by Peter David
I emerged from my room and the guards who were standing there—different than the ones I had seen the previous night— bowed to me. “This way,” said one of them, and I obediently followed, reasoning that I didn’t have a choice. At least I was fully armed, with my sword on my back, my knife on my hip and my staff in my hand.
We passed through the palace and out the back. Certain smells came floating to me and I immediately realized that we were heading toward somewhere that horses were kept. Sure enough, there was a large corral in the back of the palace and I saw that the Rama was already there. He was moving through the corral and endeavoring to interact with quite simply the four most magnificent white horses I had ever seen.
They seemed to have no interest in him. Instead they were firmly moving away from him at the slightest opportunity. He wasn’t trying to do anything cruel to them; he was simply trying to pet them, as if they were oversized dogs. But they didn’t have the slightest tendency to interact with him at all. They consistently distanced themselves from him.
“Greetings, Rama,” I hailed him.
He turned and saw me coming. “Well met, Apropos. I was endeavoring to get a handle on my horses to get them affixed to my chariot, but they do not seem cooperative this morning. Or ever,” he added with a slight grimace.
I still had the carrots left over from my breakfast; I had not eaten them but instead shoved them into my pocket to save for later. Seeing an opportunity, however, I leaned over the fence that comprised the corral and extended my hands, filled with carrots, to the horses.
Immediately one of them headed in my direction. Granted, I had always had a natural affinity for animals. I had no idea why, but by and large, they seemed to like me. Except, of course, for that herd of unicorns that had endeavored to trample both the Princess Entipy and me to death, but that was quite a long time ago. Besides, I tended to ascribe that mishap to her presence rather than anything that I had done to provoke it.
Seeing the one horse move toward me, the others followed suit. Within moments they were practically fighting each other to devour the contents of my hand, and when the carrots were gone, they stayed right where they were. I petted them, stroking their lustrous white manes. “They are magnificent,” I breathed. “I’ve never seen the like.”
“You never will again. Pure-bred Rogyptian horses,” said the Rama proudly. “A gift to me from a distant Sultan. They seem to like you, Apropos. Far more than they like me,” he added, his voice taking a slight downturn.
I shrugged. “I just have a lot of experience in dealing with horses.”
He pointed to the far side of the corral. There was a chariot there, and it was an impressive vehicle. It was trimmed in gold, and the wheels were huge and solid black. It was quite large for such a vehicle, seemingly capable of transporting at least three individuals. “Do you think you can hitch them up?” he asked.
“I can give it a try, if it would please you.”
“It would indeed.”
It didn’t take me long at all. My typical affinity for animals truly served me in good stead. As little taste as the horses may have had for the Rama, they seemed to take a very quick shine to me, and it was only a matter of minutes to get them hitched up to the chariot. While I was doing so, I noticed that another set of eyes had arrived to watch me go through the procedure: the princess Clea, my “fiancée.” She watched silently. I wasn’t certain if she was impressed or not, and I certainly knew better than to ask.
Mane joined us moments later, and there was a large, sturdy individual next to him. Mane seemed quite surprised as I strapped the fourth of the horses into its harness. “Rama,” he said, “I have brought your charioteer to bring you to the pyramid. But I see you already have the horses ready to go.”
“Yes,” said the Rama. “Apropos will drive us there.”
“He will?” said Mane.
“I will?” I was likewise as surprised.
“Are you capable of steering a chariot?” he asked.
I saw no reason to downplay my abilities. “More than capable, actually. I have some experience.” Which was technically true. I had steered horse drawn vehicles on a number of occasions in my life. I had never steered chariots that were identical to the Rogyptian styling, but I reasoned that it was certainly similar to others. All I had to do was maintain control of the team and there shouldn’t be any serious issues.
“That’s good to hear,” said the Rama. He turned to Clea. “Are you coming?”
“Of course,” she said.
The Rama made no effort to hide his surprise. “You are? You never come.”
“I felt you could use the company.” But as she spoke, she kept her gaze fixed on me. It was as if she was assessing me, out here in broad daylight without having our engagement being forced upon her.
As for me, I still had not the slightest interest in wedding her. She was much too young for my preferences. That did not deter me from inclining my head to her in a gesture of acknowledgment. No reason we couldn’t all be polite to each other.
Mane bowed slightly and said, “The procession is waiting for you, Rama.”
“Excellent.”
“Procession?” I said, making no effort to hide my confusion.
“Yes, of course,” said Mane as if we were discussing things to which I should readily be privy. “Whenever the Rama goes anywhere, there is always an escort. For security reasons.”
“Of course,” I said, and I supposed it made a certain degree of sense. Even monarchs who were beloved still took care when it came to allowing for possible assaults from those who were dissatisfied with their reign. And considering that the Rama oversaw a kingdom where he enslaved a portion of his population and slew their first-born children, it was logical to ensure that the chances of attacks upon him were minimized. Then, sounding cautious, I asked, “Is there a chance of an attack?”
“There is always a chance, but it is very dubious,” Mane said confidently. The Rama nodded as well, apparently satisfied with that assessment.
With the Rama and Clea in the chariot, I snapped the reins and the horses immediately set off.
We left the courtyard and rode through the streets of the city. People spotted us coming and scrambled to get out of the way. The wheels were large and absorbed the jaggedness of the road, so the shaking was minimal. I tried to keep my attention focused forward as we proceeded. I noticed that no one was making direct eye contact with us. Instead everyone was bowing almost in half upon seeing the Rama. The youngster in turn bowed and nodded to his people in response, but every so often I would glance back at his face, and I saw no warmth in his eyes. He clearly either did not like, or was disinterested in, the people who were attempting to pay deference to him. Clea was likewise disinterested, although there was no hostility in her eyes. She wasn’t even looking at them but instead appeared to be gazing inward, locked in her own thoughts. I had no idea what those thoughts might be, but she was obviously fully engaged in them.
There was a trail of soldiers striding quickly behind us. The reason for their presence was obvious: they were guards for the Rama. Anyone who might have been foolish enough to attempt an attack would be cut down before they managed to make it even a few steps.
I watched the reactions of the crowd as we rolled past them. It was hard to determine what was going through their minds because they were resolutely averting their gazes. One man, however, did not. It was Simon. How he managed to wind up in the crowd when he should have been slaving to construct whatever in the world the Shews were busy building, I could not begin to imagine. But there he was, and his gaze was not at all lowered. Instead it was fixed directly on me, and he did not seem especially happy to see me. I suppose I couldn’t blame him. Here I was, supposedly the best bet for freeing his people from the strictures of the Rama, and instead I was effectively acting as his personal driver. I’m quite sure that didn’t go over especially well with him. I could just see him reporting back to the others: “Apropos is serving t
he Rama. Why did we trust him? He’s obviously betrayed us. Let’s kidnap him again and next time we send him back one piece at a time.” Yes, that was going to go over quite well.
I snapped the reins and hurried the horses along. The Rama nodded approvingly of how I was handling the horses while Clea remained resolutely indifferent. Within moments Simon and whoever else might be with him had been left behind.
We stayed steady on the road and soon we were leaving the vast city behind us. I had to say that I was pleased to do so. Honestly, at that point I was tempted to simply send the horses galloping forward at full speed, find a cliff that I could send them over, leap out at the last moment and watch Lama and Clea plummet to their deaths. That, I dared say, would solve all my problems in one shot. Unfortunately that really was not an option, or at least not one that I was anxious to pursue.
I had no idea where I was going, but the Rama was perfectly happy to guide me in the correct direction. It soon became evident that one of the great pyramids in the distance was our goal. “Your father is entombed there?” I asked.
“And a great many of my ancestors with him,” said the Rama. He sounded rather proud. “They rest together, talk together, dine together…”
“Dine?” I shook my head in confusion. “They’re dead. What do they need to dine on?”
“The lost hopes and dreams of the Shews, I suppose.”
“Well, that sounds charming.”
We drew close to the pyramid long minutes later and disembarked from the chariot. The Rama sprung out as quickly as his lame leg would allow him to, and Clea stepped out after him. She continued to seem bored, absorbed instead with whatever was cascading through her head. The convoy drew up behind us and then marched to a halt. They did not seem the least out of breath; I admired how fit they were. I would have been exhausted. Then again, I was hardly someone who could consider himself to be remotely in good shape. I made my way down from the chariot, leaning on my staff as I customarily did.
There was a large archway in the base of the pyramid that seemed to invite us in. The Rama and Clea were heading for it and so naturally I fell into stride behind them. I had to admit to being curious about what I would discover in there, having never had the opportunity to enter a pyramid before.
We entered and I was immediately staggered by the mustiness of the place. Not to sound melodramatic, but I could smell death all around me.
I was surprised, however, that I could see the large chamber that awaited us when we first entered. That was because there was a flaming pit in the dead center of it. It was about ten feet wide and fire was burning across it as if it were a swimming pool filled with flame instead of water.
“Magic?” I asked.
The Rama laughed at the notion. “Magic? No, no, don’t be absurd. Natural gas keeps the fire going. It provides us with a means of illumination.” He was reaching toward a stone shelf that was off to the side and it had extinguished torches lying upon them. There was a large bucket of pitch nearby them and the Rama shoved the torch into the pitch and then thrust it into the flames. The torch immediately ignited.
Clea and I followed suit and moments later the three of us were slowly making our way forward. There were various chamber entrances to our right and left, and as we passed each one, the Rama nodded to them as if greeting them with silent respect. I have to admit, I admired his dedication to those who came before him.
As we made our way down the hallway, through a series of corridors that twisted and turned back on each other as if we were in a maze, I commented, “I would not be so dismissive of magic were I you. Certainly the curse of the Moomy, of whom I have heard tales, would qualify as magic.”
“They are exaggerations,” the Rama said as if the tales were irrelevant. “They are nothing to concern oneself about.”
I saw a means of entrance there. “If that is the case, then why do you feel the need to perpetuate an ancient law that stems from his threats? What reason is there to slay the first-born sons of all Shews? Certainly they pose no threat, either to you or the people of Rogypt. Doesn’t it make sense, then, to remove that law from its place of reverence?”
“I cannot.”
“Of course you can. You are the Rama. You can do whatever you wish.”
The boy king shook his head firmly. “I promised my father that I would uphold all of the laws, just as he did in his time and his father before him. I cannot simply decide that a certain law be tossed aside because it no longer seems relevant.”
“And who would gainsay you? Who would dare?”
Clea chose that moment to speak up. “One must always be cautious of backstabbers. They do not announce their presence, but they linger in the background and wait for the right moment to strike.” She actually looked at me as if noticing me for the first time. “Of what concern is it to you? Do you have friends among the Shews who desire you to speak on their behalf? When you and Nuskin were kidnapped, were they Shews who released you in exchange for your efforts to have the laws changed or even have them freed altogether?”
Damnation, but she was fast. She was, of course, absolutely right, but I was hardly in a position to admit that to her. Fortunately enough I was able to lie to her with facility, for I had spent decades lying routinely and thus was exceptionally practiced at it. “Of course not,” I said as if it were the most absurd notion in the world rather than the absolute truth. “I was just thinking aloud, that is all. I have nothing of particular invested in the fate of the Shews. They are a slave race and what happens to them is of no consequence to me. Enslave them, do not enslave them. Kill them, let them live. Either plan does not mean that to me,” and I snapped my fingers and praised whatever unnamed god I had encountered in the burning bush that Simon was not around to hear me be so dismissive of his peoples’ future.
“Of course he doesn’t care, Clea,” said the Rama, unknowingly coming to my aid. He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “Do not concern yourself about her words. She is but a female after all and what she says is of no consequence.”
Despite his lowered voice, Clea could naturally hear every word he said. Her lips thinned tightly but she did not bother to respond to his charge. For that, I was extremely grateful. Especially, of course, because she was correct in her assumptions, but her brother’s arrogance left her assumption behind in the dirt.
“Here,” the Rama said abruptly. He had stopped in front of one entranceway that frankly seemed identical to all of the others, but he was clearly quite sure that he was where he was supposed to be. His voice sounded different even though he had spoken only a single word. He sounded hushed, saddened, aware of whose presence he was in. He took a moment and inhaled deeply before striding in. Clea and I followed, her resigned, me dutiful, dwelling on the content of our discussion. It was obvious to me that the Rama clearly wasn’t all that fixated on the importance of the law that was sending unknown numbers of Shewish children to their deaths. Obviously I had to be able to use that to my advantage. If I could somehow convince him to step away from the pointless promises that he had made to his predecessors—convince him to stand up for himself and become his own man—I might well be able to turn him around on this business.
We strode into the room in which the Rama’s father was entombed. I was surprised to see that he was not within some manner of crypt, unless one considered the entirety of the pyramid to be a crypt. His father’s body had been completely mummified. He had been wrapped from head to toe in strips of white linen. “Is that all they do when they mummify you?” I asked.
Lama shook his head. “No, it’s an entire process. First they remove your internal organs. Then—”
I put up a hand and kept a smile pasted on my face. “That’s… all right. I don’t really need to know much more than that.”
“It’s a very interesting procedure.”
“Not that interested.”
The Rama shrugged at my indifference and instead went to his father. He wrapped his hand around the hand of the
corpse and spoke in a soft, reverent whisper, “I hope you are walking well alongside the gods, father. I am trying my best to rule in the way that I think you would want me to. It is difficult for me having no idea if you approve of the way I’m handling things. If there were only some way that you send me a sign, that would be wonderful.”
He squeezed the mummy’s hand, which I thought was both kind of sweet and also amazingly creepy.
And suddenly he cried out. “Where did—ow!” he shouted and slapped at his hand. I immediately saw why.
Some manner of large, round insect had come out of nowhere and crawled onto the back of his hand. Perhaps it had been residing in or on the mummy and was annoyed by his touching it. Wherever it had originated from, it had scrambled onto the Rama’s hand and had apparently bitten him or stung him.
The Rama smacked the creature and it flew off his hand and landed on the mummy. Perhaps offended by the creature’s very existence, the Rama swung his cane around and crushed the little beast on the mummy’s chest. Apparently the insect had drained some blood from its bite because a small bit of what was clearly human blood spread on the linens. It was not much, perhaps a drop or so. Yet amazingly the linen immediately soaked it up and the blood actually disappeared into it.
“That’s odd,” I muttered.
The Rama brushed off pieces of the shattered insect from the mummy and retook his father’s hand in his and squeezed it once more.
And the mummy squeezed his hand back.