by Dave Duncan
She knew that, of course, but she merely nodded.
“There were to be five male and five female figures,” Emthoro continued, with the air of someone coming to a humorous part of a story. “Umpily’s five immediate predecessors and their wives, carved in Tewper marble, which is a sort of pinkish-brown color and fine-grained. It gives a statue a very lifelike texture. Apparently there was some disagreement about terms… I forget the details. And the contract had not said how the figures were to be garbed. At any rate, when Puin’lyn delivered her promised statues, they were ten nudes and…” He chuckled. “…not the sort of nudes that could be left around in public, either!”
Eshiala smiled politely, not sure what the point of all this could possibly be. Emthoro laid down his knife and fork, and a footman whipped away his plate.
“Great art, of course, but erotic as you could imagine. Perhaps more so, mm? So the Puin’lyn statues were hastily moved to the Imperial Library and there they have been hidden ever since. Fortunately most of the scholars who work there are too old and decrepit to be distracted from their studies.”
“You are warning me to avoid the library, then, lest they bring a blush to my cheek?”
“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting that. Their real appeal is to adolescent boys, of course. When Ralp and I were kids, we used to come to Hub once or twice a year and the statues in the Imperial Library were the highlight of the trip. Shandie knew a way to get in without the curator knowing. We always had plans to take paints along and touch up some of the details, but fortunately we never quite found the courage.”
She had no idea why he was telling her all this, or what sort of reaction was expected of her. Everyone else had finished this course and she had barely started. She laid down her knife and fork in defeat. The plate mercifully vanished.
Emthoro chuckled. “They raised hopes in us that time failed to satisfy—males and females both.”
“I fail to see…” She was supposed to fail to see whatever was coming.
“Shandie,” the prince said, with a twitch of his nose, “was especially enamored of the central figure among the females. He told us on several occasions that he would marry a woman as beautiful as that.”
What had she ever done to Emthoro that he should seek to wound her like this? She had produced an heir, of course, and thereby demoted Emthoro from second in line to third. She knew her face was burning and that others were noticing and listening; and enjoying.
“Are you telling the that I remind you of a statue, my lord?”
“A little. There is certainly a facial resemblance. Mayhap we could visit the library some time and see? Shandie must have… but perhaps it is just my imagination.” He smiled meanly.
“Statues,” Eshiala said icily, “do not produce babies.”
Emthoro showed his teeth in surprise. “True,” he said, and turned to speak to the marquise.
Eshiala relaxed with a sigh of relief that she hoped was inaudible. Another gold plate was laid before her.
Across the table, Ashia was howling with mirth at some quip she could not possibly understand.
Eshiala wondered if perhaps Prince Emthoro was closer to the truth than he knew. She was a fraud. She was here only because she had told Shandie that she loved him and she didn’t.
One day she had been slicing ham in her father’s store, back in Thumble, when a group of soldiers had wandered in, all sweaty and smelling of horse. She had noticed one of them staring at her oddly. Of course she could not remember a time when men had not tried to flirt with her, but she had sensed the difference in Shandie’s attention even then, that first day. On his way home from the battle, a month later, he had stopped in Thumble again and stayed a whole week. On the third day he had told her he loved her. On the fifth, he had proposed.
Her mother had told her not to be a fool; she would never make a better match than an imperial legate. Her father had insisted that to decline a proposal from a high imperial officer was close to treason. Ashia had turned purple and screamed that she owed it to her family.
Eshiala had asked her suitor for more time to think and get to know him. On the seventh day, her mother had discovered who he really was. That had settled the matter, of course. All imps were loyal to the Impire and the imperor.
She did not think she loved her husband. She suspected she was incapable of loving any man. She did not dislike him. She was grateful for Maya. She disliked Hub and the court, but she had consented to those. She detested pomp and public displays and ceremony. She had consented to those, also.
She did her duty, as a loyal subject of the Impire, and as a wife. And as a statue? And very soon she was going to find herself being hailed as impress.
3
At Krasnegar, the brief northern summer drew to its close. Wagons rolled on the causeway, bringing in the harvest. Old Foronod the factor was still official tallier. He sat in his office every day, throwing papers around and shouting at his clerks and generally making a confounded nuisance of himself. The real work of creating order out of chaos was done by the king himself in the great annual rush, when twelve months’ supply of crops and meat and peat must be collected and transported and stored in two or three weeks’ continuous toil. Krasnegar had many very hungry mouths to feed now, sixteen years after being struck by a wave of babies.
This year Rap noticed an astonishing improvement. Things rushed along at a great pace; the harvest almost seemed to gather itself, and the job was complete a week before he had expected it to be. That great crop of youngsters had suddenly grown up enough to become useful and they were all available to help, giving him about four times as many hands as he had ever had before. They were inexperienced and often clumsy, but they were willing and cheerful and so convinced they were adults now and having fun that everyone around them had fun, also.
So all went well and when the Big One arrived, the first blizzard of the winter, Krasnegar was well prepared. The shutters were closed, the boats safe, and the gates barred against bears. Now there was little to do except eat and drink, dance and party, study and teach, brawl and make love. And give birth.
“I won’t drop this, you know,” the king said firmly, but his hands were unsteady as the midwife passed him the precious bundle. He was always astonished how incredibly tiny these fragile miracles were when they first appeared. Tucking the babe in the crook of his left elbow, he adjusted the edge of the blanket around its face and headed for the door.
Of course this was the middle of the night—when else did babies arrive? Lamplight reflected like a halo from the flood of rich gold hair on the pillow. Inos was paler than usual and her lower lip was swollen, but she was smiling proudly, as indeed she should.
Two of each, now.
Rap knelt by the bed, leaned very carefully over his new son, and kissed her. “Clever girl,” he murmured.
“I had some very expert help.”
“It was a pleasure. Nice of you to put it that way, though.”
“I didn’t mean at the beginning. A frantic roughhouse, I expect…” She smiled knowingly. “I mean at the end.”
“We all do what we can,” he said softly.
“Thanks anyway, love.”
“Don’t mention it.” The midwife would gossip, of course. Nothing he could do to stop gossip. He chuckled and changed the subject. “This is the finest Winterfest present a man ever received.”
“Then don’t refer to it as ‘this’… I mean, call it ‘him.’”
“ ‘Him’? That’s not much of a name! Let’s see. Can’t tell much from his coloring yet, but I think he’s going to be more imp than jotunn.”
“I thought that, too. But he’s got your nose, love.”
Rap peered crossly at the diminutive face, screwed up in a frown, but fast asleep. “They all have my nose at that age! Or perhaps he just squished it on the door frame.”
“Don’t be crude!” the queen said from her pillow. “What will you name your son, my lord?”
“You decide!”
There was a brief argument about precedence.
“Holindarn,” Rap said at last.
“Kadie and Eva are named after my family. It’s your family’s turn. Why not name him after your father? What was he called, anyway?”
“Grossnuk.”
Inos said, “Oh?” with little enthusiasm.
“I don’t remember him much.” The king poked the baby’s chin with a finger. “Hey, Grossy! We want you to grow up like your grandpapa the slaver! The drunken raider who fell off a dock in the dark. Big and mean and strong like the murdering, raping, wife-beating —“
“On the other hand,” the queen said thoughtfully, “if he is going to have impish looks, then perhaps an impish name would be more appropriate.”
“There you go, changing your mind again!” the king said. “Women!” He gave her another kiss. “Hi there, Holi!” He kissed the baby, too. It scowled but did not wake. “Be half the man your namesake was and you’ll do fine.”
“Holi it is, then.” Inos yawned—a monstrous, unladylike, queen-size yawn.
“Get some sleep now, love,” Rap said, and stood up. “What time would you like the bell to start?”
Inos groaned. “Must we? I always associate it with funerals.”
“No. Think of celebrations and weddings and life!”
“I expect they’ll ring it whether we want them to or not,” she agreed sleepily. “Keep Holi a state secret till lunchtime if you can.”
“Tell him that!” the king said. He departed, taking their son and the lamp.
4
He left baby Prince Holindarn with the women and wandered off by himself, much too excited to sleep. There might still be life down the hill, in the taverns, but he had no desire to be mobbed by a bunch of drunks. Tomorrow, maybe. All his friends were long since abed. It would be unkind to waken them just to explain about this incredibly beautiful and intelligent new baby. He had the rest of the night to himself, and he was going to enjoy every minute of it.
The present king and queen had abandoned the ancient tradition whereby the reigning monarch slept at the top of the great tower. There were many more convenient rooms available and much warmer.
He opened a door and stepped silently within. A small lamp flickered high on a shelf, illuminating three beds and three young faces on three pillows.
Nearest the door was Eva, flaxen hair, ivory winter skin. The king adjusted her quilts.
Hello there, little one, he thought. You have a baby brother now. You won’t be able to pull all those tricks any more. Life is hell, Baby Eva! Now you’ve got to face it squarely, without being the family pet. Eight years old, supplanted and rejected already! How awful. How you will suffer! I’ll try to remember that, though, and I’m sure your mother will.
He crossed the room to the twins.
The dark-haired one… Princess, you have a baby brother. Someone else for you to organize, imp. Another thrall to serve your whims and dance to your tune. As he did not speak aloud, the child could not hear and yet she fretted briefly on the pillow.
Dreaming, Kadie? What on earth do you dream about? Your day is one long dream, so far as I can see. Your life is filled with Allena the Fair and the White Lady of Tower Perilous and the Wild Riders of the Sea Wind… Your life is one endless romance. You never have time just to be yourself, Kadie. Is that what you do in your dreams? Do you dream all hard and practical and plain, while the rest of us dream frills and fancy? He chuckled, still silent. Dream on then, little beauty. And if you can rid your life of realities by night and keep your days as one long dream always, then you will indeed be blessed of the Gods.
Gath, with shards of hair protruding everywhere like a golden porcupine… You have a brother now, my son. You are much older and will have to be an example for him. I’ll explain that tomorrow. On your birthday, we’re going to make some changes, lad. You and your sister will have your own rooms from then on, and this time there will be no argument. You’re a good team, I know. You do all the heavy digging and she does all the thinking. I don’t know how to stop that, Gath. It worries me a little. You never do anything on your own, not that I can see, and I can’t understand that, because I was on my own a lot at your age. Oh, I had friends, but by my thirteenth birthday I was a working man and had been for years. If you’re not following after Kadie, then you’re following me, or your mother. What goes on in that silent head of yours? What kind of a jotunn never loses his temper? You’re certainly not an imp, because you mind your own business. Are you perhaps a faun on the inside?
Rap knew very little about fauns. They were said to be stubborn, though, and Gath was never stubborn. Gath was the most obliging person in the world. It didn’t fit the patterns. And it didn’t seem healthy, somehow.
The king wandered aimlessly along dark corridors and eventually found himself in the great hall, trellised by moonlight, silent and haunted. Starting to feel chilled, he headed for the cavernous fireplaces at the kitchen end. Even if the last embers had burned away, there would be heat left in the stones. He found a deserted bench standing almost within the ashes, so some other night bird had been there before him. A few fragments of driftwood still glowed like the eyes of rodents. He sat down and absorbed the radiating warmth, sniffing the old familiar smells of peat and ash and ancient grease, listening to the casements rattle in the wind.
This was what he remembered best of his childhood. He could recall almost nothing of the earliest years, before his father died and his mother moved into the castle. At ten he’d started work in the stables, but in retrospect it seemed that much of his youth before that had been spent huddling close to these gigantic hearths.
Behind him, at the far end of the hall, was the dais. That was where he sat these days, beside the queen, playing at being king because it pleased her. He still did not feel like a king.
Of all the men and women who ruled in Pandemia, or who had ever ruled in Pandemia, he thought Inos came closest to ruling by the love of her subjects. Not a man or woman in the kingdom had a word to say against her. And, although she insisted that he was the king, he regarded himself as merely the first of her subjects.
None loved her more. After all, he was the one who was allowed to sleep with her. What had he ever done to deserve that? He would do anything for her.
The townsfolk accepted him now. They pretended that they had forgotten all about sorcery, and he was sure that was because of Inos. The world was incredibly kind. He was so happy he couldn’t believe it. He had done nothing to deserve all this happiness. From stableboy to king. From shovel to scepter.
Life was so good that it felt wrong, somehow.
Good before bad and bad before good. He shivered. That had been one of his mother’s sayings. It seemed to imply that big good came before big bad and—
Something moved and he jumped. A gnome crept in from the shadows, looking for warmth as he was. It was heavily swathed in fur, probably not too pleasant to get close to.
When Sea Beauty had sailed away from Krasnegar, she had left her gnomes behind. Rap had shown the four all the wonderfully musty cellars below the castle, and they had eagerly decided to brave the climate and take service as royal rat-catchers. Being nocturnal by preference, they had rarely been seen since.
“You startled me!” Rap said. “Er… Tush, is it?”
“Pish,” the gnome said. “Why is a day man awake now?”
“I’ve been having a baby.”
Firelight shone on the shiny black buttons of the little man’s eyes. “You jest, King?”
“Yes, I jest. It was the queen who did all the work. But I have a new son. About this big.”
“I was at least five before I was that size,” Pish said dryly. “Please give Queen our best wishes.” The small people seemed to have little grasp of ranks or titles, or how they differed from personal names.
“I shall and I thank you for them. I’ve been wanting to speak to you. You and the others are doing very well. We’ve noticed a big improve
ment.”
“We have reduced the numbers almost below the safety level,” the gnome agreed, rubbing his hands to warm them. Pish was about Rap’s age, although no taller than Eva, and he had even less nose than Rap did. Tush and the two women were younger. The gnome population of Krasnegar was certain to increase from now on, and that might bring new problems…
“What safety level?”
“If we kill off too many, they won’t be able to keep up their numbers. Of course there are still plenty in the lower buildings, which you said do not belong to you.”
“I can probably arrange for you to… er, work there, as well,” Rap said, wondering how Krasnegarians were going to adjust to gnomes, or how he could persuade the gnomes to eliminate the rats and mice altogether.
“We already do,” Pish said. “The big people are always willing to let us come in and remove the rodents for them.”
“Well, that’s great! The palace servants must have passed the word. You will have trouble getting around the town in this weather, though?”
“Not at all,” the little man said smugly. “The tunnels serve very well and are quite warm.”
Tunnels? Rap knew of no tunnels in Krasnegar. Then he realized that there must be sewers, although he had never thought of them before. His stomach lurched.
“Oh, that’s good,” he said quickly. “Any… er, anti-gnome feelings?”
The gnome chuckled. “They are so ignorant in this town! They have never seen gnomes before! They treat us like real people and speak politely to us. They even give us money.”
“Er, quite. Well, I’m glad I was able to help. There is one thing, though, Pish.”
“What’s that. King?”
“Cats. Not the cats, Pish.”
“You do not need the cats now,” the gnome protested, suddenly shrill. “Not when we are here to do the work!”