Nightlord: Orb (96 page)

“I’m a charlatan,” I admitted, both hands on my busted gut.  “A con man.  A fake.  I know it.  I’m pretending to be a king because they wanted one.”  I massaged the assaulted abdominal area.  It was certainly going to be a deep-tissue bruise, probably with lots of purple and swelling.  Does the city train the watchmen to aim for that spot?

I hate fistfights.  At least I know what I’m doing with a sword.

“Is that why you were disappointed?” she asked. The wind died down, but the snow was starting to fall more seriously.  It wasn’t sticking, though.  Then again, with the undermountain heating, would the streets ever get snowed over or iced up?  Doubtful, but interesting enough to momentarily distract me from the pain.

“I’m disappointed how knights—well, whoever those guys were—could ignore what was going on. 
My
knights would have beat those city guards into a wide variety of purple shades with a hint of red.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh.  Sorry. I’m not at my sharpest.”

“What I should have asked—are you going to throw up?”

“Maybe.  Not for the moment, I think.”  Mary moved to stand beside me, out of the line of fire.  “The thing is, I play the part of a king because they wanted and needed a king.  I’m doing the best I can with
Le Morte d’Arthur
, a Connecticut Yankee, and a bunch of medieval movies, okay?  This place is superficially similar to some late medieval European monarchies—”

“Please stop talking,” she told me.  I shut up.  “What I should have asked was, ‘Why did you get into a bar fight in the first place?’”

“I thought you said you understood about me and children?” I asked, still massaging my midsection.  The icy air on my abused face was both pleasant and painful.  At least my face wasn’t actively bleeding, though it was oozing a little.  I’m a crybaby.

“Understand?  No.  All I know is you have a thing about being nice to kids.”

“And those pedophilic perverts were being less than gentle with a little girl.  I didn’t draw a weapon and I didn’t shove their heads up each other’s—nevermind.  I say they got off easy.”

“In this environment, I’d say they were being unpleasant and rude, but it’s one of the risks you take in a watering hole.”

“A child her age shouldn’t have to.”

“Ooo, I love the gravelly, sinister tone when you say that.  And she shouldn’t have to work all day at the family business, either, but do you think they have much of a choice?  The world is full of injustice.  You can’t fix everything.  Get used to it.”

I took a few deep breaths and straightened.  I could walk.  Mary took my arm immediately and pulled me along the street.

“And another thing,” she added, switching to English.  “You are
terrible
at being incognito.”

“I thought I was doing pretty well.”

“Only when it was convenient and easy.  The first rule of being in disguise is to commit.”

“Commit?”

“John Smith the Normal Nobody does not pick a fight with the off-duty police officer!  He stays the hell out of it—at most, he calls an on-duty cop.  When you adopt a disguise, you become the disguise—you become the person you pretend to be, or it’s no better than a carnival mask.”

I squirmed inwardly, mainly because she was right and I knew she was right.

“All right.  I’m not good at it.”

“You better learn to be.”

“Must I?  Why?”

“Because you’re still stuck in the whole power thing.  Like it or not, you have power—physical, magical, mental, popular, political, whatever.  Those knights recognized you, or what you were saying.”  Mary rolled her eyes theatrically.  “You could have just bared fangs or bit someone, you know.  That would have been quicker and even more effective.”

“All right, all right.  I’m a moron.  I get it.”

“No, you
don’t
get it,” she contradicted.  “You keep being a moron!  You don’t learn from your mistakes—which, I suppose, is characteristic of a moron.”

Ouch.

“And while we’re on the subject of morons,” she continued, “why in the name of sanity are you still pretending to be a king?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“Well… remember how I wound up accidentally founding a city?”

“Yes, I recall.  You slipped and fell and accidentally had refugees and a pregnant fire-priestess.”

“Um.  No.  Yes.  Not exactly.”

“Oh?  Do explain.”

“They didn’t think of being self-governing.  They wanted a king.  They
expected
a king.  If they were voting people, they’d have voted me into office.  I sort of wound up being king because they wanted me to be.”

“What did
you
want?”

“That doesn’t matter.  They wanted and needed a central authority figure.  They expected it.  It’s the mode they knew and understood, so they… what are you looking at?”

“You.  You’re a soft-hearted slob and an unrepentant romantic, you know that?”

“No.”

“That’s a big river you’re sailing on,” she observed.  “Right past the pyramids, I see.”

“If you’re trying to imply I’m in denial—” I began, but she interrupted.

“Pets.”

“Beg pardon?”

“If you’re not a sappy romantic, then this whole kingdom is a terrarium and it’s full of your pets.  You take care of them even when it’s more trouble than they’re worth.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“I’m sure you don’t.  You don’t want to be king.  You don’t want to the responsibility—and, somehow, you think responsibility and power are inextricably linked.  And you won’t simply abandon your tank of living toys even when they’re being difficult.”

“Look,” I argued, “if you’re going to go with the whole pets metaphor, think of it like this.  If you pick up a starving puppy and feed it, do you then dump it back out into the snow?”

“If it starts chewing up my shoes?  Yes.”

“See, that’s where we differ.  I’ll try and find it a home.”

“You’re a soft-hearted slob.”

“Have you seen me rip the guts out of someone?” I countered.

“Yes.  I’ve also seen you get into a swordfight with people toting shotguns.  There’s the restaurant I want to try,” she indicated, nodding at a place up ahead.  “Think you can avoid rescuing any small children from the horrors of okra and pickled cabbage?”

“That’s asking quite a bit,” I admitted, trying to smile.

“Try hard.”

“I will.  Can I have a minute to work a healing spell for my face?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Then no. Maybe it’ll help as a reminder.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.  Moron.”  She sighed and squeezed my undamaged arm.  “Look… I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be like that.  It’s just… I guess I don’t know what to expect from you.  You seem contradictory to me.  Maybe you’re more complicated than I thought and I haven’t figured out the pattern.”

“I’m a complicated moron?”

“Possibly a good summary, but I think there’s more to you than that.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“How about accepting my apology and working your healing spell?  Then we can have a nice dinner and maybe have a less heated discussion, instead of an argument?”

“I accept your apology.  And I apologize for being lousy at disguises.  I’ll try to do better.”

I worked my healing spell for my face, sealing the skin, and another one for my various aches and pains.

Dinner went well.  No fights, no reprimands, not even dirty looks.  It was a good dinner; I managed to enjoy it despite my sensory handicaps.  I noticed the door was another “normal” door and saw a lot of traffic, furthering my theory.

During our leisurely meal, Mary and I discussed a number of things, mostly personal, and generally avoiding what might be thought of as business topics.  Mary called my attention to the conversations around us, however.

“Listen to the three over there,” she suggested.  I glanced their way, matched sounds to lips, and listened.

“He’s roamin’ about the town, handin’ out judgment!” one insisted.  “I was there when he thrashed a dozen guards!”

“I don’t believe it,” number two scoffed.  “Even he couldn’t judge the whole city.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the third.  “He’s got a lot of knights in the Temple of Shadow.”

“There, see?” demanded the first.  “I tell you, he’s back.  He’s eaten the Demon King and now he’s out to undo all the damage!”

“Demon King my left nut,” replied the second.  “I’ll grant you he’s in the mountain.  I don’t believe he’s walking the streets and watching us.  Lerit?  Help me here.”

“It’s possible,” Lerit, the third man, mused.  “We wouldn’t know.  For all we know, he’s in Carrillon killing the cabinet and siring another heir—or he’s at the next table, enjoying dinner.”

“See!” the first one crowed.  “He could be
anywhere!
  Watching.  Judging.  Getting ready to kill anyone who doesn’t measure up!”

“Or seeing who he wants to create knights,” the second argued.  “If he’s not the Demon King, that is.”

I dialed down my ears and looked at Mary.  I raised my eyebrows meaningfully.

“I like the rumor,” she said, smiling.

“I’m not sure I do.  And it’s amazing how quickly it’s spread if we’re hearing it already.”

“We’re not far from the source, and there were a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I guess.  Still, I’m not sure I like this rumor.”

“Why not?”

“It sounds like I’m some sort of free-roaming bolt of lightning, waiting to strike down the wicked.”

“Aren’t you?”

I didn’t have an answer.  I don’t picture myself as one, but, objectively, I suppose I could be interpreted that way.  At least until you get to know me.  I think.  I hope.

After dinner, it was a walk up to the southern gate to the undermountain, a stroll through the corridors, and up to my front door.

We were underground for the transformation, but didn’t quite make it to the waterfall in time.  We showered and changed afterward, though.  It’s always an unpleasant experience, but, in the larger scheme of things, merely an annoyance.  It’s all a matter of perspective, I guess.

“Tell me something,” Mary requested.

“Pretty much anything.”

“Pretty much?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, remember?”

“Ah.  About the thought of you being a bolt of justice from the heavens?”

“I think you’ve got the launch point wrong, but go ahead.”

“I think it’s a really good sign.”

I finished brushing my face and handed her the brush.

“I don’t.”

“Hear me out.  They’re thinking of you as a terror in the streets, hunting and stalking among the crowd, a creature of many faces, watching and waiting for someone to be wicked and evil so you can pounce, mercilessly ripping their lives away before drinking their blood.  Right?”

I looked at Mary while she brushed her hair in a mirror.  On top of everything, I was envious of her ability to see herself.

“I really do hate the way you put it.”

“Sorry,” she shrugged.  “I’m trying to make a point.”

“Could you do it without drawing blood?”

“Probably not.  But it’s good for you.”

“If you say so.  Could you do it quickly, at least?”

“They think of you as something on the side of angels, seeking out the wicked.  Yes, you’re a blood-drinking monster, but they
think
of you in terms of ‘What evildoer will he kill?’  They think of you as… as a positive force.”

Mary poked me.

“Hmm?”

“You have your faraway look again.”

“I’m only wondering why I didn’t see it that way.  It seems… I don’t want to say it’s obvious, but I should have seen it.  I’m an antihero—a ruthless monster doing good in horrible ways.”

“Pretty much.  You didn’t realize it until now?”

“No.  I’m not sure how it changes things.”

“Does it change things?” she asked, setting the brush aside and turning to me.

“I guess not.  I’m a monster with a nasty case of humanity.  I’ve been trying to come to terms with it for years.  If people think of me this way, I guess it’s a good thing.”

“It’s only public opinion,” Mary assured me.  She rose and kissed the tip of my nose.  “I’m going to get dressed and poll some other citizens.  You carry on with your garage projects.”  She kissed me more thoroughly and went to find something to wear.

I went to check my messages.  Heydyl left a note—in shaky letters, but writing, nonetheless—saying his mother had nothing to request and he was satisfied to know for certain who his father was.  Despite my urge to interfere, Mary’s scathing tones were still ringing in my ears.  My suspicion was his mother made him say that—she probably didn’t want to have anything to do with me.  Still, if he wanted anything, he knew where to find me.  I put the note away and resolved to not bother him or his mother in any way if I could possibly avoid it.  But if they showed up with a request… that would be a different matter.