Pyramid Schemes

by Peter David

  “I have already sent a messenger to bring the Arch Mage here immediately,” she said, sitting in a relaxed manner upon her throne. I was standing next to her; since we were not yet married, it was not my place to sit on any throne. “Furthermore, I officially designate Apropos to be my heir. Should anything happen to me, he is to be your next king. All hail Apropos!”

  “All hail Apropos!” they dutifully chorused. I had no idea how they truly felt about me. My arrival had resulted in mixed reactions of fear and confusion. Now it seemed as if they were unanimously endeavoring to embrace me in the same way that the queen had done. If any of the knights who had despised me in my youth had been there, it might have gone somewhat differently, but they were all either dead or retired, and the new crop appeared to be taking their cues from Mace. And Mace’s impassive expression was all the cue they required to maintain their decorum.

  I was led to another room where I was bathed and presented with a brand new set of clothing to don for the wedding. It consisted of purple leggings and an absolutely gorgeous purple tunic with red trim. There was also a splendid cape accompanying it. The cape was solid red, which went nicely with the trim. Purple made sense, of course, because it was the color of royalty. As I adjusted the cape, I heard a knock at the door. “Come,” I called.

  The door swung open and Mace Morningstar filled the opening with his bulk. He stepped into the room and swung the door shut behind him. He stood there for a moment, staring at me.

  “Are you out of your mind?” he asked. I was sitting on a bench and pulling on a boot. “I don’t believe so.”

  “Entipy is insane.”

  I stared at him. “That is hardly an appropriate opinion to have of your queen.”

  “It’s the opinion everyone has of her!” He strode toward me and there was genuine urgency on his face. “Don’t you understand? This is some manner of trick!”

  “She’s tricking me into marrying her? Doesn’t that sound odd to you? And what do you mean everyone thinks she’s crazy? She’s beloved…”

  “Who told you that?”

  My son had. My son and hers. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. “I heard it around.”

  “Don’t you understand?” He pulled another stool up and sat down opposite me. It seemed hard to believe that there was genuine concern for me on his face, considering how terrible he had been to me in my youth, but there it was. “Everyone is afraid to speak of how much she terrifies them, because she has ears everywhere. If someone besmirches her, they are risking their lives.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing here? With impunity?”

  “I’m trying to do you a favor.”

  “I don’t need your favors, thanks.”

  “Yes, you do. You just don’t seem to understand that.” He lowered his voice, and then said, “I’ve seen her make decisions that would leave you stunned. I’ve seen her embark on random wars for no reason. I’ve seen her advocate building a wall along the borders of our neighboring countries to keep them out. I’ve seen her proclaim that eighty percent of all white people are slain by Moors, which is patently untrue. I’ve seen her take action after action that is for the benefit of no one, just to amuse herself. The bottom line is that she is dangerous, Apropos. Very dangerous.”

  “I’m amazed no one has slain her,” I said drily.

  “That’s because she pays well and has superb guardians on staff. She never departs the castle. She sits and stews and thinks about ways to cause trouble, and sometimes she embarks upon them and sometimes she doesn’t. Why do you think her son fled when he was a teenager?”

  “Because he was regarded as a royal bastard.”

  “Because he was afraid of her!”

  Now I knew that he was lying. Germane had had nothing but affection for his mother. He had told me so himself and had no reason to lie…

  Unless he was setting you up. Unless he was trying to trick you into coming here, knowing that his crazed mother would do something terrible to you…

  Like marry me? Does that make any sense?

  At that moment the door swung open and one of Entipy’s handmaidens was standing there. “It’s time,” she said softly, indicating with a gesture of her hand that I should follow her.

  I glanced one more time at Mace, who shook his head very slightly to indicate that I should not go. I ignored him, of course. I had no idea what had motivated him to come in there and “warn” me about Entipy. Perhaps he himself was enamored of her and hoped that, should I pull out again, he might have the opportunity to press some manner of suit. Whatever his reason was, I had no interest in indulging him.

  I then turned my back to Mace Morningstar and followed her out.

  I strode into the throne room and saw that everyone in the castle had gathered. My attention flickered to the large tapestry on the far wall, the one of their messiah, riding on the back of a phoenix. The one that some nameless farweaver had created to predict the coming of their savior. Well, here he was. He had taken something of a long time to get here, but now he had arrived and however things currently were, they would only improve with my presence.

  The Arch Mage was standing at the far end and indicated that I should join him. He was quite a wizened individual, barely over five feet tall, with a long white beard, no hair on the top of his head, but the most insanely long eyebrows I had ever seen. I just wanted to take a pair of scissors and trim them down, but I restrained my sartorial instincts.

  There was a gentleman with a violin nearby the throne, and when the door near the throne opened, he launched into some manner of tune with which I was not familiar. In retrospect I suppose it did not matter. Queen Entipy entered then, and she was magnificent. How in the hell she had managed to produce a white bridal dress in such a short period of time, I could not even begin to imagine, but she had done so. Her black hair was elaborately styled. I was grateful that she had not allowed it to return to its natural red color, since that would have matched mine and might have proven a bit much for me to handle.

  She was smiling so broadly. It was as if all the years of mourning that she had carried with her had dissolved.

  The warnings of Mace Morningstar continued to rattle in my head, but I brushed them aside. I knew without a doubt that I was doing the right thing. It was going to make her happy. And it wasn’t as if we were brother and sister who had grown up together and developed a forbidden and incestuous relationship. When we had first encountered each other we were strangers, and the bonds that had developed between us were genuine. So what if we were somewhat related, if we shared a father? There was so much more to life than obsessing about who came from whose body. Our sires were long departed, although I had not yet found out what happened to the jester. I had to remember to ask her about that. But that was not going to worry me overmuch.

  She walked in a slow rhythm to my side and took my hand, gazing up at me. For half a heartbeat I was startled because I thought I saw something else in her eyes—a brief look of, I don’t know. Rage. Fury. Stark hatred. But then, as quickly as I thought I saw it, it was gone. I concluded that Mace’s words to me had put my mind into something of a turmoil. Obviously I had imagined it.

  Still, part of me was uncertain enough that I kept waiting for her to do something. To suddenly reveal that this was all some manner of grand jest and she was going to trot out an executioner to relieve me of my head. Which, I must admit, if she had done so, then good for her. It would have been quite the joke and would have caught me off guard.

  But no such moment happened. The Arch Mage conducted the ceremony quite well, with no deviations from the norm, and within fifteen minutes, Entipy and I were married. The Arch Mage invited me to kiss the bride, and I did so with relish. As our lips came together, there was a unanimous roar of approval from everybody there. We held the kiss for a bit longer than I was comfortable considering the number of onlookers, but it seemed to make Entipy happy, so that was fine with me.

  A great feast followed the wedding, and
I have to say that I had never had such a delicious meal. Beef, lamb, freshly picked potatoes, carrots, and sumptuous fruits. All of it was laid out and the knights and lords and ladies lay into it with delight. Hard to believe that only six months earlier, I had been faced with a wedding to a teenager whom I did not remotely love. Now here I was, married to the one woman in the world whom I should not be with but nevertheless was.

  And why the hell not, really? Had I not lived the entirety of my life doing exactly and precisely what I should avoid? Had I not taken the destiny of my former best friend, Tacit, for myself? Had I not absconded with his phoenix and set myself off on a long, tenuous course of adventures that had inevitably led me here? If I had limited myself to doing what I should have done, I’d likely have spent the entirety of my existence as a wandering beggar since I didn’t really have any worthwhile skills save for the ability to say alive in various dangerous circumstances. So wasn’t marrying my half-sister, something that I was the only person who knew that I was doing it, astoundingly consistent with the rest of how I’d lived my life?

  Thank the gods that Odclay was gone, because he certainly could well and truly have buggered the entire thing.

  Which reminded me…

  I leaned over to Entipy as she was busy devouring a loin of pork and tried to sound as casual as I could as I asked, “By the way: where is Odclay the jester?”

  “Is this entertainment insufficient for you?” She gestured toward the troop of jugglers who were busily tossing colorful balls to each other in a truly dazzling display.

  “Oh no, not at all. I was just wondering…”

  “He fled. Several years ago.”

  “Fled?” I frowned. “Why?”

  “Because he thought I was going to execute him.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I said I was going to execute him.”

  That froze me for a moment. I had been devouring a turkey leg but now I slowly lowered it back to the plate. “Why…” My voice caught and then I managed to speak. “Why did you say that?”

  “He cried at my mother’s funeral.” There was a look of pure disdain upon her face. “Can you imagine? A jester. Crying. If you can’t count on a jester to always find the humor in a situation, who can you count on?”

  Of course he had cried at the funeral. He had loved her. He had sired a child with her.

  “So anyway,” she continued, oblivious of the thoughts going through my head, “at the end of the funeral I told him to get his affairs in order because I was going to order him executed. He nodded and said, ‘Thank you,’ and then he walked away and apparently kept walking. I’ve no idea where he went.”

  “And…” I hesitated. “Would you have actually done it? Had him executed?”

  “Oh, I doubt it. I was in a bad mood. My mother had just died, after all.”

  I let out a low sigh of relief. She looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “Why?” she asked. “Of what interest is it to you?”

  “No interest at all,” I assured her. “I was just curious about his absence, that’s all.”

  “Ah.” She nodded, apparently satisfied with my slapdash explanation. “Well, he is long gone. Perhaps he will come back some day. Or perhaps he is dead. I suppose we’ll never know.”

  “I guess not.”

  She took my chin in her hand, drew my lips to hers and kissed me soundly. “Don’t worry about him. You have things of far greater interest to worry about.”

  “Absolutely,” I said readily.

  Eventually the banquet concluded.

  Evening settled upon the castle.

  I was led into Entipy’s bedroom. I have to admit, my mind was whirling a bit since I had imbibed quite a bit during the festival and so was flying rather high. She was waiting for me, and she was still wearing her wedding dress. She had been sitting on the edge of the bed, and now she rose and walked toward me. She was smiling broadly. It was not remotely a regal smile, but instead as genuine and wide as that of an extraordinarily pleased child. She stood slightly on her toes and kissed me. “Get undressed,” she whispered to me. “I just have to go into my changing room. I’ll only need a few minutes.”

  “All right,” I replied.

  I removed my clothes as she went into the adjoining room and moments later was naked in the bed. As beds went, it was exceptionally comfortable. Possibly the most comfortable bed that I had ever been in.

  I lay back, interlacing my fingers and resting my head on my hands.

  So I had married my half-sister.

  I knew that the first thing I had to do was stop thinking of her in that respect. She was my wife. That was all. My wife, and my queen. Those were the sole terms in which I should think of her. It might take me a while…even years perhaps…to adjust to that, but I was certain that I could do so.

  Because she deserved happiness. And damn it, so did I.

  It was honestly something of a new thought to me, to think that I was entitled to a life with genuine happiness in it. And why not? Why did I have to spend the rest of my existence as Apropos of Nothing?

  I would finally be Apropos of Something.

  Then I heard a thunk.

  I was unsure of what it was. It had come from the queen’s changing room, and it sounded as if a piece of furniture had fallen over. A chair or perhaps a stool.

  Slowly I rose from the bed. “Entipy?” I called. “Are you all right?”

  She did not reply. That concerned me. Perhaps she had tripped over a stool and had struck her head on the floor.

  That was when I heard a slow, steady creaking.

  Quickly I grabbed a sheet and threw it around myself to hide my nudity as I ran, as fast as I could, to the adjoining room. I banged open the door and stood frozen in the doorway.

  Entipy was hanging from an overhead beam. She was naked, her clothing lying on a pile on the floor. There was a noose drawn tightly around her neck and she was slowly swinging back and forth. Her head was at a horrific angle. Her lips were blue and were twisted into the most demented smile I had ever seen. Her eyes were wide, empty and lifeless.

  I screamed. I screamed and kept screaming. Curiously I did not cry for help. Instead what emerged from my lips was pure, inarticulate hysteria. I stumbled back, banging into the wall, unable to do anything except shriek.

  People must have shown up. I was unaware of what was happening around me. I was too busy reacting in complete horror. I had no idea what had transpired. It was as if my mind had simply evacuated my head because I was unable to think. Murder! Someone murdered her and left it looking as if she had killed herself! Even as I thought that, though, I knew that was impossible. There was only one entrance to the room, through the bedroom. She had unquestionably done this to herself.

  I suppose it was possible that, if anyone was of a suspicious frame of mind, they might have suspected that I myself had done it and tried to make it look like suicide. But I doubt that thought occurred to anyone, because I was so insanely, out of my head hysterical that no one would have thought it possible that I could be that good an actor. Plus if you were going to kill someone, hanging them was certainly an insane and relatively impossible means in which to go about it.

  I have no idea when I finally managed to regain control of myself. All I knew, all I remember, is that one minute I was screaming insanely in the room, and the next I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at nothing. One of Entipy’s handmaidens had brought me a drink and I was holding it in my trembling hand. I watched as Entipy’s corpse was being removed from the room, covered head to toe in a blanket. Mace Morningstar was standing in front of me, his face impassive. Slowly I looked up at him, making eye contact, wondering what in the world he was doing in there and then realizing that he, as had the others, had come in response to my howls.

  He could have said, I told you, at that moment. He had claimed that she was insane, and what was more insane than killing yourself on your wedding night?

  But he said nothing.

&nbs
p; I noticed that he was holding a rolled up parchment. When he saw that I was staring at it, he extended it to me. I took it, not understanding.

  “It was lying amongst her clothes,” he said. “It’s a letter. I’m assuming it’s to you.”

  “To me?” I took it, not understanding. “Did you read it?” He shrugged. “I can’t read.”

  “Right. Right.”

  And then he bowed. He actually bowed.

  “I’ll leave you to it, highness.”

  Highness. Oh my gods…

  He strode out and I was alone.

  I unrolled the parchment and read it:

  Dear Moron:

  Of course I have not forgiven you. Of course I still despise you. Every year, every day, every minute that you were gone, all I could imagine was how I would have my revenge on you. And then you walked back into my life and presented the ideal means through which to do it.

  I have hated being queen. The only thing that ever gave me joy was my son, and when he left, I had nothing to live for except hoping, praying that he would return. When you informed me that he never would, that took the last thing from me that required me to keep existing. The only thing that remained was exacting my vengeance on you. And now I have.

  You are now king. You must rule in my stead.

  I know what your instinct will be. You will want to flee. Again. Turn your back on Isteria and leave others to sort things out.

  If you do that, Isteria will fall. The knights and lords will battle each other to see who will rule. And while they are busy doing that, our enemies will seize upon the power vacuum and come sweeping into Isteria, determined to conquer us. Hundreds and hundreds of people will die. Innocent villagers. Men will be slaughtered. Women will be raped. The lucky sons will be executed; the less lucky, enslaved.

  So by all means, go. Go and live with the subsequent calamity being on your head.