Part 23 (1/2)
”Mosiah!” Joram said in grim relief, watching as the Corridor opened and his friend stepped out. ”Where have you -” his voice died in astonishment as another Mosiah materialized right behind him, this one wearing a bit of orange silk tied around his neck.
”Helps me to tell us apart,” the orange-silk Mosiah said by way of explanation. ”I was getting slightly muddled. 'Pon my honor,” he continued languidly, ”I'm beginning to find this life of a fugitive from justice quite entertaining.”
”What is this?” Joram demanded, staring at the two in amazement.
”It's a long story. I'm sorry. I've put us all in terrible danger,” Mosiah - the real Mosiah - looked at his friend earnestly. Once in the light, it was easy to tell him from Simkin, even without the orange silk around the neck. His face was pale and strained with fear; there were smudgy shadows beneath his eyes. ”They haven't been here, have they?” he asked, glancing about. ”Simkin said they wouldn't, not while they thought I was in fas.h.i.+on.”
”Who hasn't been here?” Joram asked, exasperated. ”What are you talking about - in fas.h.i.+on?”
”The Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith,” Mosiah answered, barely above a whisper.
”You better tell us what happened, my son,” Saryon said, his voice breaking, fear catching him in the throat. better tell us what happened, my son,” Saryon said, his voice breaking, fear catching him in the throat.
Hurriedly and somewhat incoherently, his eyes darting around the room, Mosiah told them what had occurred in the Grove of Merlyn. ”And there are copies of me everywhere,” he said in conclusion, spreading his hands as though to encompa.s.s the world. ”Even when Simkin's illusion began to fade, people started conjuring up the image on their own! I don't know what the Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith must be doing or thinking ...” must be doing or thinking ...”
”They may be confused for a while,” Saryon said gravely, ”but it won't take them long to recover. Of course, they will have connected you with Simkin. They will go to the Palace first, make discreet inquiries ...” He shook his head. ”It will be only a matter of time before they find out where you've been staying. He is right, Joram, you must leave!”
Seeing Joram's rebellious face, the catalyst raised a feeble hand. ”Hear me out. I'm not saying you should leave the city, though that is what I would most strongly advise. If you are determined to attend the Emperor's party tomorrow -”
”I am.”
”Then, stay in Merilon. But at least leave this house tonight. It would be a pity,” Saryon added, asking the G.o.d he no longer believed in to forgive him his lie, ”to come so close to gaining your inheritance, then to lose it through lack of caution. I think -”
”Very well! Perhaps you are right,” Joram broke in impatiently. ”But where could I hide? And what about you?”
”You could hide where we've been hiding all day - the Grove of Merlyn,” said Simkin. ”Bored to tears, too, I might add.”
”I'll be all right here,” Saryon said. ”As Father Dunstable, I am the safest of any of you. My leaving, in fact, would look extremely suspicious. As it is, perhaps I can throw them off the trail.”
”I don't know why you're all worried about our bald friend here,” Simkin remarked, his very mustache drooping with gloom. ”It's me who should be depressed! I've started a new fas.h.i.+on trend that I find personally disgusting! Everyone in court is dressed like he planned to go out wallowing with pigs or mucking about in the beans.”
”We should be going,” Mosiah said, fidgeting nervously. ”I have the feeling I'm being watched by eyes I can't see, touched by hands I can't feel! It's getting on my nerves. But I don't think we should hide in the Grove. I think we should leave the city. Now. Tonight. We can travel safely tonight. There are still hundreds of me running around. Simkin can change us all into Mosiahs. We could slip out the Gate in the confusion.”
”No!” Joram said impatiently, turning away.
But Mosiah moved to stand in front of his friend, so that Joram was forced to confront him.
”This place isn't for us,” Mosiah said earnestly. ”It's beautiful and it's wonderful but ... it isn't any of it real! These people aren't real! I know I'm not explaining this very well ...” he hesitated, thinking, ”But when I created the images of our home, the illusions of our friends and families seemed more alive to me than the living people watching!”
”The people are like their seasons here in Merilon,” Saryon said softly, his eyes staring at the ceiling. ”It is always spring for them. Their hearts are as green and hard as the buds of a young tree. They have never blossomed in the summer, nor given fruit in the fall. They have never felt the touch of winter's chill winds to give them strength....”
Joram glanced from Mosiah to Saryon, his gaze dark. ”A Field Magus who's a catalyst and a catalyst who's a poet,” he muttered.
”You always have me,” said Simkin cheerfully. Going over to the harp, he proceeded to disrupt the spell surrounding it and began to play a gay dance tune that set the taut nerves of everyone in the room vibrating. ”I'm the fixed point of insanity in any sane situation. Many people find this comforting.”
”Stop that!” Angrily, Mosiah placed his hands over the harpstrings. ”You'll wake the whole house!”
Joram shook his head. ”It doesn't matter what you say. I'm not going. And neither are you,” he added, his dark gaze turning to Mosiah. ”Tomorrow night, my ident.i.ty will be established. I will become Baron Fitzgerald, then no one can touch any of us!”
Flinging his arms wide in exasperation, Mosiah looked at Saryon pleadingly. ”Isn't there anything you can say, Father, to convince him?”
”No, my son,” the catalyst replied in quiet sorrow. ”I'm afraid not. I've tried ...”
Mosiah stood silently a moment, his head bowed in thought. Then he held out his hand to Joram. ”Goody-bye, my friend. I'm leaving. I'm going back home. I miss it -”
”No, you're not!” snapped Joram tensely, ignoring the hand held out to him. ”You can't go yet. It's too dangerous. Lay low, for one more day. I'll come with you to this Grove, if that will make you happy.” He glanced at the catalyst. ”And by tomorrow night, everything will, be fine! I know it!” His fist clenched.
Mosiah drew a deep breath. ”Joram,” he said sadly, staring out the window into the moonlit garden. ”I really want to go home -”
”And I want you to stay,” Joram interrupted, catching hold of Mosiahs shoulder. ”I'm not much better at saying things than you are,” he said in a low voice. ”You've been my friend ever since I can remember. You were my friend when I didn't want one. I did ... I've done everything I could to drive you away.” His hands tightened their grip on Mosiah, as though now fearful to let go. ”But, somewhere deep inside me, I -”
A discordant tw.a.n.g came from the harp. ”Beg pardon,” said Simkin, shamefacedly grabbing the strings to silence them. ”Must have nodded off.”
Joram bit his lip, his face flushed. ”Anyway,” he continued, speakng now with an effort, ”I want you to stay and see this through with me. Besides,” he added with an attempt at lightness that failed completely in the tense atmosphere, ”how can I get married, without you at my side? Where you've always been ...” His voice died. Abruptly, Joram withdrew his hands and turned away. ”But you do what you want,” he said gruffly, staring out the window in his turn.
Mosiah was silent, staring at his friend in wonder. He cleared his throat. ”I - I guess one more day ... wouldn't matter so much,” he said huskily.
Saryon saw tears glimmering in the young man's eyes; the catalyst felt tears of his own. There was no doubting Joram's sincerity or the obvious pain it cost him to reveal his heart to another. ”Yet a cynical voice inside Saryon whispered, ”He is using him, using you, manipulating you all to work his will just as he has done and will ever do. And what is sad is that he doesn't even know he is doing it. Perhaps he can't help it. It was born with him. He is, after all, a Prince of Merilon.”
”Simkin,” said Joram, turning to the young man who had pulled the bit of orange silk from the air and was now blowing his nose loudly, ”will the Grove be a safe place to hide?”
Simkin gave a wrenching sob, weeping into the silk.
”What's the matter?” Joram asked with a touch of impatience, though a smile played around his lips.
”This reminds me of the time my dear brother, Little Nat - you've heard me mention Little Nat - or was it Nate? Anyway, Little Nat lay dying, having consumed a quant.i.ty of stolen strawberry pies. He denied it, of course, but he was caught red-handed, or -lipped, as the case may be. Though we rather suspected it wasn't the pies killed him so much as the carriage that ran over him as he was floating home. His last words to me were, 'Simkin, the crust was underdone.' There's a moral there, somewhere,” he said, applying the silk to his red-rimmed eyes. ”But it eludes me.”
”Simkin -” Joram's voice tightened.
”I've got it! Half-baked! This plan is half-baked. Still,” he said after reflection, ”we should be able to continue hiding in the Grove. There won't be a soul there tomorrow. Everyone will be watching the festivities at the palace. The Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith will be kept busy handling the crowd. Mosiah can remain when we leave for the Palace tomorrow night....” will be kept busy handling the crowd. Mosiah can remain when we leave for the Palace tomorrow night....”
”Won't you be staying with me?” Mosiah asked in some anxiety.
”And miss the party?” Simkin appeared shocked. He waved his hand. ”Our Dark and Uncouth Friend here isn't noted for his charm or his court manners. I must be at his side to guide him through the maze of civilities, the treacherous tangle of hand-kissing and a.s.s-licking -”
”I'll be with him, you know,” the catalyst said acerbically.
”And no one is more pleased about that than I,” said Simkin solemnly. ”Between ourselves, it will undoubtedly take both of us to carry this off,” he predicted airily. ”Besides, in case any of you have forgotten, it was because of me you received the invitation.”
”You'll be all right while we're gone. And tomorrow night, after the party, we'll meet you in the Grove,” Joram said to Mosiah. ”We'll bring you back here to help celebrate my Barony and my engagement,” he said firmly.
Tomorrow night, we'll meet Mosiah in the Grove and escape from there, said Saryon to himself. Perhaps this will work out after all.
”I'll wait for you,” Mosiah agreed, though there was a trace of reluctance in his voice.
Joram smiled, actually a full smile. The dark eyes brightened with a rare warmth. ”You'll see,” he promised. ”Everything will be fine. I'll -”
”Well, best be off.” Simkin interrupted, springing into the air so suddenly that his foot caught in the harpstrings, causing a most unG.o.dly tw.a.n.ging. After a violent struggle, he managed to free it. ”Come, come.” Bustling about Mosiah and Joram, he herded them along to the door like sheep. ”Can't use the Corridor with our Dead friend, here. The streets should be safe enough, though I imagine Mosiahs are on the decrease.”