The Hero Strikes Back

by Moira J. Moore

  Well, yes sir. Talk about a million miles away. “Taro, you have a thousand different people you can ask to perform with you.” And it wasn’t healthy, all this togetherness. We’d start hating each other. Or worse.

  “Yes, but I like them too much to humiliate them with my incompetence.” And he threw a tense smile at me in case I thought he was serious.

  Still, I said, “Thanks a lot.”

  “You’ve already seen me at my worst. I see no reason to spread that kind of knowledge around.”

  “At least, not until you’re on stage.” With me, perhaps, to attract most of the crowd’s derision.

  “Precisely.”

  “I love logic in a man.”

  He squeezed my hand.

  A staid elderly lady entered the room, her face blank enough to do a Shield proud. “His Highness will see you now.”

  About bloody time.

  We followed the woman from the foyer through a sitting room and into, to my surprise, the bedchamber. His Highness was still in bed. In a dressing gown, his hair brushed and oiled, some cosmetics and cologne applied, but in bed. And eating from a breakfast—or lunch—tray.

  I did understand that it was considered acceptable for royalty to receive guests while still in bed. Some people even considered it an honor. I didn’t. It was rude. How much effort did it take to climb out of bed and pull on a pair of trousers, for Zaire’s sake? Where was the man’s pride?

  There were eight servants in the room. They stood by the walls, posture stiff, waiting to be told what to do. I would find that sort of thing—people just hanging around watching me—irritating, but I guessed the Prince liked it.

  Karish bowed, I curtsied. We waited as the Prince spread cheese on a slice of hardbread. “Lord Yellows is going to be executed for treason,” he told us, sounding almost bored about the whole thing, “among other charges. He’ll have a trial, of course, but there is no doubt how things will turn out. Many of the guests at last night’s . . .” here he paused, looking for an appropriate word, “event have indicated a willingness to testify. It is unlikely you will need to come to Erstwhile to participate.”

  I hadn’t even considered the possibility of that, but thank Zaire. That would have been a nightmare, participating as a witness in a trial. I’d heard about that sort of thing, that barristers took pride in making the witnesses cry through the sheer act of brutal questioning.

  “It is unfortunate and disheartening to see one of our most powerful Landed fall under the influence of madness,” the Prince spoke through his mouthful of bread and cheese. “We can’t understand how the Reanists acquired such a firm hold over him. Can you imagine? He was to be sacrificed along with the rest of us. And he knew it.” The Prince shook his head. “We have been informed, Source Karish, that you inspired him.” The Prince dunked his cheese-covered hardbread in his coffee. Ugh. “When you disappeared last year, and no one had the slightest idea where you’d gone. And you’d just left of your own free will. You didn’t mean to disappear. Or so,” tap tap tap of the bread against the rim of the coffee cup, “Yellows believed.”

  I didn’t glance at Karish. I kept my eyes trained on the Prince, eyebrows raised slightly in inquiry, as though I had no idea what he could possibly be talking about.

  But, damn.

  “His reasoning was that if you could be impossible to find without putting any effort into it, other aristocrats could be easily hidden with a little care and planning.”

  I’d hoped to get through this interview without speaking, but I just had to ask. “Was Yellows really behind the disappearances of the aristocrats this summer?” I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want to believe it. It was no worse than what he had done the night before. But if he had arranged the disappearances, and had had those people sacrificed, it almost lent credence to his claim that it was working, that he knew there had been no events over the past few months, and his actions were somehow responsible for it. And that didn’t bear thinking of.

  Because what if sacrificing aristocrats did, in some way, calm the world down? And what if someone else found out about it?

  “He was,” said the Crown Prince. “He had formed those clubs. You know, those ridiculous little social clubs. Invited third drawer Landed to join on the condition that his participation be kept a secret. The little fools were so thrilled to be invited—” Oh, the disdain. So easy for him, the Crown Prince, to denigrate the need of those less prominent to be recognized, to belong to something, “that they rushed to join. And now they’re dead. Or so Lord Yellows boasts.”

  So, what about that basement ritual space that the Runners had found, the condemned hospital? Unless that had merely been the place the Reanists had used while Yellows was renovating his dining hall. Or had it had no connection at all and was just some weird coincidence?

  “The food was drugged, at the dinner. So was the wine. So we would all be happy to be sacrificed. I understand neither of you ate or drank anything. This is true?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Karish hesitated a moment before answering, “We didn’t like it.”

  Damn, did that sound childish. It probably saved our lives, though.

  “When they noticed this, they realized it might be enough to ruin the entire plan. They panicked and pushed into the next step before the rest of us were ready to be subdued.”

  There you go.

  “Is it true?” the Prince was asking.

  “Your Highness?” said Karish.

  “His claim, that there have been no,” the Prince made a vague gesture with his hand, “earthquakes or tornadoes or what have you threatening. Since he’s started sacrificing aristocrats.”

  My fault. I shouldn’t have been thinking about it, as apparently the Prince could read minds.

  Karish cocked his head to one side. “The axis holds fast,” he assured Gifford.

  “Ah,” said the Prince, the lack of comprehension beaming from his eyes. He looked at me.

  I shrugged. No ideas here, mate. “There have been events, Your Highness.” The ones Karish had caused, but events all the same. So not, technically, a lie.

  The Prince mused on that a moment, then apparently decided to put aside that line of questioning. “We did not call you here to discuss Yellows.” He dropped the remainder of his bread into his coffee cup. A servant jumped forward and took his tray away. “You could have learned about that sort of thing well enough from the news circulars and gossip. No.” He wiped his hands with a serviette. “We are presently much more interested in the intriguing activities in which you were engaged at Yellows Plain last night.”

  Ah hell.

  “We have heard interesting rumors of you, Source Karish,” said His Highness. “Rumors of strange doings in Middle Reach. Of some ability to actually bring earthquakes and such.”

  We were in so much trouble.

  “Your Highness,” Karish said, looking shocked. Well done, Taro. “Forgive me, but that is an ability Creol had. Creol could cause earthquakes at a whim. It’s an unprecedented talent. I had never heard of it before. And yes, at the time I claimed to be able to do the same thing, but that was only . . .” He was talking too fast, damn it. Rambling. Sounding guilty of something.

  “We are aware,” the Prince interrupted him, “of the story you told our noble mother.”

  And he didn’t believe it any more than his mother had. Wonderful. The one thing the warring royals had to agree on had to be the opinion that we were liars. How scary would they be if they decided to work together on something?

  “We are not sure what, precisely, happened at Yellow Plains,” the Prince said, “but we do know there was an earthquake, and that . . . wind. And that you were there.”

  And that was a reason to suspect Karish of nefarious deeds? Brilliant logic.

  Karish, having recaptured his tongue, bowed his head. “I can offer no explanation, Your Highness.”

  I watched my Source, and marvelled at his c
alm. He was the target of all these questions, lucky fellow, and he was handling it with admirable panache. I was the one grinding my teeth with tension.

  “Can you not?” Gifford steepled his fingers together. “Perhaps you can explain your hospital tours, then.”

  “My—my what, Your Highness?”

  This was ridiculous. That had been ages ago. Was he being watched? And since when? This was bad.

  “We have heard rumors of you going to hospitals and visiting the patients. Tending to them, as it were.”

  Karish’s expression was on of perfect innocent confusion. “When I have friends in one of the hospitals, I visit them,” he said, sounding diffident and uncertain, as though he couldn’t for the life of him understand what the Prince was suggesting.

  “Oh, this is not simply about visiting friends. Not according to the stories We have heard. And such stories they are, Source Karish. Of the blind being made to see, the crippled to walk, the dead to live.”

  The last shreds of that cool demeanour I’d been so admiring fell away as Karish’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Your Highness?”

  And his voice actually squeaked. I almost winced to hear it.

  “They say you’re some sort of miracle healer, Source Karish. You walk up to a complete stranger, lay your hands on him, and drag him back from the brink of death.”

  Ah damn. I’d always hated hyperbole. It was always causing trouble.

  “My—Your Highness! No! I can do nothing like that!” There was no doubting the sincerity of that denial.

  Only the Prince did. “You are suggesting that Our most reliable sources of information are liars?”

  Karish assumed an expression of bemusement. “These are rumors, Your Highness,” he said, mild and calm once more, utterly reasonable. “I’ve had the most ridiculous things said about me, and this is just another. I can’t heal people.”

  No one could prove he healed people. No one would get it from me. Bastards. He does something decent and kind and he gets all this grief from it. Why couldn’t people just leave him alone?

  “You are denying these rumors?”

  “Most wholeheartedly, Your Highness.”

  “And you had nothing to do with whatever happened at Yellows Plain last night?”

  “Certainly not, Your Highness,” Karish answered. “I have no connection with the Reanists, I promise you.”

  That wasn’t what the Prince had meant, and everyone in the room knew it.

  My stomach was clenching into a nice tight knot. I wished I hadn’t eaten breakfast because it was beginning to feel like there wasn’t room for it down there. If I thought about it very hard I could keep my breathing slow and even. In, out, in, out.

  Why was this happening? Why was I getting caught up in this sort of thing? This wasn’t supposed to be my life. I was too ordinary for it. I’d just wanted to do my job. Be a Shield, live my life, not hurt anyone. What was this dangerous, secretive mire I was finding myself in the middle of?

  Maybe we should tell everyone. Tell the Prince, tell the Triple S council, tell everyone. Get it all out in the open. Secrets that were shared by everyone, that were out in the open, were no longer secrets, and no longer dangerous.

  But we’d already lied. To the Empress, to the Prince, to the council. Everyone. Could we dig ourselves out so late in the game?

  And Karish was so afraid of telling anyone. And if dealing with Karish’s mother had taught me anything, it had taught me that when Karish got hysterical about something, he had an excellent reason for it.

  “And what about you, Shield Mallorough?”

  Oh hell. I had thought I was going to get away with being a piece of furniture. “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “What is your explanation for the events in Middle Reach and Yellows Plain?”

  I suddenly wanted to swallow. My throat felt so tight, I was afraid of what my voice would sound like once I spoke.

  No matter what I thought, there was no way I was going to contradict Karish about this matter in front of anyone. I didn’t know that Karish wasn’t right to be wary. And once there appeared to be any disparity between our stories, the game would be over, replaced by a nightmare. Relieving my conscience by telling the truth, without Karish’s concurrence, would make us both look suspicious. It would land both of us in serious, serious trouble that we wouldn’t be able to get out of, because no one would believe us anymore.

  Not that they should. We were, after all, lying.

  And so, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but I don’t know what you’re looking for.” Voice didn’t sound too bad. Even and clear. I’d believe me.

  “The truth,” he snapped, his patience finally thinning.

  “Of course.” When in doubt, act like an idiot. “I didn’t start any earthquakes in Middle Reach.”

  “No one thinks you did, girl!”

  “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand your question, Your Highness.”

  “No, of course you don’t!” The Prince rubbed at his reddening face. “You would have me believe these are all just coincidences. All these rumors and events are inexplicable fantasies with no basis in fact. The both of you treat me like a fool.” He glared at us, eyes flicking from one to the other. “You don’t appear to understand how dangerous that is.”

  I had a feeling it was a bad sign when Prince Gifford forgot to use the royal plural. “Your Highness,” I said. “We mean you no disrespect. We honestly can’t tell you what you want to know.” Because we were terrified of what the consequences would be.

  “I don’t like the way you speak, Shield Mallorough,” was his blunt response. “I’ve never found that monotone you Shields seem driven to assume at all attractive, and you choose the words you use with too much care, words that are subject to several interpretations. It makes you sound slippery.”

  All right, then. Time to shut up and hope I didn’t just sink our boat.

  I felt Karish watch beside me. “It’s a Shield’s task to take care with her words.” The accent strengthened as his voice acquired an edge. “They are all trained to do so. I thought everyone knew that.” Shut up, shut up, shut up, Karish. “Perhaps if Your Highness were more informed about the responsibilities of Shields and Sources, you would not find our behavior so disquieting.”

  While it was all chivalrous and noble and whatnot for him to defend me, this was not the time! And this certainly wasn’t the manner. One did not chide the Crown Prince for being ignorant. I really wanted to gouge Karish in the ribs for that one.

  And the Prince plainly wasn’t pleased. His face turned a darker hue of crimson, and for a moment I thought he was going to start yelling. But he didn’t. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose and visibly grabbed control of himself. It was a little uncomfortable to watch, quivering rage hauled back and stomped into invisibility.

  But his voice shook a little when he spoke. “You may be correct, Source Karish,” he said. “We do find ourselves lacking in specific information about the Triple S. We hear that they stop all of these natural disasters that our world is apparently heir to, and of course we are well aware of the enormous levels of revenue sent to the academies and the council, but we never think anything beyond that.” That was good. That was the way we liked it. “But it is clear that We should rectify that error. It appears to Us that We might be . . . underutilizing you.”

  That

  sounded

  bad.

  “Underutilizing, Your Highness?”

  I’m glad Karish asked. I’d been dying to. Sort of. A part of me had been. Another part of me had been thinking ignorance was bliss.

  “Perhaps you can’t honestly explain these unusual events. But perhaps your council can.”

  Ah hell. Damn, damn, damn. The council was already suspicious of us. What were they going to think—or do—if the Crown Prince went to them with whatever wild speculations he dreamed up? Just . . . hell.

  “Yes, Source Karish, that’s an excellent idea,” the Prince said with growin
g enthusiasm and blatant malice. “We have been remiss, ignoring the needs and interests of the Triple S as we have. For centuries the family have done nothing but hand over a small fortune and leave you to it. But it has been made clear to us that the Triple S might benefit from some . . . supervision.”

  Oh. Hell.

  “Obviously, Our next step must be Shidonee’s Gap, so We can discuss such matters with the council. No doubt, in their collective wisdom and experience, they can answer questions you cannot.” He looked beyond us to a servant who had been lurking behind us. No words were spoken, but I heard the clinking of glass. “Leave now.”

  It took us a moment to start moving. I was too stunned.

  As soon as we were outside the apartment and the door had closed behind us, I looked up to say something to Karish. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, but I had no doubt it would be stupid and useless. So it was just as well that I was preempted by the arrival of a servant. One of the Dowager’s, I realized.

  “Source Karish,” she said, her voice hard with the unimpressed arrogance of a person who had spent her life waiting on someone truly unworthy. “The Dowager Duchess of Westsea requests your attendance.”

  Karish scowled. “Couldn’t care less.”

  “Now, my lord.”

  That startled me. Was she allowed to talk to him that way?

  Karish’s face flushed. “Go to hell.”

  Oh, no, he wasn’t at the end of his tether or anything.

  The servant was still unimpressed. “I am instructed to follow you until you concede,” she told him. “If that means following you to your home or to the home of someone else and knocking on the door until dawn, then that’s what I will do.”

  And she didn’t appear disturbed by playing such a humiliating role. I wondered what other kinds of weird tasks the Dowager had demanded of her.

  “Oh, for gods’ sake.” Karish wanted to shove his hands in his hair but it was too tightly bound. “Why can’t the woman just leave?”

  Yes, why couldn’t she? She either thought Karish was safely strapped down as the next duke, or knew it was impossible and too late to do anything about it. Now that her presence was of no more use one way or the other, why couldn’t she just leave and resume the disinterest she had had for Karish during almost three decades?