Emperor and Clown (46 page)

Eventually
she yielded to their terror-filled pleas, and sat down alongside the other
forty or so men and women patiently waiting. She started up a conversation with
the mousy bureaucrat next to her and discovered he knew nothing at all that she
would ever wish to know. He was concerned about a problem with public water
supply in some Gods-forgotten little town in North Pithmot, and that was about
the extent of his existence. He expected to linger in the antechamber for
another month at least before being admitted to the Imperial presence.

Inos
certainly did not. She had a kingdom to rescue. She had a lover to find. After
all that she had endured since leaving Arakkaran, she was not going to settle
for being an ornament in a waiting room.

However,
a senior herald soon appeared in a tabard so laden with gold thread that it
must have weighed a hundredweight.

“His
Imperial Majesty regrets that he can receive no more of you today and bids you
return on the morrow...”

Nobody
moved.

The
herald consulted his slate. “Except for the following . . .”

He
pursed his lips, turned the slate over, then lowered it. “. . . her Majesty
Queen Insolan, her Highness Princess Kadolan, or Doctor Sagorn.”

Inos
rose and glanced around, but she would certainly have noticed either of the
others, had they been there. She advanced to the door as everyone else began
gathering up briefs and petitions and reports, preparing to depart.

She
had expected the imperor to be in the next chamber, but she was conducted
through several grand rooms and passages. There were other doors, too, and
probably important personages entered through those, bypassing the rabble.

However,
when she finally reached the Presence, the surroundings were flattering
enough-a small private sitting room, with big windows looking out at soggy,
depressing winter garden scenery, but a small fire burning, and only four
chairs. Emshandar shook his head as she was about to perform a formal court
curtsy, waving her to a chair. The flunkies departed, closing the door, and he
moved to a table bearing crystal and wine.

Despite
her impatience, she must observe the formalities-Inos sat down and tried to
compose herself. The portraits on the wall would be his children, Orosea and
Emthoro, and Inos recognized the work of Jio’sys, who was well represented in
the palace. Even from her seat, she could scan the names of the many books
stacked on the high shelves: law, history, economics, dull stuff. Two words of
power had greatly increased the acuity of her senses, although she had
uncovered no occult abilities in herself so far. The rugs were authentic
Zogonian wool and the smaller porcelain figurines on the mantel were authentic
Kerithian. The big one was a fake, though.

The
imperor looked weary, but he must have had a busy day, and he was visibly
stronger than he had been when she had last seen him, in the Rotunda. He was
swathed in a bulky robe with ermine trim, and she could guess that he had just
changed out of something much more formal. His white hair was sparse, his face
still a vellum-upholstered skull, but his glance was steady and very
penetrating. As he settled into a chair’ and raised a crystal goblet to her in
a toast, she suddenly recalled Sagorn in her father’s study, so long ago. He
did look a tiny bit like Sagorn, as much as imp, even an emaciated, raw-boned
imp, could ever resemble a jotunn. Perhaps the memory came also from the song
she had been singing, or the bouquet of the wine. “Magnificent, Sire! Elvish,
of course?”

He
raised a frosty eyebrow. “You can’t do better than that?”

She
sniffed again, and held it to the light. “Valdoquiff. The fifty-three?”

He
chuckled. “The forty-seven.”

She
felt herself blush at his amusement. “I don’t think I have met the forty-seven
before!”

“So
you couldn’t know it. But Valdoquiff, certainly. You have been exercising your
talents, young lady! I have had reports of some of your exploits.”

Of
course the palace was always a warren of rumors, and she would be a source of
wonder. Her recent impromptu concert was probably the talk of the court
already.

The
old man’s. eyes twinkled. “And your dear aunt is recovered?”

“Oh,
quite recovered, thank you. She is socializing to excess. You may anticipate a
severe tea famine in the capital shortly. And your Majesty’s honored self, if I
may presume to ask?”

“Oh,
I’m well! I grow stronger with every meal. I’m also having a marvelous time
shifting my last ten years’ mistakes onto Ythbane’s reputation. The damage that
man did in a few short weeks!” He chuckled and sipped his wine, regarding her
acutely. “Beautiful young maidens do not come calling on old men from choice.
How may I help you?”

“Sire
... Have you seen Rap?”

He
nodded. “He’s been spending quite a bit of time with my grandson. He’s done
wonders for the boy already.”

Inos
bit her lip. Shandie indeed!

“Do
you happen to know where I might find him? Rap, I mean.”

The
long Imperial upper lip stretched to forestall a smile. “Oh, yes. He said he
was going to Faerie.”

“Faerie?”

Now
the smile broke free. “He had some urgent business there, he said.”

He
had some urgent business right here in Hub that he should have attended to
first! She set her teeth. The imperor coughed discreetly. “That is
confidential, though. He asked me not to mention it to anyone, except you when
you came.”

Worse!
If Rap had been foreseeing her movements, then it was no wonder he could avoid
her. How dare he! How could he? Why?

“Have
you seen your distant cousin, the duke?” Emshandar inquired.

Inos
shivered. “This morning. He was awake ... but he isn’t really there. I gather
Rap had seen him before I did. He’s like a child-Angilki is. The doctors seem
puzzled.”

“Rap
isn’t. He repaired the damage, he said, and it was definitely a sorcerous
wound. But he can’t replace the memories that were lost.”

Why
had Rap not reported this to Inos before he told the imperor? Sorcerer or not,
when, she got hold of that young man, she was going to pin his ears back so
fast his tattoos would pop off.

“I
have some more sad news for you,” the old man said. “I sent a note to your
quarters, but since you are here ... The duke’s mother, the dowager duchess,
has passed away.”

“That
is not sad news!” Inos snapped. “She was responsible for all of my troubles. A
lot of them, anyhow.”

“Oh?
Well, she was not a close relative, I know, but a little seemly grief might be
good politics.”

Inos
apologized, angry at her clumsiness. The cavernous old eyes were never leaving
her face, and she realized that Emshandar’s reputation as a shrewd mover of men
might be well deserved.

“It
leaves Kinvale in a strange position,” he said, and let her work out the
implications. The duke was now incompetent, his daughters underage. “Daughters!”

“Yes.
However, Kinvale happens to be one of a very few dower fiefdoms-the title can
pass through the female line. The only question, therefore, is whom I appoint
as guardian for our mutual cousins until the new duchess can succeed.”

Inos
parried the hidden question, because she felt that Kade should answer it herself;
it had also brought her mind back to her own future.

But
the imperor was still ‘way out in front of her. “We have had some word of
Krasnegar.” He waved sadly at a high-piled table that probably represented his
evening.

“The
road is open again?”

“No,
indeed! We are holding the pass itself, but even the XIIth Legion has failed to
retake Pondague, or where Pondague used to be. The little greenies fight for
every tree.” The old soldier shook his head disbelievingly. “Even the XIIth! My
old outfit!”

If
not by road . . .. But of course it was only in Krasnegar itself that harbors
closed a few weeks after midsummer. The ships then must sail back to the
Impire, and reports extracted from the captains would take more weeks to reach
Hub. The timing was reasonable.

“And
how is Krasnegar, Sire?”

“Bad.”
He heaved himself out of his chair and went to search the heaped table. “Right
after I pulled the troops out, a jotunn by the name of Greastax arrived with a
longship full of the usual scoundrels. He claims to be Kalkor’s brother,
holding the realm in his name. Half brother, I expect. Ah, here it is. This is
a summary of what we know.”

He
handed her a booklet of eight or ten sheets in a leather binding. The hand was
neat and professional, but behind the bloodless bureaucratic prose was tragedy.
She scanned through it swiftly and passed it back, shocked to the depths of her
soul. “Thank you . . . Sire?”

The
imperor was chuckling as he returned to his chair. “You’re not quite as speedy
as Master Rap, but then he didn’t need to turn the pages.”

Now
she was in no mood to be teased, nor even to humor old imperors. “That news is
months old! How many more deaths and rapes since then?”

Emshandar
stared at her over the rim of his wineglass for several bleak seconds. “The
Gods know. The raping may have been reduced by the time element. Last spring
... Those troops were the worst in our army. I would never use trash like that
Pondague detachment for anything but garrison duty. The killing likewise! Those
who might resist have already done so, and only the cowed remain. But what
about food supply?”

“It
is always touch and go,” she muttered, mulling over what she had just read. The
trade had been poor. At least two ships had returned with their cargoes intact,
rather than deal with the bullying jotnar overlords, and the imps had already
looted all the money and valuables from the city. She wondered if Foronod would
have managed to accomplish his usual harvest miracle with a demoralized or
depleted workforce. Anything that impaired the harvest threatened famine by
spring, in any year.

“I
must go!” she said. “Soon!”

The
skeletal old man shook his head sadly. He did not need to speak, because a
moment’s thought reduced what she had said to obvious nonsense. She could do
nothing. Even the Impire’s crack troops could not penetrate the taiga now, and
the seas were frozen until summer.

Only
Rap.

“He
read all that?” she asked.

“Yes.
Plus some earlier reports on Krasnegar, which will interest you also. Do you
know, there was not one reference to Krasnegar in the Imperial archives? Inisso
did a fine job of making it immemorable.” A gentle smile eased the severity of
the wasted face, but she realized that he was hiding a great weariness. She
should go and let him rest.

“Inisso
died centuries ago!”

“I
know. But when the news broke, I had no recollection of ever having heard of a
place called Krasnegar. I demanded files, reports ... anything! There was
nothing. So I did what imperors usually do in emergencies-I asked the
appropriate warden. Needless to say, her ravings told me very little.”

Inos
evaded the unspoken invitation to comment. Bright Water would have been on the
side of the goblins, not the rampaging imp army that had started the troubles.

“I
got more from Olybino-he was concerned about the troops . . . But basically the
secretariat had to start from scratch. They did some analyses of Krasnegar’s
economics and social structure that will be of interest to its queen, I am
sure.”

“Will
I be its queen?” She spoke more to herself than to him.

It
would all depend on Rap. He could evict the jotnar. He could make the people
accept her, although she doubted there would be much fight left in the town
now. If she arrived with a sorcerer, she would be accepted. If she didn’t, then
there might not be any town left by summer.

Where
was Rap?

If
he would make her queen, then she would gladly make him king.

She
looked up with eyes suddenly misting. The old man in the bulky robe ... It was
not Sagorn he had been reminding her of, but the last King of Krasnegar, and
that was stupid because Emshandar emphatically did not look like Holindarn.
Just something about the way he held his glass, and lounged in the chair ...
Something fatherly ...

She
sniffed. “Excuse me, Sire! I have presumed upon your time long enough . . .”

“You
stay! You will have another glass of wine with me and we shall drag all your
troubles out into the open.”

She
tried to protest and again he overruled herimperors of the XVIIth Dynasty were
not noted for their meekness. He had nothing to do with his time except work
and more work, he said. Her company was welcome. He refilled the goblets, then
he settled back into his big chair as if ready to spend the night there.

“Sultan
Azak has gone. I expect you know.”

“He
came around to say good-bye,” she agreed. “That was good of him! But I had gone
riding. Kade saw him, and Char was there. Rap cured him, too!”

Then
she had to explain how Char had been beaten by the legionaries. Frowning, the
imperor lifted a slate from alongside his chair and made a note on it.

Life
without Azak would be easier, certainly. “Rap has been busy,” she remarked, and
was surprised at the edge to her voice. “Sorcering here, sorcering there ...
All work and no play!”

Emshandar
sighed and steepled his fingers. He stared at the windows for a moment; the
lawns were darkening as the winter day faded in pinks and orange.

“Inos
... if I may call you that ... I have more experience of dealing with sorcerers
than any other mundane in the world-four wardens, and oftentimes their
votaries. When we learned about the goblin problem, for example, and I could
get nothing out of Bright Water, I appealed to East, and he transported a man
to Krasnegar. Next day he was back and I talked with him for an hour. I knew
all about you and your kingdom months before the official word arrived. It’s
not part of the Protocol, it’s just a favor wardens do for imperors, once in a
while ...”