, that great man lies buried in the Hall of Kings. But some of his knowledge and some of his gifts I do have, and I have his heart too, full of love for Carpathia.” There was a great cheer at that; I had them in my hands.
“Mortifer intended to use me, to play with me for his sport and his instruction,” I told them, “just as he has tried to use this whole world of Carpathia. Good friends have helped me get free of Mortifer; I and my friends would like to make you free of him too. You have an ancient and honorable office, that of Tribune of the People. Some who love Carpathia and its history have proposed me for that office . . .” There were so many cheers at this that I had to wait to make myself heard.
“I am told by those I trust,” I went on, “that although in form the people rule Carpathia in truth you are at the mercy of many petty tyrants. If you make me your choice for Tribune, I will free you from these ‘tyrants’ and put the rule truly back into your hands.” There were more cheers at this, and I thought of ending my speech, but there were a few moves that Mortifer might make which it would be wise to guard against.
“There will be those who say that I am no true man, since I was not born as most men are,” I said, “but I have just come from Home, the birthplace of the human race, and those in authority there have given me the mark of citizenship.” I held up my wrist so that they could see the blue dot. “But Carpathia is my place; I will always return here and always make my home here, whether or not you trust me with this responsibility.” Again I was stopped by cheers.
“Subtle men may suggest that I am only a tool of Mortifer, a new trick to deceive you,” I said. “As if he had need of any such trick, so firmly does he have you in his hands. But I tell you, and trusty men well known to you will bear me out, that Mortifer has not ceased to try to kill me since I set foot on this world. The ashes of the bridge to the Hall of Kings are still smoking, where Mortifer’s man tried to burn me down as I came from reclaiming the sword put in the stone by Casmir the Tenth!” I drew the sword and held it up and the cheer seemed to shake the Castle.
“This sword and the garments I now wear are treasures of Carpathia, legacies to you from an earlier and perhaps a braver time,” I said. “Think of me too, as a legacy from that old Carpathia. Use me, as I would use this sword, to defend justice and freedom!” The cheers went on and on, and I decided to leave it at that, but I had to return to the balcony three times to respond to the cheers before I thought it wise to go.
The portly middle-aged guide who seemed to be their chief leader came to me then and saluted. “My lord,” he said, “I’ve taken the responsibility of clearing the Castle of everyone except the Guides and a few people from the Old Carpathian Party who would like to consult with you. We are the remnants of the old Knights of Thorn, ser, and we have some ancient rights in this place which have been little used for centuries. The guides, ser, the Knights, would like to give you the old Oath as our Commander, and offer you the Commander’s quarters in the Castle for as long as you wish to make use of them. Once you’re elected Tribune you’ll have plenty of safeguards, but it’s my advice that you stay here at least until you’re elected. Mortifer can’t get at you here without destroying the Castle, and even he would have trouble doing that.”