Brokedown Palace (19 page)

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Authors: Steven Brust

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“Indeed?” said Viktor. “What do you think of it?”
“It serves no purpose,” she said. “Excuse me, Viktor, Brigitta.”
She continued past them, following the still audible footsteps of Vilmos.
Serves no purpose?
thought Viktor.
How odd
. He noticed Brigitta following the Countess with her eyes, and decided that she was probably wondering the same thing he was.
When they pushed aside the curtain into Miklós’s old chambers, Viktor found that László and Sándor were there before him. At the same moment, he heard Brigitta gasp. He turned to her, and saw that she was staring at the tree, which now was fully as tall as he was.
The expression on her face, however, was less one of surprise than of delighted wonder. Of all the reactions she could have had, this he hadn’t expected. He looked up to see László and Sándor were also staring at her.
After a silence that seemed to stretch the length of the River, László said, “What is it, Brigitta?”
She shook her head, as if words failed, but finally managed to whisper, “It’s beautiful.”
Viktor felt himself gripped by an icy rage. Beautiful! Beautiful? A tree, growing in the middle of the Palace, impervious to all efforts to remove it? Tearing apart the very floor? Looking as if it would explode the very room that contained it? Beautiful?
Yet, before he could speak, László cut in.
“Just what do you find beautiful about it?” Viktor took satisfaction
in hearing that the King’s tone of voice matched his own feelings.
Brigitta just shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “But seeing it growing there, amid these stone walls—seeing something fresh from all of this … decay … Seeing—”
“That will be quite enough,” said the King in a tone cold enough to freeze the fires that burned behind his eyes.
Brigitta seemed to catch herself, and Viktor could see her suddenly realizing what she had said and to whom she had said it. There was a moment when no one spoke, and Brigitta seemed about to form an apology, but then her lips tightened and her face set. She said nothing.
The King nodded almost imperceptibly, then said, “Leave my presence at once. If I need you for anything, I will call on you. Until then, stay out of my sight.”
She curtsied, seeming to find dignity in the air around her. “With your permission, Your Majesty, I will return to town.”
“You do not have my permission, until I decide what will become of you.”
She bowed her head, straightened it, and looked directly at him. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” She turned and left the room, somehow making it look as if she had chosen to leave rather than been dismissed.
When she was gone, László turned to Viktor. “Did you have some reason for bringing her here?”
Viktor bit his lip. It did not seem the time to speak to him of his guesses about her involvement with Miklós. Perhaps Sándor knew and had spoken of it. If not, he, Viktor, wouldn’t either. He contented himself with casting his eyes down and saying nothing.
After a moment, the King grunted. “In any case,” he said, glancing at Sándor and Viktor, “the question is: how are we to deal with this … thing?” He gestured toward the tree.
Sándor crossed over to the window and looked out. “It is the River that nourishes it,” he muttered.
“Fine,” said Viktor. “All you need to do is stop the River, then.”
Sándor scowled but didn’t answer.
“Be serious,” said László.
“The danger, Your Majesty,” said Viktor, “comes from the way the stem is pulling apart the floor tiles, and from the danger that it will continue to grow until it puts pressure on the walls.”
“Yes,” said László. “And?”
“Is there some way to secure the walls and the floor so they will not be broken apart?”
“This has been suggested by the Countess.” He asked the wizard, “What do you think?”
“I’m not certain,” said the wizard. “It is worth thinking about.”
“The only other thing we can do is destroy it,” said Viktor. “And I see no way to do that.”
“Except for Vilmos,” said the King. “And he won’t.”
“Perhaps you should speak to him again, “Your Majesty.”
“Perhaps.”
“I see no other way. Neither Sándor nor I can hurt it.”
“We could burn it,” said the wizard.
László snorted. “Certainly. And the Palace with it.”
“There is also Állam, Your Majesty,” said Viktor carefully.
The King nodded. “Yes. I have not fully tested Állam against it.” He stroked the hilt of his sabre. “Somehow I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” asked Viktor.
“I’m not sure,” said the King. He chuckled. “Perhaps because if Állam doesn’t hurt it, we’ll
really
be powerless.”
Viktor forced himself to smile, despite the sudden rage this invoked in him. But he said only, “If we have a weapon that might solve the problem, though, we should consider using it.”
The King studied him. “What do you know of the sword?” he asked.
“Nothing, Your Majesty,” said Viktor. “Why?”
“Never mind. I’ll think about it.”
“And I,” said Sándor, “will consider the matter of strengthening the Palace.”
“Should I speak to Vilmos?” asked Viktor.
“No,” said László. “Don’t bother. There is something I must do before any action is taken.”
He stopped. Viktor and Sándor glanced quickly at each other to see who would ask the question the King obviously wanted asked. Finally, Sándor said, “What is that, Your Majesty?”
“I am going to spend the evening in the Tower. I wish to consult with the Demon Goddess.”
 
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, AS VIKTOR ENTERED THE GREAT HALL, he noticed someone who seemed to be asleep in a corner. Looking closer, he recognized the coachman of the Count of Mordfal. At that moment, the other opened his eyes, as if he’d felt the captain’s stare. The coachman nodded. Viktor approached and sat down next to him.
“Good afternoon, Captain,” he said in a sonorous voice. Viktor looked for, and found, several empty wine bottles at the foot of his chair.
“You’re drunk,” said Viktor.
“My name is Miska,” said the coachman, as if that were an answer. But he went on, “My master says we are to be leaving soon. I am preparing for the journey.”
“If any of my men ‘prepared’ themselves the way you do—”
“Oh, come, good Captain. There is no need to be so serious.”
Viktor didn’t answer. He wondered, though, why a gentleman such as the Count would keep on a sodden fool like this. Viktor
noticed the coachman’s bloodshot eyes were fixed on him. He suddenly felt uncomfortable and, consequently, irritated.
“Don’t be angry with me, good Captain,” said Miska. “Shall I tell you a story?”
Viktor hesitated, then, “Very well.”
Miska nodded and closed his eyes. “Many, many, years ago—hundreds of years ago—there was a babe born in this very castle, to the King and Queen. He was normal enough at birth, but by the time he was six months old he weighed thirty pounds. By the time he was a year old, he could lift twice his own weight.
“As he grew older, he became larger and larger, until he was so strong—”
“Vilmos,” said the Captain.
“Please,” said Miska. “There are giants born to this family every four or five generations. Now, then, where was I? Well, never mind. Now, he had a brother, did this giant. I don’t know which brother was the older. Perhaps they were twins. But this brother was so smart that he learned the languages of the birds and the beasts, and he knew how to make the River run backward, and how to make the stars shine during the day.
“Well, one day the strong brother said to the smart brother, ‘I am so strong, I could break our father’s sword in two.’ And the smart brother said, ‘I am so smart, I know enough not to try.’ And the two brothers had a good laugh about this, then went off to do other things.”
Miska closed his eyes again. After a moment, Viktor said, “Well?”
The coachman opened one eye. “Well, what?”
“Is that the end?”
“What more is needed, Captain?”
“Which one became King?”
“Neither. There was war with the Northmen and the strong
brother was slain in battle, while the smart brother ran away and was never heard from again.”
Viktor stared at him for a moment, then turned his back on the coachman. He filled a bowl with potato soup from the large pot near the kitchen and sat down to eat it.
After a moment, Sándor came in and sat down next him.
“How is it today?” asked the wizard.
“The soup? Too hot for Rezs
, I think,” said Viktor. They exchanged a smile.
Sándor filled a bowl and returned. “Not bad,” he said, tasting it. “I wonder if any of the potatoes will be left tonight?”
“Maybe,” said Viktor. “It tastes like they used lamb
and
beef this time. Probably still trying to impress the Countess.”
They ate in silence for a while, Viktor holding his bowl in one hand, Sándor having set his on a low table next to the chair, and leaning over it to eat. The pose looked uncomfortable to Viktor, but he said nothing. He thought about the coachman’s story, but, if there was a point to it, he couldn’t see what it was.
“Have you seen the King?” asked Sándor eventually.
Viktor shook his head. “I wonder if he learned anything.”
“Yes.”
“I wonder why he needs to?”
Sándor looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
“There are at least two things he could try that don’t require asking questions.”
“I assume one of them is Vilmos.”
“Yes. When he spoke to me, it was clear that he had the strength to pull up the roots. Why doesn’t the King order him to?”
“I don’t think it is that easy a thing, Viktor. He has influence on Vilmos, but he doesn’t command him. If he were to put Vilmos’s loyalty to a strong test it might break, and that could have dire results for all of us.”
Viktor snorted. “He is one man, Sándor!”
“His strength makes him more than that. I think the King is right not to push him unless he has to.”
Viktor bit back a reply of, Then he isn’t a King. Instead he said, “Then I don’t understand why he doesn’t use Állam.”
The wizard’s eyes burned brightly for a moment. “To be blunt, my friend, neither do I. And I know as much about it as he does.”
“What is it about that blade, Sándor? Both you and he have alluded to it, but—”
“Have the King tell you. He will, if he’s in a talkative mood. But something about using it against the tree frightens him. I think—no, never mind.”
“Don’t start on that, Wizard. What is your theory?”
Sándor sighed. “My theory, Captain, is that he fears his own blood lust. That once he begins wielding Állam against that tree, he won’t stop until he actually
has
killed his brother. It is that kind of weapon, and the King is that kind of warrior.”
“Well then, so be it,” said Viktor.
“It isn’t your brother we are discussing.”
“Perhaps. But then he could let me wield it. I am not likely to lose control in battle.”
Sándor set his spoon down in the bowl and searched Viktor’s eyes with his own. “Have a care,” he said. “Who holds Állam holds the kingdom.”
“Well then,” said Viktor softly, “so be it.”
Sándor studied him for a long moment. “Why are you saying these things to me?”
Viktor answered his question with another. “Did you know that I am the eldest son of King Vendel’s daughter? And that she was older than Gellért, János’s father, by—”
Sándor smiled. “Monika. You are Monika’s son. How is she?”

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