Emperor and Clown (48 page)

The
old man had cowered down in his seat. “I did,” he said hoarsely.

“Stand
up, please,” Rap said.

Sagorn
rose stiffly, his face pale. He backed away as Rap approached, but the faun
merely sat down on the roped trunk and stared at him as if he were a public
notice. The old sage moved to the window and then turned at bay.

Rap
shook his head sadly. “A beautiful piece of work! Rasha was right; it’s a shame
to spoil it. Who disappeared last?”

Sagorn
muttered, “Thinal,” as if his mouth hurt. “Close your eyes, Princess,” Rap
said.

“I
thought you told me to watch?”

“It’ll
take me a moment to put some clothes on him.”

Kadolan
said, “Oh!” and closed her eyes. “You can look now.”

She
opened her eyes again. Thinal stood beside Sagorn, staring up at him wide-eyed.
For once the little thief wore garments not too large for him. The old man was
returning his gaze like a mirror. Almost a century since they had parted:
Thinal the leader, and Sagorn the youngest boy in the gang.

Rap
chuckled. “And how do you feel about this?”

“Fine,
Rap.” Thinal pulled a sickly sort of smile. “Fine. Thank you.”

Again
Rap chuckled. “No, you don’t!”

A
sudden glint of hope came into Sagorn’s haggard face. Thinal’s teeth began to
chatter, and he stuffed a knuckle in his mouth.

“The
fairy asked you,” Rap said. “She wanted to know your greatest wish. But she
didn’t believe what you said.”

Kadolan
didn’t understand that, or know who the fairy was, but she did know that Rap
was playing with the men, and the knowledge made her uncomfortable. It was not
like him.

“Who
went before you, Thinal?”

“Jalon,
Rap.”

“Close
your eyes, Princess . . .”

And
then there were three. The little minstrel was pale as a corpse, gaping at Rap
in horror.

Next
came Andor. He hid his feelings better, holding a calm smile on his handsome
face. “Hello, big brother!”

Thinal
said, “Oh, bleeding offal!” He seemed ten years younger than Andor. He was
shorter and ugly, yet somehow there was a ludicrous trace of family likeness.

And
then the room was crowded. Darad glanced down at the other four and guffawed in
triumph. His nose was still crooked and he still wore goblin tattoos like Rap’s,
but he had all his teeth back. “I knew you’d do it, sir! I knew you’d free us!”

Rap
snorted in disgust. “There they are, Highness. The whole gang, together at
last. What do you think of them?”

She
studied the five ill-assorted men. They were all staring at one another,
ignoring both her and the sorcerer. “I think you should take a vote, Master
Rap.”

He
laughed coarsely. “They’ve gotten what they wanted,, haven’t they? A hundred
years, almost, they’ve been searching for release. And now look at them!”

She
wondered where his anger was coming from. Rap had not been like this on the
journey from Zark. The five men were still gaping at one another, tongue-tied.

“I
don’t need to take a vote,” Rap sneered. “They’ve got what they thought they
wanted-and they don’t want it! They had the best of five worlds, each of them,
and they didn’t know it!”

“Well,”
he added, “I’ve kept my promise.” He rose and began walking to the door.

Darad’s
wits had been churning along in their tortoise fashion. Now it was he who
shouted, “Wait!”

“Something
wrong?” Rap asked, halting.

Darad
frowned hideously. “Sir ... Sir, can we talk about this?”

“Talk
about what?” Rap looked puzzled.

“You’ve
made your point,” Sagorn said acidly. “All these years we’ve been deceiving
ourselves. It wasn’t a curse, it was a blessing . . .”

“.
. . at least,” Andor said, “once we gained a word of power it was.”

Jalon
shouted, “Now you have shown us. We don’t want to be separated!”

The
others were nodding.

“So
you want me to put you back together again, I suppose?”

“We
share memories,” Sagorn said ...

“
. it means we’ve almost become . . .” Thinal added.

“
. . like one man,” Darad finished.

None
of them seemed to realize how they had spoken; they were not trying to be funny.

“It
wasn’t me who showed you,” Rap said. “I’m right, aren’t I, when I say that
lately you’ve been switching back and forth a lot more than you used to?”

The
five nodded in unison, without looking at him, still unable to take their eyes
off one another. Their voices blended in a babble.

“That’s
so,” Sagorn said, apparently to Andor. “Since we got caught up in his
adventures, at least,” Jalon told both of them.

“In
Arakkaran,” Darad informed Thinal.

“The
night we rescued’m from the jail, ‘specially,” the thief agreed, watching his
brother.

“But
now our word of power is diluted!” Andor complained to Jalon ...

“All
it takes is a little cooperation,” Rap said. “A little consideration:”

“Put
us back, please, Rap?” Thinal said, whining. “I gave you what I promised!” The
sorcerer frowned. Kadolan held her breath.

“Please,
Rap?” Jalon’s ice-blue eyes glistened with tears. “We’ll remember! We’ll
cooperate!”

“Just
a minute, though,” Darad rumbled. “You’ve got to stop the rest of them from
keeping me away for years and years. That old Sagorn ‘specially. He burrows
down into those books of his and forgets all the rest of us!”

Sagorn
flushed. “Cognizant now of my advancing years-”

“He’s
not the one I don’t trust!” Andor broke in. “It’s him!” He jabbed a finger at
his weedy brother. Thinal flinched and looked guilty-but then Thinal would
almost always look guilty, Kadolan thought. He almost always was guilty, of
something.

“What’s
he done?” asked Jalon, surprised. “Nothing!” Andor retorted. “That’s what I
mean! Why do you suppose he never hangs around? Why does he always call one of
us back right away? He’s waiting us out, see? In a couple of centuries or less,
we’ll all be older than Sagorn is now, and then who’s going to inherit all our
memories and experience? That young guttersnipe, that’s who! He’s robbing us
blind!” Thinal started to protest. The others interrupted, and in a moment they
were all shouting at once. Kadolan looked to Rap and was relieved to see a
brief hint of his old half grin flicker wistfully over his mouth as he watched
the argument. Then he coughed, and silence fell instantly.

“Well?”
he said.

“Please,
Rap,” Jalon said. “Don’t leave us like this! I feel like a turtle out of its
shell. We helped you get what you wanted, didn’t we, and--”

“What
I wanted?” Rap jumped up, blazing anger, and everyone recoiled. “You think this
is what . . . “ He cooled his fury as slickly as a man might close a book, and
Kadolan found that inhuman control even more scary than the inexplicable rage
itself.

“Very
well,” he said quietly. “I can put a time limit on each of you. Would you
prefer that?” He glanced around at nodding heads. “You all want to be put back?”

Five
heads nodded again.

Darad’s
clothes collapsed on the floor. Then Andor’s . . . Jalon’s ... Only Sagorn was
left. “There you are, Doctor,” Rap said harshly. “Operation a success?” Without
waiting for a reply, he spun around to Kadolan. “When do you want to go to
Kinvale-and Krasnegar?”

“Why
don’t you ask Inos?” she asked. “I’m asking you.”

She
was wary of him in this feverish, bitter mood. She said, “Is there any great
hurry?”

He
hesitated, his eyes suddenly distant. “No. No, the time is not yet ripe. A week
or two more won’t hurt much anyway. You want to stay here for Winterfest, don’t
you?”

“Yes,”
she admitted. “Inos doesn’t, but I do.” Eigaze had been raving about Winterfest
in Hub. Kinvale’s celebrations were nothing by comparison, she said. And there
would be no celebration in Kinvale this year, anyway.

“Parties?”
Rap said scathingly. “Balls and banquets? Inos always liked parties. Tell her
to enjoy them, then! Krasnegar is not much of a place for fine balls.”

“They
don’t matter! We can go anytime.”

“Stay
for Winterfest! But Inos does want to go home after that?”

“Why
don’t you ask her?”

“I’m
asking you.”

“Yes.
If you’ll help.”

He
stared at her as if she had suggested something shocking. “Of course I’ll help!”
he snapped. “It was my home, too, you know!”

Then
he spun on his heel, marched across the room, and disappeared out through the
door.

Without
opening it.

The
room seemed very quiet with only two people there.

“Well,
Doctor?” Kadolan asked.

The
jotunn rubbed his big jaw with a long-fingered hand. “Well what, ma’am?”

“Diagnose
our sorcerer for me.”

“I
am an expert in mundane medicine only.”

She
gave him her best royal glare. “You can speculate.”

“Inos
is in good health?”

“Perfect
health.”

“And
what exactly happened when she and Rap vanished in flames?”

“Her
recollection seems rather muddled.”

“Ah!”
Sagorn turned away, and began picking up the clothes left behind by the
sorcerer. “I should need more facts.”

Kade
rose, exasperated. “One reason I came here was to reassure you that the imperor’s
invitation was an opportunity for you, Doctor, not a trap. But if you continue
to misbehave, then I shall call in my hussars to take you to the palace by
force-and don’t think they won’t!”

Sagorn
glared. Then he shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“Your
opinion of Master Rap.”

“No
question. A very obvious hypothesis, at least. He shows all the symptoms of a
man enduring severe pain.”

The
rivalry between the great families of the Impire was a bitter and never-ending
business, but it peaked every year at Winterfest, when they clashed headlong in
an ostentation contest. For months the preparations had proceeded in darkest
secrecy-the gowns, the orchestras, the food, the wine, the entertainment. No
expense had been spared, no menial unexhausted.

Rap
had told Kade that Inos was to attend the parties. Despite her worries, she
trusted him, and she obeyed. As an honored guest of the imperor, a state
visitor, she had very little choice anyway. To refuse would have been an
insult.

Last
year’s foolish flirtation with bustles was but a shameful memory. Sanity had
returned, bringing laces and ruffles and flounces spread so wide by hoops and
panniers that a lady must turn sideways to pass through a door. The favored
colors were claret and hyacinth, or salmon for those whose complexions could
stand it. Lace and jewels, bows and embroidery, beads and seashells, bouquets
and frills-nothing must be omitted in the decoration. Hair likewise must be
gemmed and teased, coiled high on a framework until it overtopped even the
plumed helmets of the tall hussars.

For
men, hose and doublets were out, white silk tights were in. The cutaway coats
in bright velvets hung low at the back, but rose high in front to better
display the tights, and especially this year’s outstanding absurdity, a
bejeweled and embroidered codpiece. The exact amount of padding a gentleman
employed-on his calves, for example-was a question of taste for him, a matter
of concern for his tailor, and a topic for speculation by the ladies.

Life
became a continuous procession of balls. The scented invitations drifted into
Inos’s dressing table like snowflakes. She dragged herself from bed at noon,
spent the rest of the daylight hours preparing, and was off to dance the night
away again. Who exactly was paying for all this she dared not ask-she had a
recurring nightmare that the imperor might play innkeeper and present the slate
when she departed, a bill whose final total would amount to more than the gross
value of her kingdom.

Queen
Inosolan of Krasnegar was unquestioned Belle of the Season. No ball was worth a
pinch of parsley if Inosolan did not attend. She was a celebrity because of the
events in Emine’s Rotunda, and she had an intriguing aura of the occult about
her. Rumor linked her with the mysterious faun sorcerer who had rescued the
dynasty.

But
in addition Inos’s dancing was miraculous, her beauty unmatched, her wit
devastating. The debutantes spoke darkly of witchcraft.

Few
of them could see that it was not wit or grace or beauty that drew the young
men to her, but rather her wistful air of tragedy, her romantic melancholy, the
haunting echo of a breaking heart.

She
received an average of four proposals of marriage a day. At least two of them
were always from Tiffy, but she noted five or six young men of quality, almost
any of whom might now be ruling in Krasnegar had he chanced to drop by Kinvale
a year ago. Too late! Too late!

Every
night flew by in a whirl of candlelight and music and handsome soldiers. And
when each new winter day dawned, she crept back to the palace and soaked
another pillow.

Of
Rap she had seen nothing at all. Shandie seemed to be the only person who ever
met him now. She sent a message by the boy: “Tell Rap I love him very much.”

Next
day came the answer: “Rap said he knew that.”

Then-”Tell
Rap I want to help him.”

But-”He
laughed and said you were the last one to help him.”

And
that, inexplicably, was that.

She
had two opposing dreads. One was her vague memory of the ambience, that
sinister half-world of shadowless nonbeing. She suspected that Rap must be
spending much time in it-for he did not seem to be anywhere else-and she had
nightmares of his becoming trapped in it, fading away forever from the mundane.

Her
other, contradictory, fear came from the magic casement’s vision of him dying
in the goblin lodge. Was that awful fate now inevitable? Was that what kept him
from her? Her great-grandfather had reputedly been driven mad by something he
had seen in the casement. Was Rap to suffer the same cruel fate? Why, though,
must he shun her? The days flew by and left no answers.