The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  Toward one end of the chamber, there crouched a human, or nearly human, figure, something twisted and misshapen, bearing a likeness to the shape of a young man. It clutched to its bosom a stuffed animal, a yellow torodont.

  “Forgive us, if we alarmed you, noble Aesilesius,” said Vandar.

  “We mean you no harm,” said Ulrich. Then he said, softly, to Vandar, “Our work is done. Let us quit this place. It sickens me.”

  Vandar and Ulrich then withdrew. The door was closed. Nika heard the key turn again in the lock, restoring the bolt to its place.

  With horror she looked upon the figure some feet away. Its eyes seemed curiously vacant. Then it seemed they saw her, and it clutched the toy, suddenly, more closely to its bosom. Saliva ran at the side of its mouth. It stood up, unsteadily, and backed away a few feet.

  “I will not take your toy, Master,” whispered Nika.

  The figure regarded her.

  Nika covered her eyes.

  This weak, miserable, half-human, empty thing, she thought, once sat upon the throne of Telnaria!

  When she uncovered her eyes, she saw that the creature was on the floor, on all fours, yards away, playing with the small, stuffed yellow torodont.

  He has forgotten me, thought Nika.

  She watched him play.

  He made small snuffling, snorting noises, such as a small boy might suppose a torodont to make, and occasionally, too, uttered other sounds, presumably on behalf of the torodont, which bore some semblance to human speech, garbled and distorted.

  Then she was frightened, for she knew nothing of such a creature. It was simple, and childlike, and innocent, and doubtless harmless, but what if it should be a petulant child, an impatient, spoiled, wayward child, a child capable of an irrational, ungoverned, irresponsible tantrum, a child who might, in a fit of anger, tear open a stuffed animal or break a toy, a child equipped with the size, force, body, and strength of a grown man?

  Nika, beside herself, turned about and ran to the portal, and began, sobbing, to pound on it with her small fists.

  “Help, help!” she cried. “Open the door! Have mercy! Release me! Release me, Masters! Let me go! Do not keep me here! Please, please, Masters!”

  She scratched futilely, weakly, at the door, and then sank to her knees, facing the door, leaning her head against it.

  “Please, please, Masters!” she wept.

  She remained as she was for a time, for several minutes, but then, suddenly stiffened, frightened. A hand had been placed gently on her right shoulder.

  “Do not cry,” said a voice.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Lift the lamp,” said Sidonicus, exarch of Telnar.

  Fulvius, ministrant of Karch, raised the lamp.

  “Odors here are insufferable,” said Sidonicus.

  “It is the dampness, and the urine and excrement, that of the prisoners and the rodents,” said Fulvius. “Step carefully, your excellency.”

  Two minions, garbed in black, hooded, were in the background, near the barred door.

  “I see they are well chained,” said Sidonicus, regarding the prisoners.

  “Hand and foot, and neck,” said Fulvius.

  “Excellent,” said Sidonicus.

  “We put them in the garb, the gowns, of penitents,” said Fulvius.

  “Appropriately,” said Sidonicus.

  “They have much to repent,” said Fulvius.

  “Are they sleeping?” asked Sidonicus.

  “They are faint with hunger, and sleep much,” said the larger, the first, of the two minions.

  “Awaken them,” said Sidonicus.

  The smaller of the two minions, with the jailer’s staff, prodded the recumbent figures.

  There was a stirring of chain, the rattle of links.

  Corelius blinked against the light, dim as it was. “Dear, holy prelate!” he whispered, frightened.

  “You are afraid,” said Sidonicus.

  “Forgive me, holy one,” said Corelius. “I cannot rise, to kiss your ring.”

  “How is it that we are here?” asked Lysis, struggling to sit up, his eyes half closed against the light of the lamp. “I do not understand, holy one. Have we not served you well?”

  “You have well served whoever pays you best,” said Sidonicus. “You conveyed the assassin, the Lady Publennia, of the Larial Calasalii, to Tangara, on behalf of Iaachus, the Arbiter of Protocol, of the palace, to slay an Otung barbarian, thence to abandon her to the mercy of his followers, but she failed. Then you served Abrogastes, the dreaded Far-Grasper, a Drisriak, of the Aatii, seeing that the defensive batteries of Telnar were silent, that he might accomplish his daring raid and seize royal Viviana and Alacida, sisters of the emperor, Aesilesius.”

  “He trusted you,” said Fulvius.

  “And we delivered him into your hands,” said Corelius, “a prisoner and hostage, one of inestimable value.”

  “And why then are we incarcerated in this place, wherever it is?” asked Lysis.

  “You know much, too much, of my involvement in certain affairs of state,” said Sidonicus. “Your clumsiness put my plans at risk. You allowed yourselves, sought fugitives, from the crime of silencing the batteries, to be recognized in a brothel on Varl Street, the Pleasure Palace, and were shortly thereafter apprehended by imperial forces. We instantly moved the prisoner, Abrogastes, the Drisriak, to a new location. We anticipated that one or both of you would reveal where we had hidden him.”

  “I did not reveal that secret,” cried Corelius.

  “Nor I!” protested Lysis.

  “Though I endured horrifying tortures!” said Corelius.

  “One or both of you are lying,” said Sidonicus. “Within the hour his former location was stormed by Otungs.”

  “I revealed nothing,” said Corelius.

  “Nor I,” said Lysis. “It must have been revealed by Phidias, our leader, our captain, he of the Narcona.”

  “Yes, Phidias,” said Corelius. “And where is he? Should he not be here, chained with us?”

  “His body was found amidst garbage, half-eaten by dogs, in an alley behind the Pleasure Palace,” said Sidonicus.

  “You were released,” said Fulvius.

  “To be followed,” said Sidonicus, “that your trail would lead to us.”

  “Accordingly,” said Fulvius, “those who followed you were themselves followed, and dealt with, and you were brought here, to be kept safe.”

  “Safe?” said Corelius, apprehensively.

  “Safe for us,” said Fulvius.

  “Which of you,” asked Sidonicus, “revealed the secret hiding place of Abrogastes?”

  “Not I!” exclaimed Corelius.

  “Nor I!” said Lysis. “I know it was not I!”

  “And I know,” said Corelius, “it was not I!”

  “Very well,” said Sidonicus, turning to the two minions, the two somber, sable-clad, hooded figures, “kill them both.”

  The smaller of the two minions seized Lysis by the hair, and thrust his dagger through the gown of the penitent, into his heart. Then, wiping the blade on the gown of the penitent, he turned to Corelius.

  “Wait, wait!” cried Corelius. “You have Abrogastes! His son, Ortog, Ortog of the Ortungen, is in Telnar, seeking him. Would it not be a coup to have both father and son, kings of two Aatii tribes! That is treasure deposited in the vaults of politics and power! And might not one suffice to influence the other, the father to protect the captured, threatened son, and the son to protect the captured, threatened father?”

  Sidonicus put his hand on the arm of the smaller minion, staying that arm’s poised, readied, stroke. “Speak,” he said.

  “I could be about,” said Corelius. “I could allow myself, seemingly inadvertently, to be discovered by Ortog. I could then lead him, he following
me, into an ambush, in which he would be apprehended. And do not reveal to me either the new hiding place of Abrogastes, or that of Ortog, if it be different. Thus, I could not betray you, even if I wished. I could not reveal what I did not know. And, if I do poorly, and you are dissatisfied, you could deal with me as you see fit.”

  “Unchain him,” said Sidonicus, exarch of Telnar.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “What is this, dear Ottonius?” inquired Iaachus, clearly distraught, standing in the doorway of the emperor’s private chambers. “What madness is it to deliver a slave to a half-mad, retarded child?”

  “Aesilesius is not a child, but a youth, a young man,” said Otto.

  “In body a man, in mind a child,” said Iaachus.

  “So it would seem,” said Otto.

  “What a miserable fate to impose on a slave, even the least of collar-sluts,” said Iaachus. “She has known the hands of men. She is a slave. Fire burns beneath her tunic. What torments and frustrations do you choose to impose upon her? And why? And what is our pathetic, unfortunate Aesilesius, however dear and beloved to us he may be, to do, or be expected to do, with a slave, he, a tragic, mindless simpleton, a twisted, drooling thing, which fears insects, which lives for toys?”

  “Now he has a new toy,” said Otto. “Surely you know that a slave may be a toy, a master’s plaything. Do not some men purchase them for just such a purpose?”

  “This must be some Otung cruelty,” said Iaachus.

  “You fear for the slave?” asked Otto.

  “And for the youth, sweet, simple Aesilesius,” said Iaachus.

  “He may not be as sweet and simple as you suspect,” said Otto.

  “I do not understand,” said Iaachus.

  “He has in him the blood of emperors,” said Otto.

  “A failed blood,” said Iaachus, “diluted, weakened, and degenerated.”

  “So it seems,” said Otto.

  “You speak mysteriously,” said Iaachus.

  “I have learned diplomacy from you,” said Otto. The emperor then rose from the table, thrust back the rude chair he favored, and went to the side, to a shelf, from which he retrieved certain papers. “You remember these papers?” he asked.

  “Surely,” said Iaachus. “You have referred to them, more than once. They contain names, the names of volumes missing from the palace library, presumably stolen, perhaps long ago.”

  “I have had the names read to me,” said Otto.

  “I recall,” said Iaachus. “Indeed, I once read the names to you myself.”

  “A peculiar collection,” said Otto.

  “I thought so,” said Iaachus. “Different volumes, having little connection with one another, doubtless stolen by different individuals, at different times.”

  I understand the empress mother has received another miraculous custard or two,” said Otto.

  “Doubtless she stands high in the favor of the god, Karch, or another,” said Iaachus.

  “I think there is a common thread amongst these diverse, missing books,” said Otto.

  “I see no common thread,” said Iaachus.

  “There are several missing histories,” said Otto, “most having to do with the Telnarian Empire. Other missing volumes have to do with statecraft and political philosophy. Others deal with techniques of administration, bureaucracy, trade, taxes, law, and coinage, even military strategy.”

  “I see no common thread,” said Iaachus.

  “Who would be well served by such studies, by such knowledge?” asked Otto.

  “Some savant, some dilettante, some fraud, some madman,” said Iaachus.

  “Or an emperor,” said Otto.

  “I do not understand,” said Iaachus.

  “One of the volumes missing,” said Otto, “an old volume, more than a century old, deals with the architecture of the palace, with additions, alterations, renovations, and such.”

  “So?” said Iaachus.

  “So,” said Otto, “I sleep with a knife under my pillow.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Is this not a strange place to conduct business?” asked Ortog, king of the Ortungen, a decimated, renegade tribe of the Drisriaks, the son of Abrogastes, the Far-Grasper.

  “The cellar of this tavern, I have found,” said Iaachus, “is a suitable venue for a discreet interview. I have used it more than once.”

  “I have come alone, as you suggested,” said Ortog.

  “Yet you have men in Telnar?” said Iaachus.

  “Some, perhaps,” said Ortog. “Are you not fearful that you might be recognized, outside the palace?”

  “My garb is humble, I am hooded,” said Iaachus.

  “Have you brought me here, alone, to slay me?” asked Ortog.

  “No,” said Iaachus.

  “You do not do your own killing?” said Ortog.

  “Certainly not,” said Iaachus. “The risk would be too great.”

  “Nonetheless,” said Ortog, “you will forgive me if I do not drink with you.”

  “Certainly,” said Iaachus.

  “Does Otto, king of the Otungen, know of this meeting?” asked Ortog.

  “The emperor knows of this meeting,” said Iaachus. “He thought it would be too open, and too unwise, to bring you again to the palace, and he himself seldom, to my knowledge, leaves the palace, at least during the daylight hours.”

  “Why too open, why too unwise?” asked Ortog.

  “Given certain information, recently acquired, we conjecture a plot is afoot,” said Iaachus, “a plot which threatens you, and perhaps your father. It was deemed best that the palace should appear ignorant of this plot, and best that you be privately apprised of our suspicions, hence this inconspicuous rendezvous.”

  “What information, what plot?” asked Ortog.

  “You are aware of the trio of conspirators, Phidias, Corelius, and Lysis, who disabled the Telnar batteries, allowing the raid of your father which culminated in the seizure of the princesses Viviana and Alacida, the same trio which, as it seems, was involved in the disappearance of your father. Fugitives in Telnar, they were seen in a brothel on Varl Street. Phidias was killed, and Corelius and Lysis were soon taken into custody. Corelius, fearing torture, quickly betrayed the secret place of your father’s incarceration, but, before imperial forces could rescue him, he was moved. Both Corelius and Lysis were freed, that they might unwittingly lead us to their confederates, but, as you recall, both mysteriously disappeared.”

  “I recall,” said Ortog, bitterly.

  “We speculated that they were killed, or sequestered, primarily that they might not lead us to their principal.”

  “The exarch of Telnar,” said Ortog.

  “Perhaps,” said Iaachus.

  “Surely,” said Ortog.

  “We suppose him to be their principal,” said Iaachus.

  “Why not seize him and have him torn apart in the Horse Death?” asked Ortog.

  “It is not so simple,” said Iaachus. “The city would burn, worlds would flame.”

  “But something is now new?” said Ortog. “Something has now changed?”

  “Yes,” said Iaachus. “Corelius has been recognized. He had not been slain, as we had speculated. He is abroad in the city. He is making inquiries as to you, as to your whereabouts.”

  “He wishes to contact me,” asked Ortog.

  “We think not,” said Iaachus. “At least not as you might think. He must realize you would be aware of his likely collusion in the disappearance of your father. Too, presumably he would not be aware of your father’s new location. That information would be denied to him. Might he not have once revealed just such intelligence? Too, he would be aware that you, in barbarian fury, might break his neck or back, if you could get your hands on him.”

  “Why, then, would he ris
k encountering me?” asked Ortog.

  “We conjecture,” said Iaachus, “to precipitate a pursuit, a pursuit hot with reckless, single-minded fury, heedless of peril.”

  “A naive, barbarian pursuit,” said Ortog, “as you Telnarians would see it.”

  “Precisely,” said Iaachus.

  “You think barbarians are fools,” said Ortog.

  “We have often underestimated the sagacity of our enemies,” said Iaachus. “It is a common fault of the empire.”

  “So I am to be led into a trap?” said Ortog.

  “We conjecture that to be their plan,” said Iaachus.

  “And what am I to do?” asked Ortog.

  “Permit yourself to be led into a trap,” said Iaachus.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “Discard that rag, which would conceal you from me,” said Ingeld.

  “I am not a slave, my husband and lord,” said Viviana.

  “Cast it aside, and turn slowly before me,” he said.

  “Yes, my husband and lord,” said Viviana.

  “Your flanks, your shoulders, your breasts, your belly, your thighs, your calves, your ankles, are not without interest,” said Ingeld.

  “I am not accustomed,” she said, “to be appraised, as might be a fine animal.”

  “Or any animal,” he said.

  “Yes, my husband and lord,” she said.

  “Surely you must, in your royal quarters, in the palace in Telnar, have viewed yourself in a full-length mirror, and wondered what you would bring, as a female, sold in the slave market.”

  Viviana was silent.

  “Surely every female has wondered about such things,” he said. “They are females.”

  “I have been summoned by my husband and lord,” said Viviana.

  “What do you think you would you bring, off the block?” asked Ingeld.

  “I do not know, my husband and lord,” she said.

  “As a princess,” said Ingeld, “thousands of darins, as a woman, perhaps five to seven darins.”

  Tears coursed down the fair cheeks of Viviana.