by M. L. Brown
We arrived at the orphanage. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s kennel the hunds and get inside.”
Kana didn’t reply. I stared at him in surprise. This man, who had not shown the faintest hint of fear in the depths of the Darkness, was pale and glistening with perspiration. He looked positively terrified.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, concerned. “Are you sick?”
“My son is inside that house. I have not seen him in years. Lance Eliot, what will he say?”
“Probably something like, ‘I’m glad to see you, old boy.’ Come on, we can’t stand out here forever. I’ll kennel the hunds. Then we’ll enter the house together.”
I led the hunds into the kennel, removed their saddles and made sure there was water in the bucket and feed in the troughs. I emerged from the kennel to find Kana exactly as I had left him, gazing up at the house with a troubled expression. I seized him by the arm, led him up the steps and gave three loud knocks on the door.
It was opened by Regis.
He stared for a moment.
Kana stared back.
Then Regis seized Kana by the shoulder and yanked him into a tight embrace.
It would take a far more skillful pen than mine to depict the beauty of that moment. I won’t try. It’s enough to say there were many tears, and almost as many questions. At last we entered the house. Leaving Regis and Kana in the parlor, I went into the kitchen to make some tea.
When I returned to the parlor with the tea tray, I found Atticus and all twenty-some orphans crowding around my friends. Kana was telling the story of his escape from Faurum. I set down the tea tray on a sideboard, slipped out of the room and found myself climbing the steps. I was soon standing in the garret, gazing out of the window and pondering the incredible events of the past six weeks.
The storm of emotion that had been building since Tsurugi’s death finally broke. I sank to the floor and wept.
After some time, I heard the door creak open and turned to see one of the orphans peering in. It was Trista, the girl who had helped me write a note before my departure. “I’m sorry,” she said, and began to shut the door.
“Wait,” I said.
She opened the door and stood with her hands behind her back.
“How are Regis and Kana?” I asked.
“They’re very happy, talking and laughing and drinking tea.”
“By Jove, I need a cup of tea.”
“I could bring you one.”
“Would you?”
She turned and ran down the steps. I picked myself up and moved to the bed. Trista returned with a cup of strong tea. I took it and thanked her.
“You’re welcome,” she replied. “Mister Regis was sad when you left. I brought him tea too. I think he’s happy you’re back.”
I drained the cup in three gulps and coughed. “So am I, Trista. Thank you. You’re a good girl.”
She took the empty cup solemnly. “I hope you feel better soon, Mister Lance.”
Time passed, and the door opened again. Regis crossed the room and sat down on the bed across from me. His eyes were red, but he was smiling.
“Welcome back, old boy.”
“Did Kana tell you everything?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry about Tsurugi. I never imagined he’d die. He seemed invincible. I would never have supported his plan to enter the Darkness if I’d known it would kill him.”
“Before he died, he told me not to give up. That was the only thing that kept me alive.”
“Which brings the number of times he’s saved your life to…four?”
“Maybe five or six. Never mind that. Was I right about Kana? Did he welcome back his prodigal son, or did he cast you into outer darkness where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth?”
“You were right,” said Regis, and laughed. “I thought he was dead. I thought you were dead—but he’s alive—and you’re alive!”
“I congratulate you, Regis. You have a remarkably firm grasp of the deuced obvious. Now let’s get some supper and have a talk with Atticus. I seem to remember something about a Resistance, and I’m curious to know what happened to it.”
18
THE VISIONS OF LANCE ELIOT
THE LEADERS OF THE Resistance met at the house for supper. I met Petra’s husband, a grand fellow with the grand name of Galahad, for the first time. Some of the children helped Atticus and Tirzah in the kitchen; the rest played games with Cog and Abigail and Regis. Kana, Eben and Jian sat at the table with General Fox, drinking tea and talking.
As I listened to the conversation at the table, I noticed that Jian was different. He hadn’t spoken much before. Now he didn’t speak at all. While the others joked and laughed, he sat with a vacant expression and twisted a ring round and round on his finger.
My observations were cut short by the call to supper. There wasn’t enough room at the table for the children, so they ate with Cog and Abigail in the kitchen. The meal was delicious. There were vegetables, salad, rice cakes and a roasted ham. The ham had been taken from the king’s own pantry by General Fox, and there was much laughter as he recounted how he had stuffed it down his shirt and smuggled it out of the Royal Palace under the eyes of the most elite royal guards.
“Wait a minute,” I said, setting down my fork. “Senshu is still in power? I thought the plan was to oust him weeks ago.”
“He left the city unexpectedly,” said Fox. “Just got back the day before yesterday.”
“So when are we planning to start our rebellion?”
“Tomorrow,” said Atticus. “You and Kana arrived just in time. Everything is in place.”
The revolutionary pamphlets had been packed up in boxes and were ready for distribution. The recruits had finished their training and obtained weapons. The soldiers from the first Resistance were armed and ready. General Fox had even arranged for a few Palace doors to be left unlocked.
Atticus brought out a bottle of wine as we finished the meal. After each us had been served, he sat down and tapped his glass with a spoon. “Before we go to our beds, I would like to propose a toast,” he said. “We are missing one of our members.”
Our cheer was extinguished in an instant, like a candle flame. We all knew of whom he was speaking.
“As long as our Resistance lasts,” he continued, “whether it’s destroyed tomorrow or goes on till the last day of the world, we shall miss Tsurugi Kanben. He wasn’t a faultless man. Yet he did what few men, even faultless men, do. He gave his life to help a friend. Whatever may happen, he won’t be forgotten. I drink to his memory.”
We lifted our glasses and drank. Then the guests departed, the children went to bed and I ascended to the garret. Regis gave up his bed to Kana and spent the night in the parlor, preferring to sleep on the sofa rather than dishonor Tsurugi’s memory by sleeping in his empty bed.
I lay awake for many hours: turning this way and that, taking sips of water from the jug on the windowsill, making trips into the chill night air to use the outhouse and contemplating all of the things that could possibly go wrong with our plan. A whole nation, millions of people, depended on the Resistance—or to put it bluntly, on us. If we failed, they were doomed. The thought was not conducive to sound sleep.
The day of the rebellion dawned. It was a beautiful morning. The sky, unmarred by the faintest wisp of cloud, changed slowly from the golden brightness of sunrise to the sapphire brightness of morning. I was too tired to appreciate it. After dressing, I stumbled down the stairs to discover the dining room table had vanished.
I found Atticus cutting bread in the kitchen.
“The table is gone,” I said.
“It didn’t seem right to spend such a nice morning indoors,” he replied. “We’re having breakfast outside today.”
The other members of the Resistance arrived and took their places at the table, which had been relocated to the courtyard behind the house. We enjoyed a fine breakfast, which was only slightly spoiled by the realization that it might be our last.
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br /> “The sun is shining and birds are singing,” said Cog, stirring his blackroot. “Fine weather for rioting.”
Eben frowned at him. “This is not a time for levity, my son. People may die today.”
“This is absolutely a time for levity,” I argued. “You’re always quoting poets, Eben. A poet in my world said, ‘Always be comic in a tragedy.’ What the deuce else can we do? Be tragic? If we must die today, let’s die cheerfully.”
Eben chuckled. “Perhaps you’re right. ‘A merry man is richer than a rich man,’ as another of our poets said.”
“Stop quoting poetry,” snapped Petra. “We should review the plan.”
“We all know the plan,” said Cog, tapping the table impatiently. “You and Galahad go to the nearest market district. Atticus goes to the Temple. You stir up crowds and tell them to meet in front of the Royal Palace at five o’clock. Our soldiers and some of our recruits go with you to keep you safe. The rest of our recruits help us distribute pamphlets across the city.
“At five o’clock we meet in front of the Palace, where we are joined, we hope, by thousands of loyal citizens. We storm the Palace through the doors the General has unlocked, overcome the guards without any fatalities, we hope, and find Senshu. We throw him into prison, where he is, we hope, eaten alive by rats.”
“Cog!” exclaimed Tirzah.
“I’m joking, Mother. After Senshu is thrown in prison, Kana calls a meeting of the Assembly. They elect a regent and put the General in charge of the military. The General deploys the Legion to protect Rovenia.”
“Have we decided what we’re going to do about the Darkness?” I asked.
“Let us take our plans one step at a time,” said Kana. “We can consider the Darkness if our rebellion succeeds.”
After breakfast, I remained at the table for a pipe of tobacco and a third cup of blackroot; the others slipped into the house to offer a prayer of supplication to El. When they finished, we left the children in the house and began our rebellion.
I think I could hardly have been blamed for feeling cynical. Almost everything in my ridiculous adventure had gone wrong thus far, and I was sure than our rebellion would be a complete failure. To my utmost surprise, it worked.
Regis and I joined Cog’s family and several dozen recruits, leaving pamphlets on doorsteps and handing them out to passersby. Before long we were followed by an army of volunteers, who spread over the city with bundles of pamphlets. By noon, there was hardly a person in Valdelaus who hadn’t read it. There were a few tense moments when we were confronted by the king’s soldiers, but Eben never lost his head. He persuaded most of them to join our rebellion. The others slunk away without making a row.
By five o’clock, a huge crowd had gathered in front of the Royal Palace, stamping and shouting. A few fights broke out. In the end, Kana climbed a statue of Senshu, called for silence and explained our plan. It took a long time; he was constantly interrupted by applause and cheering. After he had finished his speech and climbed down from the statue, a few of the rowdier citizens tied ropes to it and brought it crashing onto the pavement.
We stormed the Palace at six o’clock. The king was aware of the rebellion, but his guards were no match for the flood of people that poured through the doors. A regrettable number of fine paintings and statues were destroyed by overenthusiastic rioters, but there was less damage than I expected. We burst into the throne room to find Senshu lounging on the throne with an insolent smile.
From the moment I saw Senshu, I disliked him as much as I could dislike anybody. He was tremendously fat, layered in silk, with several chins and a wispy beard. He looked like a wicked Chinese emperor.
“I was waiting for you,” he said as Kana strode forward. “Here to parley?”
“Senshu,” said Kana in a ringing voice. “You are charged with high treason, slander, libel, bribery, intimidation, blasphemy, abduction, licentiousness, murder and El alone knows what else. Yes, I charge you with murder. You killed Victor Bonroi. You poisoned him and intimidated the Assembly into accepting your feeble claim to the throne. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty.”
Kana turned to the people. “Can anyone here bring testimony against this plea of not guilty?”
There was instantly a roar of shouts. Several people pressed forward and were restrained by our recruits. “I will kill him!” cried one man, clutching what looked like a leg wrenched from a small table.
“We are going to pursue the proper course of justice,” said Kana. “There have been enough murders.”
I was at the front of the crowd and had a clear view of the proceedings. A gleam caught my eye. Senshu had pulled something from inside his robe and slipped it into one of his capacious sleeves. He advanced slowly toward Kana, whose back was to him. I looked at Senshu’s face. What I saw snapped my restraint. Without thinking, I dashed forward and threw myself upon him.
We tumbled to the floor. I tried to roll to one side and found Senshu on top of me. He was extremely heavy. Gasping for breath, I tried to push him away. He put his hands round my neck and squeezed. For a moment I couldn’t see anything. All I felt was an excruciating pain at my throat. Then the pain stopped, and I felt his body go limp.
Hands took hold of my shoulders and pulled me out from under his body. Kana and Regis helped me to my feet and rubbed my back as I gasped for air. Senshu lay unmoving on the floor.
“Did someone knock him out?” I asked when I could speak. “He just stopped struggling. Is that—no, it can’t be.”
It was blood, my friend. Blood was sweeping across the marble floor. Galahad took hold of Senshu’s body and turned it over on its back. The hilt of a knife stuck out of his chest at an angle.
“What the devil happened?” I cried.
“He must have had the knife up his sleeve,” said Regis with a shudder. “He was creeping toward Kana before you knocked him over. He was probably trying to stab him from behind.”
“Why?” I demanded. “What would he gain by killing Kana?”
“The pleasure of revenge, I suppose. Lance, are you all right? You’re trembling.”
I turned and ran. Someone had smashed a window. I leapt out of it, landed on the lawn and kept running.
You may wonder why I was acting so irrationally. The truth is that I don’t know. I suspect it was the trauma of killing a man, intensified by a severe lack of sleep. Whatever it was, I wanted to be alone. I couldn’t bear to have a crowd pressing in on me, patting my back and asking if I was all right.
I stopped running. I had descended the hill on which the Royal Palace stood and entered the commercial district. The street that stretched on before me was lined with shops and restaurants. I looked around and realized I had stopped right in front of a comfortable pub.
For a long time, I stared through a window at the kegs and bottles behind the bar. I wanted a drink to steady my nerves, but I knew that one drink would lead to another, which would lead to another, on and on like a line of dominoes. I had just made up my mind to walk away and find a bakery when the barmaid put her head out the door and said, “Won’t you come in? We’ve just opened a keg of old whiskey.”
That did it. I entered the pub, set a coin on the bar and asked for a tumbler.
One drink did nothing to steady my nerves. I ordered another, resolving it would be my last. It wasn’t.
I’m not sure how exactly much whiskey found its way down my throat that evening, but it was enough to send me into a dizzy depression. I finally pushed away my empty tumbler, put my head on the table and sobbed.
“What are you doing?” asked someone. I looked up. It was Atticus. “I didn’t think I’d find you here,” he said. “Didn’t you quit drinking?”
I tried to explain, but I couldn’t find the right words. At that moment, it was hard to find any words at all.
“Lance Eliot, I am disappointed.” Atticus had left. Kana stood in his place. “I expected better from a man of such courage.”
I stared f
or a moment at my empty tumbler, and when I looked up it was to see Regis peering at me with concern. “You look terrible. I’m sorry you’re in such a state. See here, old boy, no one blames you for what happened to Senshu. It was justice. It’s no reason for you to soak yourself in whiskey like this.”
I blinked. Regis was gone. There stood Tamu Baba, smiling with the tenderness of a grandfather. “I felt much the same when my wife and daughter died,” he said. “Friendship was my cure, not whiskey. I could never acquire a taste for whiskey. If I may advise you, blackroot is much more wholesome.”
I knew then I was suffering from delusions. The whiskey had gone to my head, or I had possibly lost my mind. I shook my head, trying to dispel the illusions. “Lance,” said someone. I looked around. Miles stood beside me. “I know you’re hurting,” he said. “I know it. But you shouldn’t go numb. Fight it. You’re not alone.”
As I passed a trembling hand over my face, I heard another voice. I removed my hand and looked, torn between joy and dread, knowing whom I would see.
It was Tsurugi. His eyes were no longer vacant. They sparkled with life. All likeness to a stuffed fish was gone. He looked more like the picture of a great saint, but only if great saints are permitted to wear good-humored smiles.
“Lance,” he said. “Remember the fable about the boy and the shadow? Don’t run. Face it. Don’t make my mistake. Don’t give up. Don’t give up.”
I put my face in my hands and bawled.
It came as no surprise when I heard another familiar voice. It was Maia. “There you are! Oh, you’re drunk. I’m glad to see you anyway. I’ve missed you so much, Lance.”
I could take no more. Overwhelmed, I put my head on the table and passed out.
When I awoke, I found myself in my own bed in the garret. My head hurt. I lay a long time in bed with my eyes closed. The illusions of the night before kept coming into my mind, especially Tsurugi. It had seemed so real.