The Kingdom on the Edge of Reality (27 page)

I couldn't see anything wrong, but the king was wearing a lot of clothes. Was that a tear in the cloth, there under his arm? Then I saw the stain of his blood and I knew that we had failed.

Albert made it walking as far as the castle before he keeled over. We carried him upstairs on my cloak, put him to bed, and treated him for shock. That was all we knew how to do. The mage, who had not been seen at the coronation, was sought for. It was thought that she was away caring for a sick woman in Bennett's fief. In the meantime I waited in an agony of self-reproach.

Upstairs in the king's chambers were the queen and her new step-son Renny, Leo and myself, and Émile and Hélène. The other members of our security team had scattered to look for the mage. I don't think Renny understood the danger Albert was in. Nor perhaps did Jenna, for she seemed more put out than anything else. Albert had been hurt, and what might have been a perfect coronation had been spoiled. She hadn't come to consider what Leo and I knew—that Albert's chances were slim at best; that throughout history, a dirty hole through the body wall was usually fatal.

Émile and Hélène were family to Albert, or maybe even more loyal than family, and they were clearly suffering. They were well aware, I'm sure, of his danger, but they also believed in a God who could do whatever he felt like. They didn't make any show of it, but I believe they prayed constantly.

"Where's Gordon?" We had been too busy to count noses, and it had just occurred to me that I hadn't seen him since he'd charged into the woods.

"I'll go," said Leo, and he slipped out of the room that now contained a new wife who might soon be a widow, a son who might soon be an orphan, a fine and dedicated king who might soon be nothing more than a memory, two family servitors who might soon have no one to serve, and one jackass who had let himself be lulled into uselessness on guard duty with the fate of thousands hanging in the balance. One little slip. One little hole; and now there were a few million germs running out of control in the warm and wet. That was all it would take to unmake our world.

It was through the open window of Albert's chamber that I watched Guy Hawke taking charge. Minutes after Albert fell, rumors were circulating that some Picts had torched a farmhouse in Dugdale's fife; that a sheperd had been beaten and sheep stolen on Bennett's lands, also by Picts. Many peasants left to go home, and those who stayed were as angry and volatile now as they had been happy and peaceful fifteen minutes before, so the duke's men joined with the palace guard to direct traffic and keep order.

The duke gave orders now as he had when Albert was away, and his orders were obeyed as they had been in the past. Sir Leo normally commanded the king's soldiers, answering directly to Albert. But in these special circumstances Lord Hawke's authority superseded Sir Leo's. At the moment Lord Hawke controlled the kingdom; and if Albert died, who was there to oppose his power?

As I numbly watched this change in the power structure, I was far too full of fear and guilt to think systematically about any of it. Suffering and suspended, I waited for the mage to arrive. Albert was pale, his breathing was labored, and his pulse was racing; and though I was no medic, I knew that these were not good signs.

When Marya finally arrived, throwing off her dusty cloak and kicking off her boots, she made us undress the king and wrap quilts around him while she examined him from head to foot by candle and torchlight. Finding no other wounds, she had me support his arm while she stared long and hard at the wound high in his side.

"Did you see it happen?"

"I was looking right at him, but I didn't see exactly how it was done."

"How was he standing?"

"With his arms stretched out in front. Marya, I want you to tell me he's going to pull through. He is, isn't he?"

"Move the torch in closer."

I did as she told me. "What can we do?"

"There isn't anything to do," she said. Her voice seemed to come from far away. It was difficult to hear her.

"A hot compress," I suggested, "with some herbs to draw the . . ." I had no idea what I was trying to say. I just couldn't believe there was no solution. There had to be a solution.

"I'm sorry, Jack," she said softly.

"Listen, I've got an idea. It's the germs that are the problem, right? And penicillin is nothing but bread mold, right? It could make all the difference. There must be some moldy bread around here. We could feed the mold to Albert and the penicillin . . ."

Her eyes were brimming with tears. "Jack," she said, her voice catching in her throat, "if you want to look for some moldy bread, you can. If it will make you feel better."

"But wouldn't it . . ."

She shook her head and the tears splashed out of her eyes. She tried to say something but her voice wouldn't work, so she reached up and grabbed me by the neck of my tunic to pull me down. Pointing to Albert's side with a trembling finger, she began to trace an outline on his side. At first it made no sense. But as I looked more closely, I saw that below the wound and underneath Albert's pale skin, there was a darker patch, a stain that was visible right through the skin. The stain came most of the way down his side; and what could it be but his blood running into places where it didn't belong. Even as I watched the outline seemed to grow larger. It was too late to rediscover penicillin. It was just plain too late.

"Mage?" Renny was standing by the bed now, looking down at Albert. "Why is my dad so pale?"

Marya rose to her feet and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Looking into his eyes, she said, "Renny, I'm afraid your dad is dying."

"Dying? But why?"

It was a question for all the ages of man and the whole creation too. It was the question God heard more than any other. Why, why, why? Why did a man like Albert get killed at his own wedding surrounded by thousands of people who loved him? It least that was an unusual question, a novel question. But why children had to lose their parents was such a continual and incessant question, it must have God stuffing his fingers in his ears all the time.

"He's bleeding inside his body, Renny," Marya said, tears brimming in her eyes as she spoke to him.

"Make it stop."

"I can't, Renny. I would if I could."

"Make it stop!" Good try, kid. Shout at the world loudly enough and maybe it will change. We've all tried it; now it's your turn. Shout and stamp and turn blue in the face. Maybe the greedy people will open their hearts and their hands. Maybe the warmongers will get mellow and open florist shops. Maybe the good dead will come back to life and all the sons-of-bitches will take their places in the graves. Maybe, maybe, but not tonight. Tonight the oblivious earth is just going to continue circling into the morning without changing anything at all.

Jenna had been standing by the window chewing on her knuckle as she looked out over the dark terrain. Now she turned from the window and came over to the bed. She still looked annoyed. "Albert," she said, "wake up."

And to my surprise, he did. He looked blinkingly up at Jenna, and smiled wanly. "Excuse me, my dear, I must have dozed off." Maybe it was the sound of his own voice that reminded him, or maybe it was pain, or merely the memory itself, but his face became grave. "I was having such a beautiful dream. There was . . . it seemed . . . no, I can't think how it goes. So difficult to remember dreams, especially that sort of dream, where everything falls into place and makes such perfect sense."

He was silent for a time, gazing off into space. Then he glanced over toward his side. "I'm wounded, aren't I? I feel very weak and strange. I don't feel like I'm quite all there. Or should I say all here? Mage, am I going to be all right?"

Émile and Hélène had also come over to the bed, and Albert looked up into all our faces one by one; but no one spoke.

"Well, that seems unanimous. Yes, that would be my guess too. I'm leaking badly, that's what I feel like. The sands of time are running right out."

"Dad, you're going to be all right!" Renny said vehemently.

Albert looked up at him, and his eyes were full of love. "Thank you, my boy. Everything is going to be all right. That's what it said in my dream, you see? Everything's going to be all right because . . . well, because that's all there is—the all right part—and the rest is just a dream." And he laughed several silent huffs of laughter which cost him quite a bit in the way of energy, it seemed, because he stopped right away and composed himself. "It's not really a laughing matter," he said, "but it's still all right. I'm afraid that sounds confusing but it's a good thing to know, especially if you're dying."

Then he seemed to recall something and that something made him cry. He cried effortlessly, without panting and screwing up his face. His mouth opened, that was all, and the tears came rolling out of his eyes. I had never seen anyone cry like that, for he didn't seem to be in a whole lot of pain, but the tears were just a flood, running over his cheeks and down his neck. It started everyone else crying too, though I'm sure Émile and Hélène had a good start already on the rest of us.

Finally he blinked out the last rush of tears. Putting up a weak hand, he brushed his fingers over his eyelids, and looked around at all of us again. We waited for him to speak, for a person about to depart on the journey of death always has the floor.

"I really love my little kingdom," he said. "It seems as if I just finally got it set up and now I have to go away. Renny, my son, and you, my dear, you know I made it for everyone but especially for you. Both of you were always on my mind, and I'm so sorry I can't stay to enjoy it with you. Damn it, it seems very unfair," he said, and then he began to cry again, and this time it seemed more painful for him, though it was mostly just that amazing flood of tears.

The door opened behind me, and as I turned to look over my shoulder my hand slipped down over the hilt of my sword. I was relieved to see Father Frederick, though his presence was a reminder that events outside were not standing still as Albert lay dying. Where was Leo? Where was Gordon? It gave me a sinking feeling of dread.

We made room for the abbot, who knelt down by the bed and gently took hold of the king's wrist. "How is your majesty feeling?"

"My legs are getting cold," said the king. "I feel like I'm . . . made out of paper."

The priest nodded gravely, gazing into the king's eyes and continuing to hold him by the wrist. I believe he was taking his pulse. "Your majesty, if there is anything that needs to be said, it would be best not to waste any time."

Albert gave him an odd look. "You're not trying to confess me, are you, Frederick? I've never done that in my life and I frankly don't know how."

The priest smiled at that, and shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm just as heretical as I was when we first met, if not more so; and as far as I am concerned, confessing is entirely optional. If there is something you want to confess, it does no harm as long as you remember that the real essence of salvation is forgiveness, not repentance."

"Ah yes, forgiveness," sighed the king. "This is difficult. I feel very angry at those Picts, Frederick. They did kill me, after all, and I don't know what I did to deserve this from them."

My mouth opened, but then I closed it again. It was of no importance at the moment whether those men were Picts or not, and there was certainly no time to discuss it. Albert was very pale now. Paper was a good description. Pale, slightly greenish paper.

"Forgive them as best you can," said the priest.

"Yes, that will have to do." The king shut his eyes, and it seemed a long time before he opened them again. He was so still and his skin was so opaque that I wondered whether he was already gone.

"Oh, that felt very good," said the king, opening his eyes. "This dying is quite an experience. Everything becomes very clear and simple."

"Your majesty should announce the heir to the throne," said the priest.

Albert cocked his head. "Why Renny, of course. Everybody knows that."

"Your majesty should take this time to make that especially clear in front of as many witnesses as possible."

"Yes, I see what you mean. Are these people sufficient?"

"Perhaps. But many more would be better."

The door opened again and my heart sank, for there was Lord Hawke with a bunch of his buckoes. His soldiers had changed from their regulation leather armor into outfits sporting a good deal more steel, and though they still retained their iron-tipped staffs, they were armed with maces and short swords.

Hawke came forward and knelt before Albert. "My liege, this is a day that will live in the annals of infamy forever."

In that moment I decided to kill him. Only one long leap separated us. I was guaging the distance when Albert reached out consolingly to pat the duke on the knee. "Carry me to the hall."

"You men!" cried the duke, and my chance was gone, for the room was instantly full of soldiers between me and my prey. Had I really made up my mind to spring on him? Yes, in my heart I had decided to kill him, and anyway I was already a killer. My innocence was gone. But I had also hesitated just long enough for the opportunity to slip away. I was still a little green, and that made me ineffective. I had a lot to learn.

"Not like that, you idiots," snapped the duke as his men reached for Albert to lift him out of bed. "Take up that couch and put it here. Ease him onto it. You there, take up that bedding." I was so overwhelmed with guilt for having let the king down that I could barely make my legs move to follow behind them.

When the soldiers set Albert's couch near the upper end of the hall, it created a kind of magic circle of respect into which the common people would not go. But outside that circle the hall was filling quickly, for by now everyone knew the king was dying. The room could only hold so many people, but its capacity was being stretched and people were still trying to squeeze in. Every window ledge was full and every doorway contained a dozen heads peering in from every angle.

Within the magic circle there was plenty of room for Renny, and Queen Jenna, and Émile and Hélène, the abbot, Marya and myself to attend the dying king. Lord Hawke, flanked by a few of his soldiers, was standing just inside the circle, his arms folded across his chest and his broadsword with its wide crossguard hanging down in front of his body. His manner proclaimed that he had already taken charge, and that any loose ends that were still dangling would soon be taken into his hands.