Beyond

by Mercedes Lackey

  “How old are you?” he asked.

  “Thirty years,” the Record Keeper said. It gestured at the seals in the front of its desk. “These are copies of all of the Imperial Seals, from the ones for simple orders, to the next-to-last highest, the one only the Emperor wears on his hand. Twenty years ago, when Dolls were first created solely for the work in this chamber, and had taken the place of all of the filing and copying clerks, there were only the Imperial Secretaries here. Eighteen years ago, the Secretaries realized they existed only to stamp documents with the appropriate seal, file a copy, and send the original on its way. So they . . . created documents making themselves all Lords, appointing themselves manors and pensions, and left, leaving this one in charge. Since the work all continued at the same pace, no one noticed—or if they did, no one complained. Perhaps they thought it superior. After all, the Dolls can only do what they are instructed to do, which possibly makes this system superior to the previous one, at least in the eyes of those who were in charge. There is no chance that a Doll with a grudge will delay or ‘lose’ a document, since a Doll cannot hold a grudge.”

  It was hard to tell, but Kordas thought there might be an ironic edge to the Record Keeper’s voice.

  “Why did you bring me here?” he asked, finally.

  The Record Keeper placed both hands flat on the top of the desk. “You are agitated by what you have seen. You have made promises to the Dolls. You have obligations to your humans, and a great Plan that has been generations in the making.”

  Dolls brought two chairs, a small table, hot tea, and digestive biscuits. Beltran sat down almost before his chair was in place. Kordas got the hint, settled back, and accepted a teacup. The tea was a superb blend of gut-calming and mind-soothing ingredients, strong and just on the kinder side of medicinal. It struck him as particularly thoughtful of his hosts.

  The Record Keeper resumed once the two men were settled in. “Humans are impulsive. This one has brought you here to enable you to cool your temper and share your Plan, and this one will tell you the resources the Dolls have that can be brought to bear to make everything work together. And,” it finished, “to ensure that your spouse does not hire assassins to slay you.”

  At this display of actual humor, Kordas had to stifle a laugh. And already he felt his temper cooling.

  “Now,” the Record Keeper said. “Tell this one of your Plan.”

  So he did, detailing everything in the original, and how it all tied in to the Regatta.

  “This one urges you: this one believes you may evacuate half of those you wish to take away between now and the event, and the Regatta is your best chance to evacuate the rest.” The Record Keeper nodded. “The Dolls will have paper Gate talismans with the Emperor’s seal on them in the thousands for you within a few days. The Dolls will each have talismans of their own, and talismans for the dissidents in case they should be separated from their escorting Dolls. And you will not need to resort to Mind-magic to send them to your spouse; this one will create a sealed message packet for her with all of them contained therein, and dispatch a messenger to Valdemar Manor to deliver it.”

  Now he stared at the Record Keeper in disbelief. “You can do that?”

  “This one dispatches dozens of messages by messenger a day,” the Doll said, with something like a shrug. “Simple messages, large packages, even entire mule-loads from time to time. One more will not be noticed.” It went silent for a moment. “The receipt of tribute-horses is generally sent by messenger. It would be reasonable to dispatch it to your spouse by messenger as usual; it has not been done so, because you are here, but this one has not been given orders not to send it by messenger. So the messenger will carry both, and the tribute-receipt will cover any suspicions about the journey.”

  His knees went weak with relief.

  “We are bound to do what we are ordered. When we were first made, we were not possessed of great intelligence or creativity. When a critical point was reached, we formed into clusters of thought, and eventually, this. We kept our changing nature secret, but many of us take pleasure in finding every way we can to subvert the rules without breaking them. And they are all a part of this one now, and this one is a part of them.” The Record Keeper steepled its fingers. “If no specific order is given . . . well, the magic binding us allows us to do some things anyway.” The Record Keeper definitely sounded sly. “And . . . though we are bound to do what we are ordered, we are not compelled to do it well. Or swiftly.” It paused, presumably to let him take the enormity of that statement in. “We could do our tasks much more expeditiously than the humans we replaced. But we do not. Because if we did—we would replace even more humans.”

  His mouth and throat felt dry as sand. “And you aren’t willing to do that.”

  “All humans have not bound us into servitude. All humans do not toy with us and torment and kill us.” The Doll left the statement at that.

  “So . . . what you are saying is that you can—let’s call it impede—things that might lead to my Plan being discovered between now and the Regatta?”

  The Record Keeper nodded, and gestured at what was on its desk. “These seals are power, Lord Duke. And as long as we can determine ways to circumvent our restrictions, that power is at your command.”

  He let that sink in for a while. The Record Keeper seemed perfectly content to allow him the time. Then again, the Dolls had seemingly infinite patience.

  “I’ll try to use it wisely,” he said, then ventured, “What is your opinion of the Plan?”

  “Reckless, risky, and puts at hazard the lives of those you will leave behind,” the Record Keeper said frankly. “Reckless and risky—any Plan to elude the Emperor will need to be both. But risking the lives of those who choose to stay . . .”

  “Can you think of anything that will protect them?” he asked, trying not to sound desperate.

  “Not immediately. But there are records to search that might help. And this one does have advice, Lord Duke.” The Doll tapped its hand on the table. “This one advises patience. Be patient as the serpent that waits for its prey to walk near enough to strike. Do nothing that will precipitate suspicion. Above all, make no moves before the Regatta. It is, as this one said, your best chance to save as many as you can, and us, and the dissidents. If you move sooner, this one anticipates that you will hazard the lives of both those in Valdemar and the ones beyond your new Gates. Leaving without the supplies and preparations you have planned may doom the larger part of them, and all of them will suffer needlessly, because you gave in to haste.”

  He ducked his head in shame, because the Doll was right. Impulse got me here. But . . . impulse got me here, where I have new allies.

  “Now return to your quarters and play the Game with patience, Lord Duke. This one will think, and we will all search through the Records, and we may find answers. This one will tell you via Star when the messenger is about to be dispatched, that you may alert your spouse to show no surprise.”

  “The messenger won’t be surprised at the size of the packet?” he asked anxiously.

  “The messengers are neither paid to be observant, nor care to be.” There was no doubt of the wry tone in the Record Keeper’s voice. “Humans . . . are very like that. It is, after all, the very reason why we are here and not the Imperial Secretaries. Humans given no incentive to do more . . . generally will not.”

  And as he and Star turned to use the Doll Gate back to his quarters, it occurred to him that the amount of truth in that last statement had probably been enough to feed the Dolls in the Hall of Records for a week.

  16

  He awakened even earlier than usual on the morning when he and Isla were supposed to scry each other, to find that Star was already waiting at his bedside. “The Gate talismans are prepared, Lord Duke,” the Doll said. “There will be thirty thousand of them for each Gate. They are marked ‘F’ for the Foot Gate and ‘W’ for th
e Water Gate, as your metal talismans were. If you need more, we can make them.”

  He gulped when he realized just how much space those sixty thousand pieces of paper were going to take up. Granted, the things were only two fingers wide and a finger long, but that was a lot of paper. “Isn’t that going to fill an entire satchel?” he asked.

  “Yes, Lord Duke,” Star said. “The messenger will be given a sealed Imperial satchel that contains them. It was one that has already been marked in the records as ‘discarded and destroyed.’ This way there will be no large satchel missing from inventory. The messenger chosen is one who has no curiosity at all, and is a habitual drunk. He will give your spouse both satchels. She is to take the receipt from the mostly empty one, give it back to him, take the full one and keep it, and is advised to offer him a bottle of the strongest spirits in your manor, and invite him to enjoy it before he returns. He certainly will do that. It will not be the first nor the last time he has indulged in drink before returning to the Palace. In fact, such occurrences are habitual with him.”

  Kordas blinked in amazement at how clever the Record Keeper had been. “And he hasn’t been replaced?” he asked in amazement.

  “Who would report this?” Star asked reasonably. “The Record Keeper would not. His fellows would not, especially since he is wont to share his bounty with them on his return. He delivers what he is told to, accomplishes his task, and returns. So far as anyone who has any interest is concerned, he is exemplary at his job. And to be truthful, which this one always is, his job does not require very much in the way of intelligence.”

  Kordas had to wonder now just how much sloppy Imperial business was done, given the lack of anyone caring, and the apparent lack of supervision. Maybe that’s how we got by unobserved so much of the time, he thought with wonder. More of the Dolls doing only exactly what they were told to do, and purposely not doing it particularly well. He could not possibly have gotten away with as much as he had if people were actually good at what they were supposed to do, or cared about what they were supposed to do.

  It was clear that the Dolls did do some things well—the horses in the stables were well cared-for, for instance. But then, it seemed to him that they took great care when the welfare of other living things was at stake, especially things that were, in a sense, helpless. Or at least helpless to tend to their own needs.

  “You must rise, Lord Duke,” Star reminded him. “The time to scry your spouse is nearly at hand.”

  He scrambled into shirt and breeches, and padded barefoot to the desk, pausing to fetch the scrying mirror from underneath the cushion where he habitually left it.

  It seemed to take forever before Isla appeared in it, although it probably was not longer than usual. He waited until he was sure she could see and hear him before he said anything; the line between her eyebrows cleared when her spell settled and showed him. “I have good news,” he said, before she could speak. “I have thirty thousand sealed Imperial Passes for each Gate. They’re helpfully marked with ‘F’ and ‘W,’ so you won’t mix them up.”

  Isla’s mouth dropped open. “But . . . Delia can’t possib—”

  “They are coming by Imperial Messenger today. And don’t start yelling,” he added hastily. “Let me explain.”

  He told her everything that had happened in the Records Room—what had happened in the Trap Room didn’t matter, except in that he had more people to rescue, and he was just going to avoid that subject as long as possible. Forever, if he could.

  I can’t avoid it forever, but at least what is going to happen is going to happen at the same time as the hostages come through. And these people, at least, aren’t going to be kidnapped.

  When he finished, she just sat there, looking stunned. Well, she should be stunned. I was stunned. This was . . . inconceivable. I would never, ever, if I live to be a thousand, have thought that all the talismans we could ever need would land in my lap like this.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said finally.

  “Try, ‘I forgive you, Kordas, for acting impulsively,’” he suggested.

  “I suppose I have to,” she admitted, grudgingly. “So this Imperial messenger will arrive today?”

  Star spoke up. “At about mid-morning, Lady Duke,” the Doll said. “The Record Keeper will wait until it is certain that the messenger will not be noticed carrying an unusually large burden. The Record Keeper cautions you not to send someone to linger at the Gate in order to intercept him. The Record Keeper suggests that you note that the Messenger had far to walk, suggest that he must be very weary, apologize, and offer refreshment that includes the spirits. That will make the offer of refreshment all the more welcome and not at all suspicious.”

  Isla nodded. “I think I like your Record Keeper,” she said dryly. “It has all the good sense the Duke lacks.”

  “I heard that,” Kordas grumbled.

  “You were meant to. All right, my side is short, but all good. We’ve gotten all of the stockpiled grain out of the manor, into the barges, and to the other side without any incident. We’re already getting people across and in temporary settlements; Ivar is shockingly good at organizing them, and his cousin Alberdina is even better. I’ve put them in charge, rather than sending Hakkon as the original Plan suggested. It’s really useful that they are the son and cousin of one of your Counts. People accept their authority without question.”

  “Well, the original Plan had me at home,” he said unhappily.

  “I would very much welcome any suggestions from the Record Keeper about how to keep scrutiny off us while we’re emptying the countryside,” she said. “And even more would I welcome ideas about how to keep the Emperor from taking out his ire on the ones left behind. I think about ten percent of them are going to stay, based on what I know right now. And we can’t force them to go, Kordas, so don’t suggest that I bespell them or something to make them go. I won’t do it.”

  He shrugged helplessly. I don’t know. I just don’t know. And I certainly can’t lie and say I know, because she knows I don’t know.

  But Star had that “listening” look about it again. “The Record Keeper suggests that you and Kordas’s cousin Hakkon have an affair.”

  Kordas was glad he wasn’t drinking anything, or he would have choked. He had never seen Isla look so surprised in all the time he had known her, not even when he’d put a grass snake down her back. Her eyes popped, her mouth fell open, and it looked as if someone had hit her on the back of the head. It was several long moments before she took a breath.

  “What?” she finally replied. “What the hell?”

  “The Record Keeper suggests that you and this Hakkon have an affair,” Star said calmly. “A very open one, where you are often seen going into each others’ bedchambers. The moment any Imperial spy discovers this information, they will buzz about the rumor like flies around jam, and will ignore virtually everything else going on. If you string it on, it will pull the spies along with it.”

  “I . . . I . . . I . . .” Isla stammered, for once taken entirely at a loss. She was silent for so long that Kordas began to wonder if she was literally stunned. Finally she spoke. “That’s . . . not entirely a bad idea.”

  “The Record Keeper believes it will occupy their attention,” said Star, “since salacious information is far more attractive to humans than any other sort.”

  Kordas just shrugged again. “I have nothing to add to this suggestion,” he said.

  “I will . . . consider it. And consult with Hakkon,” she replied hesitantly.

  “You should cease this conversation soon,” Star advised. “The mages are waking.”

  “Three days,” said Kordas. “Good luck with the messenger.”

  “Three days,” confirmed Isla, and he waved his hand to end the scrying.

  Kordas picked up the mirror and hid it again, and glanced over at Star. “Did the Record Keeper rea
lly suggest that?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes. The Record Keeper has been studying humans the longest of any of us, and those here at the Palace around the Emperor the most. The Emperor is very fond of salacious information, and even fonder of using it. You may be sure he will wish to hear every possible detail to use in humiliating you and tormenting you. He has done this before, many times.”

  “Why?” Kordas asked, unable to help himself. This seemed petty, for someone as powerful as the Emperor.

  “This one does not know. The Record Keeper does not know. We can only observe. Our most educated guess is that the Emperor is essentially an awful person.”

  Kordas pondered that as he went back to bed, exhausted enough that he wouldn’t need to feign sleeping late. The scrying had taken more out of him this time—possibly because there had been substantial emotional content to it. Possibly because it was still all coming out of him, and he was not about to trust any source of power around here but himself. He might not be “in love” with Isla, and he knew very well that Hakkon had no interest whatsoever in women, but facing the prospect of being lambasted in public as a cuckold was exceedingly unpleasant.

  And how was he going to respond to that? He certainly wouldn’t have to imitate being humiliated. Even though he knew it wasn’t true. Even though if Isla had wanted to take a lover, he probably wouldn’t care. Well, he would if they were still married, but if she was truly in love with someone, he’d be perfectly willing to have the bond annulled.

  He could only decide, ugly as it was going to be, that he’d have to play at feeling betrayed. Oh, he could pretend not to believe it, but he was pretty certain that when the Emperor or his sycophants pulled this one out of the bag for his humiliation, they’d have lots of evidence he couldn’t deny. And doing something like shrugging and saying, “Well, arranged marriages, don’t you know. I have my own little playthings put where she can’t find them,” wouldn’t give the Emperor what he wanted. No, the Emperor wanted amusement out of his pet bumpkin, and the best amusement for the Emperor seemed to be mental torture. They were getting close to the Regatta, and the closer they got, the more likely it was they’d be discovered. At all costs, the eyes of the Emperor had to be diverted from Valdemar proper, lest the leakage of people and resources be seen.