Emperor and Clown (2 page)

The
poor woman came to an end at last; eyes turned toward the throne; Shandie
stopped breathing again. The pins and needles in his left arm were making his
eyes water. If he wriggled his fingers just a little, very slowly, surely no
one would notice and tell Ythbane he’d been fidgeting?

Ythbane
spoke for Grandfather again; -the woman scrabbled away; another delegate came
forward to kneel.

Tomorrow
would be East’s turn-eastern cities bringing greetings, Grandfather seated
facing east, toward the Gold Throne. Moms and Shandie, too. The senators would
have the eastern seats, facing west. He wondered how the senators chose who
came on which day, because that wasn’t the whole Senate sitting there.

Not
long to go now.

It
was awfully hard to keep his knees from shaking, and they did hurt. He tried to
imagine the witch of the north suddenly appearing over there on her White
Throne, although it wasn’t really white, being carved out of ivory. Bright
Water was a goblin, and hundreds of years old. He’d heard people muttering that
maybe she’d set the goblins on the Pondague legionaries, but he knew that only
East would use magic on Grandfather’s army. What was the word? He’d seen it in
his history book. Pre-roga-tive! Prerogative (q.v.), whatever (q.v.) meant.
Bright Water’s prerogative was Nordland raiders, but it was silly of the
Protocol to put a goblin woman in charge of jotunn sailors. South’s was dragons
and West’s was weather.

If
Bright Water ever did appear on her throne, then likely all the warlocks would
appear, as well, each on his own throne-Olybino and Zinixo and Lith’rian. An
imp, a dwarf, and an elf. That was silly, too. The Protocol should have made
all the wardens imps, to protect the Impire properly.

One
day, when Shandie got to be Emshandar V, then he would get to read the Protocol
(q.v.). Only imperors and wardens ever did.

No
sorcerer would ever come to a brain-melting boring meeting like this, though.

They
were done! Now another herald was unrolling a scroll. Ythbane nodded.

“His
Excellency, Ambassador from the Nordland Confederacy . . .”

Ambassador
Krushjor came striding forward like a great white bear, followed by a
half-dozen other jotnar, all shockingly half naked in helmet, breeches, and
boots and nothing else-dumb barbarians showing off their hairy chests and
hey-look-at-that muscles! Ambassadors were the only people excused formal court
dress. They were allowed ethnic costume. It did look silly, though.

Oh,
Holy Balance! Shandie realized that he could use some of those muscles himself
right then. His left arm was sagging under the weight of the train draped over
it. He tried to raise it and couldn’t. It wouldn’t obey him. It was dead.

But
Ythbane couldn’t have noticed yet. He was eyeing the jotunn ambassador, and
having to lean his head back to do it. The consul was not big for an imp, and
the older man was an average-size jotunn. Some of the younger jotnar in the
back were even bigger, with bushy gold beards. And muscles! Bet they could hold
up a toga for weeks if they ever had to. Moms called the jotnar “murdering
monsters.”

The
senators had fallen silent, as if this were going to be more interesting than
... Gods! There, up in the back row-how could he not have noticed sooner? Just
in time, Shandie remembered not to move. It was Aunt Oro, right in there with
the senators! He hadn’t seen her in months. She’d been away at Leesoft. His
heart jumped, then sank-he wanted to run to her, or at least smile and wave,
but of course he mustn’t move. He thought maybe he’d twitched a little on
seeing her, but Ythbane was still watching the jotunn, so it wouldn’t matter.

She’d
understand that he must put duty first, and mustn’t fidget on formal occasions.

Fancy
Aunt Oro in with the senators! But of course she had senatorial rank. Much
higher rank, really, because she was Princess Imperial Orosea. She even
outranked Moms, who was only Princess Uomaya. So Aunt Oro could sit anywhere
she wanted, but he’d have expected her to have a chair on the steps of the
throne, like Moms. He wondered when she’d returned to court. He hadn’t heard a
whisper, and he was pretty good at picking up gossip, because he spent a lot of
time around grown-ups and they tended to forget he was there.

Surely
she wouldn’t go back to Leesoft without coming to see him? He wouldn’t mind a
hug from Aunt Oro. It wouldn’t be unmanly to let her hug him just once-it wasn’t
as if everyone did. Or anyone, really. Of course it would be unmanly to mention
the beatings. All boys got beaten, and princes were special and had to be
specially beaten. So Ythbane had said last time, making a joke-he’d added a
couple of strokes, saying Shandie was being impudent by not laughing.

If
Aunt Oro asked any questions, of course, he’d have to tell the truth, and if he
was still limping ... “The matter of Krasnegar has already been settled, signed
and sealed!” Ythbane was shouting. Bad sign. He shouted a lot these days. He’d
never shouted before Grandfather got old.

Shouting
wasn’t going to do him much good with the jotunn, though. The big silver beard
parted to show big yellow teeth. “With respect, Eminence-” He didn’t look
respectful. “-the document we initialed was merely a memorandum of agreement.
It was always subject to the approval of the Thanes’ Moot.”

“And
you were to send it-”

“It
is on its way to Nordland. I respectfully remind your Eminence, though, that
Nordland is months away, and the Moot meets only once a year, at midsummer.”

The
ministers were whispering at Ythbane’s back, the secretaries and heralds
fretting and shuffling. The jotnar were smirking. Ythbane seemed to swell, all
pompous in his toga with a purple hem. “So it will not be ratified until next
summer-”

“Isn’t
that obvious?”

“-but
until then-”

“No!
Until the news reaches Hub! You do realize that the return journey will also
take months?” The pale-skinned old man leered down at the consul, and his
manner was so like the one Ythbane himself used on Shandie that Shandie almost
disgraced himself by giggling. Ythbane would kill him if he did that.

Ythbane
swung around and whispered for a moment with Lord Humaise, and Lord Hithire,
and a couple of other new advisors Shandie didn’t know; then he turned around
to confront the ambassador again, his face dark as a postilion’s boot.

“The
wording of the memorandum was very specific. Until the Moot’s decision is
conveyed to his Imperial Majesty’s council, both sides shall act as if the
agreement has been ratified in formal treaty. The king will remain in-”

“King?”

“Oh
... what’s his name? ... the former Duke of Kinvale!” Ythbane was snarling. He
was ever so mad now, and ... Oh, no! Shandie’s dead arm had drooped so low that
the train of his toga was starting to slide off it. God of Children! What did
he do now? “ . . and you were to nominate a viceroy pro tem, subject to . . .”
The consul was growing even louder and madder. He would stay mad for days after
this. Shandie needed to yawn. His toga was falling off him. He really needed to
go pee. He wasn’t much interested in Krasnegar-he’d overheard a few whispers
that it was a sellout, that the Council had settled for a paper triumph and
given the kingdom to the jotnar. If that was so, then Shandie would take it
back when he was grown up and a warrior imperor, but right now he was too weary
to care. Another pleat slid off his hand.

Ythbane
had finished, but whatever he’d said had not impressed the big blond bear.

“I
am an ambassador, not a plenipotentiary, Eminence, as you know. I never
professed to have the power to override the thane’s personal rights in this
matter. Indeed, if he chooses to press his claim, then the Moot itself would
back him as King of Krasnegar. The thanes would never infringe a privilege of
one of their own number.” He glanced round at his companions, who grinned; then
he added, “Not this one’s, anyway!”

“Kalkor
is a murdering, raping, barbar-”

Now
the ambassador swelled, and to much better effect than Ythbane had managed. He
stepped closer, his fair face ominously flushed. “Do I report your words to the
thane as official Imperial policy, or as your personal opinions?” His bellow
reverberated down from the dome.

Ythbane
fell back a pace. The ministers exchanged worried glances; the jotunn flunkies
grinned again. “Well?” roared the ambassador, still wanting an answer.

“What’th
all the sthouting?” a new voice said. Shandie jumped and looked around before
he could stop himself.

Grandfather
was awake! He was slumped awkwardly in his seat, but he was awake. His right
eye was open, the left half closed as always, and he was drooling, as always,
but obviously he was having one of his good spells, and Shandie was glad, glad,
gladlthey were so rare now! It was as if the old man had gone away, like Aunt
Oro, and it made Shandie feel all cozy-nice to see him come back, although it
would only be for a few minutes.

And
Grandfather had noticed Shandie! He smiled down at him. “You’re toga’th come
looth, tholdier,” he said quietly. But he was smiling, not angry at all! And
Shandie must move to obey an imperial command, whether Ythbane liked it or not.
Quickly he gathered up the fallen folds with his right hand, looping them back
on his left arm, and he lifted that useless limb back into place and held it
there. The pleating was an awful scrimmage, but it would have to do. He smiled
briefly, gratefully, up at Grandfather, then turned to stare across at the
White Throne again, going as still as a stone pillar again. Pity he’d had no
excuse to move his feet a bit.

Ythbane
had recovered from his surprise. He bowed to the throne. “A discussion of the
Krasnegar matter, your Majesty.”

“Thought
that wath all thettled?” Grandfather’s voice was very slurred nowadays; and
quiet, but the words obviously staggered the courtiers. Clearly he still
understood more than they had believed. “Ambassador Krushjor’s views of the
concordat-”

“Memorandum!”
the ambassador roared.

“Whaz
‘e want?” the imperor mumbled.

Ythbane
scowled. “He demands safe conduct for Thane Kalkor to come here to Hub to
negotiate in person on a matter-”

“-he
has the best claim to the throne of Krasn-” Krushjor bellowed, much louder than
the consul.

“-burning
and looting-”

“-thane
of Gark, and an honored-”

“-ever
dares show his face-”

Then
... sudden silence, with everyone staring up at the throne behind Shandie’s
left shoulder. If it wasn’t sorcery, then Grandfather must have gestured. “Kalkor?”
the tired old voice whispered.

“Yes,
Sire! The same murdering raider who has been killing and looting all through
the Summer Seas for months. The Navy’s Southern Command has been completely reorganized
over the matter, as your Majesty will recall, but too late to stop this Kalkor
escaping westward, through Dyre Channel. He sacked three towns in Krul’s Bay
and is now apparently in, or near to, Uthle. He has the audacity to propose
that he sail his infamous orca longship up the Ambly River-all the way to
Cenmere!”

Ministers
and secretaries shook their heads in disbelief. Senators rumbled with outrage.
Shandie had been reading up on that geography just yesterday: the Nogid
Archipelago, and the horrid anthropophagi (q.v.), and the Mosweep Mountains,
and trolls ...

“Worse!”
Ythbane added loudly. “He, a notorious pirate, demands to be recognized as
sovereign ruler of Gark, as if it were an independent state, so he can
negotiate directly with your Imperial Majesty on the matter of Krasnegar. He
furthermore demands safe conduct for-”

“Granted!”

Ythbane
choked, stared, then said, “Sire?” disbelievingly.

“If
he’th here behaving himthelf, then he’th not looting thomewhere elsh.”

There
was a long, shocked silence, then the consul bowed. “As your Majesty commands.”
The senators were glaring.

“When
he leavth, tell the Navy,” Grandfather said wearily.

Smiles
flashed among ministers and secretaries and heralds. Ripples of mirth rolled through
senatorial ranks. The jotnar scowled angrily. Ythbane even put on his smile
face, briefly-which wasn’t a smile like anyone else’s.

Shandie
heard a sort of groan from Grandfather and desperately wanted to turn and look,
but he daren’t, and besides, he was suddenly feeling awfully sick in his
stomach. There was a funny ringing in his head, too.

“Safe
conduct for Thane Kalkor and how many men, Ambassador?” the consul inquired
with icy politeness.

“Forty-five
jotnar and one goblin.”

Ythbane
had already turned to give orders, but at that he spun back to Krushjor. “Goblin?”
Grandfather was snoring again. The sunlight was fading.

“A
goblin,” the ambassador said, “male, apparently.”

“What’s
he doing with a goblin?”

“No
idea. Perhaps he looted him from somewhere? You ask-I won’t! But his letter was
very insistent that he will be bringing a goblin with him to Hub.”

Suddenly
the ringing in Shandie’s ears swelled to a roar. The step swayed beneath him.
He staggered and heard himself cry out.

As
he pitched forward, the last thing he saw was Ythbane’s dark eyes watching him.

Far,
far to the east, evening drew near to Arakkaran. Yet white sails still
sprinkled the great blue bay, and the bazaars were thonged. Palms danced in the
warm, and salty winds-winds that wafted odors of dung and ordure in through
windows and scents of musk and spices and gardenias along foul alleys. All day,
as every day, by ship and camel, mule and wagon, the wealth of the land had
flowed into the shining city.

Jotunn
sailors had toiled in the docks, while elsewhere a scattering of other folk had
plied their trades: impish traders, dwarvish craftsmen, elvish artists, mermaid
courtesans, and gnomish cleaners; but these outsiders were very few amid the
teeming natives. Tall and ruddy, swathed mostly in flowing robes, the djinns
had argued and gossiped as always in their harsh Zarkian dialect; they had
bargained and quarreled, laughed and loved like any other people. And if they
had also lied and cheated a little more than most-well; anyone who didn’t know
the rules must be a stranger, so why worry?