Emperor and Clown (57 page)

Few
people still lingered amid the shoreline cottages, and they paid small heed to
the stranger on the big black horse. One or two nodded in a friendly fashion
and then went about their business. He was being immemorable, and they would
barely recall seeing him, nor notice that he rode without bit or bridle.

Little
remained to be transported: some hides, bones, and a few casks of salted
horsemeat to feed the dogs. In bad years the people ate the horsemeat, of
course, and sometimes the dogs, also, but this would be a good year. Foronod
was missing, which was proof in itself that the town was stocked up for the
winter. There was still plenty of peat heaped around. Krasnegar could never
have enough of that. As long as the weather permitted, the wagons would
continue to haul peat.

Inos
had done well. Rap had checked on her progress-often at the beginning, less
frequently as he saw that she was coping. She herself had usually been inside
the castle, and hence shielded from him, but he had seen the happiness in the
streets. Krasnegar was going to survive. He would not have come back had he not
promised. He need not stay long. This would be the last time.

He
noted the new winter stables with surprise, and casually made them goblin-proof
as he rode by. Times were achanging, even in Krasnegar.

He
trotted past the lead wagon with a nod to Jik, who returned the nod, then
frowned to himself as if annoyed by a failing memory.

Evil
flickered his ears at the ripples washing the shingle; occultly reassured, he
ventured to splash his big hooves into the water. Fleabag sniffed suspiciously
and tried a taste of this unfamiliar, restless fluid. He took more persuading
than Evil, but he followed, growling briefly.

The
gaps were narrow, now that the tide was near the ebb and the causeway higher
than it used to be. Soon Evil was trotting over Big Island and the big dog
loping ahead again. The road was curving in to shore, and Rap finally allowed
himself a scan of the docks ahead. It was all heartbreakingly as he had
expected-humble folk going cheerfully about their business, fishing nets
hanging on their racks, many of the boats already out of the water and being
made ready for their long rest. Peace and friendly dullness and security. An
empty wagon was just starting its outward journey, its driver having seen a
horseman crossing.

And
Inos! She was riding Lightning along the dock road; coming to watch the
crossing, doubtless. Not much would escape Inos, Rap thought. She would be as
good a ruler as Krasnegar had ever had. But he had always known that. He
blinked away a tear and laughed aloud at the thought of a sorcerer weeping.
What reason could a sorcerer ever have to weep?

He
saw that she was peering at the lone rider, shielding her eyes from the sunset.
He lifted his occult veil for her. Her instant reaction made her mount shy, but
Inos brought it under control at once and kicked it into a gallop. Evil
splashed through the last traces of Big Damp, and the two horses met on the
slope beyond.

“Rapt
Oh, Rap!”

God
of Fools! The stupid child had tears streaming down her cheeks. He would never
have come had he not promised. ,

“Hello,
Inos.” He was glad he had farsight, because his eyes were going blurry in
sympathy. Not a child. Beautiful, gorgeous woman.

“That’s
Evil! And Fleabag? You’ve been to Arakkaran?”

“I’ve
been all over the place. Good to be home.” Liar!

She
choked back a question-about Azak, of course-and then took a harder look at Rap
himself. He cursed under his breath; he should have done something about his
appearance.

“Rap]
What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

“No,
no. Just a little tired, is all.” You’re breaking my heart, girl. That’s what’s
wrong.

“You
look terrible! What’s the matter? Gods!”

Of
course! “You look great, Inos. And I know you’ve been doing a great job in the
monarching business.” She gave him the sort of suspicious stare his mother had
given him any time he hadn’t wanted seconds. Then she faked a smile over it. “And
you’ve come for the Harvesthome Dance!”

He
had quite forgotten the Harvesthome Dance. “Of course,” he said.

He
stayed three days and he almost went crazy.

At
times he wished he’d just turned up as his old self, but then he’d have had to
answer the same questions over and over, and people would have seen the way
Inos looked at him and tried to hang on to him, and she would have had
difficult explanations to make when he disappeared again.

So
he stayed immemorable, but that meant he couldn’t talk with his old friends. He
would nod to them and they would react as Jik had-familiar face, can’t place
it. Boyhood pals had become tall men. Gith, and Krath, and Lin. Some had
beards. All the girls were mothers now. Ufio, Fan ... He met them all at one
time or another, mostly while Inos was dragging him around the town, showing
him what had been accomplished and what was left to do, talking excitedly all
the time and pretending her heart wasn’t as sore and sick as his. He saw how
the people smiled when they saw her, and how eagerly they saluted and hoped for
her answering smile. They were proud of their young queen. Imps had always
cherished romantic ideas about beautiful princesses and impresses, but here in
Krasnegar the feeling had become universal. To tease one of the local jotnar
about having a female ruler would be very unhealthy.

Just
once Rap saw Inos meet resistance. An aged carpenter began disputing her
newfangled ideas on furniture. Green eyes flashed, the ambience shivered very
slightly, and the old man’s feet and tongue began stumbling in unison as he
tried to bow and apologize and flee, all at the same time. Apart from that one
occasion, Rap never detected her regal glamour in use or even being needed. It
was a lovely piece of work, though, almost undetectable; best spell he’d ever
made.

He
met just about everyone again at the Harvesthome Dance, but no one met him. The
Great Hall was strung with ribbons and jammed with people, and filled with
noise and laughter and music.

It
was sort-of music, for Krasnegar was not Hub; nobody cared about beat or key
too much, as long as it was loud and cheerful. He danced twice with Inos, but
the rest of the time he insisted she dance with some of those loyal subjects
hovering hopefully around her. She hadn’t found a lover yet, that was obvious.
She could have had hundreds, that was equally obvious. They all loved her, and
every young man in town was crazy over her.

He
could make her fall in love with one of them if he wanted. Then she would be
happy, wouldn’t she? He stood in the shadows and wrestled with his conscience.
He’d once told the imperor that he just wanted Inos to be happy. He could make
her happy with sorcery. So why didn’t he? He must think hard about that before
he departed.

They
talked a lot, or at least Inos did. She was proud of what she’d accomplished,
and with good reason, and he let her explain everything over and over, although
he’d seen it all within the first few minutes. Much of it he’d seen from far
away, too.

He
talked less, but he told her how he’d gone to Arakkaran to fetch his dog, and
how terrified Azak and Kar had been when he showed up. When he described the
feast they had put on for him, with jugglers and belly dancers and goats’ eyes,
and the tricks he’d played when they took him hunting, then she laughed till
she cried.

“So
you rescued Fleabag? How about the panther?” she asked.

“I
left the panther. I never was a cat person.”

“And
Azak gave you Evil?”

“I
took Evil. I thought Azak owed me that much.” And he told her a little of his
other travels-in Faerie and Dragon Reach, and Durthing.

“Not
Thume?” she asked.

No,
he said, he had not been to Thume.

They
talked all around their private problem, and never mentioned it. He had tried
to tell her once, and the words had not let him. Or perhaps that compulsion had
come from higher authority than the wordshe wasn’t sure.

Inos
was plotting something. He’d known that from the moment they met on the shore.
He could have worked it out, or pried it out, but he didn’t. He turned off his
insight so he couldn’t read her face at all; which was unpleasant for him, but
then the whole visit was one unbearable agony.

At
night he left the palace so he couldn’t watch her. Near the harbor he found a
comfortable garret that no one was using, and he fitted it out with a
comfortable bed to lie on. He never slept now; he’d almost forgotten what sleep
felt like.

On
the fourth morning, Rap joined Inos for breakfast in the Great Hall. She was
sitting alone at the high table, and he came in by the door and walked over and
took a chair beside her. The sun was just rising, promising another
astonishingly fine day. She was wearing a very simple pale-green dress, and her
hair hung loose with just a band around it, and she was as beautiful as he had
ever seen her. The smoothness of her cheek was a miracle in itself.

He
was back in riding clothes.

“You’re
not leaving already!” Her voice was accusing, her face paler than it should be.

“Might
as well catch the weather while it lasts,” he said, not looking at her. Not
with his eyes, anyway. “Morning your Majesty.” A decrepit old waiter shuffied
up to Inos and laid a mug of chocolate and a silver bowl of sticky porridge in
front of her. He hadn’t noticed she had company.

Before
she could say anything, Rap made a bowl of porridge appear in front of
himself-a golden bowl. She tried to laugh, without much success. The old man
went hobbling off, having missed all that.

“I
thought I might take Firedragon,” Rap said between mouthfuls. “He and I have always
been good friends, and I think he’s getting a little old for his
responsibilities.”

“Of
course.”

“And
I’ll leave Evil. I thought you’d like having him looking after things instead;
an appropriate memento of Azak.”

“Oh,
very funny!”

He
hadn’t told her how well Azak had been making up for lost time since he got
home to Arakkaran. Terrible man!

They
ate in slurping silence for a while. Krasnegarian porridge was vile stuff,
really, Rap thought, and wondered why he was enjoying it so much. It was
strange to eat up here at the high table, a visiting sorcerer. Always, when he’d
eaten in the Great Hall he’d been down near the hearths, with the servants.
There were a lot of them there now, dawdling over a hot breakfast. He knew how
they felt. Most of them would be newly back from the mainland, catching up on
the summer’s gossip, reveling in real beds and dry lodgings, renewing old
friendships, happily sliding into the slower pace of winter. Why had he been
such a fool as to come?

Inos
kept staring at him, crumpling a napkin in her free hand. Yes, she was plotting
something, and he stubbornly refused to let himself peek and find out what it
was.

“Not
Master of Horse?” she said at last wistfully. “You ought to let Hononin have
the title. He’s good for another ten years at least.” The pains in the hostler’s
joints had cleared up miraculously since the night the queen returned. He would
die very suddenly, fourteen years from now, near Winterfest.

“And
not Sergeant-at-Arms?”

Their
eyes met and exchanged moist smiles.

“Not
really my sort of work,” Rap said. “Oopari’s much better at it than I would
ever be.”

“King,
then?” she whispered. “It’s the only job vacancy I have to offer at the moment.”

“I
don’t think I’m qualified.”

“You’re
better qualified than any other man in the world.”

Rap
sighed. Why did people torture themselves by longing for the impossible? He
changed the subject.

“Everyone
must know you came back by sorcery. How do they feel about sorcery now?”

Inos
shrugged and abandoned all pretense of eating. “They find sorcery in everything
I do. If I smile at a baby, I’ve blessed it. My frowns bring on asthma attacks.
But they seem to be getting accustomed to the idea.”

“They
shunned me!” That still rankled.

She
laid a hand on his. “I think they’re wiser now, dear. Magic has its advantages,
and they’ve learned that. Besides, people can get used to anything, given time.”

Yes-.
He created a mug of hot chocolate and removed his hand to pick it up.

“They
would accept you, love.”

“They
won’t get the chance.”

“You
are definitely going?”

“Definitely.”

“For
how long this time?”

He
looked squarely at her and she bit her lip. “Forever,” he said.

“You’re
in pain!”

Now,
how had she guessed that? “Being near you just makes it worse,” he said. “Much
worse. And worse for you, too. I’ve told you it can never be, Inos.”

“Not
that sort of pain. Real pain. Sagorn noticed. He told Kade. And then I began to
see it, too.”

Rap
ate more porridge.

“Ever
since that night Zinixo told you a fifth word. You put out the fire, Rap-but
you didn’t get rid of all of it, did you? You’ve been burning ever since, haven’t
you?”

“Not
burning.” That was a fair description of it, though.

“Hurting?
That’s why you look so awful.”

“I
do not look awful)”

“You
did when I first met you on the road. When I said so, you made yourself seem
all right again. But those first moments you looked about as old as Emshandar.
You’re hurting!”

He
didn’t want to lie to her, and he wasn’t allowed to explain the problem to her,
so he said nothing. He expected her to get angry, then, but she didn’t. She was
giving that napkin a terrible time with both hands under the table.

“I
am happy to accept the horse, Rap,” she said eventually. “Is there anything I
can give you in return?”