Star of Gypsies (48 page)

"He
what
?"

"Yakoub," said Julien reproachfully. "What is this foolishness? How can I summon him here? He is Sunteil's man, your Chorian."

I felt anger flaring up. "He is Rom, Julien! One of my most loyal and devoted-"

"Perhaps so. He is also Sunteil's man. What you ask is impossible, mon vieux. Light-spikes I can get for you, yes. And other things: you have only to ask. But one who is actually in the employ of a rebel against the emperor? Yakoub, Yakoub, Yakoub!" He shook his head. "Be reasonable, mon ami!"

I was annoyed, but I saw his point. King or no king, I was going to have to yield on this. It had indeed been foolish of me to think I could have Chorian here at this time. I regretted that greatly. I wanted him here. It would be good for him to become familiar with the Capital, and useful and instructive for him to observe the daily ebb and flow of my negotiations with Periandros. But of course he couldn't be here now. Whatever he might be to me, he was Sunteil's man also. I shouldn't have needed Julien to point that out. Chorian would have to stay away from the Capital.

For now. But he would be on hand to play his part in the cataclysmic events that lay just ahead.

THE CRYSTALLINE STEPS ONCE AGAIN THE THRONE-platform, far above me. How many times over the many decades of my life had I stood on the great slab of onyx at the base of that lofty seat of power, staring upward at the ruler of all the Gaje worlds?

I had never seen the Thirteenth, not in the flesh. I was too far from the center of power then. The emperor of my childhood, he was, and well on into my early manhood too, living on forever and forever. I had seen his image on the screens of a dozen worlds, though: the little weary waxen-faced man, perched high atop his onyx platform. Who could have imagined he would have lived so long? The Fourteenth was a different story, young and vigorous, coming to the throne with the avowed purpose of clearing away the cobwebs that had gathered during his predecessor's interminable reign. I made my first visits to court during his time. A slight-bodied dark-skinned man, almost Rom in color, with keen golden eyes and an easy smile, and the strength of a true emperor behind that smile. He came from Copperfield, as five of the emperors before him had done. It would be a lie to say that I had known him well, but I had seen him, I had even spoken to him two or three times. And then suddenly he was dead. There were rumors that he had been done away with, for having instituted too many reforms too quickly. And so came the Fifteenth, the shepherd of Ensalada Verde, in later years my friend and working partner, wise and good. Well, he too was gone now but I was still here, waiting by the crystal steps for the one who called himself the Sixteenth, this mingy miserly Periandros, the fourth emperor of my life. If indeed this was an emperor I stood before now, and not merely a vain pretender.

I listened for the trumpets. Yes, there they were. But not the old deafening glory. More of a pathetic blatting whoosh. Another of Periandros' petty economies? Or was it merely the flavor of the times, that made everything seemed a pale and meek shadow of its former self?

And the voice from the million loudspeakers. "Yakoub Nirano Rom, Rom baro, Rex Romaniorum!" They had the name and the titles right, yes. But there was no conviction there, no force. I remember once when I had been ghosting back to the old imperial Roman days on Earth- and this Gaje empire enjoys some pretension of a link to that one, at least in certain of its borrowed ways and terminology-and it was the final days, just before the barbarians came hammering at the gates. Ordinarily one does not know that one lives in the final days of a great empire; one is aware only that things are not as good as they were reputed once to be. Knowledge of finality comes only after the fact, when the historians have come mincing in to provide some perspective. But those Romans in the final days knew that it was not just a bad time but the end of time, and you could see it in their eyes, in the gray look of their faces, in the slant of their shoulders. Everything about them cried out that the apocalypse was just around the corner. It was a little like that now. Decline and fall was in the air of the Capital. The old order was ending and God alone knew what was coming next; and even the trumpets and loudspeakers were faint and mildewed over with doubts.

"The Sixteenth Emperor of the Grand Imperium summons the Rex Romaniorum before the throne," called out the major domo. And up those stairs I went. Again. Slowly. Not so much bounce in my stride as before. The gloom and depression here was contagious. I resolved to get myself away from this place as fast as I could, once I had completed my business with Periandros.

Within his fine robes he looked drawn, shrunken, haggard. The Periandros I remembered was a plump man, soft-skinned, with the look of a pleasure-lover about him, ripe or even overripe. Completely misleading, because he was no more pleasure-loving than your basic lump of stone.

Probably some rocks of the igneous persuasion were even his superior in that department. Within that soft pampered body was a mean pinched hard soul, like a crab lurking within a tender melon. God knows why they are all like that on Sidri Akrak: an entire planet of miserable ghastly dour people suffering from constipation of the heart. Now the ripeness was gone from Periandros and only the sour withered Akraki core of him was left. Beside him, in the seats where the emperor's high lords sit, were three more Akrakikan. I had to admire the totality of the takeover, and the total foolishness of it. Usually the emperor has sense enough to give the high lordships to citizens of assorted major planets, by way of building a little political support for himself. But not this one, who was in more need of support from other worlds than any emperor who had ever ruled. Oh, no, not this one: he had surrounded himself entirely with his own kind. Three of his own brothers, for all I knew. If they had brothers on Sidri Akrak. It seemed more appropriate for people like him to be born from tubes, like androids. It was a disheartening sight, seeing those four glum passionless faces staring back at me from the summit of the throne-platform.

"This is a joyous day, Yakoub Rom," Periandros said in a voice lacking the merest molecule of joy. Flat monotone, an inhuman drone. "You are welcome before us."

Us
, no less. He had reinvented the royal
we
!

He had the wine ready for me. I took the cup. That stuff too had lost its savor: thin and acrid, a bad year. I felt like telling him that the wine of welcome is supposed to be sweet.

Instead I made the formal gesture that the Rom baro makes when he stands before the emperor. Maybe Periandros thought it was in his honor but all I was doing was reinforcing my own. Affirming my state of kingship, rather than affirming his emperorship. He didn't have to know that.

He did manage a quick pale flickering smile. Real emotion, Periandros style. The Periandros equivalent of a great roaring hug, I suppose.

"There has been much confusion, has there not?" he said. "How I detest confusion!" (Forgetting his
we
already?) "But the time of chaos is ending. The crown imperial has descended to us." (No, just not consistent in its use.) "-and we will do our utmost to restore order in the Imperium." A self-satisfied smirk. "Already we have done much. For example we have aided our Romany brothers in their time of difficulty."

Butting in, killing my son. Yes, wonderful aid.

I said, "You really think the confusion is over, Periandros?"

Hisses and gasps of shock among the high lords. A fierce look of black loathing from Periandros. I realized my mistake too late. Calling him by name, and not even
Lord
Periandros at that. But no one could call him anything but "Your Majesty" now, not even me. The former Lord Periandros had vanished within the royal greatness, what Julien would call the
gloire
, of the Sixteenth Emperor.

I hadn't meant any insult. It had just slipped out. I remembered, after all, the day Periandros first had taken his seat among the high lords. Not all that long ago. The apologetic look in the eyes of the Fifteenth, as if to say,
He's a peculiar little creature, I know, but I find him useful
. Hard for me to take the peculiar little creature seriously. Sitting in my old friend's throne. But he was the Emperor now. At least I had decided to regard him as the Emperor. For expediency's sake. I covered my gaffe with a quick apology. Old habits die hard, et cetera, et cetera. Periandros looked mollified.

"We are not yet fully accustomed to our high position ourself," he confided.

I admired the grammatical elegance of that confession. I might have said
ourselves
, which would have been silly. But then I haven't given as much thought to the niceties of the royal
we
as Periandros undoubtedly had.

Piously I said, "It must be a great burden, Majesty."

"We have prepared for it all our life. There is a long tradition of imperial service, you know, on my world of Sidri Akrak." (Still not getting it straight, his
we
.) "The Seventh Emperor, and again the Eleventh-and now once more our world has been honored by the summons of the Imperium-" He leaned in close, staring hard as if trying to read my mind. God help me if he could: he'd see the contempt for his small soul bristling all over my cerebral contours and five minutes later I might find myself wishing I was back safe and snug in Shandor's oubliette. He moistened his lips. "This abdication business of yours-how am I supposed to interpret that?"

"A purely internal Rom matter, Majesty. A political ploy, perhaps not too wisely conceived."

"Ah."

"It's been withdrawn. Nullified. So far as I and my people are concerned, there's been no break in my reign."

"And the claims of your son Shandor?"

"An aberration, Your Majesty. A desperate insurgency that has now been brought under control. And with the death of Shandor the whole issue becomes moot. There are no other claimants for the Rom throne."

Periandros looked genuinely bewildered.

"Shandor is dead?"

"Killed during the invasion of Galgala by imperial troops," I said, perhaps too sharply.

He consulted with his high lords. There was much rapid muttering in the opaque Akraki dialect of Imperial. From what little I could follow I saw that Julien had been telling me the truth when he said that Shandor's death was none of Periandros' doing, that it had been a freelance contribution by an overzealous general. Which at least would make it a little easier for me to do business with Periandros. When he turned back to me there was a look almost of compassion in his eyes. Or discomfort of the bowel, but I took it as compassion. Give him credit. Human emotion ran against his natural grain but he was trying. He expressed condolences, and I thanked him. Told him that Shandor had been a great trial to me but nevertheless he was blood of my blood, et cetera, et cetera. The Sixteenth nodded solemnly. Probably he was immensely fascinated by our quaint old Rom custom of giving a damn about the members of our own families.

After a time, to his obvious relief and in fact mine also, we got off the subject of Shandor and back to the subject of power, where we were both more comfortable.

In his ponderously purse-mouthed way he allowed as how we were both in highly precarious situations. I thought my situation was considerably less precarious than his, but I allowed as how I agreed with his assessment. I was wise enough to know that it didn't take a monster like Shandor to topple a king. Someone as loyal and dedicated as Damiano could do it, if he began to think I was getting too old and unpredictable to entrust with the job. Maybe even with Polarca's connivance. There was plenty of precedent in human history for kings being removed by their own most trusted kinsmen and associates for the general good and welfare. Yes, the more I thought about it, the more risky my whole position looked.

"We need each other, yes, you and I," I told Periandros.

Politics, the old Gaje philosopher said-Shakespeare, Socrates, one of those-does indeed make strange bedfellows. I never imagined I would find myself angling for the embrace of Periandros. But, then, I had never imagined to find Periandros sitting on the imperial throne, either.

Very quickly we came to an understanding. There would be a showy public ceremony, the complete works, a grand pyrotechnikon and all, by way of reconfirming me as King of the Rom. The laying on of the wand of recognition, the whole business. The entire nobility would be invited, both Gaje and Rom, from all the worlds. The biggest spectacle in centuries, in fact.

"With light-spikes for everyone?" I said.

"Of course, with light-spikes," Periandros said, irritated. "How can we do without light-spikes, if we are to have the nobility gathered here?"

"I was just wondering," I said.

But no, he was planning to pull out all the stops, and devil take the cost. I could see how serious he was about this, considering what he would have to spend. Though it did cross my mind that he might well ask us to contribute too. That would be all right. The reconsecration ceremony would be of enormous symbolic benefit to both of us. For me it would wipe out the little ambiguity that had been brought into being when Lord Naria, acting as regent, had laid the wand on Shandor's shoulders. For Periandros it would serve similarly to expunge what Naria had done, thereby retroactively expunging Naria's one brave display of imperial authority. All the worlds would know that Yakoub Nirano was now and forevermore Rom baro, Rex Romaniorum; and implicit in Periandros' recognizing me as king was my recognizing him as emperor.

There was one other little part of the package. But even Periandros the shameless was too abashed to ask for it outright. What he wanted was for me to spy for him: to have my Rom star-captains keep me provided with reports on the movements of the Lords Naria and Sunteil, and for me to turn those reports over to him. The way he managed to phrase it, though, Sunteil and Naria weren't explicitly mentioned, and it was possible for me to interpret what he was saying as simply a request for detailed statistical analyses of the flow of commerce between the worlds. That was how I chose to interpret it, anyway.