Holding his breath to avoid afflicting its inhabitants with a tempest, Will bent low to examine the tiny prodigy. But when he did, the land blurred before his eyes and he looked up to discover that he was standing in a pavilion by a white-sand beach. Bright tropical foliage blossomed all about him. "Where am I?" he asked. An elf-maiden, tall and lissom in a turquoise sarong, lounged against the railing. She was beauteous even beyond her kind.
"You can stop staring at my tits now," she snapped. "You'll wear your eyes out."
Will recognized the cheekbones then and gasped. "Dame Serena?"
"You needn't act so astonished," the elf-maiden said." It's hardly flattering that you find it so hard to believe that I was once a looker. As to where we are — this is the Land of Youth. We cant stay here long."
"Is this some kind of allegory?"
Smiling, the elf-maiden leaned forward and pinched him hard. "Does this feel allegorical?"
"No, I suppose not. Why are we here?" Will said, rubbing his arm.
"The Palace of Leaves may be an architectural wonder, but there's no expectation of privacy to be found in it. Its quite the fascist state, actually. There are spies and hidden microphones everywhere. But in the Land of Youth there are no such hazards, Marduk XVII and I used to come here to... well, never mind. But if his subordinates had known, I'd not have lived to such a disgustingly old age. We can talk safely here."
"Uh, okay, I suppose. What about?"
"They know you want to escape. Please don't try." "I am a prisoner in the palace, Dame Serena," Will said quietly, "and the first duty of a prisoner is to try to escape."
"Well, if you must, you must. Far be it from me to stand between an idealist and his conscience, however disconnected from reality they both may be. But not this afternoon. They're expecting you to try something then, and they'll be ready for you."
"How do you know this?" Will asked.
"I told you that Eitri was a gossip. We get together for tea in the afternoons. It's the only vice I have left to me."
The Land of Youth wavered and was gone, and Will found himself standing in the cabinet of curiosities again. Dame Serena, old once more, pressed something into Will's hand. It was the ivory fire-amulet he had failed to steal the other day. "Take this," she whispered. "Just in case you need it."
"Why, Dame Serena!" Will said in astonishment. You do like me after all."
"Oh, zip your lip, or I'll give you the back of my hand. You're a fool, like every other king I've ever known, and I'm doubly a fool for trying to help you." Her look softened. "But I've always had a soft spot for kings."
They were expecting him to make his move that afternoon. So of course he did.
Will was taking the air in the garden when Ariel said, "The Master of the Tests wishes to see you, sir."
"Florian? Send him to the reception room. Make him wait." "He says its urgent, sir."
"Then tell him I'll be with him as soon as possible, and an hour from now remind me that he's waiting."
Will stuck a cigarette in his mouth and lit up. It was a deliberately provocative gesture, and one that engendered a response almost immediately. Eitri came running up, wringing his hands in alarm. "Sir! Sir!" he squeaked. "You can't smoke here."
"Why not?"
"There's a city ordinance against smoking in a government park. Which your gardens, technically, are."
"You have a smoking room, sir," Ariel said. "It's rather well appointed."
"Yeah? Well, I can't be bothered to go there." Will blew a mouthful of smoke in the general direction of his majordomo's voice. "So what're you gonna do about it?"
"I can't touch you, of course, sir. But I can dock all of the palace staff day's pay for every incident." Eitri, who had a gambling problem he fondly imagined wasn't common gossip, looked stricken. "If that is what you want."
Will cursed and threw the cigarette down on the ground and stomped on it. In a flash, Eitri was on his knees, sweeping the ashes into his hand. "Just... bugger off, all of you, okay? Leave me alone. If I can't smoke, at least let me have five minutes alone. Go away, both of you, and take the rest of the staff with you." Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Eitri said fervently.
"As you wish, sir."
The creepy feeling that Will always got when Ariel was near evanesced.
As soon as he was sure he was alone, Will flipped over the wicker table so that it made a basket shape with a short pedestal-well at the center, rather like the mold tor a bundt cake. He dumped the fruit from a large copper bowl on a nearby table and placed the bowl snugly atop the pedestal. Then he tossed the fire-amulet into the bowl and activated its rune with a muttered word. Heat washed up from it, not enough to make the canopy lift free of the ground — that would come later — but enough so that it tugged lightly against its guy lines. These Will untied from their stakes and retied to the edges of the basket. The tent poles he let fall to the ground.
He was ready!
Will hastily set several armfuls of potted plants into one side of the basket to balance it and then climbed into the other. "Sir? What are you doing?"
"My duty," Will said. He muttered a second word that brought the fire amulet to full power. Heat gushed up from the copper bowl and with a great whoosh the canopy overhead billowed as it filled with hot air.
Will untied the witch-knot and a brisk west wind sprang up, scattering napkins across the patio and pushing at the swollen canopy.
Alarmed servitors came running out on the roof just as the makeshift balloon lifted up into the air. Some crashed into the rose hedges and others ran around them, vaulting or stumbling over the new garden furniture. They leaped up, trying to catch at the basket, and failed. Will laughed into their upturned faces and—
"Enough."
The air grew cool. The canopy-balloon ceased to flutter. In the center of the garden Ariel had manifested in his physical form: a slim figure with a chalk-white face, lank black hair and a rooster's cox-comb. His mouth was twisted and bitter. Yet his voice was calm and dulcet.
Ariel raised an arm and twisted a hand and the balloon returned without fuss to its point of origin. Servitors ran up to hasten away the fire-amulet, to right the wicker table, to restore the scattered fruit to the copper bowl, to reerect the canopy. In seconds all was as it had been before.
They had caught him. But of course, there had never really been any question of that.
Now that Ariel stood before him in visible form, eyes cold and mouth cruel, Will found himself more convinced than ever that the creature was his household's spy master, the one that Eitri and the yakshis and for all he knew Dame Serena as well, reported to.
Slowly Ariel faded back into insubstantiality.
"Sir?" his voice said out of nowhere. "This is perhaps a little early, but... you wished to be reminded that Florian L'Inconnu is waiting."
Like most of the rooms in the Palace of Leaves, the reception chamber was far too big and far too ornate for Will to feel comfortable in. The ceiling was white with rose-colored plaster swags of fruits, ribbons, and medallions. If Fabergé had made a pink Wedgwood teapot the size of a bus depot and turned it inside out, it would look much like this.
Florian, of course, looked right at home. He rose gracefully from a leather chair at Will's approach, stubbing out his cigar in a nearby ashtray.
"I must speak to you in absolute confidence," Will said without preamble. "The other evening in the garden you said things I am certain would not have been spoken had you thought one of the palace spies might overhear them. So I presume you have means of ensuring our privacy."
Florian removed a BlackBerry from his jacket, tapped several keys, and pocketed it again. "You may speak your mind freely." "Tell me," Will said. "Am I truly the king?" "Yes," Florian said. "I honestly believe that you are." "Then kneel.'' "What?"
"Kneel!" Will repeated with force.
Florian L'Inconnu, Master of the Tests, holder of a permanent seat in the Liosalfar, and scion-and-heir of a great house though he might be
, went down on one knee and bowed his head, just as the merest peasant or byre-slave would have. "Your Majesty."
"Both knees!"
Florian's face hardened, but he obeyed. "Touch your forehead to the ground." Flushed with humiliation, he did so.
So, thought Will, this is what true power feels like. He could grow to like it. It would be the easiest thing in the world to abuse. Which in and of itself was another compelling reason for him to leave this place immediately. "Stand," he said, "and take oft all your clothing."
Warily, Florian did as he was told. "May I ask what all this is about?"
"Absolutely," Will casually picked up a heavy crystal ashtray. Then he smashed it into the side of Florian's head. "While you're in the hospital recovering from that concussion, I'll be making my way out of Babel."
The spell Will used to disguise himself as Florian was the flimsiest of things, cobbled together from tissue paper, moonlight, cobwebs, and filched fingernail parings. If an inmate in a state penitentiary had employed it, it would have worked no better than a gun carved out of soap and blackened with shoe polish. Which is to say, well enough to get him in trouble, but no so well as to get him over the wall. But the Palace of Leaves was unique among prisons in that its wardens had forgotten that it was one, and thus were not prepared for a break.
Wearing Florian's stolen face and his clothing as well, Will walked unmolested to the main elevator bank where a haint so deferential he almost wasn't there at all, rang for a car. The great bronze doors opened and he got in. "Ground floor," he told the operator. Downward they went. The car stopped only once, at the seventieth floor, to let on a passenger.
It was Alcyone.
Will's heart lurched. Nevertheless, he maintained an icy exterior. "What news, my brother?"
"Babel endures. The testing goes well. We should have the Pretender on the throne within the week."
"So you still think that the Obsidian Throne will accept him?"
"What maters it to me? Either way, I am content. If he is the true king, I have a puppet, and it not..." Will hesitated a second. "If not, I will find it mildly amusing to watch his torments as he slowly dies."
Alcyone looked at him puzledly. "You did not speak so passionlessly on this subject the other night. You said that you practically had your hand hallway up his..." She stopped and stared into his face hard. Her eves widened. "Will?" she breathed.
Will hold a finger to his lips in a shushing gesture and glanced quickly at the elevator operator. Who, thankfully, stared straight ahead of himself, either having heard nothing or being too discreet to think about it. Carefully, Will reached to the side and took Alcyone's hand. She squeezed it without saying a word.
So she was with him. For a moment — no more — Will's spirits soared.
Then the elevator doors opened into Ararat's lobby. A line of lion-headed demon guards stood between him and the street. At their head was Florian.
For an instant Will was speechless with astonishment. Then he saw it all. "You shit. You set me up with your tucking fetch!"
Alcyone's cheeks were as pale as marble, and as hard as stone.
"There are many reasons to test a potential king, you know," Florian said. "The legitimacy of his claim, of course. But it is also important to be certain that the candidate is fit to rule. On this point, I admit to having had my doubts about you.
"You pretended to be suicidal in order to distract attention from your escape attempt. A child could have seen through that ploy. As for the escape itself... well, it was witty. I'll give you that. But it was not convincing. Even with the aid of a following wind, you could not hope to out-fly even something so common as, say, a hippogriff. Nor was it sound judgment to trust so rickety a craft to the notoriously tickle winds generated by the Dread Tower's mere presence. So when Ariel uncovered your plan, I was not impressed.
"Almost, I gave up on you.
"But then I thought of the time you spent as a confidence trickster, apprenticed to a master so sly that all the combined efforts of the political police have not sufficed to locate him. Would one with such an education come up with so obvious a plan? No. You meant your balloon-escape to be discovered and prevented, for it was only a distraction from your true escape — and that was truly clever. Indeed, it would have worked had I not been on the lookout for something unexpected."
Florian's eyes glowed like a wolf's. "You have proved yourself to be deceitful, treacherous, and ruthless. You will make a fine ruler. You've passed the final test. You are fit to sit upon the Obsidian Throne."
19
The Dragon King
Will went to the coronation as to a beheading.
The Obsidian Throne was located deep in the heart of the same building that the Palace of Leaves perched atop. So the procession ran widdershins around Ararat seven times, with the Lion Guard clearing the way and brass bands, ranks of wyverns, spider-legged daliphants, sword dancers, and fire jugglers following. Will sat upon a horse whose strength and beauty were second only to those of Epona herself, flanked by a security force of scorpion-men.
Nymphs danced before him in flowing white, scattering rose petals and twirling batons.
The sidewalks were filled with spectators and the windows of all the buildings as well, while those who could fly perched on rooftops and thronged the sky. Shouts and cheers merged into a constant background pandemonium. Banks of bright balloons were released as Will rode by and tumbled upward through downfalling multicolored confetti and flocks of newly freed pigeons slanting skyward like mad whirligigs. It was infinitely better organized than his Acclamation had been, but it felt prepackaged and over-rehearsed. The mood on the street was uglier, the cheers less spontaneous. Bucentaurs trotting a pace behind Will threw handfuls of gold soleils and silver lunars, fresh minted with his profile on the obverse. The gesture was meant to start off his reign with a burst of goodwill, but the crowds scrambled frantically for the coins so that fights were constantly breaking out in Will's wake.
Will kept his head down, for his thoughts were dark and he did not wish anyone to read them in his eyes.
"Smile, sir," Ariel murmured in his ear. "Wave."
Halfheartedly, Will managed to wave. It seemed only fair to the citizens. Yet he could not manage a smile. Nor could he feel the same love for them he had when they had spontaneously carried him all the way from Little Thule to the top of Babel. He felt nothing for them but a distant emotionless disdain.
And then, all too soon the procession was over.
Will had arrived back where he had started. Three ranks of gleaming horns played a heroic fanfare composed lor the occasion as he dismounted. The satraps of vassal states lay down before him, forming a carpet with their backs. Celebrities vaulted from their limos to fling open the doors to Ararat.
He entered.
Though his bodyguard and the politicians nearest him in the procession poured into the building along with Will, only a fraction of the procession made it into the lobby. Fewer could squeeze into the first elevator car with him. And somehow, more still were lost on the long walk down narrow corridors to the throne room. When its metal doors slammed shut behind him, Will looked up, startled, to realize that his entourage had been reduced to two ogres, who held him by the arms, and Florian L'Inconnu, leading the way.
"Now comes the moment that pays for all," Ariel said. "Sir." Will looked back to discover that nobody was following him. "Where is everybody?" he asked confusedly, as he was forced down onto the throne. Leather straps were cinched over his arms and legs. Another was tightened about his chest. He couldn't move.
The room was dimly lit and it had cinder-block walls. There were stains, or possibly scorch marks, on the floor, radiating out from the throne. A burnt smell lingered in the air. In one wall was a long window. Through it he could see a line of high-elven dignitaries watching him impassively. They all wore cobalt-blue goggles and lead X-ray vests.
"What's going on here? Why are they wearing protective gear?"
&n
bsp; "Its only a precaution." Florian opened an equipment chest and lifted out a tangle of cords and wires. The ogres set to work unsnarling them and plugging them into wall sockets and unidentifiable electrical equipment. A featureless metal ring, about half a hand wide, was screwed tight about Will's head. "Your crown," Florian explained. He took a set of jumper cables and clipped one end to the crown and the other to what looked to be a generator.
"I don't understand," Will said, trying to fight down panic. "This is nothing like I expected it to be."
The ogres applied electrodes to the sides of his neck with dabs of gel. "If you throw up," Florian said, "try to turn your head to the side so that you don't short out any of the equipment."
"Am I likely to throw up?"
"There is a season for everything, sir," Ariel said primly. "It's possible you may also soil yourself."
To his horror, Will felt tears welling up. He tried to blink them away. "Please," he said. "Not like this. Let me die with some shred of dignity."
Wordlessly, his escort withdrew. Florian L'Inconnu bowed formally before closing the doors from the outside. Will was alone.
A minute later, Florian entered the room on the other side of the window. He donned vest and goggles and joined the line of observers. An elf at the opposite end of the line turned briskly to the wall. Will saw for the first time that there was a large knife switch there, bolted open by two flanges. The elf took out a screwdriver and unhurriedly but efficiently removed the fail-safes. He put his hand to the switch. Ariel's voice sounded from a staticky wall-mounted speaker. "Try to relax, sir. There may be some slight discomfort." A flash like an incandescent lightbulb exploded behind Will's eyes. He fell.
Showering sparks, Will fell through infinite darkness. The darkness was virtual, so in a sense it did not exist, but the sensation of falling was quite real, for he was plunging deeper and deeper into the spirit world. Will spread his arms so that in his mind's eye he looked like a William Blake watercolor of a falling star.
The Dragons of Babel Page 31