Emperor and Clown

by Dave Duncan

  Another of his dry chuckles . . . "Ha! He has fought his way past warlocks and sorcerers and dragons, out of jails and castles, jungles and pirate ships, through storm and shipwreck to reach her side. And I think in return he would happily serve her as ostler for the rest of his days."

  Kadolan tried to swallow the nasty knot in her throat. Just as she had feared — a stableboy! And a faun! The Gods had strange ideas sometimes. How could she have known?

  "Then we must do everything we can for him. Explain your plan, please."

  "I propose that Inosolan make amends for her failure to trust in love."

  That startled her. "Inos? A single word from her to the sultan would —"

  "No!" Sagorn said sharply. "A word to me."

  "Oh!" Now Kadolan saw, and her distrust swelled up like a summer thunderhead. Dawn was coming. The sage's face was a little less of a vague paleness. She could see his eyes now. "Her word of power, you mean, Doctor?"

  "Exactly. The sultan took precautions against an adept escaping. He ordered that the prisoner must not be allowed to speak, and must be watched at all times, and so on. He did not consider the possibility of another adept attempting a rescue, and I am confident that an extrication could be effected by an adept. We — my associates and myself, that is — know at present only a single word, and we reduced our power when we shared it with Master Rap . . . not that we grudge the sacrifice, of course. No regrets! To be truthful, the loss was not as severe as I would have expected. Perhaps our word is known by many people, so sharing it with one more made little difference. But a second word is certainly requisite for the venture I have proposed."

  Kadolan sat and thought for a while, hoping to hear some more before she explained the problem.

  "And if he dies in jail," Sagorn said, his voice a little harder, "then what we gave away will be returned to us."

  "So you hope to go to Inos —"

  "I think Jalon may be the answer here, ma'am. He is a skilled mimic, of course, and quite expert at female impersonation. Zarkian costume could hardly be more suited to the purpose. If you were to invite your niece to your quarters to hear a remarkable female singer, then I doubt that the sultan would object." He waited for reaction, then added testily, "And after that, you will have to arrange a private interview, of course. That should be possible, I think."

  Kadolan took a deep breath. "Sharing the words is always risky, is it not? You yourself explained that to us. Of course your own integrity is beyond question, Doctor, but if Inosolan shares her word with you, then can you guarantee your associates' good behavior afterward? Or would she fare like the woman in . . . Fal Dornin, I think it was?"

  He sighed. "She is well guarded here, ma'am."

  That was not much of an answer.

  "It is the only possible solution!" he insisted.

  The first breath of morning twitched the drapes with a hint of impatience. Time was slipping away.

  She cut the knot. "It is impossible. The sultan and sultana are not in residence."

  Sagorn released a long hiss of breath. "When do you anticipate their return?"

  "At least two weeks," she said cautiously. That was true.

  Silence. She saw him rub his cheek. The sky was growing brighter beyond the arched windows. Dawn came swiftly here.

  "Too late. Doctor?"

  "Yes." There was a note of defeat in that voice, and Kadolan did not like the implications.

  "Have you any word of Master Rap's condition?" she asked.

  The lanky form seemed to sink deeper into the chair. "Not good, ma'am. Not good at all."

  Hmm! He had not mentioned that sooner, and she wondered why. It would have added urgency to the request.

  Give him a word of power, indeed!

  "In any case, would it not have been better strategy for Inos to have passed her word directly to Master Rap? A mage could not be held captive; even Prince Kar said so. And more in keeping with the tenor of the God's command, too?"

  Sagorn uttered a sort of hollow chuckle. "The point would seem to be moot. And just how could the sultana have ever visited that dungeon without the sultan finding out and stopping her?"

  There was another answer, though. Kadolan's prayers had been heard.

  "Could you visit that cell, Doctor?"

  "Me, ma'am?"

  "You and your . . . invisible companions."

  His pale eyes glittered in the feeble wisps of dawn light. "Why do you ask?"

  Aware that she was fencing with a celebrated mind, and must certainly lose the match very shortly, Kadolan said, "You could take a message?"

  "Possibly, at the risk of all our lives. What message would be worth it?"

  "A very confidential one."

  She did not need dawn to be aware of his suspicion. "I wish you to take me now to see Master Rap," she said firmly, and was surprised at how firm that was, considering the way her insides were behaving. "We had better go at once, as daylight is not far off."

  Sagorn stayed still as a crouching leopard for long seconds. Then he said, "I never could understand how so powerful a sorcerer, a former warlock, could have known but three words."

  It was hopeless. "Doctor?" she said blankly. "We must hurry if —"

  "Inisso gave one word to each of his three sons."

  "That is the legend." She began to rise.

  "The words now known by Inosolan and Kalkor and Angilki. But the fourth descended in the female line?"

  Hopeless! Kadolan sighed and sat back again.

  "Do tell," he said coldly.

  "Yes," she admitted. "The kings have never known of it. When our mother died, Holindarn was still a bachelor, so she passed it to me. But always it belonged to Krasnegar — so that there would be another available if it were needed, I suppose. When he married Evanaire, then of course I told her."

  "'Of course,' you say? Few would!"

  The ancient secret was out. Kadolan had laid herself open to murder now. "I don't think it can be a very powerful word, Doctor. Evanaire was a marvelously popular person, but she had always been a sweet girl. And I am no worker of miracles. Never have been. Just a useless aristocratic parasite."

  "And the finest chaperon and trainer of young ladies in the Impire!" He thumped the arm of the chair, raising a puff of dust. "I should have guessed! The missing fourth word!"

  "I never believed in it . . . but I did feel something when Evanaire died. The very day."

  "Of course you would — your power had increased! And your niece needed your talent!" He was suddenly excited, the scholar slaying a mystery. "And it was not Inos whom Elkarath detected working magic in Thume — it was you! Your occult power at work when your ward was in danger!"

  "Gracious!" She had not thought of that. "How did you ever hear about that?"

  "The missing fourth word!" he said again . . . gloatingly?

  She hauled herself to her feet. "Missing no longer. I wish to share it with Master Rap."

  Still Sagorn remained in his chair. "How ironic! When the imps were breaking down the door and Inosolan and I were arguing about telling the boy our words to make him a mage — there you were with a fourth word, and could have made him a full sorcerer!" He cocked his head quizzically. "Would you have done so, had he been willing?"

  "Probably." She had not been required to decide then. "Had I thought that Krasnegar needed it. I truly fear it may not be strong enough to do any real good, but . . . who knows? Let us go and try to give it to him now."

  Sagorn stared up at her unwinkingly. He had draped a woman's robe over himself, and did not seem to be wearing very much under it; his scrawny arms were bare. "You are either a very brave woman or a very foolish one, Kadolan. You are suggesting something that is absolutely impossible."

  "What happened to your devoted friendship for Master Rap?"

  "Tell me the word, and I will get him out of that cell. I swear!"

  "No, Doctor. I shall tell it to the stableboy or no one."

  Tension crackled in his voice. "Why
, for the Gods' sake?"

  "Because I think you are sent. You are the answer to my prayers." Suddenly the strain won, and her temper flared, as it had done perhaps three times in her adult life. She shouted. "Now, which is it to be? Do you help me, or do I yell for the guard and turn you in?"

  His jaw dropped. "This is utter madness, Kade!"

  "I mean it! I shall scream for the guards."

  "But I cannot take you myself! I should certainly have to call Andor to help, and anything he can't handle will need Darad. They will know what I know, and Gods know what they will do."

  She nodded. "It will be a very interesting journey. Try to find something to fit in that closet there. There are some ancient masculine garments. Now, if you will excuse me for a moment, Doctor?"

  Heart thundering wildly, she headed back to her bedroom.

  2

  Kadolan had not dressed herself faster in fifty years, yet all the time she was doing so, she was thinking of Sagorn's warning about Darad. Sir Andor, of course, might very well try to charm her into babbling her word of power to him now that he knew of it, but the words themselves were supposedly proof against magic, and Andor without occult amplification she thought she could rebuff.

  Come to think of it, last year his talent had challenged hers head-on at Kinvale, and she had held the field.

  But Darad! When that monstrous man had attempted to abduct Inosolan, it had been Kadolan who had thrown the burning oil on his back. All the other injuries and indignities he had suffered thereafter had stemmed from that, and she could not believe that the slow-witted jotunn killer would be prone to ready forgiveness. If Sagorn needed to call Darad, then her little expedition was going to sink without trace, and she with it.

  She hesitated at the door. "I am ready, Doctor."

  "Would that wrapping a turban were as easy as bandaging!" he said. "Have you any small implements?"

  "What sort of implements?"

  "Little knives or hat pins."

  "Hat pins, Doctor? In Zark? Really!" But she went and fumbled among her things, and remembered the tray by the bed, which yielded a fruit knife. Then she jumped as Sagorn strode in, bedecked in the loose garments and flowing cloak of Zarkian nobility. They were dark, but the light would not yet admit what color — green, probably. There was a strong odor of must about them and his turban was crooked, but anyone close enough to question such details would have much more pressing queries about his pallid jotunn face.

  She bobbed a curtsy. "I congratulate you on your tailor. Doctor."

  He chuckled. "I couldn't have asked for better, could I? If words of power bring good luck, then perhaps these are a good sign. Our luck is holding."

  He accepted the little knife, and a few pins, and a buttonhook. He declined a shoehorn and a belt buckle.

  "Lead on, Highness," he said. "And may your God of Love be with a pair of old fools."

  Kadolan found that remark in very poor taste, and decided he must be nervous. She led the way down the corridor, being as quiet as possible. She was somewhat nervous herself, truth be told. She tried to remember that she was doing this for Inosolan, who surely deserved a little luck at last.

  Three words made a mage. A mage could cure wounds and sickness, and burn scars, certainly. If only she could have more faith in her own word of power! Even if all the words had started off equal — whenever and wherever they had started off — then some must have become greatly weakened since, diluted by too many sharings. Perhaps they even wore out from too much use, and the one she knew was centuries old, one of Inisso's.

  The corridors were stuffy, bitter-scented with dust, and still hot from the day. Massive XIVth Dynasty statues stood in rows along the walls — too valuable to throw away, too ugly to be wanted.

  She tiptoed past the room where four maids slept, and another where the housekeeper snored. Then her feet brought her to the outside door, and a thin slit of light showed below it. This was as far afield as she had been since Inosolan's wedding night.

  Sagorn went close to the door and very gently tried it. Then he stooped to whisper in her ear.

  "Locked or bolted?"

  "Locked, I think," she breathed back.

  "Guards outside?"

  "Likely."

  She thought he would give up then and turn back, but he merely nodded. He was barely visible, for the window was small and the little vestibule dark. It smelled strongly of beeswax.

  "Thinal, then. Hold this sword handy." Sagorn drew the blade, and she took it gingerly and stood close as . . .

  As the figure beside her seemed to collapse to half size, and there was the imp youth she had seen once in Inisso's chamber of puissance. As then he was comically bundled in vastly oversized clothes. He put up a hand to straighten the turban, which had slipped sideways during the transformation. His dark eyes were little higher than hers, and near, and they glittered. For a moment he just seemed to be studying her, as if trying to find traces of magic in her. Without looking, he reached in a pocket and brought out the fruit knife. It glittered also.

  "Princess?" His voice was so soft that he seemed to convey the words without any sound at all. "Princess Kadolan! What's for me that I help you give away a word of power when there's needier bodies to hand?"

  Kadolan's scalp pricked at his revelation of the occult. Sagorn had guessed her secret, and whatever he knew, all the others knew also, including this little felon. She held the sword, but she had no illusions of being able to hold him off if he tried to take it away from her. He was a fraction of her age, doubtless well versed in back-alley athletics. He could probably best her with nothing but the fruit knife. She had not been prepared for Thinal.

  "Well?" he said, still soft as gossamer. "What's my gain if I risk my life for you?"

  Did he want her to offer him payment? He could steal all the wealth he might ever want. Her tongue felt dry. "Not for me. For Inosolan."

  "I give no spit for Inosolan! Would she risk her life for me?"

  Kadolan could not think of a plausible reply.

  Then his teeth gleamed also.

  "You need me!" He sounded surprised. "Even if you could twist me to call any of the others, they'd be useless. Only I can climb from the balcony. Only I can open this door! You all need me!" He grinned more widely.

  '"What do you want?"

  "The word. Now! Then I'll go tell Rap."

  "You expect me to trust you?"

  "You got no choice, lady!" Even that minuscule whisper was filled with brazen glee. How often had this guttersnipe ever felt important to anyone, or had power to bargain?

  "No. I tell the word to Rap or to no one. It is too frail a word to divide further."

  He shrugged, maybe. "Then I'm gone. The whole idea is moonshine anyway. It's dawn already." He headed back toward the corridor.

  "Stop!" Kadolan said, as loud as she dared. "Or I scream!" She raised a fist as if to thump on the door, hoping a cat burglar could see better in the dark than she could.

  He stopped and turned.

  "Guards?" she said. "There are guards just outside. I will call them."

  "Stupid old baggage!" He took a pace toward her, and she half expected to feel Darad's hands on her throat.

  "What about Rap?" she said desperately. "So Inos wouldn't risk her life for you — would he? For a friend?" It was the wildest guess of her life.

  "Of course not! Well, not unless . . . " His voice changed. "But I suppose he's just about crazy enough to . . . In Noom, when Gathmor . . . If . . . Oh, crap! You would have to say that, wouldn't you?" Thinal stepped past her to the door, did something with the fruit knife, and the lock clicked . . .

  Andor snatched the sword from Kade's grasp and thew open the door, reeled through into brilliant lamplight, and stopped, swaying and blinking. Kade followed — and recoiled.

  The anteroom contained two guards, true. There were many weapons and clothes scattered around the floor, and also cushions. Also the guards themselves. And also four women. All six were asleep, a
ll unclothed. The air stank like a wine shop.

  Andor hiccuped, staggered, and . . .

  Sagorn slid the sword awkwardly back into the scabbard. Kadolan followed him across the room, trying to keep her eyes averted from the remains of the orgy, but that was impossible. There were very few places safe to put feet, and she had to hold her skirts high lest they trail on the tangle of bodies and limbs. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her.

  "Fortunate that Thinal did not call your bluff," Sagorn remarked, steadying her arm on the stairs — or perhaps letting him steady her; two old fools, stumbling down a league of unlighted steps in a palace like an armed camp.

  "I had noticed some of the maids yawning a lot."

  "West."

  "Beg pardon?"

  "We just turned west. I am keeping track."

  "Oh, that's nice."

  Eventually they ran out of staircases, and a short exploration brought them to kitchen quarters, large and echoing and smelling of rank meat. Junior drudges snored in corners and under tables. Soon they would be roused to perform the first duties, but they would be unlikely to question well-dressed persons, and even less likely to raise an alarm. The intruders picked their way through the shadows from one guttering lantern to another, from window to window. Things scuttled along the skirting — rats, maybe, or worse. Kadolan wondered about snakes and scorpions, not sure if she wanted more light here or less. Cockroaches like terriers! If any of the castle kitchens had looked like this in Krasnegar, Mistress Aganimi would have hurled herself from the battlements.

  Then a door that obviously led to the exterior.

  "Cover your face, ma'am," Sagorn said. "There may well be a way to the jail that does not require going outside, but I can't take a week to find it. Walk behind me."

  He shot back the bolts, and the hinges creaked . . .

  3

  The Palace of Palms was a city in itself. Some of the buildings were interconnected, others stood apart in parkland. It had streets and alleys, wide courtyards and shady cloisters, its many levels connected by ramps and wide stairways. Sagorn stayed close to walls, as much as he could; he headed east, and generally downhill. He seemed to know roughly where he was going. The sky was starting to turn blue overhead, and above the lip of the sea it held a reddish stain like washed blood.