[Kelvin 03] - Chimaera's Copper (with Robert E. Margroff) (9 page)

"The squarears don't know the sting's value. No way they can use the transporter and find out. Only roundears and those like us can use the transporter here. The dwarves have the transporters booby-trapped to keep Minors from mixing too much with Majors and vice versa."

"These squarears who live here," Kelvin broke in. "How'd they stop you?"

"Magic, of course. Huh, they used a spell before we could act. We didn't know they were around, and then we were paralyzed, our weapons useless. One of those timelock spells you probably know about."

John interrupted the pregnant silence that developed. "Paralysis we understand, but timelock?"

"Time stoppage in a small area. Gives 'em time. Very unscientific."

"Magic, then," Kelvin said.

"Magic."

"These squarears," John prodded, "they just left you for the chimaera?"

"They left us for the froogears. The froogears delivered us and all our equipment."

"Then it was just the same as for us. Only we didn't encounter squarears."

"Right."

"And the others in your party?"

"Eaten one by one."

"By the chimaera. That doesn't seem possible."

"Huh, a lot you know about it."

"I didn't say it didn't happen. Only it does seem strange. On any world I've ever been on eating something as intelligent as your species is unheard of."

"You're not as intelligent, stupid. Not even I am."

"I, ah, see." John mentally shrugged as he realized that Stapular regarded the chimaera as more intelligent than all of them. Maybe it was true, but the notion took some adjusting to. Was it that those two human heads counted double?

"Could the squarears stop the chimaera?" Kelvin asked. "With their timelock?"

"Magic is magic. Why'd they want to try?"

Kelvin couldn't have answered. It was just a long shot, that they might get help. Long shots seemed to be their best shots, now.

A sudden unbarring of the door drew all of their attention. The door opened enough to admit Mervania's head. She peered in at them, seeming so much the coppery-tressed woman as almost to fool them. She evidently liked doing that! Then the door swung wide and there was Mertin-head and Grumpus-head beside Mervania-head. The scorpiocrab body scuttled inside.

Mervania looked down on them while Mertin added more food to their trough from a large bucket. Deliberately, teasingly, she lifted something large and green to her mouth and sank her pretty white teeth into it.

Kelvin felt his stomach twist. That thing she was eating. Like a giant pickle, but--

It was a forearm. Green, with little seeds stuck to it. Fingers, a thumb. A pickled arm.

Kelvin's stomach heaved, but it was already empty. He was able only to retch without substance.

"Really, Kelvin!" she said reprovingly, licking off her petite lips. "It is as you thought, a pickle. Pickled arm. Very tasty with added copper." She took another bite, her teeth now showing points.

Kelvin retched again.

"And you, Stapular," she continued between bites. "I'm thinking of a new recipe. First I'll dip you in lye while you're alive, and then--"

"Mervania!" Mertin snapped. "Don't give away your recipes!"

"Oh, all right! I'll just leave that for a surprise." She sucked on some now-fleshless fingerbones, then bit them off with a crunch. Those dainty jaws were stronger than they looked!

"This is boring," Mertin complained. "We've slopped the stock; let's go."

Mervania's mouth curved into a frown. "Spoilsport!" she muttered.

Tail raised over its back, the chimaera departed.

"Whew," Kelvin said. "Whew!" Cold sweat beaded his brow in large drops. He felt even sicker than his stomach did.

CHAPTER 6

Dupes by Default

St. Helens wasn't happy about having Charley Lomax and Phillip Blastmore along. Young bloods were hot bloods and youthful self-control was not ideal. He himself had never had self-control at their ages, and look at all the trouble he'd seen! Yet the young fellows remained as good companions and took his few orders in soldierly fashion. He had been afraid that when they reached the palace in Herlin, capital city of Hermandy, there would be questions. But no guardsman of the dictator bothered the official messenger, and neither did the boys.

King Bitler looked mean. Ornery lock of black hair over his eyes, aggressive black mustache under sharp nose, he was just plain ugly. St. Helens mused on it as he watched the king unseal and read the official letter.

"Sean Reilly," the dictator's slightly mad voice said as his moderately mad eyes gazed down at him. "Kelvinia and Hermandy are now allies."

"Yes, Your Majesty." And how I wish it wasn't so!

"Our mutual enemies are the twin kingdoms of Klingland and Kance. By order of Kelvinia's King Rufurt and myself you are to be put in full command of Hermandy's armed forces. Your rank is to be commanding general. Do you accept the commission?"

I'd better, St. Helens thought, or I'll never live to accept or decline another. You'd like that, wouldn't you, pigface!

"I do, Your Majesty."

"In that case you will proceed against the enemy as soon as you are issued the proper uniform." The tyrant leaned back, a palace flunky bowed to him, and then with a peremptory, sweeping gesture he motioned St. Helens out of the Royal Presence. The audience with the Hermandy king was at an end. None too soon, by his reckoning! St. Helens knew that like it or not he would be fulfilling the wishes of both Bitler and the king he suspected was Rowforth. He felt his stomach do an experimental turn.

Mor Crumb rode the big horse at the head of the column of the finest troops money could buy, and silently and bitterly chastised himself.

We're on the way to Klingland, on the way to fight! To destroy boys like my Lester! Lester to destroy other boys in Kance. Damn my weakness! Damn my not standing up to that impostor! Damn, damn, damn!

Ahead was the border, its location marked by guardhouses on either side of the road. The guardhouses were empty. Though King Kildom must have received the declaration of war, the border here was wide open.

Now what, Mor the old soldier had to ask himself as they crossed, can that possibly mean?

Lester did not like generaling. Here he was in fancy uniform approaching the border between Kelvinia and Kance. His father would be at the Klingland border now. St. Helens would be getting fitted for a new black uniform. One way or another they were all going to war. This was not as it should be, kings and prophecies be damned.

Ahead were the wide river and the waiting ferry. An old man with bleary eyes took the pass and poled him and a couple of lieutenants across.

"Something's happening in Kance," the oldster said.

"Yes, what's that?" Les was watching the straining horses pulling the cable as the ferry crossed. He had never ridden a ferry before. The water was high and muddy, so the horses were working hard.

"No one here all morning. Unusual."

"There are usually soldiers on the Kance side?"

The oldster slapped his thigh and cackled. "That's a good one, that is!" he said with a mouth full of rotted teeth. "And you wearing the uniform of a general! With Hermandy for a neighbor and the caps so near the river who'd--" He stopped, aware that his mouth might betray him.

Yes, with the capital city for both Klingland and Kance so near to the river, who would leave the border here unguarded? He knew that there was a witch running things, but he had never heard she was stupid. Witch Melbah had guarded Aratex from Conjurer's Rock, but here there was no high rock overlooking a pass leading to the capital. Why leave the border open? Why not raise the river and a storm such as Melbah would have done?

The log raft dipped and rose with a wave, and the men at the Kance side prepared for its landing. Stolid working types, they had their poles ready.

No problem, but no guards. The raft landed in its berth and Les and the lieutenant disembarked. They watched the barge go back, the old man bending to his task with the sweeps. No one made comment.

So here they were starting an invasion. So far it was a picnic. Les had imagined there might be rows of archers on their shore. But there were no troops and no one to stop them and demand that they surrender. In a way Lester felt disappointed. He'd almost rather be made a prisoner at the outset than have to lead a fight he didn't believe in. He should have spoken up, but somehow he hadn't.

No soldiers waiting. No resistance mobilized. What did it all mean?

Hal gazed at Easter as they lay in the loft. "You know this is wrong," he said. "I'm married and you're too young."

"I've loved it every time!" she said. "I'm only sorry you have to go now." So it seemed. He had lost count of the number of times they had done it, these past three days. It seemed she was a lonely girl who had never had this sort of attention before. He could understand her attitude--but what of his own? He was long since old enough to know better! "So have I, Easter," he said. "I think I love you. But--"

"And I love you, Hal! But I know how it is. You're married. You never told me wrong. But will you come again?"

"I shouldn't."

"But you will. I promise, I'll never tell! I just want to be with you, Hal."

Gods help him, he wanted to be with her too. She gave him the love and passion that Charlain lacked. But how could he leave Charlain? She needed someone to run the farm.

"I'll try," he said. And knew that neither storm nor drought could keep him away, wrong as it was.

Jon confronted Dr. Sterk in the hallway. "Well?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

The doctor sighed. "He does indeed have pointed ears."

"So then it is Rufurt, our proper king!" Jon had been so certain!

But the doctor did not look as if he believed what he himself had said.

Kildom faced Kildee in the throne room. Both were lying on the carpet on their bellies. Between them was the playing area for their cards.

"Now you take this one," Kildom said, slapping down a queen. The queen, like all playing-card queens, wore a smirk, as though she and the knave were up to naughtiness.

"No problem," Kildee said. Slap, down went the laughing sorcerer.

"Damn," said Kildom. "I forgot about that."

"You always do. This is the fourth game in which you forgot the sorcerer."

"Better to lose to magic than to might," said Kildee. He studied the face of his twin, so similar to himself that both had identical moles on their cheeks: Kildom on the right cheek, Kildee on the left. That made sense, as Kildom was right-handed, Kildee left-handed. Both faces were quite handsome in childish ways. Today was special because it was the day both rulers turned six.

"Why is it," Kildom inquired, "that we count a birthday only every four years?" Every birthday he had the same question.

"Because," his baby-faced brother replied, "it's Leaping Day, also Monarch Day, a day that comes up on the royal calendar once every four years. If we'd been born on Zebudarry twenty-eighth instead of Zebudarry twenty- ninth we'd be twenty-four."

"True. Quite true." Kildom rolled over and stood up on little pudgy legs. He looked down at his twin, his hands toying with his lace collar. "If only our bodies were grown! Some days I don't think I can wait until I'm a hundred before taking a queen."

"What would you know about that!" Kildee retorted. "We're only six and what you have in your royal pants I have in mine."

"Do not! Mine's bigger."

"Bigger butt, maybe."

They tangled, arms and legs and heads. Kildee was on top and blacked his brother's right eye with his left fist. Then Kildom rolled over and blacked Kildee's left eye with his right fist. It was always thus. "Boys, boys, boys!" Helbah said reprovingly. She was very old, far older than they had reason to think about. She bent over now and picked them up by their lace collars, shook them hard, and sat them down.

Kildom, king of Klingland, looked up at her wrinkled face and tried not to cry. His eye hurt, as it always did when his brother blacked it. "He hit me, Helbah!"

"And you hit him back. You both got what you deserved."

Kildom sighed. So true, so very true.

"You boys are going to have to exercise a little restraint. Your kingdoms have problems."

"They have?" This was news to them both.

"They do. Some people think you are babies. They don't realize that you have the intelligence of grown men."

Kildom wished that his emotions were not those of a six-year-old. He could convince his intellect of almost anything, but his emotions were another matter.

"Now we know," Helbah said, "that Kelvinia has made a pact with your hereditary enemy in Hermandy. We know because old Helbah has her ways."

"Magical," said Kildee.

"Witchy," said Kildom, not to be outdone.

"Yes, yes. Now we mustn't negate the craft by putting false names to it. Helbah has a power that is good and for your protection. She knows you are threatened and by whom."

"We understand, Helbah," Kildom said. He knew his brother would not have to withdraw his suggestion of magic. Magical or witchy, the powers were hers.

Helbah squeezed the boy's tiny hand. She looked into his face as if he were indeed all man.

"Kildom, your kingdom is now being invaded by forces led by Mor Crumb, the former opposition leader in Rud. Kildee, you have his son's invasion on your hands."

"Your magic can stop them, Helbah," Kildee said confidently. "It's more powerful than armies."

"Perhaps. You know that Helbah will try."

Kildom felt more alarm and saw alarm on his brother's face. If Helbah expressed caution, the matter was serious!

"You see," Helbah explained, "Hermandy would not attack you without magical assistance. Bitler wanted help from Zatanas, the sorcerer slain by Kelvin. Now Bitler has found the help he lacked."

"You are certain?" Kildee asked.

"I am certain that there is a power in the newly formed kingdom of Kelvinia. How well controlled and how powerful I can only guess."

"Then you do not know everything," Kildom suggested, disappointed.

"No. My clairvoyance is limited and my precognition all but absent. I know that Melbah, my duplicate from another frame, was killed by Kelvin. I did not know she would be killed or see it happening. There are limits to all abilities, including mine."