by Gene Wolfe
“Say again?”
“William S. Reis.”
“Oh, you know, I have heard of him. Not lately, but Gid said something about him a while back. Dr. Gideon Chase did, I mean.”
“Is Rosenquist tied in with him? To the best of your knowledge?”
“Oh, golly! Sharon, all these big financial types know each other. You ought to know that. Don’t you want to hear about my dream? If it was a dream, I mean.”
“No!”
“Wait a minute.” Cassie cocked her head as though listening. “I think that’s my waiter. He’s pretty close to a giant and I think he carries a gun, but he knocks so softly I miss him sometimes.”
She pressed the button to hang up, turned off the phone, and snapped it closed.
The hotel phone rang before she had time to return her cell phone to her beach bag.
“King Kanoa has come for you, O Queen, with many, many warriors.” It was Nele.
Not knowing what else to say, Cassie said, “That’s good.”
“It is, O Queen. He comes to bring you to the high king on Takanga Ha’i.”
“Fine. What about my breakfast?”
For a time so long that Cassie finally hung up, she could hear only voices conferring in a language of many vowels, M’s, and L’s.
When her breakfast arrived, she smiled at the waiter, wondering whether he really carried a gun. “Has King Kanoa eaten?”
“He eats. His men eat also. Bon appétit, O Queen.”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful. I’m going to miss you, Hiapo.”
“I go with you, O Queen, for a time at least. This hotel dispenses my service? I shall seek new employment with our high king.”
“I — see. Don’t let the tourists see your gun, Hiapo.”
“I shall not, O Queen.”
“You might tell King Kanoa the same thing.”
“I shall, O Queen. He knows, and his men also. It can do no harm if I repeat your words, even so.”
King Kanoa was waiting for her in the lobby. He was, as she had somehow expected, the biggest man she had ever seen. His violet loincloth was long, wide, and elaborately embroidered; his crown of crimson and gold blossoms simple but strangely becoming. Seeing her, he bowed until its perfumed petals brushed the carpet. “Greetings, O Most Glorious Majesty!”
His voice, Cassie reflected, would have filled any theater on Earth and shaken the light fixtures. It was as if an orchestra composed solely of bass drums had spoken. Aloud she said, “Greetings, King Kanoa. Thank you for your welcome.”
“The office does me honor, High Queen Cassiopeia. I am come with the cream of my people, eager to serve you.” This pretty speech carried more than a trace of British accent.
As soon as he had finished speaking, there was a loud murmur of assent from the gigantic warriors and huge women who had followed him. Enormous though they were, he made them look small.
A party of tourists, Cassie noticed, had come into the lobby; they stood gaping at the spears. She smiled in a way she hoped might reassure them. “Don’t worry, it’s just a guard of honor.”
“My lads will clear the road for us.” King Kanoa’s voice had fallen to mere thunder. “Walk behind them, if it please Your Majesty. I shall walk one step behind you, to your left. Near enough to converse, should you wish it.”
“I certainly do.”
“Gratifying, Your Majesty. Most gratifying.” King Kanoa spoke to his followers. Four trotted away, spearmen so big they could not use the revolving door.
Smiling, Cassie followed.
From behind her, King Kanoa rumbled, “We ought to’ve contrived a sedan chair. We still can, if you wish it.”
“Are we going far?” Some Takangese were watching, and looked ready to cheer. She waved, and they did.
“No indeed, Your Majesty. Only down to the marina. Okalani! Parasol!”
Abruptly, Cassie walked in shade.
Three big catamarans waited for them, double-hulled vessels with two masts mounted on each hull. A platform between the hulls of the lead catamaran carried a high and very painted chair for her and a lower, davenportwide one for King Kanoa. “I’m not used to boats,” she confided to him. “What if I’m seasick?”
“No fear.” He sounded more confident than she felt. “Sea’s like glass, you know, and we cast a spell on your chair. It should keep you feelin’ tiptop.”
As forty paddles dipped into the water as one, their catamaran put out more smoothly than any motorized craft.
When the ocher sails had unfurled and Cassie had grown accustomed to the boat’s rhythmic pitching, she asked, “Do you know somebody named Hanga?”
“Several.”
“He has pointed teeth. Like a shark.”
“Does he?”
“Yes. He’s the only Takangese I’ve seen with pointed teeth like that. Are there others? What does it mean?”
“Can’t say, I’m sure. Not my peck, eh?”
Cassie changed tack. “Why do you sound so English?”
“Public school, you know. Eaton after and all that rot. Cambridge, only I didn’t cop the gown. Pater passed, so I did a runner. Perfect excuse.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“I wasn’t.” King Kanoa fell silent staring out to sea. “Ought to have been, eh? But no.”
“What can you tell me about the Storm King?”
King Kanoa sighed, a sound that might have been more appropriate (so Cassie felt) to a Clydesdale or a bull. “Not a thing, really, Your Majesty. A few legends and a smatter of folktales. Not cricket to quiz royalty, is it? I’m royal myself, and I know. But we might progress if you told me what Hanga told you.”
“Some of it’s pretty fantastic.”
“I dare say. This Hanga had pointed teeth, you say?”
Cassie nodded.
“Good swimmer, too, I’ll wager.”
Cassie considered. “Well, I can’t be sure. I had a dream, and he was a super-duper swimmer in my dream. Then I talked to him when I was awake.”
“Interestin’. Put me over the moon to hear more, Your Majesty.”
“Only I don’t think he was really there, because there were no marks in the sand where he’d been sitting. He sort of disappeared, though. If he was there — I don’t think he can have been, really — the only way was for him to slip into the water fast while I was talking to Hiapo. Slip in and swim away underwater.”
“Hiapo didn’t see him at all, I’ll be bound.”
“I don’t know. I guess I should have asked.”
“I’ll answer for him, Your Majesty. He didn’t twig. I, um, fenced with you a moment ago. Shouldn’t have done, and I apologize. You know who your Hanga was, I’ll be bound. Askin’ to get confirmation. Do the same myself betimes. I give it now. Let’s not talk about him at present. Not kosher, eh? Heard a Yank say that in a film. Not cricket. The, um, other gent either. Don’t speak his name, for my sake?”
“I couldn’t,” Cassie admitted.
“For the best. The high king has friends, eh?” King Kanoa struck his chest, a resounding thud. “Good man, our high king. Kindly chap. Very decent, but — ah — tough. A good friend but a dangerous enemy. Has some and they know it.”
“Do you mean that — ”
King Kanoa interrupted her. “Yes. Allow me to tell a whopper. Native legend, eh? We’ve ever so many, we silly blighters. With your leave.”
“I’d love to hear it.”
“You shall. My gaffer was a great wizard. Friend of ghosts and spirits. All that. That friendly chap you met sent his soul off on some errand or other, and the gaffer caught it. Locked it in a bone ’bout so long — I’ve seen it. Ran a bit of string through the eye to hold it. Your friend walked small after that, knowin’ the gaffer had his soul. If he bothered this one or that one, the gaffer’d lend the charm. Problem solved, so it would seem.”
“Only I imagine something went wrong.”
“Bang on. Oh, bang on! Silly blighter borrowed the charm and untied
the cord. Your friend’s friend forever, eh? Fine for him, but the gaffer was eaten by a shark. Biggest anybody’d ever seen, they say. Bigger than this boat.”
“I — see...”
“Your friend was the friend of our village afterward. Twig?”
“To be honest I don’t believe I do.” Cassie was no longer looking at the sea or the high sea-girt island they were approaching, but into the water. It was smooth save for a slight roiling by their steering paddles, and seemed as clear as glass. Yet blue. Blue far below, and dimmer and darker there.
“Gaffer held the spirit of our village. He’d loved it and done his best for it. Your friend ate all that when he ate him. His son — my pater that was — wanted peace and sent all sorts of gifts. Honored him every way he could think of and some that some others thought up for him. Welcomed him to our feasts, you know. Gave him anything he asked for. He’s a good chap at heart, twig? Bit peckish at times, but aren’t we all.”
“I liked him,” Cassie admitted.
“There. You see?” King Kanoa sounded relieved. “Fine chap, Hanga. Keep it so, I beg you.”
“Do you still want to hear what he told me?”
TAKANGA HA’I
“You don’t know whether the high king is here?” Cassie asked.
King Kanoa shook his head. “He nips in and out very quick, Your Majesty. With a private hopper and no need to watch expenses, one may do so. At times I wonder when he sleeps.”
“I’m wondering where. Does he have a house in this village?” She indicated the cluster of palm-leaf huts.
“That I shall show you, Your Majesty. Do I sound self-satisfied?”
“Just a little, maybe.”
“I feared it, though I come by it honestly. By His Majesty’s generosity, I am accorded my own apartment in the palace, a large and commodious one. I am the only lesser king in our nation who can make that boast.”
King Kanoa paused, looking thoughtful. “I offered to contrive a sedan chair for you in Kololahi. You graciously declined it. I offer it again here, and urge you most seriously to accept. The road up the mountain is long and steep.”
“But you’re going to walk?”
He nodded.
“Then I’ll walk, too.”
“You are a delicate woman, Your Majesty, as befits a queen. I am, as I’ve proven repeatedly, the strongest man in my village.”
Cassie decided to be charitable. “One who has no need to lose weight. I’ve been fattening on hotel food for ten days. If the high king were to see me now, he’d put me on bread and water, and hold the bread.”
King Kanoa smiled. “You are as beautiful as you are kind.”
“Thank you. I’m also fatter than I am beautiful and kind put together. I’ll walk. On the good stretches, I may joggle. That’s jogging when you jiggle.”
“The sun is warm, I warn you.”
“I see Okalani is still with us, with her parasol. Can she walk up? All the way?”
“You may make book upon it.”
Cassie set her jaw. “Then I can, too.”
“I propose a compromise. Let my folk lash up a sedan chair for you. You and I will go up there, have a seat on that log out of the sun, and watch ’em. They’ll carry it behind you. If you grow weary, you may ride. What’s the harm, eh?”
Cassie nodded, and King Kanoa gave orders.
“You didn’t have to threaten anybody,” she said when he was seated on the log beside her.
“I never do.” He smiled. “Now and then I may raise my voice, Your Majesty. That’s as far as it goes.”
“I’ve been watching to see if they resented me. They don’t seem to. Everybody smiles if they see me looking at them.”
“For the remainder of their lives — I trust I sound sincere, because I am very — they’ll boast of havin’ formed a part of your escort today.”
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” For a moment or two, Cassie collected her courage. “At least I hope we’re friends.”
“I’m your friend and your most loyal subject, Your Majesty.”
“And I’m the queen of — of paradise. I can’t get used to it. Maybe I will, eventually.”
“Here’s a coconut.” It had been half buried in the sand. King Kanoa pulled it out and displayed it. “There will be a little milk still, I judge, and the meat should be refreshing and delicious. If Your Majesty would consent to sample it?”
She nodded, and he gestured to a man standing just out of earshot. The man handed him a large knife, shorter and heavier than most machetes. King Kanoa’s powerful fingers stripped away the husk, leaving the hairy brown nut Cassie had seen in supermarkets. A single blow from the heavy knife decapitated the hapless nut. “Your Majesty will find the milk cool, I believe, though there’s but a swallow.” He presented it to her.
It was cool and delicious. She drank it and handed it back to him.
He split it with another deft blow and presented her with a bit of coconut meat on the point of his borrowed knife.
She thanked him. “I’ve been thinking about this place. People who aren’t smart, and I’m not, shouldn’t think too much. Only sometimes I do. Wally — the high king came here and made himself king.”
“He did.” King Kanoa nodded solemnly.
“He had to kill people to do that, I’ll bet.”
King Kanoa nodded again. “He did. Bad men and far too many bad women, perhaps a thousand altogether.”
“Not your people? What Hanga said was right?”
“It was. The Storm King gathers worshippers from every nation on Earth, Your Majesty. Too often they come here to be near him.” King Kanoa fell silent.
“He lives here?” Cassie shuddered.
“There’s a city under the sea.” King Kanoa’s voice had fallen, still deep but faint. “This is what I’ve been told. Haven’t seen it myself, and pr’aps no one has. It’s miles south, but ours is the nearest land.”
“He’s there? In that city?”
King Kanoa nodded. “So they say. He dens in the tower from which he ruled before the first man walked.”
“Wouldn’t archaeologists... ?”
“Be expected to go there, poor chaps. More would. Dive in suits or pr’aps little subs. A few have. Didn’t come back, eh? None did. Another brought a robot diver. Camera on it, lights and all that. Quite neat, you know. I saw it.”
“It didn’t come back either?”
He shrugged. “No one knows. Ship sunk. Lost at sea, eh? Never a distress call, so it was fast. Ever look at old pictures, Your Majesty? Woodcuts? Squid bigger than the ship it’s attacking?”
Cassie shook her head.
“Pity. Have a look sometime. They knew, back then. Not now. Been forgotten, and he likes it so, eh? Less trouble. No depth charges.”
She blinked. “Depth charges?”
“Like bombs, eh? For subs. Set your depth and push ’em off the ship. Might work — I’ve noodled it. Prob’ly get you killed, though. Couldn’t do it myself.”
“Only the high king could?”
“Bang on. Scads of pelf, eh? Filthy lucre. He could. He might. Storm King’s afraid he will, and that’s enough. If he — ” King Kanoa broke off to stare upward.
Far above them, a gray hopper had sprung into being, moving slowly south. Cassie, staring up as well, squinting through her sunglasses, could just make out the painted letters on its side: USN 1110. “What’s that doing here?”
King Kanoa chuckled. “Technically, violatin’ our airspace. We complain about it all the time. Doesn’t do a bit of good.”
“Are they doing it just to annoy you?”
“Failure, eh? I’m amused, not annoyed. You see, Your Majesty, I know what they’re lookin’ for, and I know they won’t find it. Don’t exist. If they’d ask, I’d tell ’em straight out. Not that they’d credit me.”
“What is it? Is it a secret?”
“Not at all.” King Kanoa chuckled again. “Gold. Our high king knows how to make it. I can see you knew.”
>
Cassie nodded slowly. “Somebody told me.”
“Told you right. He does. Radioactive, eh? Not much. Wouldn’t hurt you unless you had lots of it. But — ”
“Or wore it,” Cassie interrupted. “Massive jewelry would.”
“I suppose. I haven’t got it and I don’t, so I don’t care. But suppose there was a lot. Hundredweight or more hidden in a cave on one of these islands. I say suppose, ’cause that’s what they seem to think. Clever chaps could find it, eh? With instruments. Metal detectors, pr’aps, like shootin’ coins. Or pick up the radiation. Should work, eh? So they...” He pointed to the hopper. “Have ’em on board, and good ’uns. Goin’ to find our high king’s hoard, only there isn’t any.”
“There isn’t?”
“No indeedy. They should think a bit, eh? S’pose there was. Be dangerous to come too near. How’d he ship it out all at once? Lead boxes? Lead’s heavy as sin, and so’s gold.”
“I think I see.”
“So he don’t. He makes little bars. You could pick one up with one hand. Hides ’em in shallow water, all scattered ’round, so there’s not much radiation anywhere. Don’t have many anyhow, not at one time. When he wants ’em we dive down for him and bring ’em up. Off they go, one or maybe two. No more than that. Told me once he never keeps more than six on hand.”
Cassie thought. “Suppose somebody wants to buy a lot?”
“Oh, they get it, Your Majesty. But not all at once. One little bar at a time. What they do when they’ve got it’s up to them.”
LATER, when they had begun the climb, Cassie asked, “Why is the Squid God called the Storm King?”
King Kanoa smiled. “A legend, Your Majesty. Just a legend, though I happen to believe it myself. I’m a native at heart, you know, and blood will tell. He can fly, they say. Swim through the air, or whatever you want to call it. Hanga does it, too, and others. You don’t have to believe any of this.”
Cassie remembered wide leather wings and long-faced bats who rose like kites. “I believe everything so far. He can make it storm?”
“Bang on. He flies high and lets fly a cloud of ink.” King Kanoa paused, hiking up the steep slope manfully for all his two hundred kilos. “Had a class in astronomy once. Had to take it. Requirement. Clouds in space, eh? Dark clouds. Nobody’s sure what’s in ’em or how they got there. But I know, or think I do.”