A Game of Universe (18 page)

I made a note of “catacombs,” and filed that under “missing persons/Osrick.”

The jester’s eyes went wide for a moment, then relaxed. “You wouldn’t dare. Why without my poetic talents, the nobility of Kenobrac would revolt from sheer boredom.”

The old knight said, “Just be along your way, and let us hear no more talk of revealing the truth to the strangers.”

The jester looked like he had something more to say, but he turned about and wandered within a hand’s span of my private shadow.

When he was out of earshot, Sir Benjamin said, “This woman, Virginia, she fires my imagination. Her skin is ivory, pure and white and smooth. What I would not give to run my hands over its length.”

I aimed my pistol at him, sighted his handsome face, just for practice.

“But this foreign prince, Germain, I do not believe he is of royal birth. You can tell he is hiding something in his eyes.”

“In truth,” the old knight replied, “he does match the Queen’s prophecy. He is a stranger with dark hair, pale skin, and odd ways.”

“What of the last so called prince to visit us? He fit the Queen’s prediction, too.” They both stood quiet a moment, then Sir Benjamin continued, “Even if he is found worthy, do you think she will be content with him? She has rejected princes, kings, and emperors alike.”

“Our princess may have been selective centuries ago, but time has made her willing. She is as eager as the rest of us.”

Sir Benjamin shook his head. “Mark my words, she will turn her nose up at this one. If he cannot dance, she will say he is a barbarian. If his wit is dull, she will say he is a bore.”

“If I did not know better,” the old knight remarked, “I would say you make excuses for the stranger. Do you not wish to be free of the curse?”

Sir Benjamin whispered so softly that I barely heard: “You know his strength will be tested. I find the machinations of our Queen most distasteful. She violates the code of hospitality and dishonors us all. He should be warned.”

The old knight took a step back. “Truly, Benjamin, you risk much. The Queen’s ears are everywhere. You will become food for the mushrooms for speaking such words. The stranger’s strength must be evaluated.” He looked up and down the corridor, then, “You speak of honor? Would you give the princess a man who will crumble to dust when she embraces him? Has she not endured enough pain? And what of Osrick? What do you think he will do when he finds this Prince Germain? Greet him with a smile and warm wishes?”

“Perhaps it is the only way.”

The old knight placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “Come, we must change into our dress uniforms.”

They marched away from me, and as soon as they were out of sight, I abandoned stealth and jogged back to the waiting room.

Clearly, I had been offered hospitality for more than courtesy’s sake. They believed I was going to break their curse. While I was intrigued, I had no desire to find out firsthand what they had in mind, especially since it sounded dangerous—that comment about crumbling to dust, and Osrick, or rather his ghost, was somehow involved. Yet, I had to play along with whatever the Bren had cooking, at least until I found the Grail.

Down the stairs, I ran, past the intersection and through the hallway, where I slid to a halt on the slick floor. A fat man, wider than he was tall, blocked my path. He stood next to the silver-bound door of the waiting room, and gazed into the mirror finish of the marble wall to smooth his hair and adjust his red cloak. He held his hand up to his face to test the freshness of his breath, then practiced a smile, knocked politely on the door, and entered.

I was right behind him.

The man looked about, confused when he saw only Virginia.

She stood and curtsied to him (quickly sliding her plasma tube into her pocket).

“Please,” he said, “allow me to introduce myself. I am Ambassador Sebastian. It shall be my pleasure to announce you to the King and Queen. How exactly do you pronounce your full name, title, and kingdom?”

“Virginia,” she answered clearly, “pilot, second class, no kingdom.”

“No kingdom? How curious. And the good prince, where is he?”

I turned off the shadow skin then cleared my throat.

He turned surprisingly fast for one so large. “My apologies m’lord, I had no idea I stood before you.” He stared at my face a trifle longer than was appropriate, as if he were trying to ascertain my pedigree from the slant of my nose or the shape of my ear. “And the name of your kingdom, Prince Germain?”

Kingdom? Hades was the world of my birth, but I didn’t exactly like the sound of “Germain, Prince of Hades.” Umbra Corp was my real home, and their headquarters were on Earth, so I told him that.

“Did you say
Earth?
Oh my …”

“Is there a problem?”

“No. Not at all.” He averted his eyes and some of the blue drained from his face. “Shall we go?” he suggested. “The royal family awaits.”

I then noticed the apple I bit into. It was whole. There should have been the jagged imprint of my teeth in it, but the golden skin was unblemished. Had I the time, I would have examined it. Perhaps I could sneak back later. I slung my rifle over my shoulder, then, with a wave of my hand, indicated that the ambassador lead the way. I gave a slight shake of my head to Virginia, and hoped she said nothing too honest while we were introduced.

Through the polished hallways we went, past an infinite number of our own reflections, past statues of kings and the portrait of a young girl, a fall of black hair framing her head in a dark halo, cold smile, and indigo eyes. The ambassador perceived my interest and remarked, “The Princess Lilian, is she not lovely?”

It was the girl in my vision, the one who took me to the Grail. She was the princess who fell ill in the legend, the one Osrick loved. Rather than let another have her, he destroyed an entire world.

Ravishing,
Celeste said and sighed.
You were smart to put that pilot of yours on hold.

“Please, Prince Germain,” the ambassador urged, “we mustn’t keep their Highnesses waiting any longer.”

“Yes, of course.”

Walking straight into the lion’s den?
Fifty-five asked.
These Bren have their own agenda and so did Necatane when he planted that nightmare in your skull. Do you think they’re going to hand you the Grail on a silver platter, shake your hand, pat your butt, and send you along your merry way?

No. But time is limited. I am following the best clue we have. Unless you have a better plan?

I say we get back to Golden City and wait for one of the others to find the Grail for us. That’s the easiest way.

And what if no one finds it?

He was silent.

The ambassador led us into a hall whose ceiling arched three stories tall. Long banners embroidered with stars, stripes, roses, chevrons, birds of prey, and family crests hung from the walls. On the right they were well cared for, clean, their colors bright, but the ones on the left were stained with blood, scorch marks, and dirt.

“On our left,” he explained, “are the captured flags of enemy kingdoms, and on the right, the heraldry of those who have won distinction upon the field of honor.” He sighed. “There are no more battles to be fought. A pity, no?”

The double doors at the end of this hall opened then, and light poured through. A dozen chandeliers hung beyond, each with a hundred candles blazing. And like all the other fires in this castle, these candles shed a cold, clear illumination. That frozen light reflected off the faces of the nobility gathered there, faces that scrutinized us. The ladies sat in high-backed chairs, their long skirts spread out on the floor before them, and the men stood, wearing silver doublets, black coats, and goatees waxed to a point.

There were guards here, too (more than I cared to count), in dress uniforms with gold braids, chain mail underneath, and swords on their hips. They watched me with unblinking eyes.

Past this legion were four thrones of beaten gold. On the smallest was a young man. He appeared bored, and stared idly at the ceiling. He was the jester poet. To his right sat a girl who could only be the Princess Lilian. She had not aged a day since Osrick’s time. With a toss of her head, she shook the silky black hair from her face, and looked at me with calculating eyes, studying me. She was beautiful, there was no denying that, but it was not the legendary beauty Setebos described in Sir Osrick’s tale. Personally, I found Virginia more attractive.

Celeste said breathlessly,
She is the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. She is no commoner, Germain. She is a princess! Everything about her sings with that unique quality only aristocracy has, the delicate slant of her eyes, her perfect chin, and those eyes. How can you resist such a woman?

I’ve never heard you so taken. She is merely a girl. I don’t see what
—

This is a once in a lifetime chance,
she warned.
We cannot make the slightest mistake at this first encounter. Throw out your chest, deepen your voice, and smile, but not too much! Look at ease, but not casual.

I squared my shoulders and tried to live up to the title Prince of Earth.

In the third throne was the Queen. She had the same chin and eyes that the princess had, and she gave me the same calculating look. Resting upon her throat was an amulet of black and gray and white, in the shape of a little man. I had the feeling I had seen it somewhere before, or perhaps read about it in Abaris’s library, or perhaps even worn it at some time.

In the center, on the highest throne with rubies encrusted onto its edges, sat the King. Him I recognized. He was the fisherman we had met before, but instead of rags he now wore thick robes of purple and gold, and a crown of platinum points and diamonds on his head. His face contained a regal, controlled gaze.

Not since I was a child had I felt so self-conscious and intimidated. I called upon my Corporate training, composed my thoughts, and donned a poker face, appearing neither nervous nor relaxed.

They stared at us for a second longer, curious and silent, then the ambassador stepped aside, and in a clear resonant voice announced, “Your most royal Highnesses, the noble Queen Isadora and grand King Eliot, it is my honor to present to you the Lady Virginia, pilot, second class.”

Virginia gave them her best curtsy.

“And Prince Germain … of Earth.”

When the word “Earth” spilled from his lips, the Bren nobility whispered quickly to one another, and glared at me with open hostility. A few, I had seen their expressions before—in lynch mobs. The royal family, however, had no immediate reaction, only the jester prince, who rolled his eyes.

The King held his hand aloft and the court fell silent. His gaze fixed me square while I strode forward, past the pairs of hot eyes that tried to penetrate my armor and melt my composure. I ignored them and stopped just short of the raised platform that held the royal family, stopped just short of the guards, and bowed.

The eyes of the fisherman who was King softened a bit then, and he said, “Good prince, on behalf of my people and my family, let me be the first to extend to you the hospitality of Castle Kenobrac.”

13

W
e need to learn the rules of the game they’re playing,
the gambler said.
Don’t be a sucker. You’re acting like a tourist, dropping chips in a slot machine, hoping to hit the jackpot, when all the time it’s rigged.

King Eliot leaned forward and asked, “Tell us why you have come. Tell us the nature of your visit, Prince Germain, and we shall be of whatever assistance we can.”

Be cagey with your opening bet
, warned the gambler.

For once, our compulsive friend is correct,
the psychologist said.
You cannot simply tell them you come for Osrick’s cup. If it was the instrument of their curse, it will be an extremely sensitive issue.

I answered, “Your offer is most kind, King Eliot. However, the truth is, I may not reveal the nature of my mission, other than to say it is a quest of dire circumstances. I am under a witch’s curse which prevents me from revealing what it is I seek.”

Nice bluff.

It gives me the perfect excuse to look around,
I told the gambler.

“How insidious,” the King said and stroked his beard in contemplation. “You believe what you seek is here, yet you may not even ask for it?”

“That is correct, King Eliot.”

Does he believe me?

They do not seem to care,
the psychologist answered.
Another matter is foremost in their thoughts, concerning you and the Princess.

Queen Isadora touched the amulet about her neck and inquired, “May we ask you questions? Questions to reveal the nature of your quest?”

“No,” I lied. “Evil spirits would tear the tongue from my head should I attempt it.”

She nodded, understanding the logic of my invented curse.

“Your misfortune is our blessing,” King Eliot proclaimed, raising his voice so all in the vast hall heard him. “We shall be delighted to have you as our guest as long as you desire. Look wherever your eyes may take you, and ask anything of my people. Worry not, Prince Germain, if what you seek is here, you will most certainly find it.”

“King Eliot, your offer is generous.”

He reclined in his throne, then added, “I only ask one thing of you in return.”

He’s raising,
the gambler cautioned.

“Tonight, you must allow us to celebrate your arrival. We shall throw a feast in your honor, and you shall regale us with stories of your quest and kingdom.”

The princess tugged at his sleeve and he leaned over. She whispered to him, cupping her hand over his ear so I couldn’t read her lips—and never once taking her dark eyes off me.

“Yes,” the King whispered back, “I should have thought of that.” To me he inquired, “Do you dance Prince Germain?”

“Dance?”

Say yes,
Celeste whispered.
All princes know how to dance.

“Of course, King Eliot,” I replied.

He stood and declared, “Good people of Castle Kenobrac, tonight we shall have a grand ball to honor Prince Germain of Earth. Let us spare no detail or extravagance for the event.”

The Queen then said, “You must be exhausted from your journey, Prince Germain.” She clapped her hands. “Ambassador, tend to the needs of our guests immediately. Escort the prince and his captain to their rooms, so they may rest.”

There was something about this Queen I didn’t like. She was outwardly gracious, but I suspected she could have just as easily ordered the guards to chop off my head as extend her courtesy.

The ambassador dashed across the hall, bowed before the King and Queen (much lower than I thought his bulk would allow), then stepped behind me and waited, panting slightly from the exertion.

I bowed to the royal family and backed away. As I left though, I noticed the princess smiling at me. It was not a cordial smile, but one with hidden meanings and full of desire. It looked odd on her features, two hundred years of cunning on the face of a teenager.

I returned her smile.

The knights to either side of the thrones saw this, and they glared at me through their helmets. A younger knight (at least in appearance) took a step forward, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Sir Benjamin grabbed his shoulder and whispered hurriedly to him. Whatever he said seemed to check his action, but his stare fixed upon me with murderous intent.

I turned and strode past the gathered lords with their pointed beards and the ladies in their long dresses. Unlike the guards, the nobility seemed rather pleased with the meeting, some even smiled briefly at me, all of which made me wonder why they had been so hostile before. Something about Earth had set them off.

The ambassador guided us through the hall of war banners, up a flight of stairs, then halted at a door of white wood with a half moon carved upon it. “This is your room, Lady Virginia. I shall summon an attendant to see to your needs.”

“May we have a moment alone?” she asked.

Before he answered, Virginia grabbed my arm, entered and slammed the moon in his face. It was a fine room: canopy bed, fireplace burning with the same slow flames I had seen elsewhere, candelabra, and an oil painting of Diana with her bow drawn. Three gowns had been laid out on the bed for her.

Interesting how fast these Bren move, isn’t it?
Fifty-five said.
Dresses laid out on the bed and a ball ready within hours of your arrival? This setup stinks.

Virginia glanced to the dresses, then back to me, and whispered, “I can’t dance.”

“Neither can I,” I admitted. “Just tell anyone who wants to waltz that it’s not a custom practiced in your kingdom. That should get you by.”

“There’s one other thing I wanted to tell you.” She went to the fireplace to warm her hands before the flames. The fire had no heat, so she vigorously rubbed them together, then crossed her arms. “This princess, the way she looked at you. She has more than dancing on her mind.”

“And?”

Virginia spun around to face me. “And I don’t like it,” she said, raising her voice. “I guess I’ve been trying to say this since we left Golden City, it’s that you and me—” She stomped her foot. “Damn, this isn’t coming out the way I wanted.”

She bit her lower lip and took three steps toward me. “I like you Germain, more than any person I’ve met before, even though I think I know what you do for a living, and even though I’m breaking my guild’s rules. I can’t help it. I feel like we’ve known each other for a long time, like we’ve been doing this sort of thing together for years.” Her eyebrows bunched together in frustration. “It doesn’t make any sense at all, does it?”

She was right. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt as if I had known her for years, too. Virginia was my childhood crush, my teen sweetheart, and my first lover all rolled into one. It was better than that though, because the initial flush of excitement, that primal sexual tension was undiluted by familiarity. Could the enchantment of this castle be affecting us? No. My emotions had been there from the start, when she came to see me in my Golden City suite.

I leaned forward and kissed her to explain that I understood. She opened her mouth and drew closer to me, wanting more. I wanted more, too, but gently pushed her away.

“No,” I whispered, “not with the ambassador waiting outside. We must wait until this mission is over.”

She traced the outline of my lips with her finger, and asked, “Will you feel the same afterwards, Germain? Or will you disappear back to your Corporation?”

Normally, I’d have no choice but to return to Umbra Corp (she must have guessed that much). But with Erybus’s generous reward, other options were possible. I buried that thought deep inside me, so Fifty-five wouldn’t hear it and brand me a traitor. “If I live that long,” I told her, “there may be a way yet for us to be together. You’ll have to trust me.”

She stared deep into my eyes. “You have my trust.”

I looked away so she wouldn’t see the doubt I harbored and regarded the three dresses upon her bed: a pink chiffon frilly affair, a slinky blue silk gown, and one of burgundy velvet.

“Wear the red one tonight,” I suggested.

She quickly kissed me again, then, “You better leave, so I can change.”

I bowed low. “M’lady Virginia.”

“Until this evening then,” she said, “Prince Germain.”

I left quickly, before my willpower disappeared, firmly closing the door behind me.

The ambassador looked concerned. “Is everything well?” he asked.

Well? I didn’t even dare to think about Virginia—not with Fifty-five and Celeste waiting to critique my every thought. “Things couldn’t be better,” I told him.

We climbed the staircase to the third floor. The steps were a polished black marble, and the reflections of my boots were so perfect, it appeared that I stepped upon the bottoms of my feet—walked upside down on my own footsteps.

You fool!
cried Fifty-five.
The girl is a spy, remember?

Does it matter what she is, as long as we succeed?

She’s got you right where she wants you. Even a cadet wouldn’t fall for this ploy.

Sebastian stole a glance at my rifle. He smiled nervously and looked at it again, this time asking, “Prince Germain, may I inquire about that thing you carry.” He pointed to the rifle. “Is it a weapon? A lance? I could not help but notice you wear no sword.”

“My sword was lost in a battle,” I lied. “And this,” I indicated the rifle, “as you guessed, is a type of lance. It is more for show than a tool of war.”

“Then I shall see that you have a replacement for the festivities this evening. It would not do for one of your status to be without a proper blade.”

This ambassador was very accommodating. Perhaps I could use that to my advantage.

The first intelligent thing you’ve said all day,
muttered Fifty-five.

At the top of the stairs, he said, “You did very well before King Eliot. I can tell he likes you.”

“And the princess? Do you think she likes me, too?”

“I would not presume to know the princess’s mind,” he replied, blushing purple.

“The man sitting next to her, that was her husband?”

Looking very uncomfortable, he answered, “Yes and no, Sire. They are married,but then again they are not, if you catch my meaning?”

“No.”

“This is extremely difficult to explain. It would be better if you asked another nobleman this evening. I really should not say any more than I have.” We stopped at a door of burnished redwood and he opened it for me. “These are your quarters. I shall arrange for servants to attend you, and if you have any other needs, pull the cord by your bed and I shall come.”

He started to turn (and escape), but I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Stay a while, ambassador. I am certain we have more to discuss.”

“I cannot, Prince Germain.” His face paled, drained from purple to pale blue, the color of glacier ice. “If I say any more of the princess, she will—”

“Who said we were going to discuss the princess?”

He relaxed, a bit.

“Come in,” I said, “and close the door behind you.” He hesitated, so I added, “You would not want me to tell the Queen that you were difficult, would you?”

The ambassador swallowed, then, shaking slightly, he followed me in.

I pulled the door closed, unslung my rifle and propped it alongside the bed, then removed the blue shield from my belt. “Sit please,” I said, using the exact tone the Queen had when she had commanded him.

He did and watched with fascination the flickering display and the wriggling microfingers of the robot doctor. “This thing,” he asked, “it is magic, is it not?”

“Yes, indeed it is. Shall I show you how it works?”

He inched away. “Thank you, Sire, but no.”

“Come now, ambassador, it won’t hurt.” I grabbed his arm and let the robot attach itself. A hundred tentacles and probes wrapped firmly about his flesh.

He panicked, reached for it with his other hand, but I caught him at the elbow and locked the limb behind his back. He grunted in pain, and cried, “Wh…What?”

I ordered the blue shield: “Sedate, level two.” There was a hiss and he slumped face first onto the bed.

“See,” I said to his backside, “that hardly hurt at all.” I rolled him over. “Interrogation mode please.” The robot doctor beeped at me, then flashed his heart rate, blood pressure, and other vital statistics. It calculated the precise drugs required and pumped them into his body. It would take a minute or so to work into his brain, turn it soft, then I could question him at my leisure.

I locked the door.

There was another way to do this: the borrowing ritual. My information would be superior, and I could use the ambassador’s courtier skills among the Bren. I found myself, however, thinking back to Abaris and how he died … how I had killed him. Damn Necatane for dredging up that nightmare. I was a trained professional, not a child. I’d use the ritual if I had to. Yet, if I stole the ambassador’s mind, there would be a body to dispose of. There was no need to risk getting caught dragging his corpse around the castle.

The blue shield beeped twice. The ambassador’s breaths were deep, slow, and steady, and his muscles completely relaxed.

I asked, “What is your name?”

He replied in a sleepy voice: “Sebastian.”

“And your duties?”

“I was the ambassador to the kingdom of Eaelo. But there is no longer a need for diplomats.”

“Why?”

His mouth twisted into a grimace. The blue shield displayed a jump in his vital signs. “The castle, it sank. The earth swallowed it.”

“Swallowed? Was there an earthquake?”

He balled his hands into fists, his heart raced, and he cried, “The curse! The Queen had Osrick slain in the chapel. He never expected such treachery in his own court, and from his own Queen.”

The Queen killed him? I made a note of this discrepancy in the legend, then inquired, “Why was he murdered?”

“The Queen and her adviser,” he forced the words out, “they made Lilian sick with their dark sorcery. It was the only way to marry her off and align the kingdoms. The King was being so difficult, insisting that she love the one she wed. I swear I had no part in the plot, no part in their mock quest to find her cure. I swear to God.”