The Madness of Kings

by Gene Doucette

  They couldn’t pass as resident monks. The residents wore robes with badges on their sleeves. Not all of them were the same—different badges meant different things—but all of them were used to regulate access to various parts of the island. It was an extremely low-tech security system, but so far it had confounded them. Twice, at different times of day, they’d attempted to go down the stairs at the back of the cathedral (which was how one accessed the first sublevel) and twice they’d been stopped by a Septal at the top of the stairs.

  This was unfortunate because by the end of the first week it had become clear that if they wanted to find out what horrors Kenson had uncovered they were going to have to find a way to get below the Great Temple. There was no place else to look.

  Things started to get a little dicey by the second week.

  “Question: how much Eglinat do you know?” Damid asked, after another day of attending small seminars and pretending to pay attention. They’d been splitting up in order to cover more ground, for whatever good that did. About three quarters of the group lessons took place outside or in a building other than the temple. They were no longer acquiring new knowledge.

  “Almost none,” she said.

  “Same. That’s going to be a problem pretty soon.”

  They were crowded together in the “room” she was using. In the sense that it had four walls and a door, it was indeed a room. In every other spatial sense, this was a gross exaggeration.

  “I’ve been keeping to the back and nodding when everyone else nods,” she said.

  “So have I, but the group sizes are getting smaller. We’re going to end up getting discovered eventually one way or another, but I’d rather that happened after we found what we’re looking for.”

  “We don’t know what we’re looking for,” she reminded him.

  “I’m sticking with the I’ll know it when I see it rule for now. How much do you remember about the second sublevel?”

  “I remember how to get there, and I remember some books on shelves.”

  When she went down there while playing hide-and-find, she found herself in something like a library. The bookshelves all had metal bars crossing the midpoint of the spines horizontally with a padlock at the end of each bar, so the books couldn’t be removed without first unlocking the bar. She remembered finding that design fascinating, and wondering what could be so important about a book—any book, never mind a roomful of them—that warranted such security. She still didn’t know the answer to this, but had since become accustomed to the notion that the House liked to keep secrets, so it made a bit more sense now.

  Her memory was a little cloudier regarding the spite-inspired second trip down.

  After she and Kenson (who won the hide-and-find game by finding her) had been discovered in the second sublevel, they were brought before their group and lectured about the importance of following rules by none other than High Hat Alva herself. Kenson was shamed, but Battine was mostly just angry. So angry, she decided to violate Alva’s rules a second time, just to do it.

  When she went down again a week later, she managed to wander around among the books for nearly an hour before she was caught by two monks who were passing through.

  Batt didn’t think much of it in the moment, but there was only one way down to the second sublevel, so far as she knew, and yet those monks were going from the stairs to someplace else.

  Clearly, there was another door down there that the young Battine never found.

  “I can’t believe their entire security is based on this badge system,” Damid said. “That seems much too easy to foil.”

  “We haven’t figured out how to do it yet,” she said.

  “That’s because we’re trying to do it in secret. If we really had to, we could bully our way down. As near as I can tell, you and I have the only weapons on this island.”

  That much appeared to be accurate. The Great Temple’s primary security was its isolation, seemingly. If they decided to force their way through the sublevels they could, but having done so they wouldn’t have anywhere to go. The only way off the island again was by waiting for the next sailing ship to arrive, stealing a docked airship, or swimming. Both of the first two options were less-than-ideal; sailing ships and dirigibles came with crew that would be much more difficult to overpower, and their expected destinations were to places known to have armed guards.

  And it was much too far to swim.

  What she and Damid wanted was to be able to get to whatever underground place that caused Kenson such distress, collect whatever information there was to collect, and then get out again. Ideally, this would be aboard the Allyra’s Chariot, which was scheduled to return in another three weeks with day-tripping tourists. Once back ashore they could unbury the aero-car and head south.

  It would never work out like that, but it was nice to have an idealized version of things anyway.

  “If we bully our way in, we may never leave this island,” Battine said. “Never mind making it all the way to Mursk.”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “But I’m ready to consider a more aggressive approach. Besides, if we get caught, wouldn’t you rather it was after we learned the big secret?”

  “Assuming there’s a big secret.”

  “I am assuming that. Here, let me show you something.”

  He called up an image on his voicer. It looked like…well, she didn’t know what it looked like. She’d never seen anything like it before.

  “I found this last night,” he said. “It’s an aerial shot of the Great Temple.”

  “Is it really? It doesn’t look much like anything.”

  “That’s because it’s a partial transparency.”

  “I know what all of those words mean individually,” she said, “but they don’t make any sense together.”

  “It’s looking through solid ground.”

  Her first thought was that’s magic and magic is impossible, but she didn’t say that.

  “And your Stream produced this?” she asked.

  “A corner of it did. There are a lot of subcultures out there on the Stream.”

  “Subcultures.”

  “Groups of people in different parts of the world united by a common interest,” he said. “Several of those groups exist to perpetuate what are frankly some pretty paranoid beliefs about the House and most of it is, well, ridiculous. Not worth our time. But this…It’s an image that was supposedly taken from a government satellite.”

  “A device in space, owned by a government,” she said, to make sure she was understanding this correctly.

  “Yes.”

  “Which government?”

  “They don’t say. What’s important is, I think it might be genuine.”

  “That’s fine, but even if I’m to believe that a satellite can somehow peer through solid rock, I still don’t understand what I’m looking at.”

  “It’s a survey satellite. It’s supposed to look for underground bunkers. I think it might have been an artifact of the Kindonese conflict. Or it’s being used to spy on Wivvol, I don’t know. They’re on different parallels, but…”

  “Get to the point, please,” she said. “They’ll be imposing the quietude soon.”

  There were no formal lights-out rules in the barracks. Everyone there worked by candlelight, often to all hours. But they were expected to stop speaking to one another after a certain time.

  “If the source of this image is to be believed—and I admit, that’s a leap—someone re-tasked the satellite to get a look at the Great Temple. Look at it again. See how blurry it is here, compared to over there? That’s the solid rock on the edge of the island. But this here isn’t as solid. It indicates lower levels.”

  “We already know the temple has sublevels, Damid,” she said.

  “Not this many, and not this big. Look, it extends beyond the footprint of the temple itself. Do you remember it being that large?”

  “No. How do you mean, many? It’s all just blurred.”

 
; “In the analysis that accompanied this image, they speculate that there might be as many as five sublevels. And look here.”

  He pointed to a line that extended off the map. If this were a physical object, she’d assume it was a crease from where the map had been folded.

  “It looks like something was wrong with their satellite,” she said.

  “I know but it’s not. They think it might be a tunnel leading away from the island.”

  She laughed. “To where?” she asked.

  “That’s toward North Eloni. There’s a faint streak in the other direction too, to the south.”

  “Are you really presenting the argument that we can escape this island by way of a speculative tunnel to the mainland?”

  “I just think it’s interesting,” he said. “There could be a lot of things going on down there. One of those things could be a way for us to get out undetected. And if we can get out that way, maybe it doesn’t matter how much noise we make going in.”

  “I’d prefer they never knew we were here at all. Failing that, we can use the aero-car.”

  A few days after they arrived on the island, Damid decided to explain what he meant when he said he “paired up” his voicer and the aero-car’s ignition. It meant that unless someone else came along and used the car, he could turn it on with his voicer and order it to come to him.

  This would mean landing a forbidden device directly in the middle of the courtyard, where they would have to be standing until it arrived, so of all their last-resort-only plans, this was the absolute last resort. But it was an option.

  “We’re going to be detected soon,” Damid said. “Whether by the Septals or in a chance run-in with your sister, something is going to go wrong.”

  “I know this,” she muttered. “Now put that device away.”

  She got up and stared out the window. The ground-floor view was of an alley between two buildings. Thankfully, the room directly across from them was unoccupied, or Magly’s voicer would have gotten them into trouble already because their window had no curtain. It was fully dark outside, easily dark enough for them to climb out of the window and go perform whatever mischief they wished, provided they could figure out how to see in the dark without being seen.

  Porra, Battine thought. Why are you here?

  Batt’s sister was never far from her thoughts; Damid mentioning her just brought the subject back to the surface.

  Battine had done what she could to find out why the widow queen was on the island, but none of the gossipy monks had an answer. Religious guidance was the consensus, but that was arrived at by people who didn’t know Porra; she would never waste her time on something like that.

  No, she was on Temple Island for some other reason. It seemed the only way to find out what that reason was would be to ask Porra, and that wouldn’t be happening.

  But, as long as that reason didn’t conflict with why Battine was there, it hardly mattered and so far, that seemed to be the case. She’d seen Porra twice, both times at a distance, with the queen looking out from a window on a high floor of the temple. Porra wasn’t doing anything more than haunting the place and keeping to herself. She never even left the building.

  Again, so far. When Battine was at her most paranoid, she was convinced Porra went to Temple Island looking for her specifically.

  Focus on the problem, she thought. We need to get under the Temple. Porra doesn’t matter.

  She decided that what they really needed was a Temple Island equivalent of Orean Gustys: Someone who knew how to move around in private areas without being detected, preferably by utilizing a network of secret passages. But there were no servants on the island, and if there were disgruntled resident Septals looking to violate the rules, Battine had no idea how to identify them.

  She stepped away from the window, thinking she needed to hide her face from view, even though she currently had her hood on. (Despite wearing it constantly for two weeks, she still couldn’t get past the idea that she was unrecognizable in public.) Her reason for stepping back was that someone was coming down the alley with a torch in their hand.

  The most remarkable person imaginable was holding that torch.

  Battine gasped.

  “What is it?” Damid asked.

  “I think I may be a witch,” Battine said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I believe I just conjured a person into existence.”

  Batt slipped out of the window as soon as Orean Gustys cleared the corner, leaving behind the confused Magly. He would only slow her down and also, he thought she was hallucinating.

  It wasn’t a terrible assumption. Battine could think of no ready explanation for how Orean, the erstwhile traitorous chambermaid of Castle Totus, was walking around Temple Island, unmolested and unhooded. The notion that she was even still alive barely passed muster. Surely one of Tannik’s first acts would have been to purge the castle of anyone even nominally connected to their escape.

  Clearly, it wasn’t her. Except it absolutely was. Orean had been haunting Batt’s dreams for weeks; she’d certainly not forgotten what the girl looked like.

  Orean was on the most direct path from the barracks to a side entrance to the temple and appeared to be heading inside—where Battine was pretty sure it would be unwise to follow—before breaking off and heading in the direction of the outer wall instead.

  She was walking to the stables.

  That the island even had horses was sort of ridiculous. There was barely anyplace to ride them, aside from down to the pier and back. Nor did they serve any use as plow horses in a place with insufficient land in which to farm. (The continued good health of the roughly two hundred full-time residents were maintained thanks to a regular supply of donations from the nine kingdoms.) The only thing Battine had seen the horses used for was to teach students how to ride—it was where she first learned—and maybe that was a good enough reason for them.

  Orean slipped into the stable.

  Batt peeked in through the window before going in after her; it wouldn’t do her any good if Orean was in there with someone else. But the girl was alone, so Battine went in through the same door.

  Orean, who looked like she was tending to one of the horses when examined through the window, evidently knew she was being followed.

  “Not sure what you’re after,” Orean said, turning slowly. She had her torch in one hand and a dagger in the other. “And I dunno what you heard, but I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “You don’t need that,” Battine said.

  “If you think the robes put me at ease, you’re mistook. Seppie or not, you’re all looking for the same thing.”

  “I’m not.”

  Battine lowered her hood, and Orean nearly dropped the torch. (That would have been unfortunate; she was standing in front of a bale of hay.)

  “Princess!” she gasped. “What in the name of Javilon’s sack are you doing here?”

  “I’ve a mind to ask the same question of you,” Battine said. “And just as colorfully. How is it you managed to talk your way here?”

  “I’m in the service of the queen, milady,” Orean said. “Seems your line thinks me more useful alive than otherwise. Can’t say I blame her; those dull court twats she’s stuck with couldn’t reason their way out of a rainstorm. But you! I thought you’d be well and truly gone by now.”

  “I still have eight kings on which to exact revenge.”

  Orean laughed. “Right, there’s that. Well none of ‘em are here. You should check elsewhere. This place is so boring they’re bound to find you just because it’s something to do. I half hoped you were here to rape me; that’d at least be a touch of entertainment. Where’s Mr. Magly? He’s not here too, is he?”

  “He is,” she said. “What were you on your way to do?”

  “Check on her majesty is all. No need to; she’s not needed much from me. Just wanders that big temple. I think she’s looking for something, but won’t say what. Her husband’s ghost, maybe.”
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  “She might be, at that. How much freedom do you have around here?”

  “Same as you, I expect. Plenty, but there’s nothing to see. Are you going to tell me why you’re really here? Because if it’s to do harm to the queen, princess, I’ll be honest: I’ve a certain fondness for her, so I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “I would greatly prefer it if Porra never found out I was on the island,” Battine said. “But I’m very glad she brought you.”

  “Are you now.”

  “I’m in need of a favor. What do you know about the underground levels?”

  “I done my share of poking,” Orean said. “You looking to get down there?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m looking to do.”

  Porra had managed to search every Great Temple room that was above-ground by the end of the first week.

  Had she done it all at once it would have taken no more than an afternoon, but she didn’t want anyone to know she was looking for something in particular. Thus, she searched by wandering about, randomly doubling back and revisiting locations before probing new sections, all with a fixed “forlorn widow” expression on her face.

  Vexy and Aleiti—often in tow—didn’t have any idea Porra was looking for a particular place. They just followed, chatting in low tones when they thought it was acceptable to do so and otherwise suffering in silence. They were surely frustrated, as this was no doubt not the kind of court they expected to spend their prime years occupying. There was nary an eligible blessed bachelor to be found on Temple Island.

  Having searched, Porra could now confirm that the room captured in the images on Kenson’s voicer wasn’t to be found in any easily accessible part of the temple.

  In truth, this was something she already knew, but since the next step meant investigating the temple’s dungeon, it was also something she wanted to be sure she knew first.

  It wasn’t called a dungeon. It was called a sublevel. But when they were children, they were allowed to go down to the first sublevel—which held additional classrooms—and back then she and Battine called it a dungeon.