Glancing at Lord Oswald, I caught him mouthing her name, apparently surprised at my familiarity with the princess.
“Anyway, we connected so easily, until I got scared and started avoiding her. She helped me anyway, even letting me see the star drive, although I thought I was trapped in there for a while and might have lost it a little….”
There was a quavering white line where my Lord’s lips had been, as he struggled to keep from laughing. His lips were pressed together so hard they were bloodless, and his eyes crinkled around the edges. Upon reflection, I had to admit my recounting didn’t do justice to Willow and I, too, realized the innocence in my version of the events.
I looked down, ashamed. “Anyway, my Lord, I thought Noir had found out I was there, decided there was more going on, and wanted an audience when he told Vere.”
“Call me Oz,” he said, automatically. “And don’t worry, my boy, you can be sure Noir would have said something by now if he even suspected you and Willow of anything. Look what he did back there just now; he practically accused the emperor of adultery.”
I smiled and looked up at the prince. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
Smirking, my Lord said, “Maybe, but Noir managed to slither out of it anyway. Ah, well, next time....”
It was gratifying, at least, to realize that I’d guessed right about the purpose of Lord Oswald’s Snowman speech.
Lord Oswald continued, “Not that I would disapprove if you had done something with Willow, by the way, but watch your back with Vere.” He looked off into the distance for a moment and took a huge gulp of his mash, his temporary grimace replaced quickly by a silly, as though he were lost in some melancholy reflection. “That girl’s a damned fine pilot, too, as I recall. Not afraid to burn a man down when she needs to. And what a drinker!” The prince frowned slightly, as if dyspepsia had just overtaken him. “It physically pains me to see her acting the royal, all quiet and demure. Not like her at all. Although she has the bloodline herself.”
I had to agree. Willow seemed far more in her element wearing the jumpport coveralls and brandishing a weapon than she did in a slinky dress wandering the imperial palace. There was always a wrongness about her when I saw her in the palace, as if she was just pretending to be interested in what was going on around her.
“Should’ve gone after her myself,” the prince mumbled, “before Hunter tracked her down.”
“But you have Lady Redwing, my Lord.” I wanted to change the subject, before Lord Oswald got mired in whatever it was he was remembering about a much younger Willow.
“Call me Oz,” he murmured, as his eyelids drooped.
I looked down at my Senelarian Mash and deliberately pushed it farther away on the table. Lord Oswald was by no means a lightweight when it came to drinking, yet even he seemed heavily affected after only a few drinks. For some reason, I felt I needed to keep my wits about me, and mash didn’t seem conducive to that goal.
“Did-I-ever-tell-you,” the prince slurred, his head swaying from side to side as he fought to keep his eyes open, “I-used-to-be-an-escape-artist?”
I settled back in my chair to hear his explanation, wondering if the mash also induced hallucinations.
Lord Oswald’s right eye was glued shut with sleep, and his left eye opened and closed rhythmically as he struggled against the mash’s effects. “Studied-the-great-Houdini-from-Old-Earth.” His arm jerked up woodenly and he drained the mash, then made a face. His elbow described a small arc, as if he tried to wave at something with his hand, but couldn’t muster enough energy. “I’ll-be-outta-here-in-no-time,” he said, then let his arm drop to the sofa again, still clutching the spent glass.
I wondered if he was feeling the full effects of the Senelarian Mash. If so, he should be tapping into their collective mind about now, convinced he was Senelarian.
“That’s it,” Lord Oswald shouted suddenly, with no trace of inebriation in his voice. His head snapped up, his eyes wide open, but they didn’t seem to be focused on anything in the room. “It’s so simple!”
Then the prince’s entire body sagged, and he slumped onto the couch, unconscious.
Daddy was never what you would call a drunkard, but he did imbibe occasionally. The first time I saw him drunk was when he found out Hannah had lost her virginity. In our social class, it wasn’t uncommon for a girl to first take a man around fifteen, but Daddy clearly hadn’t prepared himself.
Hannah came home that night shortly after dinnertime. She strolled into the kitchen, where we Euclids were contemplating dessert, and asked for our attention. “I’ve had my first man,” she said, scanning our faces in vain for any display of shock or outrage. We disappointed her, apparently, for she just sighed and went on. “And I must say I’m not very impressed.” She looked disdainfully at each of us in turn, as if it were our failed responsibility as men to provide her with a satisfying first sexual experience.
I was too young to understand what she meant, but Fourth Euclid snickered, and Second backhanded him with a loud crack, so I guessed it was something important.
Daddy looked at Mama, then his face twisted, as if someone had driven a nail into his hand without warning.
“Out,” Mama yelled, glaring at all of us, and we left quickly, having seen that look before. Several chairs were still teetering as I left, and then Daddy let out a tortured, muffled wail.
After about an hour, Daddy staggered out into the living room, a bottle dangling from one hand. The older Euclids scattered, so I did, too, figuring they knew something about this odd behavior that I didn’t.
“He’s on a bender again,” Second muttered on the stairs as we dashed away. “What’s it been, four, five years now?”
“Five,” said First, and they headed for their bedroom.
Sneaking down a few minutes later, I hid on the stairs, just out of sight, and watched.
Daddy was lying flat on a sofa, mumbling unintelligibly. Mama plumped up the cushions under him and talked to him, low and soothing, as she would one of us when we got sick.
In a couple of minutes, I heard Daddy’s soft snoring. Mama stood near him, waiting. When she heard his snoring, Mama nodded and started walking away, but she hadn’t gotten more than a few steps before Daddy whimpered. She stopped dead and listened.
“So ... young,” he moaned, barely louder than a whisper, in that peculiar, disjointed sleep-speak when one is midway between dreams and waking. “Couldn’t ... wait.”
Mama shook her head and murmured, “I was younger,” before disappearing around the corner to another room.
Several minutes later, I was just about to go back upstairs when Daddy sat straight up on the couch and bellowed for Mama. He started yelling at her, spewing random words in an alcoholic frenzy, apparently unaware she wasn’t still there. She rushed in, of course, and endured his verbal abuse for a good five minutes, during which time I escaped undetected.
Like my daddy, Lord Oswald slept soundly now, but I knew it wouldn’t last long, given his revelation before dropping off to join the Senelarian mind-consciousness ring.
He looked so innocent while he slept, my heart went out to him. The prince had gotten himself into tight spots before, and this certainly was as tight, if not tighter, but I didn’t see how he was going to escape this time. He didn’t deserve it, either. Taken on the whole, Lord Oswald was really a nice person, one I was proud to call my friend.
My friend. I had been his employee for so long, I hadn’t realized we were friends now. Friends. The insight staggered my perception of our relationship, but there it was, and I couldn’t deny it any longer. It didn’t matter that I was born on a farm, while he was bred for ruling an empire. It didn’t matter that I worked for him, and he held power over my life and all I held dear. None of that was relevant. What was important was that we had shared each other’s company through countless experiences that went well beyond our professional relationship. Clearly, we both chose to be friends. And we were.
But
I didn’t want to be there to see the mash’s effect on my friend, so I decided to slip out while he was still asleep.
“Sleep well, Oz,” I said softly, without thinking, surprising myself at how easily his chosen name came to my lips.
***
A burly guard showed up several hours later, bearing a lavish dinner for me on a rolling cart. He remarked that he’d be just outside my door when I finished, to take away the remains. Although I hadn’t considered dining in the dining room while Lord Oswald wasn’t present, I was still somewhat taken aback by this gesture. In a way, I felt as imprisoned as Lord Oswald.
Would there be a guard assigned to follow me around the palace? What if I needed to go into town for some reason? Would I be allowed? Or would I need to send for things instead?
The questions put a general pall over my solitary dinner, but I ate heartily, anyway. Just to be contrary, I chose not to notify the guard when I was finished, instead sitting down in the receiving room to read for a while.
Every now and then, I glanced up, expecting to see the prince momentarily before the reality of his arrest sunk in. After about an hour or so, I invited the waiting guard to clear away my dinner cart. He was understandably annoyed at having to wait so long — he probably hadn’t had his own dinner yet — but he said nothing, working quickly enough to allow himself to quit my rooms in barely a couple of minutes.
Immediately, one of Oswald’s Angels came in with a message for Lord Oswald from General Zanuck on Oasis, unable to deliver it to the prince in his jail. I assured him I could read it myself and asked him to stay while I did so.
“Euclid correct; Vere’s men confirmed,” the message stated factually. “At least twenty identified, three intercepted while manipulating governors. Oasis nearly unmanageable already; expect to be lost within the week. Advise return immediately.”
Return now? How? With the prince in jail, I’d need several days to straighten out the situation — if I could, which wasn’t certain by any stretch of the imagination.
I’d need to return to Oasis myself, without the prince, and get the situation under control. Lord Oswald would have to cool his heels in the jail for a week or so. At least he was safe there, I told myself, and there was always the possibility that Noir would relent before I returned. Or the empress would miraculously reveal the truth, and my Lord would be freed.
I decided to leave immediately.
Just then, the other Angel came in, announcing an imperial guard with a message from the emperor.
Were they coming for me now? Had Noir somehow found out about the Raven, as I’d feared originally? Or had he just made up something to arrest me?
My shoulders slumped and I blew out my breath. Oasis would have no hope. I’d be transferred to Lord Oswald’s jail rooms, and Oasis would fall to Vere’s men. The thought burned through me, as I tried to consider all the options.
My heart raced with anxiety as I took the message from the guard, who followed the Angel leisurely. Peeking around him, I saw nobody else. If I was to be arrested, why was the imperial guard alone? Maybe I was being too quick to judge....
What did the emperor want?
Trembling slightly, I read the message, then read it again, my heart stalling in my chest and a lump growing in my throat. I sat down, to rest my rubbery legs and reread the message several times, hoping I’d misinterpreted something, but I didn’t see how I could have. It was clear and concise and utterly mistake-proof.
By decree of Seraphim VI, Emperor of the Eternal Empire of Eighty Three Worlds, Prince Oswald was to be executed in the morning.
Chapter 20
Freedom from Secrets
THERE COMES A TIME IN YOUR LIFE WHEN YOU HAVE TO MAKE A CHOICE, and all of the possibilities are distasteful. We’re presented with forks in our journeys — often with multiple tines, sometimes offering life-altering choices — dozens of times a day, but there’s usually one path which we know, deep down, is the one we must take, even if it’s not the one we want to follow. It smells like roses, figuratively, so we know it’s the right choice.
Every now and then, as if a more advanced intelligence than ours needed a good joke, we come upon one of those forks that apparently has no good path beyond it. Everything smells like manure.
This was one of those forks.
I stared at Prince Oswald’s execution order for some time, gaping. Eventually, one of my Lord’s Angels crept over to me and slipped it from my unresisting fingers. Following the message with my eyes only, I watched as he read it, frowning, then passed it to the other Angel. Both of them shrugged, then escorted the imperial guard out into the hallway, sealing the door behind them so I was left alone.
My choices loomed before me, offering two clear pathways that I could see, neither of which looked pleasant and neither of which revealed itself as part of what I felt was my destiny.
In one pathway, I returned to Oasis alone, grabbing it from the jaws of the Vere-led insurrection that threatened it — and Lord Oswald perished. In the other pathway, I stayed behind on Eternity III, offering impotent moral support to my fallen prince, and abandoned Oasis to Vere — and Lord Oswald perished.
Maybe it didn’t seem to be such a difficult choice. No matter what I did, it seemed my Lord would die, and down one pathway at least I had the chance to regain my world. But I just couldn’t accept that as the right choice, and I couldn’t see letting the prince die without a fight, either.
One of the inherent failures of the pathway metaphor is that it teaches us to look at problems in black and white, which makes us colorblind to life and its rich rainbow of rewards. And one of the inherent triumphs of the human spirit is that, when presented with unpleasant problems, something inside us yearns to create our own solutions. In essence, we ignore the pathways before us, turning sideways to swing our scythes through the underbrush and clear our own path, instead.
Gathering all of my resolve, I jumped to my feet and dashed out the door, aiming my big black scythe squarely at the Empress Jewel.
***
“Why, Euclid,” the empress purred as I was shown into her receiving room, “what a surprise to see you again.”
She didn’t say it out loud, but I could hear her add, “Especially since you rejected me.” Suddenly, I wasn’t sure if coming here was a good idea. If the empress still held a grudge against me, I could wind up in my Lord’s cell with him, rather than rescuing him from it. Wincing inside, I held my face impassive and smiled at her.
Jewel wore a pale yellow calf-length skirt with a long slit up one leg below a frilly white blouse buttoned to her neck and covered by an open vest that matched her skirt. I guessed she’d worn it to the dinner I missed, but it was quite unlike any of the showy outfits I’d seen her wear before. It seemed too ... practical for her tastes.
She caught me staring and giggled, her blue eyes twinkling as she spun around slowly, shooting my sultry looks as she said, “Like it? I thought I’d try something different today.” Her waist-long, silky black hair swished freely around her, and she moved with the grace usually earned by a woman much older.
As she settled into place, laughing, I found my interest piqued, but I beat it back down quickly, remembering my mission. Instead, I stiffened my back and cleared my throat.
“As you are aware, your Majesty—”
The empress rolled her eyes at my formality, and quickly shot back, “Jewel,” but she smiled still, so I continued.
“Jewel. My Lord, Prince Oswald, was arrested for a crime you and I both know he didn’t commit. And now, he is to be execu—”
My voice caught as I tried to say the word, but I couldn’t pronounce my friend’s fate, as though the missing syllable would transform the thought into reality.
“And now—” I started again, but I spied Jewel’s wince and never finished.
“Why won’t you say anything?” I asked in a choked voice, and that caught her eye.
I saw the pain and betrayal I felt reflected in her eyes, too, an
d for a moment we connected. I thought I should have understood Jewel then, but no revelations came and I remained perplexed at her actions. She looked away, silent.
“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice echoing my thoughts. “You don’t seem to bear him any great ill will, nor do you seem to have any great love for him.”
Jewel’s head shook somewhat as I spoke and her lips pursed ever so slightly, a subconscious affirmation of my assessment, I hoped. Yet, she remained silent.
“Or did Oz really do it with you?” I asked bluntly.
She glanced at me in surprise, probably at my familiarity with my Lord, and her eyebrows arched, disappearing beneath her floating black hair.
Jewel made an adolescent face of disgust and said, “No.”
She advanced on me until she was close enough to touch. Her hair smelled freshly washed, and the scent of lavender enveloped me.
“I don’t like redheads,” the empress said, and reached out to stroke my arm. “They disgust me, physically.”
“But if you had nothing to do with Oz, why don’t you just tell the emperor that?”
Jewel sighed and dropped her hand to her side as she turned. She wandered away a few steps, aimlessly, and the sweet lavender scent drifted away with her.
“It’s not that simple.”
“He’s not just anybody, you know, he’s an heir. And a blood heir at that. You can’t just let him die.” I checked my rising voice and said, calmer, “Isn’t there something I can do to make you change your mind?”
The empress fidgeted with her skirt and turned around, grinning. The slit up one leg had somehow shifted a bit, so that it ran up the inside of her thigh, rather than directly over the top of it. She leaned back a little, sitting on the top of a sofa, and crossed her nearly exposed leg over the other. A swatch of red silk peeked out from beneath.
“Maybe,” she said, pouting, and her eyes turned an inviting shade, like a clear, cool lake in summer, its unbroken surface beckoning to be penetrated.
Ninth Euclid's Prince Page 24