Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams (9 page)

“You would step down?” the chief magistrate said, awed.

“We need such a measure after the last disaster, don’t you agree?” Pagaose insisted. “Power can corrupt any man, but take care using the removal. You’ll be left without a leader for up to seven years until the cycle completes.”

“Court is adjourned,” decreed the chief magistrate. “You’ve given us much to discuss.”

The crowd dispersed, and the young judge asked to shake the emperor’s hand.

“Aren’t you concerned about my legal knowledge?” asked Pagaose.

“You gave all the right answers before we started,” the judge confided. “We’ll help you manage the change at a manageable pace.”

“I’ll have your vote?”

“By the end of the week, sir, or I’ll turn in my robe.”

****

While they waited for the judges to deliberate, Violet showed Pagaose how to pour water on the hot rocks to make relaxing steam. With Scribbles, he signed documents to sell off his second palace and discussed the idea of a Great Amnesty to call Imperials back to Center from around the world. Every time he entered a new room in the palace or pleasure dome, he used his special senses to tell if the person who entered the room ahead of him had hostile intent.

He continued teaching his guards the Way of Water. Nightglow, her modesty veil in place, frequently watched from the balcony around the garden along with her bevy of female friends. This prompted several of the men to practice shirtless.

On Fireday morning, his chamberlain ambushed Pagaose as he dressed. “Sire, you’ve been avoiding the Mandibosian ambassador.”

“A little.”

“Without the money from the south, we might starve. We rely on his country to eat,” the chamberlain said. “He’s invited you to his estate tomorrow for a meal. To decline would be seen as unfriendly.”

“What’s his chef’s specialty?”

“Beef products for every course: cheeses, stews, fried fat curls, steaks, kabobs, and a sweet made from scorched milk.”

Pagaose winced. “I suppose not eating it would be an insult.”

“Smile for an hour, nod, and do exactly what you were going to do before the meeting.”

“You never use that tactic on me do you?”

“You, sir? Never. You’ve also neglected to respond to Lady Evershade.”

“Who?”

“Nightglow’s mother. They live on the north shore of the volcano—the part that rarely gets sun. I’m sure it’s the location that gives their family the menacing reputation.”

The emperor whispered, “Couldn’t we let the guards beat me with staves for an extra hour each day?”

“She wants to throw a party in your honor. You could garner a lot of supporters just by showing up and waving.”

“Tell Nightshade she can accompany us to court this afternoon. I’ll discuss the unpleasant details with her then.”

“What colors, sire?”

“Pardon?”

“She will need to know what colors you’re wearing in order to accent your entourage.”

Pagaose spread his hands, picking an outfit at random. “Red with gold accents.”

****

Anna paced on the cobblestones outside the palace. “He’s going to be late.”

“The guards call him optimistic. We generally don’t schedule him for back-to-back meetings like this, but tax collecting has become pretty important recently.”

Nightglow remained serene, and her crimson kimono stayed unwrinkled. “His highness is always on time, by definition. If you want to run ahead and wait for us at the courthouse, he’ll understand.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Run?” the slim, young woman said with in a catty tone.

The brewer woman clenched her fist at the aristocrat and growled. “I meant abandon him to self-serving nobles who might take advantage of his kind nature.”

Niftkin squeezed between the two women. Nightglow whispered, “You didn’t want him alone with someone
skinnier
than you . . . which is every other woman on the island.”

Anna lurched forward just as Pagaose emerged from the palace. “Problem?”

“No, sir,” squeaked Niftkin. “Just a lively debate about your proposal to lower the Inner Islands tribute from one-part-in-seven to one-part-in-ten.”

“I think it’ll streamline the process, encourage farming, and improve the local economies,” the emperor said, ignoring the glares between the women as they took positions beside his elbows. “We may have to walk rather briskly.”

“Double-time march!” the head guard ordered.

A hundred paces along their route, the alley narrowed. A little beyond this, an ox cart blocked their path. Four of his seven guards went ahead to remove the obstacle.

Nightglow’s shriek alerted them to the four masked men with spears that charged the rest of the emperor’s group from behind. Niftkin knocked Nightglow aside as he blocked a spearman with his sword and gutted him. The remaining two guards interposed themselves between the attackers and the emperor. Anna tripped on the uneven cobbles as she tried to flee, and slid to the ground. The last spearman thrust at the easy target she presented. Pagaose knocked the weapon aside with his rod of office, and the tip of the spear snapped on the stone. For a moment, the two stood face-to-face. Too close to miss, the attacker grinned as he reached for a dagger. The emperor smashed the assassin’s windpipe with the short, metal rod, and the man fell over, choking.

He stared briefly at the man as he died—his first. He felt a brief urge to save the assassin’s life.

After a brief scuffle, Pagaose’s closest two guards also collapsed, writhing in pain.

“Giant jellyfish poison,” warned Nightglow, pointing to the purple coating on the spears, now smeared with blood.

Pagaose drew the One True Sword.

The two successful spearmen squared off against the two male defenders. Both spears flew at the emperor simultaneously. He dodged one and the other grazed his shoulder as he beheaded his attacker. The pain in his back made his muscles contract, and he collapsed to his knees. Coals gnawed at his veins as they crawled toward his spine. The guards on the ground beside him were vomiting.

“Anna, get vinegar!” said Nightglow. “My father died from this venom. It paralyzes the muscles and then kills.”

“Guards, carry me to the throne room,” wheezed the emperor.

“We’ll get a healer, sire,” said Niftkin searching for any attacker who might still be living.

“Now,” he ordered, closing his eyes and hiding from the pain searing its way through his body.

Four of them carried him, and it was all he could do not to scream. He reached for the source energy above his throne; it was enough to hold him stable but not push the poison back.

He was shaking, sweating, and fighting the urge to vomit. He held the poison like a ball of fire. He could see the angry circle of red on his shoulder. He had to counter it soon. Remembering the marks of the rubies on his forehead, he called out to the Traveler. “I need a sign that I am the one.”

By the Door light, his skin oozed dark purple. Niftkin wiped the poison with a cloth, but the vile mixture burned him even through the fabric. He dropped the cloth as Anna ran in with a jug. She poured the vinegar over the emperor’s back and then splashed the guard’s damaged hand. The stinging stopped for both men. She kept pouring to wash away the steady flow of purple that leaked from the wound.

When the jug was empty, Nightglow announced, “Get the leeches to draw out the rest.”

“No physicians,” Pagaose said, gritting his teeth. “I must not show weakness.”

“You should be dead,” said Niftkin.

“I should be on time for my vote,” insisted the emperor, wiping sweat from his brow.

“It still aches. You should rest,” Anna begged.

“Anna, bring me clean clothes,” the emperor ordered. “Niftkin shall see the leech. The other guards and the old soldiers can help me to the court in a palanquin. After the ruling, I’ll return for treatment. No one outside this room is to hear of my infirmity or recovery. I can rest over the weekend. You, help me out of these ruined clothes.”

Eventually, after Niftkin immersed his hand in a water urn, he was able to move his fingers without wincing. He said, “I would accompany my emperor.”

They had left the mirror beside the throne for those having their eyes transmuted. While the others were distracted, the emperor glanced at his own reflection. One of his dots had vanished. “No, I have two miracles left. You have a debt to repay your body that will soon come due. Leave me now so that you can serve me better later.”

The head guard bowed. “My life should be forfeit for failing you.”

“No,” Pagaose insisted. “I offended too many this week by moving too fast. Next week, we shall practice caution. Yes?”

Nightglow volunteered. “I will see him to bed.” She held Niftkin’s hand, examining the damage. “I also have a salve that would help reduce scarring.

“That’s expensive medicine,” the guard objected, still breathing hard.

“You saved my life, sir,” she said, beaming at him over her veil. “I owe you my skilled ministrations.”

Locking eyes with her, he said, “I scarcely feel the sting, milady.”

****

Lady Evershade arrived in the parlor of Lord Pangborn that evening. She was dressed in a white mourning garment that accentuated her fit figure. He knew she was thirty-five, but her apothecary was a wonder at squid-ink hair dyes and sea-cucumber facial treatments. She wore simple, tasteful accents, evening gloves and diamonds, and she didn’t have a hair out of place.

He smiled. “Good cousin, it’s been too long. What can I do for you?”

“Not be so stupidly obvious!” she hissed.

He blinked. “In what regard?”

“There are only two apothecaries on the island who know that recipe. One of them is my employee, and the other is his teacher. They make most of the cosmetics that my family sells. One day, they experimented with a bright-purple eye shadow made of giant jellyfish extract and rust. Where do you think that will point investigators when they remember the method of my husband’s death?” Three years ago, while Lady Evershade had been at home nursing what remained of her family after it had been ravaged by the pox, her husband committed several public indiscretions.

It hadn’t occurred to Pangborn that she’d killed her own husband in such a painful fashion. He’d merely admired the technique and wanted to copy it. “Oh, dear,” he said with genuine regret. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Leave the emperor alone.”

“You don’t realize what that man is up to. He earned his fourth vote today. He wants to change everything—”

“My daughter is now his primary contender for wife. Her warning concerning your botched attempt provided her with a standing invitation to the palace.”

“Good show,” said the lord with admiration. “I suppose there’s more than one way to steer a ship. I shall cease my efforts until you advise to the contrary.” He gave a small bow.

She stared at him for a while until her glare faded. “I’ve already covered your sloppy trail and disposed of both apothecaries—a poorly made puffer-fish delicacy they shared for dinner.”

Pangborn swallowed hard. “
I
have puffer on my menu for tonight.”

“I know,” she said icily, taking her leave.

Pagaose spent the night sweating and tossing, with Anna applying a cold compress. At breakfast, he refused food, electing to check on Niftkin instead. The guard was asleep in the guest bed, and Nightglow was asleep in one of the chairs. He crept out without waking either.

Letting the others sleep, Pagaose went to his garden to meditate. Instead, he found Duwara, the white-haired former soldier, waiting for him. “We failed in our duty, sire. My only excuse is that Lord Conifer was weakened by your last memory-training session, and some of us remained to guard him.”

“I moved too fast with insufficient escort,” the emperor admitted, rubbing his face. “The payments to the dead guards’ families will come out of the zoo sales. Niftkin deserves a raise. Unless I miss my guess, he’ll be gaining a wife by spring.”

The gray retiree raised an eyebrow at that. “His mother is my niece. She’ll be pleased to hear this. Can you tell me her name?”

“The young lady hasn’t told him yet. It wouldn’t be fair for me to spoil the surprise, but your clan will be gratified by the addition. I’ll approve the match when the matter arises.”

“We defer to your judgment, sire,” Duwara said with a bow. “On the topic of secrets, the Council is being informed of a dire matter, even as we speak.”

“I never like the word dire before breakfast. Might I have a hint?”

“We’ve confirmed that the Pretender has captured Muro.”

“Abbot Small Voice?”

“Captured or dead.”

Pagaose sat on the bench and put his head in his hands.

“My condolences, sire.”

“He is one soul in ten thousand,” Pagaose said, steeling himself to face the retired soldier. “This means that the Pretender has begun his invasion of the Inner Islands. I must put aside my personal feelings to counter this threat to all my people. How long could we endure a siege?”

Duwara snickered. “The enemy has picked the best possible time to do this. Our provisions are laid in till the spring festival. Not much goes to and from Center in winter storms.”

“And after that?”

“If we conserve now and he doesn’t burn the farms nearest us, we might make summer.”

“If you were running the siege?”

“Hunger will force our hand within a month of the dance.”

The emperor put his head back in his hands. “Give me a moment, please.”

“Sire, that you care so much about one man gives us all hope for your reign.”

****

The emperor rode in a palanquin with an escort of fourteen men to the Mandibosian embassy. The guards at the front gate were confused. “You’re not due for another five hours, sire.”

His majesty was pale and wavered slightly in his seat, but the guard didn’t draw attention to this.

Pretending to be tipsy, the emperor replied, “Tell the ambassador that we have been celebrating yesterday’s victory all night, and I’m in a generous mood. Five hours from now, I plan to be sleeping.”