Emperor and Clown (4 page)

“There
is only one thing we can do,” Inosolan said in a futile attempt to sound calm. “What
we tried to do before-we must go and seek occult aid.”

“Master
Rap?”

“No,
not He is only an adept. It will take a full sorcerer to cancel a spell.”

“Sorcerer?”
Kade was too horrified to think properly.

“The
Four, the wardens. A curse set upon a monarch is political sorcery, so they
should be willing to remove it. And heal my face, I hope.”

Kade
took a few deep breaths, but her brain was dead as flagstones. “Well, I have
always enjoyed sailing, and a visit to Hub at last-”

“No.”

“No?”

“You
are not coming. He will not allow it. I have come to say farewell, Aunt. And
Gods bless.” The usually musical voice was flat and cold as a winter pond. “And
... and thank you for everything.”

“But
when?”

Somewhere
a door creaked, and boots clacked slowly on the tiles in the corridor. Kade
struggled to rise and failed.

Inosolan
came and bent to kiss her cheek. “It will be days before the court realizes he
is gone,” she whispered quickly. “Officially we shall be touring the
countryside. That will hold for a week or two. After that ... well, the Gods
will provide. And Prince Kar, of course, will be in charge here.”

Hub?
“You can’t go veiled in Hub!”

“I
can’t not!”

Oh,
Holy Balance! May the Good preserve us--Inosolan had lost everything now, even
her beauty. The boots were almost at the door. Only one man had unimpeded
access to any room in the palace. “Remember Rap,” Inosolan breathed. “Do what
you can. He’ll be safe with Azak gone, I’m sure. There is a fast ship,” she
added, a little louder, “headed west, and a carriage waits. He thinks we can
just reach Qoble before the passes close. Wish me luck, Aunt. Wish us luck?”

“But
the war?” Kadolan cried. “Isn’t the Impire massing troops in Ullacarn?” Zark
was about to be invaded. A djinn sultan journeying to the enemy’s capital ...

“Just
one more risk to take,” Inosolan said brightly. “It will be a most interesting
journey. Gods be with you, Aunt. We’ll be all right. We’ll be back by spring-my
husband and I ... look after yourself.”

The
door swung open, and a tall shadow stood there, its jewels faintly shining.

“Gods
be with you both,” Kade said, and watched Inosolan glide silently away, like a
wraith, following Azak into the darkness.

However
much Andor might be enjoying himself out in the sheik’s pleasance, back in the
dingy kitchen quarters of the rambling mansion, the chairs were hard and the
hot air rancid with scents of long-dead cooking. Gnats and moths twirled around
the smelly lamps and held races on the low ceiling. Gathmor crossed his ankles
the other way and eased his back. The bulky djinn on the other side of the
table scowled at him briefly and went back to scratching his armpits. He had
not spoken a word to Gathmor all evening, which was fine by Gathmor; from the
smell of him the oaf was a camel driver by trade, now being used as watchdog to
make sure the jotunn behaved himself. Gathmor would like very much to see him
try. He’d observed many others wander through the scullery during his long
wait; he’d take on any two of them cheerfully.

The
women, on the other hand ... Even wrapped like corpses, they moved like elves,
and there was something challenging in all that concealment and the swirl of
cloth as they hurried past on their master’s business. It really caught a man’s
imagination; made him watch the folds shift for a hint of how much lay beneath,
and where. The flame-red eyes ... After all, Wanmie must have died in Kalkor’s
massacre, and in some ways that was beginning to feel like a long time ago. In
some ways. Not that she’d have grudged him a nibble or two at another table,
once in a while, had he ever wanted that. He was very tempted to try speaking
to the next shrouded maiden who came through-and not just to rouse the camel
driver, either.

He’d
had as much boredom as he could stand. He’d been in this squalid pesthole for
four or five hours, capping two days of useless talk and argument and mostly
waiting around. Waiting for Thinal, or Darad. And now Andor. Or being a common
porter-sometimes a man would do for a shipmate what he wouldn’t dream of doing
for himself.

A
large youth stuck his head round the door. “You! Your master wants you.”

Gathmor
smiled and said softly, “Did I hear you correctly?” The camel driver brightened
and glanced at the youth. For a moment the evening began to look interesting.

“Your
friend?” the youth said, scowling.

“
`Employer’ would do,” Gathmor admitted, and heaved himself to his feet. “Lead
on, Valiant.” Turning red faces redder was the best fun he’d found in Zark so
far. It wasn’t much.

He
swung his bundle up on his back and followed. Common porter!

When
he reached the door, he saw that Andor was as good as dismasted. So the sailor
took the proffered lantern in one hand and a firm grip on the imp’s arm with
the other, and steered him out into the night before the cheerfully
wine-scented farewells were finished. The door thumped shut behind them; bars
and chains rattled behind it, and the night was hot.

It
was also dark. He’d been rash, Gathmor realized, going outdoors before he’d got
his night eyes back; he wasn’t used to these landlubber games. He pulled Andor
back into the doorway again, raising the lantern high to peer at all the
shadows. Andor hiccuped discreetly.

There
were a lot of shadows, but most of them were too small to conceal anything. The
walls were very high, but moonlight played its magic in places, and some
windows still glowed here and there. A few households kept lamps burning above
their doors.

“Uphill
or downhill?” Gathmor said, when he was satisfied that there were no footpads
close.

“Uphill,
downhill, in my lady’s chamber . . .”

“Call
Sagorn!”

Andor
sniggered. “I think I’m too drunk to remember how. Gods, but that kid was a
trader! I couldn’t get a thing out of him sober. Ooops, I think I’m going to
call the gnomes.”

“Do
it, then, or bring Sagorn now and do it next year.”

Andor
reeled into a corner, but there were some things even Andor could not do
elegantly. Gathmor studied the shadows and the narrow moonstruck sky roofing
the canyon and tried not to listen. Serve the sleazy twister right!

He-
was getting very tired of the whole bunch of them. In the last two days he’d
been working with all five-one at a time, of course-and Evil knew how confusing
it was. He’d no sooner get one straightened out than he’d be dealing with
another and having to start all over.

“Awright!”
he said when silence returned. “Tell me what you found out, or else call Sagorn
and let me have his ideas firsthand.”

“You
boneheaded Nordland blackguard!” Andor gagged a few more times, but nothing
more happened. “I still think we’re wasting our time. Why don’t we go back
down-”

“Don’t
try it!” Gathmor snarled. “It didn’t work the last time, and it won’t now.”

Andor
could probably still talk him into leaving Arakkaran and abandoning his
shipmate. He’d done so two days ago, and they’d sailed on the dawn breeze. But
only Jalon could work the pipes to summon real winds, and when Andor had called
Jalon, Jalon had simply waited until Gathmor recovered his wits and stopped
threatening. Then they’d come back to Arakkaran. Andor’s charm was
irresistible, but it wore off. Jalon was a jotunn, and a real man inside,
despite his puny exterior.

Andor
started to speak, groaned briefly, and vanished. -

Sagorn
stood in his place, pale face and silver hair shining bright in the light of
the lantern. He sighed approvingly. “Nicely done, sailor.”

“What
did he learn?”

“Ah!”
For a moment the old man stood in silence, pondering or perhaps merely
rummaging through Andor’s memories. “Uphill,” he said, and began striding into
the dark. Adjusting the bundle on his back, Gathmor moved to his side, and the
shadows danced away at their approach, only to sneak in softly behind again. “What
did Andor find out?”

“I
never thought I should be grateful to a gnome,” Sagorn remarked. “But
Dragonward Ishist outshines any doctor I have ever heard of. He must be the
equal of-”

“You’re
going to need medical help again very shortly, you know.”

The
scholar chuckled dryly and slowed his pace. He had begun to puff already. “We
could use Ishist right now, couldn’t we? If what we heard about gangrene is
true, then the faun hasn’t long to live. His healing powers must be failing.”

Gathmor
shuddered. Before noon Thinal had gone over the palace wall again, so that
Andor could interview a couple more guards. The trouble was that then he’d
called Darad to ensure their silence, and all the others were becoming
understandably alarmed by the sudden epidemic of anemia in their profession.

“And
Darad saw Princess Kadolan on a balcony,” Sagorn remarked. “That’s important,
although none of the others realized.”

The
alley entered a tiny square, and Gathmor peered around nervously. “Last
warning-don’t play games with me, Sagorn.”

The
old man snorted. He was wheezing now, but obviously headed back to the palace.
How long could their luck last?

“Is
there a solution?” Gathmor demanded. “Certainly.”

“There
is?”

“Certainly.
I have known it since Jalon called me yesterday. I just didn’t want to raise
your hopes by mentioning it.”

Gathmor
promised himself revenge on this scraggy old bookworm-someday, somehow. “Raise
them now.”

“More
magic! Rap is merely an adept. His powers have kept him alive this long,
despite his injuries, but since he can no longer speak to talk his guards into-”

“I
am only an ignorant sailor!” Gathmor shouted. “But I am not stupid. I know all
this.” The old windbag always used too many words, but he seemed to be dragging
this story out deliberately.

“Will
you tell the world? Keep your voice down! Now, do you want to hear or not?”

“What
is the answer?”

The
two jotnar emerged onto a wide road, better lit by the moon. There was no
wheeled traffic in these early-morning hours, but a band of men went by on the
far side with lanterns and suspicious glances, guarding a fat merchant encased
within them like a yolk.

Sagorn
was laboring, puffing harder. “More power! If we can learn another word, then I
will be an adept, also, and so will Andor, or Thinal, or Jalon, or even Darad.
I admit that the thought of Darad as an adept is . . .” He sensed Gathmor’s
fury and broke off. “That is the answer! Another word of power.”

What
madness was this? “And where exactly do you propose finding one of those now,
after failing for a hundred years?”

Sagorn
chuckled dryly. “I know exactly where.”

“Where?”

“The
girl has one.”

“Rap’s
princess? She does? You’re serious?”

“Absolutely)
One of Inisso’s words has been handed down in her family. Her father passed it
to her on his deathbed. It was perhaps the reason the sorceress abducted her.
But I couldn’t be sure ... She does not seem to have had fair fortune, and even
a single word normally brings good luck.”

“Now
you’re sure?” Gathmor was certain he was overlooking something in this argument.

“Yes,
I am. That was why we have been cultivating Master Skarash all afternoon. He
was one of her companions in the desert.”

“One
word? A genius? What’s her skill, then? What’s she good at?”

Sagorn
sniffed disparagingly. “That seems to be still a mystery. At least the djinn
boy told Andor he didn’t know. He may not have been informed, of course, but at
one point in their adventures, she was definitely exercising some sort of
power. It was how his grandfather was able to find her again.”

“Grandfather?”

“Elkarath
himself. He’s a mage. But he isn’t here. He’s still in Ullacarn, working for
Warlock Olybino now. Forget him. We must find Inos and persuade her to share
her word of power with me. Or with one of my associates. Then we can save Rap!”

“How?”

Sagorn
paused to rest, leaning against a high stone wall-the wall of the palace
grounds, in fact. He took a moment to catch his breath and wipe his brow. “The
faun is no fighter, but with two words he held off the whole palace guard.
Imagine Darad with two words! Another word will bring many new skills, of
course, but it must also strengthen the skills we’ve got now. Gods-Thinal will
be able to walk out the door with the sultan’s throne under his arm.”

“Listen!”
Gathmor swung around to stare toward the corner. There were gates to one of the
palace yards just around there, and he could hear ... Yes! Horses.

He
doused the lantern, but the two of them were still far too conspicuous in the
moon-washed street. “Come on!” After grabbing the old man’s wrist, he began to
run across the road, feeling the straps of his bundle dig into his shoulders at
every step. There was a dark alleyway on the far side, but farther uphill,
closer to the approaching cavalry. The hoofbeats were very near now.

Djinns
were insanely suspicious folk, even in daylight.

He
had no sense of change, but suddenly the wrist he held was different. He let
go, and Thinal hurtled out in front, heading for cover like a rabbit, with
Andor’s overlarge garments flapping around him. No hero, Thinal. Ladened by his
pack and the dead lantern, Gathmor couldn’t keep up with him. He watched the
little thief vanish into the shadows, heard the hooves grow louder, and saw the
leaders wheel around the corner just as he reached the alley also and plunged
into the welcome darkness.

It
was not an alley, merely an oversized alcove, and he was brought up short by a
high, solid fence. Of Thinal there was no sign whatsoever.