Part 12 (2/2)
”Tried that. Appoint one of them to do something and he appoints a committee, then they swill wine over an endless series of meals before coming up with exactly nothing in their 'study.' I should have it so easy.”
”You'll have to get tough with them. Declare an emergency, a call to arms. Rumpock hasn't had a decent crisis in decades, so they take the peace for granted. You've traveled, seen what it's like in other provinces. You know what's needed to pull them all together.” He made a rumbling sound, turning it into a grim chuckle. ”Yes. They won't like it much, doing some real work.”
”You won't like it much, you mean.” She twiddled his earlobe.
”Hmm?”
”You've got a nice comfy throne without a lot of work or hard decisions to make. Makes a guy lazy.”
Had it been anyone else but Velma making that accusation he might have gotten a little cross. ”I suppose you're right.”
”Of course I am, but you can prove me wrong. Call the Talents in for a meeting and kick their b.u.t.ts into doing something. You can exaggerate the vision stuff, stir them up.”
”I won't have to exaggerate.”
”I was afraid you'd say that, honey.”
He reluctantly dragged himself from her side and got dressed, but came back to kiss her forehead.
”You're lovely,” he told her, then left for his audience chamber. Carrying her smile in his memory was much better than that d.a.m.ned vision.
Perdle was at his worktable at the far end of the chamber. He looked up as Anton stalked across the long hall.
”Good afternoon, my lord.”
Anton changed course, guided by Perdle's voice. He just made out a blurry figure next to one of the windows. ”h.e.l.lo, Perds. What's the news on that cat-masked fellow?”
”None, my lord. The welcoming honor guard I sent out for him hasn't returned yet.”
”Honor guard? Why send that many for a casual invitation?”
”Keeps the troops on their toes, sir. Makes them feel useful having something to do. The drills get boring for the poor chaps. Besides, does the city good to see their overduke's colors marching on the streets.
Rea.s.sures them that authority is in place and on the job.”
The palace colors were black and silver, flashy, but hardly vibrant; Anton thought Perdle's expectations were a touch inflated, but knew his heart was in the right place. ”Very well. Let's hope they don't scare him off. What about Lord Cadmus? Has he replied to his dinner invitation?”
”Not yet, sir. The page bearing it was dispatched about three hours ago; he's not yet returned with a reply. Lord Cadmus might have shut himself into his Black Room to delve into this h.e.l.l-river problem.
He goes all incommunicado when he's playing with his magic, you know.”
Anton pursed his lips to keep from making a crude observation about what sort of activities Cadmus might pursue when alone. Perdle could be quite oblivious at times. ”Send another page to find out what's going on. I'd like to talk to Cadmus tonight. Now I've an errand for the rest of the house guard to run.” ”At once, my lord.” Perdle shuffled his work papers together and made to leave.
”Hang about, let me tell it first.”
”Ah, yes, just so, my lord.” He put the papers down, striking an attentive pose.
Anton outlined his desire to have a meeting first thing the next day with the remaining magical Talents in the city. ”All of them,” he clarified. ”Whatever their level of skill and experience, I want them here. You won't need to notify Cadmus, I'll tell him over dinner.”
”There's quite a number of those people on night-duty, sir. From watching the h.e.l.l-river, you know.”
”That's why the meeting will be one hour after dawn. They can go home and sleep later.”
”Dawn, my lord? You plan to get upthat early?” Perdle seemed quite stunned.
”Yes, Perdle. I'm sure I can manage. Just have my tea ready as usual. I don't know how long the meeting will last, so notify the cooks they might have extra mouths for breakfast. You need to be there, too, and a few scribes to take notes.”
”Sir, may I ask the prompting of such a gatherage? To summon them all on such short notice might be construed as an emergency.
You've gotten that right, old friend. ”I had another vision.”
”Oh. My sympathies, sir. Something of a serious nature, then?”
”They're all serious these days. See to it, Perds, there's a good fellow.”
Anton left the audience chamber, his boot heels echoing hollow on the marble floor. He wanted air and made for one of the palace towers. The climb was a ch.o.r.e, but worth the effort. He pushed up the trapdoor to be greeted by a gust of clean, head-clearing wind.
Wanting solitude, he slammed the trap down again to discourage interruptions, and spent the next few minutes just breathing. He wondered how much longer that would go on. In addition to the h.e.l.l creature trying to break through, Anton had once again seen himself drowning in that d.a.m.ned river. This time its black fog was solid, viscous as jam. It had clogged his nose and mouth, blinded him, yet, strangely, he was still able to see Cadmus and that cat thing pus.h.i.+ng him down deep. Anton had struggled and cursed and fought desperately, but they- He shook his head to dislodge the image. It was a deadly warning of some sort, whether literal or symbolic remained to be seen. The dreams weren't always specific. He'd long ago accepted that frustrating aspect of his Talent, but still, it was no easier to bear. Few friends in his inner circle could appreciate the burdens of precognition. Those who did not would congratulate him on his gift and express a desire to have it themselves. No doubt they thought it would help them at gambling. The better-informed regarded him with respect mixed with sympathy. Anton would rather chuck his gift in the Rumpock River with the rest of the rubbish and have a normal life, but one couldn't change what the gawds ordained. He might as well have wished to be taller or shorter. He was stuck, might as well make the best of it, as always.
Going to the waist-high wall of the tower, he stared out over his city, what he could see of it. His eyescould pick out the general shapes of structures, blobs of color, light and dark, the smaller moving blobs that were people navigating the streets. He thought some of them paused to wave up at him. Just in case, he waved back.
”Long live Overduke Anton!” someone called in the distance, sounding quite cheerful.
He waved again. It was nice to be popular, but was their affection well-bestowed? If he and the other Talents couldn't find a solution to the h.e.l.l-river problem, send it back to its source, they were all . . . well . . . doomed.
All too clear on his inner eye was the worst vision yet: the whole of Rumpock in flames with h.e.l.l-creatures everywhere greedily feasting on his hapless people.
Chapter Seven.
Back at Darmo House Debreban spun off nervous energy like a generator. After all the standing and playing fly on the wall in Filima's blue room he probably wanted to end our wait for Shankey and get going. I could tell by the way he buffed the floor with his boots. Watching people pace makes me dizzy. I blinked out of the hypnotic pattern. ”If this Lord Cadmus is your boss, what are you doing over here?”
”Helping out Captain Shankey.” He paused to look at a painting, a portrait of a Darmo ancestor, perhaps. Couldn't say much for the artist's skill or the subject's taste in clothes. Maybe that's why it was hanging in a drafty hall.
”You do that a lot? Helping Shankey?”
”First time, actually.”
”Why now? Is it me?”
”Not that I know of. My lord Cadmus wanted me to . . . well, that's house business, nothing to do with you.” He started up and down the hall again, but his rhythm was interrupted by the arrival of one of Filima's young pages, who came in carrying a purple-and-green cloak. Without a word he gave it over to Debreban, who thanked him and put it on. In full daylight the colors made my eyes hurt; in the shady indoors they weren't so bad.
”I gotta ask . . .” I began when the page was gone.
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