The merchant was the first to follow her, eyeing the length of the vessel warily. How very convenient that Effluvia should have a boat here just when she needed one. Even more convenient that it should be just the right size. But then, she did possess a certain magic—most of it less helpful than this. He shrugged.
Rupert followed him, looking upward one last time before boarding.
Once they entered the first tunnel, they were underground most of the way. Now and then the river slipped out of one hole and into the open before slipping into another, but mostly they rowed upstream in darkness. Rupert and the merchant took turns at the oars. Even when they had been rowing for some time, neither of them suggested aloud that Carole use her magic. Nonetheless, Carole hummed a soft song to the boat to ease its glide and let it cut through the water with minimal effort on the part of the oarsmen. This much she could do without Effluvia’s knowledge, for the river roared in all their ears and no one could be heard without shouting.
All the rest of that day the men rowed, the river roared, and Carole sat in the dark humming. When they saw light again, it was twilight.
The boat bumped gently against a dock leading from the water into the nothingness of a thick mist. Behind them the tunnel was no longer a natural indentation in rock but a carefully carved arch over a long stretch of increasingly calm water. Ahead of them, boats and barges of all descriptions plied the smooth, shining expanse daubed pink with the setting sun. Above them rose an incredible edifice, the same Carole had seen in the stream in Mashkent’s house, a conical tower of rising domes, walled with gold and roofed with clearest crystal, surrounded at the base by a bank of silvery mist.
“How strange,” Effluvia mused as two massive men with manes of golden hair and arms as big around as Carole’s thighs tugged the little boat to a mooring. “I grew up in the palace amidst wealth and luxury, it is true, but somehow it is only here in this simple holy place that I truly feel at home.”
“My dear, I do understand,” Carole could not resist saying. “I feel the same way every time I leave my father’s hall to visit the seamstress’s cousin, Sean the Shepherd, in his little hut in the hills.”
Chapter VIII
The High Priest appeared nonplussed when Effluvia had herself announced and then pushed her way in before the lay brother guarding the door had time to finish the announcement.
“My… my dear, how you’ve changed,” the man on the crystal throne said, his golden beard dropping an inch lower on the V of tanned chest bared by his suit woven of every shade, tint, and primary color in the spectrum.
“Oh, yes, Your Brilliance. I have. How long has it been, ten years? But the god blessed my vigil with success at last and I think that you will find that not only have I grown in stature but also that I have been transfigured by the experience of living in the woods, by the grace and wisdom of the god, protecting the tranquility and order of the growing things.”
“You certainly have,” the High Priest said. “Brother Bullcow, will you be so good as to swing that incense a bit closer? Ah, there, thank you.”
“Furthermore, Your Brilliance, I think that you will agree that the fact that I have been chosen to be the custodian of the marvel I bring to you will demonstrate beyond my own admittedly ample abilities that the time has come when you should reverse the spell upon me, allow me to resume my residence and rightful place here, along with my more standard female appearance, and use this person I present to you as an instrument to forever bring Gorequartz under the sway of those of us who are holier than the rest.”
“No doubt I will agree, my dear child, but I think it necessary that first you show me this person.”
She had been blocking the doorway, much to the annoyance of the brother serving as herald. Now she turned and, with a clash and a tinkle of crystal on crystal, swept aside the curtain of colored, tear-shaped beads that shielded the High Priest, even when the gilded wooden door was open, from the view of the secular not specifically admitted to his presence. Carole and the merchant sauntered in blinking at the sudden flood of light pouring down from the transparent ceiling and bouncing from the solid gold walls. Rupert, to Effluvia’s annoyance, insisted on finishing explaining to the lay brother guarding the outer door what the device on his rowan shield meant. It took a cross look and an ominous “hist” from Effluvia to capture his attention.
Rupert ducked through the door to avoid bumping his head on the golden curlicues protruding from the arch. The High Priest’s expression spawned a thin squirm of a smile on Effluvia’s ungenerous mouth. His Brilliance was obviously trying very hard not to look startled, and was failing miserably. Nor did Carole feel that His Brilliance was simply unused to extremely tall people. He stared at Rupert’s face with an intensity bordering on fascination.
Everyone continued to either stare at Rupert or stare at everyone else staring at Rupert for several moments.
“You see, Your Brilliance, that in no way did I misrepresent the importance of my blessing,” Effluvia said, talking slowly, sure that she would not be interrupted by the High Priest, who sat with a smile dawning on his face, beaming rays of approval in her direction. “This gentleman is known as Rupert Rowan, a Prince of Argonia.”
His Brilliance kept nodding but did so in Rupert’s specific direction now, still smiling and staring.
Rupert, after a polite interval, said, “I take it then that you are the gentleman of whom Lady Effluvia has spoken? Very pleased to make your acquaintance, I’m sure. Perhaps I should explain why I asked this lady to escort us here. As a member of the Argonian Royal House, I have been designated diplomatic representative of my sister, Princess Consort of Ablemarle. These folk accompanying me are my staff, my cousin, the Honorable Lady Goodwitch Carole Songsmith Brown, a theologian like yourself, and Mr.… Timoteo, who has helped with our travel arrangements. We have come in regard to a misunderstanding that has occurred and with which the Lady Effluvia seems to feel you might be able to help us. We are quite willing to negotiate. I am widely known in my own lands as Rowan the Rational.”
The High Priest continued to nod, evidently enjoying himself immensely.
Rupert smiled, too, and nodded. “I’m so glad you see it that way. Perhaps if I outline the problem for you. It goes back many years, to a time when the Miragenian firm of Mukbar, Mashkent, and Mirza had occasion to assist Princess Bronwyn and Lady Carole on a mission.”
“Your Highness, please, I’m sure as you say that we can work out some arrangement which will be mutually satisfactory,” the High Priest said, beaming at Rupert, something like awe still making his eyes round under his bushy dark gold brows. “You have traveled long, I know, and little of daylight remains, but there is something I would like to show you before darkness settles on us completely. Please, if you and your party will accompany Brother Bullcow, I will just arrange to have a little supper prepared for us to take aboard the barge while you are freshening up.”
Brother Bullcow headed for the door, incense swinging. They all turned to follow him when the High Priest added, “Oh, Your Highness, our people are not used to visitors. It would be provident therefore if you and your staff would don the robes worn by our lay brothers prior to leaving the temple. Just for discretions sake, you understand.”
Rupert nodded gravely.
Effluvia stood by the High Priests throne, looking after the others with a triumphant smile.
“My darling child,” the High Priest said, “you showed great promise as a youngster, but you have now quite outdone yourself. Where did you find him?”
Effluvia lowered her eyes modestly, “It is as I told you, Father. The god sent him to me as a mark of favor. He literally fell from the sky. What do you suppose it means, Father? There I am, all alone in the valley, the outcast child of the secular Queen and the god’s representative on earth, and all at once he drops from the sky?”
The High Priest frowned for a moment, then tenderly stroked the black crown of the skunk-woman’s head. “Always plotting, eh, my dear? Even
now. Well, it may very well be true, what you’re thinking. It may indeed be the only way to use this miraculous gift.” He shook his head, laughing silently. “The resemblance is absolutely astounding.”
* * *
Two pikemen and five full-fledged priests herded Carole, Rupert, and Timoteo down several winding flights of stairs, across a floor larger than most of the village of Wormhaven, and down more steps. All three looked a great deal like the common conception of a spectre—dressed in long, white robes of loose and gauzy material complete with deep hoods that shadowed their faces. Underneath, they wore their original clothing. Each robe was ample enough to cover a very large person in full court costume under winter gear. Rupert’s robe hit him at knee level, while Carole’s and the merchants dragged the ground.
The foot of the last staircase was swallowed by boiling silver mist. The priests walked through it as if it didn’t exist and urged their guests to do the same. Carole kept expecting a trick, a hole to open under her feet, a monster to coil around an ankle. Instead, after a brief thickening, the mist parted to reveal a somewhat larger dock than the one at which they had landed, surrounded in deepening gloom relieved by a row of torches set in brackets along its length. At the end of the long wooden ramp, a barge awaited them.
On its open deck three golden steps led to a long couch upholstered in cloth of gold. The hull rose at either end in a graceful curl. Four men, two at each end, stood with long paddles, the blades shaped like a sun with waving rays. The priests surrounded Rupert and Timoteo as they seated themselves. Rupert slid four of them aside to make room for Carole between them. The High Priest himself boarded last. Hampers smelling of hot spices, bread, and chicken were placed on the deck beside the golden steps. To Carole’s relief, Effluvia did not join them.
The river lay calm as glass between its banks. One of the priests explained that further ahead, a special barrier called a lock had been built to regulate the flow of water, so that the traffic of large vessels to and from the sea could be restricted. Lining the banks on each side were buildings rivaling the temple in magnificence. Each of the buildings was long and low, with a courtyard looking onto the river and steps leading to the water. Spires were set on either side of the steps and the openings were the by-now predictable pointed arches. What was not predictable, however, was the building material. For each edifice was constructed entirely of small squares of colored crystal, each square a different hue from the ones adjoining it. The dying light of day washed through these panes onto the water, giving it the appearance of one enormous, multi-faceted rainbow. Her face and those of her companions bathed in parti-colored light, Carole watched the buildings slip behind, while the long rainbow of river rinsed away beneath her. She was aware of an odd feeling of recognition that puzzled her until she realized that the buildings reminded her very much of the merchants showroom window before she had removed the bottles containing the mists.
Several barges passed them further down the river, many more opulent and elaborate than the one on which they traveled. The helmsmen of the richer vessels nonetheless bowed as they passed. From curtained alcoves, fingers swept dense velvets aside. Eyes peered out with bright curiosity. Where the passengers rode open to the air, they bowed low to the priests, eyeing the guests only covertly. Lay brother garb did not entirely conceal Rupert’s unusual stature, and he kept pushing the hood back and twisting to see his surroundings.
“Perhaps we should have brought the screens, Your Brilliance,” one of the priests suggested with a shrewd look at Rupert. **
“Not at all. We may stimulate a few exciting rumors before our disclosure is made public, but no one except those we wish to know will be aware that our guests are other than newly appointed lay brothers. Relax, my child.”
Carole watched her hosts warily and wished they would stop their mysterious chitchat. It made her nervous. For all of his apparent amiability, the High Priest did not strike her as being anyone who was going to be terribly interested in the plight of Bronwyn’s baby—or her relatives for that matter. And no doubt it was easy to be pleasant when one knew that one had enough power to do whatever one chose whenever one got around to it.
The river looped to the right. Suddenly, dead ahead, loomed a castle. Carole was sure it was a castle rather than a temple this time for the design was dedicated to fortification, with the proper towers and battlements she was used to seeing in Argonia. They were, however, gorgeous turrets and towers and battlements, all in rough stone through which glimmered raw crystals of amethyst, agate, garnet, and sapphire. Not a good defensive design, of course. Far too easy to scale such walls even without a ladder. But awe-inspiring nonetheless.
The river turned left at the castle after filling a loop of moat separated from the main body of water by earthworks reinforced with stone topped with a wide paved footpath. Armed guards stood at either end of the path, and greeted the priests with deference.
The High Priest muttered something to a lesser priest, who muttered something in turn to a boatman, who whispered to a guard. The guard spun a tidy about-face, unhooked a horn from his belt and blew a long, lowing note. A general scurrying ensued from the wall facing the moat. A short time later the chain clanked and weathered wood creaked and the huge slab of a drawbridge lowered ponderously into its slot on the far side of the footpath. Two other guards strolled forward, received and departed with a message, and in a short time a harried-looking herald issued forth, bowed low before the junior priest, nodded sharply three times and scuttled back across the bridge.
The High Priest nodded. His minions began arranging the hampers of food on the path, brilliant cloths spread upon the ground first, followed by the golden cushions from the divan on the barge, followed by an array of fruit, chicken, bread, and sweets, as well as crystal decanters of wine. The dishes were of etched gold. Carole was very glad she would not be responsible for cleaning them. She also wished they might have been able to have some of the chicken while it was hot, for the chill as the sun went down was seeping through her layers of clothing. Hot food would have helped.
Soon a great clamor arose from beyond the drawbridge, a horn blared, and a matched set of heralds announced, “All hail King Yagthra, Lion of Gorequartz, and Queen Egelina the Fair.”
Carole did not believe she had ever seen a Queen look as twitchy as Egelina the Fair. Not even Amberwine when Bronwyn was married. Egelina, like almost everyone else in Gorequartz, was indeed fair, with a tumbling corona of golden curls under her lacy crystal circlet, and blue eyes large and frightened. The rest of her was also large, the reason evident, for her eyes kept darting to the food throughout the conversation. The rest of the time they were fastened on Rupert, now and then jumping apprehensively to the snoozing bronze-haired infant carried by the third un-liveried adult who trailed behind both King and Queen. This person kept her eyes modestly lowered, ostensibly observing her charge much more closely than babies really need to be observed, while casting quick, melancholy glances toward Rupert. Never once did the woman look at the High Priest, and only when she was addressed did she make eye contact with His or Her Majesty. Rupert, for his part, spent a great deal of time watching her and the baby, who could only be the kidnapped heiress to the Ablemarlonian throne.
King Yagthra might once have been handsome, but his face bore the ruddy sheen of someone who had been drinking far too much wine for far too long. His pores were large and coarse, his nose bulbous, his eyes veined and teary-looking. His aroma made Carole think that perhaps he had served as the inspiration for the High Priest when that individual had decided on the particular spell he used to “enhance” Effluvia’s personal power. The High Priest did not stand when greeting Yagthra and Yagthra did not so much as incline his head to see what was on the menu.
“Greetings, Your Majesty,” His Brilliance said, indicating the spread. “We have guests to honor and thought, who but the sovereigns of the city are worthy to make these particular people welcome? Therefore we had this repast made ready and se
nt forth the invitation to you and your lady and daughter to join us.” Now he rose, offering his own cushion to the King, who, spotting Rupert, suddenly seemed barely able to stand. The High Priest nodded toward the nurse and child standing behind the Queen. “My, your new daughter is large for her age. And red of hair also. How very unusual.”
The Queen sat down abruptly and began munching a plum. Rupert joined her immediately, to cover her breach of manners, and the High Priest, with some amusement, seated himself beside her, speared a chicken leg and used it to gesture with, saying, “Your Majesties, allow me to present our guests, Lady Carole, her cousin and guardian in our land, Prince Rupert, and their servant. Perhaps we could all dispense with our hoods now, Prince Rupert. It is the custom—”
“Of course,” Rupert said, and tugged his down around his neck. The Queen gagged on her plum, the King turned redder, and the baby began to squall. The High Priest appeared vastly amused.
“Is this some sort of priests trick, Jasper?”
“You wound me, brother,” His Brilliance replied. “I merely wanted to share with you the special properties of these guests of ours. I wanted your opinion on how to best utilize their unique contributions in the upcoming festivities. Or perhaps your lady would be so kind as to give us her opinion. She seems to have a few tricks of her own,” and he looked unmistakably, pointedly at the baby. Yagthra glared at the High Priest. Now that it had been mentioned, Carole could discern a family resemblance in the set of their jowls, the knobs on the ends of their noses. The King was not presently overcome with family feeling, however, and jerked his wife unceremoniously to her feet, while the nurse scurried ahead of them, throwing only a single last wondering glance back at Rupert.
His point made, the High Priest seemed to lose sight of the fact that his guests had still not actually had time to eat, and ordered the feast taken up again. Carole quickly snagged a chicken breast, a half loaf of bread, and a bunch of grapes, and climbed back on the boat. Regardless of whatever other dramas were taking place, there was really nothing so sordid as family jealousies.
The Christening Quest Page 13