The Lens of the World Trilogy

by MacAvoy, R. A. ;

  “I will be in my room,” he said, and then he closed the door behind him.

  For a moment it was very quiet. Dust still hung in the air from our squabble. I thought about the situation, as though I had never thought about it before. “Do you want to end the war?” I asked Benar.

  What started on the young face as a smile ended as exposed teeth. “I did not start the war, and it is not the king who can conclude it. The king is not the government; you know that. My father saw to stripping himself of his own power. Parliament…”

  “I am told you have dissolved parliament.”

  He scowled. “No. No one has presumed to dissolve parliament. It recessed for thirty days around Yule, but it is in session beginning next week.”

  “Then next week you can tell parliament you will mediate. The king is not the government, but the king’s murder began this and the king’s intervention is the best way I know to stop it.”

  Though his face was no longer masked, the emotions that flew over it were too fleeting for me to recognize. At last it soured. “The generals will not let me. Already they ‘protect’ me into the state of a prisoner, and if I challenge the government I expect I will be ‘protected’ into legal guardianship.”

  I did not ask whether the young man expected his mother would be part of that destructive protection. It no longer made any difference. “Then,” I said to him, “I guess I must steal you away, as your father and I planned to do to the sanaur of Rezhmia during the Summer War.”

  “But there is the problem, man! To where? If I knew what generals might follow me, then I would have stolen myself, weeks since.”

  “To Norwess, my king. To the rebels.”

  Benar slammed the little couch so hard he almost tipped us again. “The rebels? Certainly—there’s the very army to take my orders! I’d exchange this close watch for the end of a common thief’s rope! I was a fool to trust you.”

  I let the young king rage and I let him pace, because I could not deny the possibility he might end—not at the end of a rope, for the rebels had more respect for royalty than that—but at the headsman’s ax. He paced exactly like his father, though his legs were not so long.

  “Nonetheless, Benar, it seems you do trust me.

  Which I find disturbing. I did come to kill you, and I am usually simple enough to do what I set out to do. But if you go with me it will not be as prisoner, I assure you, and if the rebels will not parlay with you respectfully, then you will not face them alone.”

  He stopped still and glared at me, and he was such a perfect stranger to me and was yet so much his father that all my hair stood on end. “You and who else will be with me?”

  I had a ridiculous idea. “Let’s find out,” I said, and I opened the door out of the library. King Benar of Velonya followed on my heels.

  “Where is Dinaos’s room, sir?” I whispered.

  “My mother’s cousin is quartered down this very hall,” replied Benar in even quieter tones. “Behind the gilt-crest door. He has but one servant with him, a dumb man, and if we are reasonably quiet…”

  I ran down the carpeted hall and knocked at the ornate door. The pirate opened it almost instantly. “I’m glad to see you survived the Felonks,” I said to him. “Not to mention the sea serpent. And the ocean.”

  He gave me no smile at all, but bowed himself away, and Dinaos was there, his finger closed into his place in the book. He invited us both in, bowing lightly to the king.

  “I wondered,” I said, “whether you’d like to help us do something interesting.”

  The king let out an audible gasp. I thought he might stalk out of the room and down the hall at that moment, either to get the guard or to return to the library and forget I had happened.

  “Interesting in what sense, Nazhuret? Politically interesting, or in an artistic sense? If you mean anything more personal than these, I do not suggest we involve my nephew, even though he be handsome, dashing, and highest in the land.”

  If King Benar gasped again, I did not hear it.

  I wanted to answer Dinaos in the same vein of wit, as Powl might have answered, or even my lady Arlin. But I cannot fence with words; in this I am the typical, stolid Velonyan. “I want to escort His Majesty to the Great Square—no, rather to the Tuesday Market. There is still a Tuesday Market, isn’t there? He wishes to address his people directly.”

  Benar grabbed my arm. “And are you telling me what I am to say to my people? Directly?”

  “No, sir, I do not presume. I merely aspire to get you there.”

  Dinaos did not touch me, but I was far more aware of his physical presence in front of me than I was of the grip of the young king. “To escort the king of Velonya is always, of course, a great honor.” He searched around for a bookmark and at last took the hand of his servant and placed it firmly between the pages. “I must change, but that won’t be a moment. Then I will request three horses suitable for hunting—for me, my man, and to pack game. I regret I will not have the entertainment of accompanying His Majesty and yourself out the window because of this tedious shoulder of mine, but I have no doubts you will be able to find us.”

  He turned to the mute pirate, who still stood with his hand pressed firmly between the pages of the geography. “Out the window, Sieben. I said they are going out the window.”

  The man was quick about finding the bookmark his master had left lying beneath a cup, and he disappeared through the door. Dinaos strolled into his ’tiring room, and King Benar sat down heavily at the table. “Why do you trust him?”

  “I… He is his own…” I was very bad at words today. I almost said, “I am close to him,” but I was not sure what I meant by that, so I only sighed and nodded to the king.

  Sieben returned with a long hemp rope, with overhand knots measured along its length, like a fathoming rope from a vessel. “Where on the good earth did you find that so quickly?” asked King Benar.

  I, who had grown up a servant, only thanked him and tried to take it from him. With a black look, Sieben held it back from me, knotted the end soundly around one leg of a massive armoire, and opened the window to the winter freeze. Slowly, he lowered it down.

  “He’s a pi—a sailor,” I said to the king. “The knot will hold. Can you descend?”

  The young king snorted. “I’m not a girl,” he said, and then his eyes shifted in embarrassment from the door where Dinaos busied himself in the ’tiring room to myself and back to the rope.

  I thought it only polite in an endeavor of this sort to go first, so I leaned out the window and found myself overlooking a drab, frozen yard of flagstone. I swung over and went down fast, both to keep my hands from going numb on the rope, and because even in midwinter Velonya, people do sometimes look out their windows.

  I worried as Benar crawled out after me. As he had said, he was “not a girl” and was young besides, but rope climbing is a specialized skill, not practiced by kings. Then I laughed at myself, thinking how not an hour ago I had been intent upon the same man’s death. He came down sprightly enough, and was holding something tightly in his teeth.

  I gave him my hair-stuffed Sekret overcoat, which became a jacket of waist length and three-quarter sleeves upon the king. It smelled no better on royalty. The thing he had been carrying was Dinaos’s Lowcantoner dress hat, and Benar looked a sight wearing it atop the barbaric jacket. I myself was too nervous to feel the cold.

  All I had for disguise was the kerchief in my pocket, and I didn’t think it wise to try for the appearance of a Rezhmian. I followed along in the king’s wake as I used to follow in that of his father, feeling as uneasy about things as I had in years before.

  “It will take him time to get the horses,” I said into King Benar’s ear.

  “If he gets them,” he answered me. “I don’t have your reasons to trust the man.”

  “What do you mean, my reasons? He’s family to you: not to me. And if you don’t trust him, sir, why are you doing this?”

  Benar gave me a cool glanc
e. “If he fails me, it’s up to you to find a way out. And as for your reasons, Nazhuret of Sordaling, I do not presume to discuss them. But all the capital knows the tastes of my uncle Count Dinaos, and you are no stranger here, either.”

  Many times in my life I had been mistaken for a sexual invert because of my lady’s fondness for men’s clothing. I had always known the facts, taken the mistake as a great joke, and kept my peace about it. Now I was not sure what the truth was, but I still kept my peace about it.

  “We’ll go to the stables,” said the king. “That’s the easiest way to meet him, or if he does not arrive, we can get horses on our own.”

  There was a bitter wind, and that odd-shaped and rambling building had sliced it narrowly, so that as we moved it struck at us from different angles. My eyes watered, so I was forced to walk with my head down, which was clumsy and unobservant. My consolation was that every other soul in the yards had his head down, too. Benar kept both hands to his ridiculous hat, which still snapped in the wind.

  He scraped close to the side of an ell and I hurried to follow, when I seemed to blunder into a patch of light. My teary eyes dazzled and I wiped them, trying to make out the figure before me. It was dressed in homespun and leggings, with blond hair illuminated by its own private sun. I recognized the boy—the maker of the wolf banner.

  “Your daughter is safe with us,” he said. “She arrived this morning.” He stepped back two paces and faded.

  Benar came into focus just beyond that spot. He was glaring at me. His hat was still popping in the wind. I did not know what to say; I feared if I mentioned the event I might be convicted of insanity. I pretended the wind had blown something in my eye.

  “Who the hell was that?” asked the young king. He strode through the spot the messenger had vacated, stamping the ground as if to raise the phantom by force. “You did see him, didn’t you?”

  “Of course, sir. I met him in Norwess, In the flesh, that is. I don’t remember his name: only that he was on the third level. Of the void, I think.”

  Benar slunk close to the bricks of the wall, holding his hat brim so close to his chin he seemed to want to tie it there. “And what does all that mean? Something to do with the ‘belly of the wolf’?”

  I shrugged.

  “Why do you claim ignorance of this? I thought all those idiots were imitating Nazhuret of Sordaling.”

  “So did Nazhuret. It shows you how wrong we can be, doesn’t it?” I pressed him to walk on, into the wind again. “He came to tell me that my daughter was safe.”

  “I’m glad to hear that—my regards to her,” the king bellowed politely against the blowing. “Had you been worried?”

  “Oddly enough, no. I’ve been too busy to worry much, and I have certainly had no premonitions of disaster. Which makes it a very strange visitation, doesn’t it? Lacking in drama.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Benar said, “but the visitations I am used to are of state, and tend to be slow and long-winded.”

  “This one was certainly not long-winded,” I answered.

  When we were beside the commercial gate, he shouted again. “This lad—the void fellow. Is he amongst us? I mean, is he alive or dead?”

  “Alive when I last saw him, sir.”

  “And he didn’t mention any recent change of state?”

  I shook my head. “Just the single message. That’s all.”

  The count met us as we drew near the stable. He was standing beside three solid-looking horses, richly geared. Only two of them bore riding saddles, and I wondered who amongst us he intended to jam into the pack saddle like a dead deer. Dinaos adjusted very fussily a girth that the groom had already perfectly adjusted. He did not look up at our approach, but said, “My man will ride and lead the third horse until we are out of sight of this place, and then it will be the work of a moment for him to steal a more appropriate caparison. Then he will walk behind in case we need other services.”

  The king gave an interested glance toward Dinaos’s mute pirate. “Good at a number of things, is he?” The pirate did not return the glance.

  “Any number.” The count mounted and started forward, his face blandly set into its usual self-approval. The pirate followed, and so did the pack horse, the king of Velonya, and I. “I already have a horse and saddle, my lord,” I called forward. “North in the city.”

  He leaned over and frowned at me thoughtfully. “Not that beast I put under you in Ighelun?”

  He was teasing me, but it was the sort of game guaranteed to make a poor man blush. I explained with what dignity I had that his horse was left in my aunt’s care until I could retrieve it. He gave a grunt and one eyebrow rose. “Well, as long as the good woman has fodder enough for it, I don’t mind.”

  I assured the count that my aunt did. I also gave it as my opinion that we would do better with me afoot in the market, as well as the pirate Sieben. The king gave me a moment’s worried look, but made no objection. He mounted the other ready horse and we went forward at a good rate, with myself trotting in the lead and the pirate behind.

  I am not such a fool as to claim the king was not recognized. As our odd party pushed-through the crowds of Crown Quarter, I doubt a minute passed when I did not catch someone staring, sometimes with dropped jaw, at the spectacle of their own monarch wrapped in barbarian quilting, one hand pressing a very floppy antique hat to his head. But no one spoke, and especially none spoke to us, for all believed that the king of Velonya could dress as he wished and move where he wished.

  It seemed pure bad fortune when we crossed the Vesting Canal bridge and found a small troop of blue-and-white dragoons blocking the road leading left to Court Market Square. They were engaged in warming themselves trooper-style, with a cup of hot mull in the hand and a warm horse under the seatbones. I heard one man make a joke about the effect the cold was having on his balls, and judged by the quality of their laughter that they had been balancing their cups for a while now. I started to wave my party back, thinking to move left at the next block, but Count Dinaos pushed his mount past me.

  “Soldiers, your king!” he shouted, the sharp consonants of Lowcanton making the words yet more aggressive. I heard more than one cup hit the cobbles. Benar cursed under his breath, but he took off his silly hat. The two nobles rode through the confusion, and before they reached the end of the block, the troopers had swung their horses into a good imitation of military attention.

  The king pulled in his own horse and looked at them. I stood in front and looked also. One uniform had its white frontlet stained with wine, like a great red heart wound. That man was breathing hard, and I wondered how hot the wine had been. Another was still struggling to find his sword hilt under his huge dragoon cloak, but all had their eyes fixed on the king, and what the king saw in those eyes must have been encouraging, for he spoke.

  “Dragoons, attend me, if you please. To the market.”

  His voice in command was less harsh than that of Count Dinaos, but no less effective. The dozen men swung neatly into double file at the sides of the king and count, four leading, six following, and one to either hand. They boxed in the pirate and me, and made us watch our feet.

  I could see nothing but horse legs and horse hinds, but I knew the area well enough to know when we had debouched into the market square. Here the crowd brought the horses almost to a halt. One of the dragoons brought out a small cornet and blew it to clear a path. We were not doing very well with our attempt at secrecy.

  I heard Benar give a shout, and he pointed. “Kinnett! Damn my luck! It’s Colonel Kinnett, the adjutant. He’s seen us, and there he goes, on foot, the bastard!”

  I found my prison of horse bodies intolerable, and in desperation I threw myself upon the pack saddle and balanced standing atop the spare horse’s back. “One of you men, fetch him for the king,” I bellowed. “King Benar wishes to speak with the colonel.”

  The dragoon with the cornet shot me a glance that went from questioning to delighted, and I recalled the
rivalry between cavalry and headquarters staff that exists in every army of the civilized world. He shot away, honking his horn merrily, and I doubted the colonel adjutant would get very far.

  The king turned and looked up at me on my acrobatic perch. “Shall I incorporate every man I find dangerous to me into this little company, Nazhuret?”

  “It seems to be working, sir,” I said, and I slid down onto the lashings of the saddle. It spread my legs very wide, and as the pirate led me forward, I felt more and more childlike and not like a man of fifty-five at all. I believe I laughed.

  The king stood on the granite base of his grandfather’s war memorial (the war against Rezhmia that was lost, and the war that was responsible for my own being), and I am trying to remember what he said to the market crowd that morning. The words seemed very stirring at the time. He said Velonya was one people and had always been one people, and though that is a falsehood, it is a comfortable one, even to a man like me who is not one people in himself. He said further, and this I believe true, that a broken nation would soon be gobbled up by foreign potentates. With the cunning of his long training, he refrained from naming the potentates and so offended none of the wives and burghers listening. Then he said he was going that very day to the camp of the rebels in Norwess to discuss their grievances and mediate the peace.

  There was a stout lady next to me, carrying a wicker basket half as large as she was. This she dropped under my horse, which tried to dance away from it, while the lady wailed, “Ah, the little one will be murdered!” It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the king. I told her he had a better chance of losing his head to his own generals than to the rebels, but I did not tell her his odds were short in either case.

  Before King Benar was done, I heard a shouting from the crowd, and standing again I saw the mass pressed and cut by a phalanx of soldiery in blue and white. “Dragoons!” I shouted. “Protect your king!”

  I need not have bothered. The horsemen cut through the crowd, and I saw one old woman go down screaming under hooves. I slid down from my perch to find her, and then was in peril from the close-ridden horses myself. I fended off the big beasts on both sides with my elbows, but was unable to find the poor woman; I can only hope some citizen pulled her from the cobbles. Now I had to use those same elbows against the populace, which closed behind the cavalry like water behind a ship. The water was roaring.