Treachery of Kings

by Neal Barrett Jr

  “Do stay, Finn.” DeFloraine hung on her father's arm, looking limp and lazy-eyed. “And the Newlie too. She would enjoy it as well.”

  “How very kind,” Letitia said. “I feel it would be too exciting for me. Finn? I'm leaving. Do as you please.”

  She turned and was gone, Julia rattling in her wake.

  Finn was sure he heard thunder in her path. “If I may, sire. I'll leave you and your family to your personal rites. I trust you will all have a, ah—most enjoyable burial, passing, confinement, whatever you desire, and I trust I am not committing any breach of manners if I wish you a pleasant demise.”

  “Your intentions are likely good, but your sentiments are disgusting, Finn. Blasphemy, desecration, it's downhill from there.

  “You make a damn fine clock, sir, I have to say that. Why, I could watch those little eyes go back and forth all day. You didn't molest, abuse, debase or defile my daughter in any way, did you, Finn? Any nonsense like that?”

  “Sire, certainly not! Who could imagine such a thing?”

  “Just about anyone, I'd say. Don't ever do it. I won't put up with that.”

  “No, sire.”

  Though Finn betrayed no emotion, he feared he was not out of danger yet. One lie from DeFloraine-Marie and his head would be on a pike atop the palace walls. Royals could turn on you, just like that. A king and a prince didn't have to think twice.

  AFTER THE SOMBER CELEBRATION OF THE DEAD, the party in the Great Hall of Tedious Favors and Petitions seemed riotous at best.

  Try as he could, he couldn't spot Letitia in the crowd. If she was there, she was caught in a dizzy swirl of crimson, flush, blush and maroon.

  Working his way through the colorful crowd, he was hit several times by a flailing arm or an errant foot. At first, he thought this horde of counselors, lords, ladies and loons had been struck by some collective fit. Some seizure or violent distress.

  Then, upon reflection, he began to see the cause. The agonized limbs, the cruelly twisted joints, were essential parts of a local dance. All these contortions were in and out of step with an octet in the corner, the same young lads who couldn't play trumpets were now playing other instruments they couldn't play as well.

  She's angry, for sure, no doubt about that. But so irate she would flee into a bedlam like this?

  “No,” he said aloud, “not Letitia Louise. Noise, chaos, total disarray, turns her keen Mycer senses into mush. She would never linger in a place like this.

  “But where is she now? Could she find her way through the halls alone?”

  “She's quite safe and sound,” Julia said, guessing Finn's thoughts, suddenly appearing out of nowhere at all.

  “Dostagio took her to our quarters. The ones we vacated on our way out of here.”

  “We're still vacating, Julia. I'm sorry she's angry, but I am not at fault in this matter, and this is not the time to let personal matters stand in our way.”

  “I hope you can relay all this as easily to her, Finn. She got a good look at DeFloraine-Marie.”

  “The princess is quite attractive, you don't have to tell me that.”

  “Attractive,you say?” Julia laughed, a sharp and rusty chuckle like iron filings with the flu.

  “The creature's not attractive, Finn. She's a snare, she's a trap. She has the power to cloud men's minds, to bend them to her will… “

  “All right, that's enough.”

  “That's scarcely the start. Though any list of her witcherly charms would likely be sorely incomplete. I expect Letita could add to the—”

  Of a sudden, Julia stopped and went rigid on the spot. Her golden scales quivered, her ruby eyes blinked.

  “Something coming, Finn. Something—over there. Get back, quick!”

  Finn needed no further warning. Julia had a sense for such things, knew when trouble was about an instant be fore it began. Before her words were scarcely done, Finn heard the tortured sound of splintered wood, and the great oaken doors at the end of the hall burst open and tumbled to the floor.

  They spilled into the hall then, a veritable plague of Bowsers, yipping, yapping, waving their muskets, clashing their swords, tossing their tasteless boaters in the air. They snapped at their comrades, growled at their foes.

  And, before the startled courtiers could gather their wits, before the fierce Badgies could resist, the second wave was howling through the broken doors…

  THIRTY-SIX

  iF IT HADN'T BEEN FOR THE LORDS, THE STRUMPETS, the cowards in colorful array, Finn was near certain the Bowsers would have quickly won the day. As it was, this frantic herd of flunkies, stooges, leeches and fools, fled in such mad disorder, they upended friend and foe alike.

  The Badgies, then, won a moment of respite, a moment to bring their ranks to order, to form the famous Badgie Square. The Bowsers threw themselves at the solid block of the King's Third Sentient Guards, and found themselves in trouble from the start.

  In spite of his contempt for the sullen Maddigern, Finn found himself cheering for the Badgie and his brave cohorts. Every time the yappers assaulted the green-cloaked warriors, they came up against an unyielding wall.

  Some, wiser than their fellows, chose to save their necks, avoid the killer square, and go after easy game— counselors, servants and such, running about like witless barnyard fowl.

  A portly duke stumbled by, a lass of lesser rank clinging to his back. Merchants, pages and varied parasites fought each other to escape the barking foes.

  “I fear there's no way I can stay out of this,” Finn muttered, “unless it be in shame. Damn it all, Julia, don't any of these louts know how to fight back?”

  “They hire people for that. It gives the poor something to do. I suppose you could say there's some good in that.”

  “I'm afraid I don't agree at all. You there, stop that, get away from him!”

  A stout Bowser halted in his tracks, startled to find Finn in his path. A chamberlain in crimson cowered beneath the Bowser's blade.

  “You be mezzin’ mit me, hooman perzon. Don’ be doin’ zhat.”

  “I think your burgundy vest is ugly. It doesn't go with the tie. Those straws you fellows wear went out of style thirty years ago.”

  The Bowser wrinkled his puggy nose. Without another glance at his victim, he came at Finn, swinging his blade in both hands.

  Finn reached for his own blade, and recalled with some dismay that he only had Koodigern's dagger, a weapon considerably shorter than a sword.

  The Bowser's eyes gleamed. Fun was only seconds away.

  “Julia,” Finn said, as calmly as the moment would allow, “I could use some help here.”

  “You're always polite when cornered,” Julia said. “Don't think I haven't noticed that.”

  The Bowser hesitated, looked down and stared, astonished to see something gold and scaly streaking right at him, something awful, something talking, words coming out its silver snout.

  The Bowser shrieked, shouted, scrambled away as the thing crawled swiftly up his leg, digging with its claws, snapping with its teeth, leaving bloody tears along the way.

  The frightened raider dropped his blade, stumbled back, slapped at his trousers as if he'd been ravaged by ants. Julia leaped free, a blue bow tie entangled in her teeth.

  The Bowser sprawled on his back, cursed, came to his feet, bent to grab his blade, then rushed at Finn with a will. From the corner of his eye, he saw a shiny blur coming at him with a whisper and a whine. He ducked, too late, and the thing struck him hard across the chest, spilling him to the ground.

  He came to his knees, not so quickly this time. Once more, Finn swung the King's deadly decoration in a wide, whistling loop, once above his head, and then again. The gold-chained, gem-encrusted Ninety-Fifth Order struck the Bowser a solid, bone-crunching blow, a blow that would have felled a large tree.

  “I only meant to put him down,” Finn said, shaking his head with some regret. “I wasn't looking for a terminal effect.”

  “He was, Finn. Y
ou might recall from another encounter, these rogues enjoy their work. He'd gladly do the same to you.”

  “True enough. And there's no reason we shouldn't bring ourselves down to their level, if they intend to act like this… “

  Finn had no time to finish. Two Bowsers broke from the fray and came at him on the run. One was a big, heavyset fellow with a shaggy face and sad, droopy eyes. The other was short and intense. Of all the Bowser folk, Finn disliked the wiry, nervous yappers most of all.

  “All right,” he muttered under his breath, “have at it if you must.”

  The larger raider stomped in with no finesse at all. He raised his blade and hacked at Finn with all his might. Finn took a quick step back. The Bowser's blade struck the hard granite floor and shattered like glass. The sad-eyed fellow blinked in surprise, then howled as his arms went numb.

  Finn swung the lethal decoration over his shoulder, but his foe turned and fled.

  “Wake up,” Julia said. “On your right!”

  The smaller warrior was circling Finn, baring his teeth, cursing in the raspy, irritating tongue the Bowsers called their own. Julia tried to head the wretch off, but Bowsers of this type were quite hard to catch.

  Finn whipped his heavy chain at the snapper, much like an angler after a wily trout. The Bowser hopped lightly aside, went to his knees, and hurled his dagger at Finn.

  Finn nearly moved too late. The Bowser was quick, and the weapon whined past Finn's head only inches away. Determined not to quit, the Bowser drew another blade, intent on hurling it on its way.

  Finn didn't have to duck. Julia Jessica Slagg sank her teeth into the fellow's ankle, slamming him to the floor. The Bowser yapped in pain. Julia munched, Julia crunched, then flung her head back and let her prey go. The Bowser wasted no time, hopping off as quickly as he could.

  Finn waited, holding his heavy weapon at the ready, determined he would not be taken unawares again. Though he'd scarcely noticed, the Great Hall had gone suddenly quiet. Courtiers were huddled together in tight, terrified knots of henna, crimson, and blush. Two appeared to be dead. Finn counted eleven Bowsers as well, besides the pair he and Julia had downed themselves.

  He didn't think it likely a single Bowser had gotten away, or that any the Badgies had taken were still alive. Mercy wasn't in these brutal fellows’ style.

  One Badgie had a limp, but the others had apparently come through the fight without a scratch.

  “Over there,” Julia said, and Finn followed the lizard's glance. The door to the Royal Family's anteroom was open, now, and Maddigern was there, in earnest conversation with the King. Other members of the family milled about, nervous and intent, disturbed by the recent events—

  Finn's pulse quickened, for there was DeFloraine-Marie, close to her father's side. And, as he watched, for he found it hard to look away, he saw the girl shift her glance from the King to Maddigern himself. It was only for an instant, and was likely of no import at all. Still, it was a moment that stuck in Finn's mind, though he couldn't say why.

  He turned, then, as Dostagio entered the Great Hall, with eight more servants in the harsh black livery of the Gracious Dead. Dostagio noted the King and his family, but gave them no mind. In a moment, he had given terse directions to his crew, who quickly began to sweep the room with wide bristly brooms.

  A squad of Badgies led the surviving courtiers past the ruins of the door where the Bowsers had burst in. Others emptied the room of bodies and marched away.

  In the center of the room was a small pile of straw boater hats, some badly bent, very few intact. There were a number of monocles and varicolored bow ties among the litter that was soon scooped up and carried away.

  The room was nearly empty, and Finn felt foolish watching Maddigern, the King, and the rest of the royals mill about. The princess had left, or had stepped out of sight.

  To his great regret, he had lingered too long, for Maddigern seemed to notice he was there. With a bow to the King, he turned and marched in a soldierly manner toward Finn.

  “Well, you survived, I see,” the Badgie said, as if he'd swallowed something bad. “Took on a pair of the rascals yourself, I understand.”

  “We were here. We felt compelled to act in our defense.”

  “With that.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You used the King's decoration as a weapon. You assaulted these foul, dirty beasts with His Grace's award. You tainted the honor of Llowenkeef-Grymm.”

  “Well, I suppose I did,” Finn said, too irritated with the sour-faced warrior to greatly care what he said.

  “You want to stand there and scowl, fellow, it makes no matter to me. I don't think the King will hang me, and neither do you. Now, if you'll stop this nonsense and move aside, I'll get back to my room.”

  “To the Mycer girl, you mean.”

  Finn looked the Badgie straight in the eye. “Yes. That's who I mean. And we don't call Newlies beasts. That's not what they are anymore. And if they were, what are you?”

  The Badgie smiled, though it was not the sort of smile that Finn took to heart. “I am not authorized to maim, cut or decimate your person in any manner now. But that could surely change.”

  “I am a Grand Master of the Ninety-Fifth Order. What are you?”

  “The King's Third Sentient Guards work for honor. We don't need your filthy medals.”

  “Come along, Julia,” Finn said. “Captain/Major Maddigern has better things to do. …”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  ALL VERY NICELY PUT,” JULIA SAID, ONCE THEY were down the corridor, past the Great Hall. “Not very prudent, however. Somewhat bold, clearly indiscreet.”

  “That fellow's a thug, a bully, Julia. A ruffian through and through. You have to stand up to his kind or they'll surely run you down.”

  “I hope your ruffian understands this as well.”

  Finn stopped. “We're leaving, remember? He doesn't have to put up with me much longer. Soon he can torment someone else.”

  Finn earnestly hoped his confidence was not misplaced, that he could soon put the Badgie out of mind. Hoped, also, that he could somehow make Letitia understand that he was not, in any way, involved with the King's desirable, somewhat leggy, breathtaking daughter. That he had no thoughts for anyone but his true lifemate, his only love, Letitia Louise.

  LEFT, FINN. I DO HATE TO BRING THIS UP BUT YOU'VEturned the wrong way again.”

  “This is your compass talking, or just the urge to get the better of me? I'm inclined to believe the latter, for I'm sure we should forge straight ahead.”

  “What's the matter with you?”

  “Nothing at all. I see no reason you should ask.”

  “Oh, well, your pardon then. Your testy temper and your loathsome attitude led me to believe you might be out of sorts. Disturbed, aroused by that vixen who was born to enslave men's souls, riven by torment and guilt… “

  “That's quite enough, Julia. I am not riven in any way at all.”

  “Ah, that's good to hear.”

  “If I were to be riven, I doubt I'd need help from a mechanical device.”

  “I'm used to abuse, it matters little to me—Finn, down that passage, coming this way.”

  Finn stopped, backed off a pace and drew his small dagger, his gift from the hapless Koodigern.

  “I perceive your presence, Master Finn,” came a voice from beyond the bend in the corridor ahead. “I only wish to talk, I mean you no harm at all… “

  A figure appeared, holding his hands out wide in a gesture of peace. The gesture, Finn thought, that everyone gave, whether they intended it or not.

  The fellow was a young man, stout, and rather short of stature, with a round, chubby face, thinning hair and an open smile, a smile Finn distrusted at once.

  Then, a step closer, Finn could clearly see the stranger's eyes, and knew his suspicions were more than justified. The fellow's eyes fairly glowed with a hint of trickery and guile, a real sense of power, cunning and deceit, set in this kind and
friendly face. A quick glance at Julia told Finn she had sensed all this as well.

  The stranger shook his head and smiled. “It is the curse of my life, Master Finn. I can seldom hide from fools, and never from beings as keenly aware as you two. This is your delightful lizard, yes? You must demonstrate it to me sometime.

  “I'm Obern Oberbyght, the King's seer. I'm sorry I caused you such pain, sir, I truly meant no harm at all.”

  “No harm?” Finn backed off, his hand around the hilt of his weapon. “You damn near fried my head, and you meant no harm in that!”

  “Well, I suppose I did” said the seer, “but I didn't know you at the time. I assure you the King has given me what-for about that. May I congratulate you on your honor, sir? It's really quite an elegant piece. I've never even seen a Ninety-Fifth before.”

  “Yes, indeed. It's very heavy, too.”

  Finn was more than wary of this seer with the winning smile and penetrating eyes. He understood, now, why the fellow projected such an evil, frightening image when he cast his spells. For, in spite of the menace in his eyes, he could easily pass for a junior clerk or a crafter's errand boy.

  Even his dress seemed designed to belittle his power and win a stranger's trust. His robe was plain, a modest shade of blue, with no adornment of any kind, not a pendant or a broach, no amulet or magic charm of any sort.

  “Allow me to answer the questions I'm sure you wish to ask,” said Oberbyght the seer. “It is my job to protect the King. Someone tries to kill him every day or so. This place is full of shadowy halls and dark hidey-holes, and there's always some rogue with a blade or a bludgeon lurking about. I fear I took you for one of those. I hope you won't fault me for that.”

  “I suppose it was—a mistake,” Finn said with a certain restraint, “but I'm not likely to forget it, sir.”

  “Nor would I ask you to. Only that you understand that persons of the magic persuasion are imperfect like everyone else.”

  “This—happens all the time, you say? Someone popping out to murder the King?”

  “Oh, indeed. You have no idea.”