Brokedown Palace

by Steven Brust

  Viktor stepped forward around the long table. When he was halfway there, he set his blade on it, hilt first, and slid it toward the King.

  László stopped it, then turned back to his Captain of Guards.

  "Yes, Viktor?"

  "Look at it, Your Majesty."

  The King did so. He ran his thumb carefully over the notches, then looked at Viktor again.

  "Yes?"

  "I attacked the roots."

  László blinked twice, then looked back at the notches marring the sabre's edge.

  "I see."

  Rezső looked from one to the other. "What is it, Your Majesty?"

  "Never mind, Rezső. We will continue this later. Leave me now."

  The old man bowed and picked up the parchment along with several others that lay on the table. He gathered them to his bosom as a mother will her baby, and, bowing again, left the room with one brief glance at Viktor, containing equal parts of confusion and resentment.

  When his shuffling footstep had faded from hearing, László said, "I take it you did them no damage?"

  "None," said Viktor. "They've grown. They are thick and well buried. I see no way to hurt them."

  The King nodded and stood up. "Very well, then."

  "Are you going to ask Vilmos to help?"

  "Not just yet. I will if I have to. First, though, I want to see something. Come with me."

  He led the captain out of the room and down, until they came, with much winding and little ceremony, to Miklós's room. They stood for a moment in front of a curtain of drab gray cloth—moth-eaten and ragged as it was, it seemed to be a wall separating the corridor from another universe altogether. King and captain looked at each other. Then, as one, they stepped through.

  At first glance, Viktor saw no difference from the night before. His eyes lit on the broken shutter, the still-made bed, the layer of dust covering the hardwood dressing table. He started to take another step forward and realized that his path was being blocked by the very object of his search.

  It came almost to his chest—green, full, and bushy. It looked like a small tree, perhaps, such as grew on the banks of the River. He studied it closely while next to him the King did the same. The leaves were long and narrow, and there were tiny buds buried within. He brought his head closer and looked carefully inside one of the buds. It consisted of several tiny stalks, each of which had a pair of connected, fingerlike appendages around it.

  Viktor blinked and pulled back, surveying the entire growth. The leaves were so thick, it was impossible to see to the trunk. He pulled a handful aside, and was unsurprised to discover that the center was even thicker and stronger looking than the roots had been.

  "It is odd," said the King, "how long it took us to notice it."

  "Yes. And that we didn't when we were here last night."

  They knelt next to it, pushing more leaves aside, and studied the floor beneath it.

  "Does it seem to you," said László, "that the stem is tearing the floor apart?"

  "Yes," said Viktor. "The longer this continues, the worse it will get."

  The King nodded. "Well, then," he said, "let us see what Állam can do."

  Viktor stepped back. The King drew his blade with a flourish, and held it back, palm down, to cut crosswise. Viktor drew his breath in, staring at the sabre. The air before his eyes seemed to crackle and spark, and he could almost imagine he saw a kind of aura, a reddish haze, outlining Állam. László cut, then, and Viktor heard the same dull sound as before, with the same faint, metallic overtone. Two of the thousands of leaves fell from the tree.

  The King inspected his blade, then resheathed it. Viktor sent him a puzzled look.

  "It isn't notched," said László. "Or bent or broken. I want to keep it that way."

  "But we can't—"

  The King cut him off. "Now," he said, "we speak to Vilmos."

  "Yes," said Viktor.

  They turned their back on the growth, and Viktor followed the King out of the room.

  * * * *

  They found Vilmos just coming up from the cellars.

  "How are the norska?" asked László.

  "Fine," said Vilmos. Viktor kept his reaction to himself. "Were you looking for me?" asked the giant.

  The King nodded. "I have a request."

  "Yes?"

  László's jaws worked, then he said, "It concerns those roots in the cellar. We want—"

  "Ah! You want me to tear them out."

  "Yes. If you… that is, I know I—"

  Viktor held a grimace behind his face. To be King, yet to be made uncomfortable in asking a service from a subject, was absurd. But Vilmos smiled and gently put a hand on the King's shoulder. "It's all right, Laci. Sándor asked me to do this already."

  Viktor could see that there had been something between them, but made no effort to guess what it was; it was sufficient to him that the King seemed relieved.

  "Thank you, Vili," he said.

  "It is nothing."

  László nodded. "We'll be in the audience chamber."

  "I'll do it now."

  Vilmos walked back down to the cellar. As Viktor and László started back up, one of the Palace Guard caught up to them.

  "Your Majesty, Prince Andor and Lord Sándor are returning."

  The King looked at him. "Alone?"

  "Yes, Your Majesty."

  He turned to Viktor. "Should we await them here?"

  "I can hardly meet them like this, Your Majesty."

  The King looked him over, trying to deduce what he meant, until his eyes came to rest on Viktor's empty scabbard.

  "Very well," he said, almost smiling. "Stop by the armory, then meet me in the audience chamber."

  "Yes, Your Majesty," said Viktor, bowing slightly. He followed the maze of hallways to the guard hall in the east wing, and received a new sabre of the armorer. He noticed the way the loud, bantering voices of guards dropped into respectful whispers as he approached, and smiled to himself. About time I changed boots, he decided. They know the sound of my walk too well.

  He retraced his steps to arrive at the stair leading up. When he reached the entrance he found Vilmos emerging from the stairway. At once, he noticed a strange, faraway look in the giant's eyes. Odd, he thought ironically. One might almost believe he's been thinking.

  Vilmos almost walked into him before noticing the captain.

  "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

  Viktor grunted. "Well?"

  Vilmos opened and closed his mouth, then shook his head.

  "You couldn't do it?" Viktor prompted.

  "No… yes. I'm not sure."

  "What do you mean?"

  Vilmos shook his head once more. "I don't know," he said at last. "There was something—there is something about those roots."

  "What?"

  "I just… I couldn't bring myself to touch them."

  Viktor stared at him. "What do you mean?"

  "I don't know. But I stood there, and they seemed so frail—"

  "Frail!"

  "Yes. I touched one and pulled a little, and it would have been so easy to just pull a little harder…"

  "I don't believe it."

  "But I couldn't bring myself to do it. I don't know. I've never felt anything like it."

  Viktor snorted, feeling disgust well up in the back of his throat. "Couldn't bring yourself to do it," he said. "Something that put notches on my blade and remained untouched against Sándor's wizardry, and you have the power to destroy it, yet you won't. I don't believe you, Vilmos."

  The giant looked at him, quizzically. "You saw them?"

  "Of course I saw them. You were there."

  "Yes. That is right. Didn't you… feel anything?"

  "Yes. I felt—" He stopped, then went on. "I felt fear, at first. Then anger."

  Vilmos shook his head. "But didn't you feel anything for them?"

  "I don't know what you mean."

  Vilmos sighed. "Never mind."

  "I think," said Viktor,
"that you should inform the King of this, before you go back to playing with norska."

  Vilmos nodded sadly. "Yes. Of course. I'll do that."

  He turned away. Viktor leaned against the wall and watched his retreating back. He had the sudden feeling that the ground was no longer stable—that things upon which he had depended were falling away. The King unable to give orders, the wizard unable to kill a tree. And the tree itself, by the Goddess! Growing right in the middle of the Palace! He sighed and started to follow the giant up to the audience chamber. As he walked past the double doors to the courtyard, he saw that the main gate was opening again. A lone figure came through it and began walking directly toward the entrance of the Palace, past the idol of the Demon Goddess. Viktor waited.

  "Good afternoon, Brigitta."

  She nodded brusquely and continued past him.

  "Brigitta…"

  She stopped and turned. "Yes?"

  "Where have you been?"

  She looked him up and down. "I do not believe I must give you an account of my actions."

  He frowned. "I didn't mean to ask for an account."

  "Then what did you mean?"

  "I was only… never mind."

  She nodded and turned away again.

  "Brigitta, wait."

  This time when she turned around he could detect a trace of exasperation in her face.

  "I would like to show you something," he said.

  She blinked. "What?"

  "Are you aware of what has happened in Miklós's old chambers?"

  She peered at him. "Happened?"

  "There is something growing there."

  "What do you mean, growing?"

  "Come with me."

  She hesitated. "Why?"

  "You have just been with Prince Miklós, haven't you?"

  "And if I have?"

  "Perhaps you wonder why the King has been wroth with him."

  "Perhaps."

  "Then, the next time you see Prince Miklós, you may ask him to explain what this is and how it came to be in his chambers."

  She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Let us go, then."

  He led the way toward Miklós's chambers. They passed Vilmos on the way, who grunted at them. His brows were drawn together, as if they'd been knitted there. His massive face was drawn into itself, prunelike. A few paces behind him was Mariska.

  "Were you coming to see me?" she asked.

  Brigitta shook her head.

  "No, Countess," said Viktor. "We are going to look in on Miklós's room. It is just down the hall—"

  "I know," she said. "I've been looking at it myself."

  "Indeed?" said Viktor. "What do you think of it?"

  "It serves no purpose," she said. "Excuse me, Viktor, Brigitta."

  She continued past them, following the still audible footsteps of Vilmos. Serves no purpose? thought Viktor. How odd. He noticed Brigitta following the Countess with her eyes, and decided that she was probably wondering the same thing he was.

  When they pushed aside the curtain into Miklós's old chambers, Viktor found that László and Sándor were there before him. At the same moment, he heard Brigitta gasp. He turned to her, and saw that she was staring at the tree, which now was fully as tall as he was.

  The expression on her face, however, was less one of surprise than of delighted wonder. Of all the reactions she could have had, this he hadn't expected. He looked up to see László and Sándor were also staring at her.

  After a silence that seemed to stretch the length of the River, László said, "What is it, Brigitta?"

  She shook her head, as if words failed, but finally managed to whisper, "It's beautiful."

  Viktor felt himself gripped by an icy rage. Beautiful! Beautiful? A tree, growing in the middle of the Palace, impervious to all efforts to remove it? Tearing apart the very floor? Looking as if it would explode the very room that contained it? Beautiful?

  Yet, before he could speak, László cut in.

  "Just what do you find beautiful about it?" Viktor took satisfaction in hearing that the King's tone of voice matched his own feelings.

  Brigitta just shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "But seeing it growing there, amid these stone walls—seeing something fresh from all of this… decay… Seeing—"

  "That will be quite enough," said the King in a tone cold enough to freeze the fires that burned behind his eyes.

  Brigitta seemed to catch herself, and Viktor could see her suddenly realizing what she had said and to whom she had said it. There was a moment when no one spoke, and Brigitta seemed about to form an apology, but then her lips tightened and her face set. She said nothing.

  The King nodded almost imperceptibly, then said, "Leave my presence at once. If I need you for anything, I will call on you. Until then, stay out of my sight."

  She curtsied, seeming to find dignity in the air around her. "With your permission, Your Majesty, I will return to town."

  "You do not have my permission, until I decide what will become of you."

  She bowed her head, straightened it, and looked directly at him. "As you wish, Your Majesty." She turned and left the room, somehow making it look as if she had chosen to leave rather than been dismissed.

  When she was gone, László turned to Viktor. "Did you have some reason for bringing her here?"

  Viktor bit his lip. It did not seem the time to speak to him of his guesses about her involvement with Miklós. Perhaps Sándor knew and had spoken of it. If not, he, Viktor, wouldn't either. He contented himself with casting his eyes down and saying nothing.

  After a moment, the King grunted. "In any case," he said, glancing at Sándor and Viktor, "the question is: how are we to deal with this… thing?" He gestured toward the tree.

  Sándor crossed over to the window and looked out. "It is the River that nourishes it," he muttered.

  "Fine," said Viktor. "All you need to do is stop the River, then."

  Sándor scowled but didn't answer.

  "Be serious," said László.

  "The danger, Your Majesty," said Viktor, "comes from the way the stem is pulling apart the floor tiles, and from the danger that it will continue to grow until it puts pressure on the walls."

  "Yes," said László. "And?"

  "Is there some way to secure the walls and the floor so they will not be broken apart?"

  "This has been suggested by the Countess." He asked the wizard, "What do you think?"

  "I'm not certain," said the wizard. "It is worth thinking about."

  "The only other thing we can do is destroy it," said Viktor. "And I see no way to do that."

  "Except for Vilmos," said the King. "And he won't."

  "Perhaps you should speak to him again, Your Majesty."

  "Perhaps."

  "I see no other way. Neither Sándor nor I can hurt it."

  "We could burn it," said the wizard.

  László snorted. "Certainly. And the Palace with it."

  "There is also Állam, Your Majesty," said Viktor carefully.

  The King nodded. "Yes. I have not fully tested Állam against it." He stroked the hilt of his sabre. "Somehow I don't want to."

  "Why not?" asked Viktor.

  "I'm not sure," said the King. He chuckled. "Perhaps because if Állam doesn't hurt it, we'll really be powerless."

  Viktor forced himself to smile, despite the sudden rage this invoked in him. But he said only, "If we have a weapon that might solve the problem, though, we should consider using it."

  The King studied him. "What do you know of the sword?" he asked.

  "Nothing, Your Majesty," said Viktor. "Why?"

  "Never mind. I'll think about it."

  "And I," said Sándor, "will consider the matter of strengthening the Palace."

  "Should I speak to Vilmos?" asked Viktor.

  "No," said László. "Don't bother. There is something I must do before any action is taken."

  He stopped. Viktor and Sándor glanced quickly at each othe
r to see who would ask the question the King obviously wanted asked. Finally, Sándor said, "What is that, Your Majesty?"

  "I am going to spend the evening in the Tower. I wish to consult with the Demon Goddess."

  * * * *

  The next afternoon, as Viktor entered the great hall, he noticed someone who seemed to be asleep in a corner. Looking closer, he recognized the coachman of the Count of Mordfal. At that moment, the other opened his eyes, as if he'd felt the captain's stare. The coachman nodded. Viktor approached and sat down next to him.

  "Good afternoon, Captain," he said in a sonorous voice. Viktor looked for, and found, several empty wine bottles at the foot of his chair.

  "You're drunk," said Viktor.

  "My name is Miska," said the coachman, as if that were an answer. But he went on, "My master says we are to be leaving soon. I am preparing for the journey."

  "If any of my men 'prepared' themselves the way you do—"

  "Oh, come, good Captain. There is no need to be so serious." Viktor didn't answer. He wondered, though, why a gentleman such as the Count would keep on a sodden fool like this. Viktor noticed the coachman's bloodshot eyes were fixed on him. He suddenly felt uncomfortable and, consequently, irritated.

  "Don't be angry with me, good Captain," said Miska. "Shall I tell you a story?"

  Viktor hesitated, then, "Very well."

  Miska nodded and closed his eyes. "Many, many, years ago—hundreds of years ago—there was a babe born in this very castle, to the King and Queen. He was normal enough at birth, but by the time he was six months old he weighed thirty pounds. By the time he was a year old, he could lift twice his own weight.

  "As he grew older, he became larger and larger, until he was so strong—"

  "Vilmos," said the Captain.

  "Please," said Miska. "There are giants born to this family every four or five generations. Now, then, where was I? Well, never mind. Now, he had a brother, did this giant. I don't know which brother was the older. Perhaps they were twins. But this brother was so smart that he learned the languages of the birds and the beasts, and he knew how to make the River run backward, and how to make the stars shine during the day.

  "Well, one day the strong brother said to the smart brother, 'I am so strong, I could break our father's sword in two.' And the smart brother said, 'I am so smart, I know enough not to try.' And the two brothers had a good laugh about this, then went off to do other things."