Emperor and Clown

by Dave Duncan

  It was not an alley, merely an oversized alcove, and he was brought up short by a high, solid fence. Of Thinal there was no sign whatsoever.

  Cursing fluently, Gathmor dropped the lantern, swung his pack down to the ground, and began fumbling with the ties — there was a sword inside. But he knew he'd been seen, and one man couldn't hold off an army. He was a fist-and-boots man, anyhow — he'd never used a sword in his life. He stopped, gasping for breath, knowing it was useless. A prowler near the palace at this time of the morning, running away . . . he was a dead man! Sweat trickled icily down his ribs.

  The horses never broke stride. A dozen cantered by his patch of darkness, then a coach, rumbling and bouncing, and a solitary giant of a man on a black stallion, and finally another twenty or so horsemen, riding on inky shadows in the moonlight.

  And they were gone. Their clamor died away down the hill, and the silence of the night returned, broken only by his own hard breathing.

  Gathmor jumped as another man dropped nimbly at his side, Thinal coming down from above, having scaled a sheer wall in his inimitable style.

  "Funny time of day to be going for an outing," the thief remarked in a puzzled tone.

  Jalon scowled at him. Of all the five he knew Thinal least. The kid'd been busy, these last two days, but he did his work alone. Gathmor had caught glimpses of him, but they'd exchanged few words. Slight and foxy, the young imp was also nondescript and unmemorable.

  "Come on, then," he snapped. "I need my stuff."

  Common porter! Snarling, Gathmor set to work on the pack. Then he paused. "What's the old man's plan, exactly?"

  "Kadolan," Thinal said, stripping off Andor's fancy robes. "Darad saw her on a balcony. He doesn't think, of course."

  "So I gathered. Why her?"

  "Hurry! Because no one can possibly get close enough to Inos to have a private chat, right? No man, anyway. You know how djinns guard their women." Stripped bare now, he pushed Gathmor's hands away and the bundle yielded swiftly to his thieving fingers. "But I may be able to get to her aunt — she won't be so well guarded."

  "And then what?"

  Thinal began emptying the pack, tipping out all the miscellaneous garments and equipment the team had collected for their nefarious exploits. He found the shorts he wanted and pulled them on, dancing round on one foot at a time, then he went hunting for his shoes. Burglars disliked floppy robes.

  "Then Jalon."

  "Jalon?" Gathmor didn't think he was usually so stupid. The occult gang was deliberately trying to confuse him. Sagorn was a schemer and Thinal a sharpie. He was only an honest sailor.

  Thinal pulled the sword from the pack and hung it on his back. It was a fine dwarvish blade, but the hilt was so distinctive that it might as well have had Stolen from the Palace of Arakkaran written all over it. Once inside the grounds, he could call Darad to use it anytime there was need of violence. He peered up at Gathmor. "Then . . . then we'll improvise. Got a better plan?"

  "No," the sailor admitted angrily. "But you have. Out with it!"

  "Inos tells Jalon her word. As adepts, we rescue Rap . . . Don't wait around. This may take all day, or even longer. Look for us . . ." He paused, thinking. "The North Star Saloon, dawn and dusk and noon? If none of us shows in two days we're dead. All right?"

  "Why Jalon? And shouldn't you find a shadier stretch of wall to climb?"

  "Not at this time of night. No one around."

  Gathmor opened his mouth to argue, but it was too late. Leaving the sailor standing in the scattered mess of clothing, the kid sprinted across the empty street and seemed to flow straight up the wall on the far side. In moments he had vanished over the top.

  Gathmor waited for sounds of discovery, and there were none.

  He sighed and bent to stuff all the clothes back in the sack.

  Then he straightened.

  Wait a minute!

  Rap was dying — chained to the floor, all his bones broken, his tongue burned out, gangrene . . . Even if Darad or Thinal had become adepts, they wouldn't be sorcerers. They might rescue Rap, but they couldn't cure those awful injuries!

  But did Inosolan know that Rap had been broken like that? If she thought he was just locked up in a cell, then she might very well believe the gang's story and hand over her word of power — and it wouldn't do Rap a damned bit of good!

  The stillness of the night was shattered by an explosion of jotunn curses.

  Of course they'd duped him!

  They would dupe the girl!

  And Rap would still die.

  6

  "Shandie! Shandie! Oh, my poor baby! Shandie!"

  The voice came from a long way away, a very long way. It sounded much louder than it could possibly be, because that was Aunt Oro's voice, and she had a very soft voice, always, and she never shouted.

  He was lying facedown. Because.

  He was asleep, really. The room was dark, the bed soft. Sleep.

  "Shandie!"

  He smiled. He was glad she had come, and hoped she would see his smile in the dark and know he was glad, but he was much too much asleep to say anything. The world was all very woozy, and if he tried to wake up then he would feel his sore butt, and he didn't want that.

  "Shandie! Speak to me!

  He mumbled, tried to say he would see her tomorrow. Didn't think it came out right, because his mouth was all woozy, too. Moms had given him the medicine. To take the pain away.

  More than usual medicine, 'cos it had been a very big beating. He'd been a very bad boy. He couldn't remember just how, but he had. Ythbane had been very, very disappointed in him.

  Sleep . . .

  "And what are you doing in my bedroom?"

  That was Moms this time. She was shouting. Oh, dear, Moms was angry.

  "I'm visiting my nephew! And what is a nine-year-old doing still sleeping in his mother's bedroom, may I ask?"

  That was Aunt Oro again, but it didn't sound like Aunt Oro, who was sweet and cuddly and never, never shouted. 'Cept she was shouting now.

  So was Moms. "He's my son and I'll decide where he sleeps. And I'll thank you —"

  "What's the matter with him? What have you doped him with?"

  "Just a mild sedat —"

  "Mild? He's dead to the world! Laudanum? It must be laudanum! You give your own son laudanum?"

  "Mind your own business!"

  "This is my business!"

  He was starting to cry. He could feel tears. He didn't like all this shouting, and he wanted to sit up and tell them to stop shouting over him, but he couldn't even lift his head, 'cause it weighed ever so much and was so woozy. Dark. Woozy. Sleepy.

  "It is not your business!"

  "Yes it is! He's my nephew, and heir to the throne. And who did this?"

  Ouch!

  "See?" Aunt Oro, shouting louder. "This sheet is stuck to him. Caked blood! No bandages, even?"

  "Too swollen. Just compresses."

  "Who did it?"

  "He was disciplined."

  "Disciplined? You call this discipline? I call it flogging."

  "He disgraced himself today."

  Yes. Now Shandie remembered. He hadn't just fidgeted. He'd fallen down and interrupted the ceremony and shamed himself before the full court. Of course he'd had to be beaten for that.

  "He fainted! I saw. Grown men faint when they have to stand too long. Shut up and listen to me, Uomaya! Hear me out. I saw. He fainted like a soldier on parade."

  "They get punished —"

  "He's only a child! He shouldn't even have been there. Certainly not made to stand all that time! Of course he fainted!"

  "And I will see my child reared as I choose. I repeat, it is none of your business . . ."

  "And I say it is . . ."

  The voices came and went; louder, softer. Like waves on Cenmere. Rock me to sleep . . .

  "This book? What sort of book is this for a boy of his age? Encyclopedia Hubbana? Is that all he gets to read?"

  He did love Aunt Oro,
but did wish she would go away now, stop shouting, let him'n'Moms go to sleep. The voices faded . . . then came back loud again.

  "There'll have to be a regency declared, won't —"

  "Oh, so that's what brings you back to Hub? Think that you can get yourself made regent, do you —"

  "Who else? You, I suppose? Daughter of a common soldier? Gods! Who else? Not that slug Ythbane? Eeech! The rumors are he dyes his hair. Does he?"

  "How the Evil should I know?"

  "How indeed?"

  Moms screamed then, so loud that Shandie almost wakened. The fires of Ythbane's switch burned hot again; he heard himself groan.

  "Quiet!" Aunt Oro said. "You'll waken the boy. Now listen to me, Uomaya! I don't care who shares that fine bed of yours. I don't care if he does have a blue tint to him. But I won't let either one of you be regent, nor both together. Shandie's a minor; I'm next in line. You've been trying to cut me out. Gods know I don't want the job, but I've got a duty. What's wrong with Father, anyway? Is that your doing, too? What are you doping him with?"

  "Don't be ridiculous! He's old —"

  "He wasn't old a few months ago! Not like that. I heard the rumors, so I came back and —"

  "Well, it's none of my doing. And it isn't poison, because we've changed his attendants several times, so it's just some sort of old-age sickness. And it can't be sorcery, not on him."

  "What do the wardens say?"

  Please! Shandie thought. Oh, please go away and let me sleep, please. When you wake me, then it hurts.

  "Wardens?" Moms laughed. "You think I talk to witches and warlocks? They must know, but they haven't spoken."

  Aunt Oro groaned. "And of course they won't do anything."

  "They can't do anything. That's the Protocol, dearie. Family's exempt. No magic cures for us."

  The voices sank lower. Shandie sank away into dark wooziness again . . . and was roused by another voice.

  "Your Imperial Highness! An unexpected honor!"

  The consul!

  Angry. Oh, dear.

  Shandie discovered he was weeping again, into the sheet. He hadn't been bad again, had he? No more, please, no more!

  "Consul Ythbane! Are you responsible for this torture?"

  "That is not your affair, Highness."

  "Yes it is! Why wasn't I informed of my father's illness?"

  "We didn't think you'd be interested. You bury yourself out in the country all the time, breeding horses. The council saw no point in worrying you."

  "And you're trying to ram through a regency for yourself, aren't you? You and Uomaya? Don't think I haven't heard."

  Shandie had never heard Aunt Oro be angry like this before.

  "Heard what?"

  "That you're lovers."

  "Watch your tongue, woman!"

  Aunt Oro gasped. "You dare threaten me? It is you who must beware. Why else would you be in the princess's quarters in the middle of the night? You've been waiting until the old man's completely incapable, and then you're planning to marry her and —"

  "And the opposition has summoned you. I expected this, of course." Ythbane's voice was getting deeper, which was a bad sign, but quieter, which was nicer. "Well, let me give you a warning, Princess Orosea. Your dear husband — how is his clock collection?"

  "Fine . . . I mean, what on earth has Lee's clock collection got to do with anything?"

  "They're dwarvish, aren't they? Most of them? He trades with dwarves. Dwarves make the best clocks."

  "So?"

  Aunt Oro had stopped shouting. Nicer.

  "The Dark River border is alight again. Open war may have begun already. Trading with Dwanishian agents will be taken as evidence of treason."

  Mumble.

  "But I do! Lots of witnesses. Documents. So here are my terms, Highness! You leave Hub by morning, or a Bill of Attainder will be laid before the Assembly at noon."

  Mumble. Weeping? Who was weeping?

  Moms laughing. Good.

  "I shall also have some documents for you to sign before you depart. Within the hour."

  Mumbles.

  Soft mumbles.

  Whispers. Quiet. Dark. Sleep . . .

  Naught availeth:

  Say not the struggle naught availeth,

  The labour and the wounds are vain,

  The enemy faints not, nor faileth,

  And as things have been, things remain.

  Clough, Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth

  TWO

  Darkling way

  1

  "Who's there?"

  Kadolan twisted her head as far round as she could — which wasn't very far these days. She overbalanced and grabbed at the bed for support. She had been praying.

  Again a faint sound on the balcony, a flicker of movement in the moonlight . . . A burglar? In the palace of Arakkaran, with its innumerable guards? Inos had mentioned intruders —

  "Princess? Highness? My pardon if I frightened you."

  Her leaping heart took wing altogether, and she gasped with the pain of it.

  "Doctor Sagorn?"

  "It is I," said the soft, dry voice. "I fear my entry was unorthodox."

  Kadolan thought of how high that balcony was, and remembered a ruby brooch, and understood. The thief . . . whatever his name was . . . Sagorn gave her no time to catch her breath.

  "My garb is not very seemly, ma'am," he said. "Perhaps I may scout for a robe of some sort? I apologize for waking you so suddenly."

  She did not sleep on the floor, but in an embarrassing situation like this, a true gentleman would always imply he had seen much less than he had. "How extremely kind of you to come, Doctor. Please do go into that room there, and I shall be with you in a moment."

  He murmured, and she heard a shuffling, cautious tread. Then she levered herself up from her knees and fumbled to find her housecoat. She allowed a few moments for her unconventional visitor to make himself decent, and for her heart to finish its slow descent from the heights, and for a quick adjustment of her nightcap over her curlers.

  Then she went in. He was a blurred dark shade in a chair, with specter-pale shanks connecting it to the floor. Something that was probably a sheathed sword lay at his feet. She settled herself carefully in a chair opposite.

  "Lights may be inadvisable," she said cautiously.

  "Indeed they may! I regret disturbing your sleep like this."

  "I was not sleeping." She would not mention nightmares of incandescent sorceresses. "I was invoking the God of Love."

  After a thoughtful pause, Sagorn said, "Why Them?"

  "Because it must have been They who appeared to Inos. I can't think why none of us realized. Trust in love, They said."

  He sighed. "How true! And Inosolan did not, did she?"

  "She did not realize! We believed that you were all dead — that the imps had killed you."

  "And the faun, also, obviously."

  "Yes. May I offer some refreshment, Doctor? There is usually some fruit and —"

  He raised a pale blur of a hand — her night vision had never been good, and now it was terrible. "That is not necessary."

  "So how did you escape from Inisso's chamber, Doctor? And how on earth did you manage to bring Master Rap here, all the way from Krasnegar in so short a time?"

  Sagorn chuckled dryly, an oddly nostalgic sound. "I did not bring him. He brought me."

  Ah! Sudden relief! "Then he is not only a seer, he is a sorcerer?"

  "Just an adept, ma'am. He knows two words of power."

  "His own . . . and you told him yours?"

  Pause. "Yes, I did."

  "That was extremely generous of you."

  "It seemed advisable at the time," he murmured, and she wished she could make out his expression.

  For a moment neither spoke — there was just so much to say! Kadolan's head was whirling as she became aware of all the possibilities.

  "You are good friends, then, you and Master Rap?"

  "Fellow travelers on a strang
e road. But I have come to appreciate Master Rap. Even for a faun he is . . . 'tenacious' would be the politest term. He is steadfast and honorable. I owe him much."

  Detecting curious undertones, Kadolan waited for more, but apparently there was not to be more.

  "So to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Doctor?" Formality was always the safer path in emotional moments.

  He threw back his head and guffawed. "Kade, you are a wonder! You do recall . . . but I suppose this is no time for reminiscences."

  "Hardly," she murmured. "If the guards find you, you may have enough time to write your entire life story."

  "Or no time at all?"

  "Exactly."

  How long ago had it been — thirty years? Longer . . . she happily married in Kinvale, her brother passing through on his travels with his mentor Sagorn. Good times, but long ago, and she would not allow him to promote a passing encounter into a friendship that had never been. Sagorn had been much older than she in those days, and more a tutor than a friend to Holindarn. Keep it formal.

  "Well, now," he said. "The boy is now in jail, I understand."

  "That is true. He is lucky to be alive."

  He chuckled. "Then age must rescue youth. You and I must organize his escape before the sultan changes his mind."

  Had there been an odd timbre to that remark also? Since her eyesight had started failing, Kadolan had come to depend much more on nuances of tone than she ever had in her youth. She felt a twinge of caution, as if some young swain at Kinvale had overstated the value of his estates or boasted of his prospects in the military. Her hunches in such matters were usually reliable. Men trusted words more than women did, as a rule, and hence were less mindful of how they were spoken.

  "But of course!" she said eagerly. "How do you propose we go about it, though? The sultan gave orders that he was to be most strictly guarded."

  "Quite! I have seen palaces in my time, but never one so like an armed camp. I do not believe that a rescue is humanly possible . . . mundanely possible!"

  Carefully Kadolan said, "So?"

  "It would seem that the God's caution to Inos referred to the stableboy. Not Andor, certainly. Nor, I suspect, the sultan."

  "Is Master Rap in love with my niece?"