Brokedown Palace

by Steven Brust

  Suddenly desperate to change the conversation, Vilmos said, "Countess, are you going to marry my brother?"

  She looked at him with an expression of curiosity. "Call me Mariska," she said.

  He grunted. "You don't want to answer?"

  "I just did."

  He grunted again and thought about it. "That means you are, then?"

  "Yes."

  "When?"

  "We haven't decided yet. A year perhaps."

  "Well. Good. Rezső will be pleased."

  "The old advisor? Yes, I imagine so." Then, "Your brother is a strange man, Vilmos."

  "How, strange?"

  "I don't know. Strange."

  László? Strange? Well, maybe. He had never thought of it before. Marriage was strange. He somehow couldn't conceive of it, despite all of the time he had spent with Anya and Atya. "Do you love him?" he asked.

  She inhaled sharply and glanced quickly, almost involuntarily, at the fan at her feet. Then she said, "No. But I can happily be his Queen."

  "Why is that?"

  "I'm not sure. We have similar interests. He's very dedicated."

  "Yes. He is."

  "There is something… we should be together, somehow. I can't explain it. Perhaps Brigitta would understand."

  Once again Vilmos was startled. "You know about Brigitta?"

  "Oh, yes. We've met. The King explained why she is here."

  "Oh."

  She sighed. "I don't know why I'm telling you of this." She went back to stroking the black and white fur of the norska. "The norska is very proud," she said after a moment.

  Vilmos felt his eyes widen. "What do you mean?"

  "I don't know. But… what was her name? Húga? Húga has a great deal of pride. She's haughty. That's why she's so gentle; she isn't afraid of anyone." Mariska handed her back.

  Vilmos nodded, too surprised to speak. How could she have known that?

  As he did, Mariska said, "Thank you, Vilmos. I've wanted to see them for some time."

  "You are welcome, Mariska," he replied, surprised to find that he meant it.

  She nodded. She picked up her fan again, looked at it and clutched it tightly. Then she put her other hand into the pail of feed, sniffed it, and nodded.

  "That is all they will eat, when they are kept this way," said Vilmos, who somehow felt the need to justify the feed, as if she would think it too poor for such fine beasts.

  She nodded. "What do they eat in the wild?"

  "Mostly dragons," said Vilmos.

  * * * *

  That evening in the great hall, Vilmos listened to a minstrel from somewhere near the southern marshes. He was a rather chubby man, with long, stringy dark hair shot through with gray and a beard that matched. He sang songs from his home in a soft quiet voice that Vilmos had to strain to hear, while accompanying himself on a long-necked lant. Halfway through the third song, Andor approached Vilmos. "We need to talk," he said.

  "Shhh," said Vilmos. "I am listening."

  "That can wait."

  "Why?"

  "I've been thinking about your failure yesterday."

  "Failure?"

  "With Miklós."

  "Oh."

  "We should talk about it."

  Vilmos turned in his chair and looked fully at Andor. Then he turned back. "Shhh," he said again. "I am listening."

  Andor stood next to him for a moment, then left the Hall.

  Vilmos listened to the minstrel for a while longer, until the King and the Count and Countess of Mordfal bid the room good night, threw the minstrel a purse, and departed for the evening. In a little while Vilmos found himself alone in the Hall, sitting on a great chair that had been constructed for his frame and piled high with cushions. Eventually, he drifted off into a pleasant doze.

  Some time later he heard soft footfalls behind him but didn't turn to see who it was. When they stopped in front of his chair, he opened his eyes.

  "Hello, Brigitta."

  "Good evening, Vilmos. May I sit with you?"

  "Yes."

  She pulled a chair over next to his. He studied her, comparing her to the Countess. Brigitta was solid where Mariska was almost frail. But after speaking with Mariska he realized—in a way that he couldn't express even to himself—that there was a core of strength inside of the Countess. Now, looking at Brigitta, he wondered if, within her, there was a corresponding weakness.

  "You like this room, don't you?" she said, suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

  "Hm? Oh. Yes, I do."

  "It's peaceful, after everyone has left."

  Vilmos nodded.

  "When I was very little, and my father was too drunk to make liquor, I used to collect mushrooms. I'd go out walking until I was in what you call the Wandering Forest. To us, it was 'the woods'—as if it were our own, private part of the Forest. We'd go out and collect the mushrooms there, and sometimes sit until sunset. It was like this room: big, peaceful, and empty. You would have liked it."

  Vilmos nodded again.

  "Most of the trees were old in that part. There were a lot of elms, especially, that were actually rotting and falling apart. Some of the biggest and best mushrooms grew around trees like that, as if somehow the rot of the tree was helping them grow.

  "But from time to time, a big, old tree would just collapse. We'd see it coming, over the years, because branches would fall off first, and of course there'd be no leaves on them. I noticed that sometimes the tree would fall over on top of the mushrooms and crush them. Then, again, sometimes the tree would rot almost completely away without ever really falling, and the mushrooms would be as big as my father's hand. That's where I got the idea that they were feeding off the tree. Of course, I was little then."

  Vilmos studied her, not understanding but not saying anything. After a moment she sighed.

  "I like this room," she said. Then she nodded, "I wonder where Miklós is?"

  Vilmos didn't answer, and Brigitta didn't speak again. She left a little later to be replaced in short order by László. Vilmos had the sudden feeling that he was at the center of the world; that everyone, even the King, came for his own reason, to convince him of something or to ask for something. He knew, at the same time, that it wasn't so. The Great Hall was the center of the Palace; if one waited long enough, everyone would arrive.

  Yet the illusion persisted.

  László made a brief greeting, seated himself next to Vilmos, and said, "You have heard that I am to be married?"

  "Yes. Congratulations."

  "Thank you."

  The King stretched his feet out in front of him and stared at his toes. "There will be some changes in how the Palace is run, of course."

  Vilmos stirred. "What sort of changes?"

  "I don't know. But having a Queen in residence again will certainly have some effect."

  "Will we be getting things in shape for her?"

  László glanced up sharply. "What do you mean?"

  Vilmos indicated the room around them. "You know. The woodwork, the flooring, the plastering—"

  "What's wrong with them?"

  "Huh? They're crumbling, falling apart—"

  László stood up. "Silence!"

  Vilmos stared at him, puzzled. "What's wrong, Laci? I was only saying—"

  "You were parroting your brother Miklós. That is exactly what I was afraid of."

  "How am I—?"

  "It seems I can't exchange three words with you or Andor without Miklós, and his absurd claims about the Palace, coming up one way or another." He glared down at Vilmos, his brows drawn together.

  The giant tried to understand the reason for his brother's anger but could find no explanation for it. "I'm sorry I've upset you, Laci," he said. "I didn't mean to."

  The King sighed and sat down again. "I know, Vili. It's just that I see the Palace as a member of the family—as if it were a person. Do you understand that?"

  Vilmos tried to, but at last he shook his head.

  László said, "
This Palace has kept the rain off our heads. It has provided a place for our meals and allowed us to sit together as a family. It has been the center of our realm for hundreds of years. It has stood up to war, to wind, and to floods. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  The giant's mouth worked as he tried to reason this out. At last he said, "I don't want you to become angry again, Laci, but I don't understand."

  Vilmos saw his brother fighting to remain calm. "What don't you understand?" László said at last.

  Vilmos spoke slowly. "The Palace has only kept the rain off our heads because I have repaired the roof. Isn't that true?"

  László made a brushing-off gesture but didn't speak.

  Vilmos continued, "It's given us a place for our meals, but it wouldn't if I hadn't put the beam against the kitchen wall where it was falling in last spring. Yes?"

  "But—"

  "And," said Vilmos, beginning to gain momentum, "it was the men in it who stood up to war, not the Palace. Wasn't it? And we could have been together as a family anywhere. And sometimes the wind comes through the cracks in the door and travels all the way down to the cellar, when I'm with my norska. Yes, it has been the center of the realm, but, truly, Laci, what is that to me? Do you think I would be a member of the family any less if I were not a Prince? Or would you, if you were not King?"

  As Vilmos spoke, László's expression went from anger to puzzlement to sorrow. When the giant had finished, László said suddenly, "What about your norska, then? You can't deny that the Palace has provided a shelter for your—your norska."

  Vilmos wondered briefly what his brother had almost said, but didn't comment on it. Instead he said, "No, Laci. I had to build a place for the norska. If I hadn't, they'd have become lost in the Palace, and Cook would have used them—"

  "But you built those places within the Palace, Vilmos."

  "They could have been anywhere. László, I'm sorry to differ with you, but I must say what I feel. To me, the Palace is where I am, and I do what I must here, but I feel no loyalty to it. It is a place. When it begins to crumble, I try to repair it. When—"

  "It isn't crumbling!"

  Vilmos studied him curiously. "I think," he said, "that we should not talk about this anymore. What was it you wished to see me about?"

  László, bristling with anger, stood up. "To warn you, Vilmos. It may be, when the Queen comes into her own, that she will feel there is no room in the Palace for small, furry animals who contribute nothing and are owned by someone who fails to appreciate the sanctuary they have been given for all these years!"

  He turned and strode out of the room, leaving behind a puzzled and hurt brother who stared after him with open mouth.

  * * * *

  As he broke his fast alone the next morning, Vilmos considered seeking out Mariska and asking her if László had any basis for his parting words of the night before. He was on the point of deciding that he didn't know how to broach such a subject when she wandered into the kitchen's breakfast nook. She was holding two steaming cups, over the lips of which he saw slices of orange. Her fan was cradled under her arm.

  She put one of the cups in front of him and sat down in the other chair. Vilmos blew on it, then sipped, not noticing the absurd appearance his massive hand gave holding the delicate teacup.

  "Thank you," he said. "I like it."

  "It's a red tea with cinnamon. This is how we drink it at home. The oranges come from only a few hundred miles downriver."

  "Yes. You trade them for pepper, don't you?"

  "And other things. How are you?"

  "Well enough. And you? How are preparations for the wedding?"

  "They are—good day, Sándor."

  Vilmos turned and saw the wizard at the same moment the wizard saw him. Sándor stopped for just a moment, as if he were afraid to come too near Vilmos. But he came up anyway.

  "I won't hurt you," said Vilmos.

  Sándor's face darkened.

  "I didn't mean it that way," said Vilmos quickly. "I wasn't trying to mock you, I—never mind."

  "I actually meant to speak to you later, Vilmos. But if now is a good time…"

  "As good as any."

  "Should I leave?" asked Mariska.

  Vilmos gestured noncommittally; Sándor gave no sign.

  "What did you want to speak to me about?" asked Vilmos.

  "It has to do with the upcoming wedding. There are things that ought to be done that you can do."

  "Such as?"

  "The ceiling of the Queen's chamber is sagging. The workmen need help holding it up while they put a support beam in place. Also—"

  He was interrupted by the giant's laugh. "Did László ask you to speak to me about these things?"

  Sándor seemed puzzled. "No, although I'm certain he would appreciate your help. Why?"

  "It is nothing. He and I had words yester eve. No, Sándor, I am afraid I will be unable to help László make repairs that aren't needed."

  "Aren't needed?"

  "So says my brother."

  Mariska put a hand on his arm. "Vilmos."

  "Yes?"

  "Be patient with him. He's still upset about Miklós."

  Vilmos snorted.

  "Please?" said Mariska. "As a favor to me?"

  Vilmos looked at her, then sighed. "Very well. The ceiling. What else?"

  "There is also that strange growth in the cellar."

  "What growth?" asked Mariska.

  "Why not use your powers?"

  Sándor studied the floor for a moment, then said, "I tried. For some reason it is impervious to the Power of Faerie."

  "Ha! When you sent me—"

  "Please."

  Vilmos sighed once more. "Very well," he said. "Let me finish my tea, and I'll go into the cellar and pull the roots."

  "Thank you, Vilmos," said Mariska, smiling gently.

  Vilmos nodded, and turned back to Sándor. "Will you be there to help?"

  "No, I'll be gone for most of the day, I think."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, I have an errand, with Andor."

  "What errand is that, wizard? Will you take him to meet the Demon Goddess?"

  Sándor shook his head. "No. We're going to find Miklós. We are going to bring him back."

  INTERLUDE

  It happened when I was a lad of nine or ten. There was a fellow who worked in the mines in Bajföld. His name was Peter, and he came to visit us from time to time. One day we learned that he was dying, so my father took me to see him. We sat down and took out the pálinka, honey muffins, and stuffed apples that my mother had prepared. He couldn't eat anything because he was so weak, but he drank some of the pálinka. He was so happy that we had come to visit him that he said, "Now I will tell you what I have never told another soul, so that when I am gone you will remember and pass it on to your children." Then he began his story.

  "I had only been working the mine for a year or so when I saw a small vein of black stephenite along one of the walls. Well, said I to myself, somehow no one has found this yet, so I'll just go see where it leads and maybe find a big fresh deposit. Then we'll see what the Count has to say to me (for we worked for the Count of Bajföld then as now, but it was the old Count then.

  "So I went following it with my little oil lamp and, sure enough, it ran to a part that we weren't working anymore. I moved the boards that were set up over the tunnel and went through, still following the vein. Well, I just kept following the tunnel and following it for what must have been three days, when I fell through a hole, right in the floor of the tunnel.

  "I don't know how long I fell, but I must have been knocked right out of my senses when I landed because the next thing I remember I was sitting on the floor of a wide hallway made of the purest crystal you have ever seen, with lamps of glass all around me.

  "I went looking around a bit, and the first thing I saw was a tree growing right up through the floor, and instead of leaves it had pots of pure silver. I was looking at it, just staring, when up c
omes a demon, as calm as you please. I knew right away it was a demon because it was only as tall as my waist and had bright red skin, a pointy little head, and a tail it could wrap around itself six or seven times without stretching.

  "Well, quick as you please, I hid myself behind the tree to see what it was going to do. It went right up to that tree and pulled a bucket from it, then went back down the hall. I followed after it, a good distance behind, and pretty soon, it came to a big room where there were thirteen old women sitting in a circle around a fire. I sat and watched them, and there was a whole string of demons coming to them with buckets full of silver. The demons were throwing the silver onto the fire, and pretty soon this black stuff would come pouring out, and I could see it was pure stephenite. More demons were collecting it in more buckets and running off with it.

  "Well, by now I was mighty curious. As soon as I could, I grabbed one of the demons around his neck, and I held up my pick. I said, 'Look, you, you'd better tell me what's going on around here pretty quick.'

  "Well the demon started gibbering, but then it said, 'This is where we make all the silver for you to find up there.'

  "'Why do you do that?' I asked.

  "Well, it didn't want to tell me, but it could see that I meant business with the pick, so it finally said, 'The witches want to bring you down here so they can suck all your souls, to make themselves young again.'

  "When I heard that, I can tell you I was scared enough! I tied that demon up with his own tail and took off down the hall. When I came to the tree, I picked a bucket of silver, then I started climbing. Pretty soon I looked down, and there must have been five hundred demons climbing after me.

  "Well, I don't have to tell you that I climbed as fast as I could, but there were still a few who caught up with me, and I had to stop and use my pick to send them back down where they belonged. When I was finally shut of them, I was back in that same tunnel I'd been in before. That's when I saw that I'd dropped all of that silver from right out of the bucket. But I wasn't about to go down there for it! Not for anything!

  "But if you want to yourself, you can try to find it because we're still finding silver in that mine, so I guess the tree is still there."