Part 26 (1/2)
The Emperor and Simkin were talking, Joram saw, but he had no idea what was being said. He couldn't hear. There was a roaring in his ears like the rush of a storm wind. He wanted most desperately to flee, yet he couldn't move. He might have stood there forever except that the herald - always conscious of the necessity of keeping the line moving and accustomed to those who experienced this sublime awe in the presence of His Majesty - gave Joram a gentle prod. Stumbling, the young man lurched forward to stand before the Emperor.
Joram had just enough presence of mind to bow deeply, copying Simkin, and started to mumble something without any idea what he was saying. The Emperor cut in smoothly, recalling having met him at Lord Samuels's. Hoped his visit to Merilon was a pleasant one, and then the royal hand waved and Joram moved across the crystal floor to stand before the Empress. He was dimly aware of Simkin watching him and - if it would not be too unbelievable - Joram thought the young man's bearded lips were parted in a grin.
Joram bowed before the Empress self-consciously, wondering desperately what to say, longing to raise his gaze and look at this woman and yet feeling in another part of him the strongest urge to hurry away, his eyes averted as he had seen so many do before him.
Standing before her, he became conscious of a faint, cloying odor.
The most beautiful woman in the world - so it was told. He would see for himself.
Joram lifted his head ...
... and stared into the lifeless eyes of a corpse.
4.
The Champagne Fountain ”Name of the Almin!” Joram murmured, s.h.i.+vering, cold sweat drying on his body. ”Dead!”
”My dear boy, if you value your life and mine, do keep your voice low!” Simkin said in soft tones, a disarming smile on his face as he nodded to several acquaintances across the room. The two stood near the champagne fountain, this being the place Simkin said Gwen or Saryon would certainly come to meet them. This area - opposite from the alcove where the Emperor still held court - was becoming increasingly crowded as people drifted here in search of friends and merriment. The champagne fountain was, as Simkin said, a natural meeting place; shouts of greeting and boisterous laughter burst constantly around them.
Magically operated by a team of p.r.o.n-alban p.r.o.n-alban disguised as footmen, the champagne fountain stood over twenty feet tall. It was made entirely of ice - to keep the wine cool - and was done in fish motif. Champagne flowed from the mouths of icy seahorses perched upon frozen waves. Wine shot from the pursed lips of gla.s.sy-eyed blowfish; frost-rimed sea nymphs offered guests sips of wine cupped in frigid fingers. Crystal goblets stood in rank upon rank in the air around the fountain, filling themselves at the beck and call of the revelers and hurrying to quench the thirst derived from standing in attendance upon the Emperor and his dead wife for two hours. disguised as footmen, the champagne fountain stood over twenty feet tall. It was made entirely of ice - to keep the wine cool - and was done in fish motif. Champagne flowed from the mouths of icy seahorses perched upon frozen waves. Wine shot from the pursed lips of gla.s.sy-eyed blowfish; frost-rimed sea nymphs offered guests sips of wine cupped in frigid fingers. Crystal goblets stood in rank upon rank in the air around the fountain, filling themselves at the beck and call of the revelers and hurrying to quench the thirst derived from standing in attendance upon the Emperor and his dead wife for two hours.
”It's treason to even think such a thing, let alone speak it in public,” Simkin continued.
”How ... how long?” Joram asked with a kind of morbid fascination, the same fascination that kept drawing his eyes in the direction of the crystal throne.
”Oh, a year, perhaps. No one knows for certain. She was in ill health for a long time and, I must admit, looks rather better now than she used to.”
”But ... why keep ... ? I mean, I knew he loved her, but ...” Joram lifted a gla.s.s of champagne to his lips, then set it down quickly, his hand shaking. ”The Emperor must be mad!” he concluded hollowly.
”Far from it,” Simkin said coolly. ”You see the man in the red robes coming up to stand near the Emperor now?”
”A DKarn-duuk? Yes,” Joram said, wrenching his gaze from the body of the woman in the throne to look at a man leaning down to say something to the Emperor. Though they were some distance away, Joram had the impression of a tall man, well-built, dressed in the red robes of the warlocks who were the War Masters of Thimhallan. Yes,” Joram said, wrenching his gaze from the body of the woman in the throne to look at a man leaning down to say something to the Emperor. Though they were some distance away, Joram had the impression of a tall man, well-built, dressed in the red robes of the warlocks who were the War Masters of Thimhallan.
”Not a DKarn-duuk. The a DKarn-duuk. The DKarn-duuk - Prince Xavier. He is DKarn-duuk - Prince Xavier. He is her her brother, which makes brother, which makes him him the next Emperor of Merilon if her death were officially recognized.” Simkin raised a gla.s.s of champagne to his lips in a mocking toast. ”Farewell to His Boringness. Back to his estate in the rolling meadows of Dren-ga.s.si or wherever he came from. If nothing worse happened to him. People who cross The DKarn-Duuk have a strange way of stepping into Corridors and never stepping out.” Simkin swallowed the champagne in a gulp. the next Emperor of Merilon if her death were officially recognized.” Simkin raised a gla.s.s of champagne to his lips in a mocking toast. ”Farewell to His Boringness. Back to his estate in the rolling meadows of Dren-ga.s.si or wherever he came from. If nothing worse happened to him. People who cross The DKarn-Duuk have a strange way of stepping into Corridors and never stepping out.” Simkin swallowed the champagne in a gulp.
”If the man's so powerful, why doesn't he just take over?” Joram asked, eyeing him speculatively and thinking that this new world he was entering might be extremely interesting.
”The Emperor has a powerful counterforce - or should I say counterweight - on his side. Bishop Vanya. Which reminds me, I find it rather strange that His Fatness isn't in attendance, especially when there's free food. Oh, I forgot. He never comes to this anniversary party. Says it goes against Church policy or some such thing. Where was I?”
”The Emperor?”
”Yes, quite. Anyway, rumor has it that Vanya's sun rises and sets with the Emperor's. The DKarn-Duuk has his own man he would like to see fill Vanya's shoes - probably take three of them, come to think of it. The catalysts and the illusionists make certain the Empress is the life of the party, if you'll forgive the expression. And, it is a treasonable act to refer in any way to her health or lack of it. She holds court as usual, and the bright and the beautiful of Merilon and other city-states come to pay homage as usual, and no one looks directly at her or makes any but the most innocent reference to her. Sometimes even that doesn't work.”
Simkin motioned for another gla.s.s of champagne to fill itself at the crystal fountain and come bobbing into his hand. An orchestra of enchanted instruments began playing waltzes in a corner, forcing Simkin to lean closer to Joram to continue his story. ”I will never forget the night the old Marquis of Dunsworthy was talking to the Emperor over a game of tarok and the Emperor said, 'Don't you think Her Highness looks particularly well tonight, Dunsworthy?' And old Dunsworthy looks over at the corpse seated in a chair and stammers, 'I - I don't know. I find Her Highness seems a bit grave to me.' Well, of course, the Duuk-tsarith Duuk-tsarith were on the wretched chap in an instant and that was the last we saw of him.” Simkin sipped the champagne and wiped his lips with the orange silk. ”I finished playing out his hand and won a silver off His Majesty.” were on the wretched chap in an instant and that was the last we saw of him.” Simkin sipped the champagne and wiped his lips with the orange silk. ”I finished playing out his hand and won a silver off His Majesty.”
Joram was about to reply, when he heard his name called. Turning, he looked into blue eyes alight with love and instantly forgot there was such a thing as death or politics in the world.
”Joram!” said Gwendolyn shyly. Holding out her white hand, she was conscious of the admiring stares of several other young men in the crowd, but she truly had eyes only for the man she loved.
Gwendolyn had spent hours - almost the entire day - working with Marie and Lady Rosamund on her gown. She changed the color so often that the room might have pa.s.sed for the dwelling place of the Sif-Hanar Sif-Hanar who conjure rainbows. Flowers sprouted on the sleeves to be replaced by the feathers of small birds, then the small birds themselves made an appearance but were instantly banished by Lady Rosamund. At last, after many tears and miles of ribbon and a last-moment panic in the carriage that she ”wasn't fit to be seen!” Gwendolyn was carried off to the ball, every dream of her young heart seeming to come true at this moment. who conjure rainbows. Flowers sprouted on the sleeves to be replaced by the feathers of small birds, then the small birds themselves made an appearance but were instantly banished by Lady Rosamund. At last, after many tears and miles of ribbon and a last-moment panic in the carriage that she ”wasn't fit to be seen!” Gwendolyn was carried off to the ball, every dream of her young heart seeming to come true at this moment.
And what was the result of the effort and tears spent on the gown, tears spent with only Joram in mind? It was, unfortunately, largely wasted. Joram had only a confused impression of golden hair crowned with tiny white flowers known as baby's breath, and white neck and white shoulders, and only the most tantalizing hint of soft, white breast curving into something as blue and frothy as sea foam. Her beauty tonight enchanted him, but it was her her beauty, not the gown's. Gwendolyn could have been wearing sackcloth and her enraptured admirer would never have noticed. beauty, not the gown's. Gwendolyn could have been wearing sackcloth and her enraptured admirer would never have noticed.
”My lady.” Joram took the small, white hand in his own, holding it for just a moment longer than was considered proper before he kissed it lingeringly and then reluctantly released it.
”I - That is we -” Gwendolyn amended, blus.h.i.+ng, ”were afraid that you might not be able to come. How is Father Dunstable? We have all been terribly concerned.”
”Father Dunstable?” Joram stared at Gwen, mystified. ”What do you mean? Isn't he -”
”Forgive him, sweet child,” Simkin interrupted smoothly, interposing himself between Joram and Gwen. Turning his back on Joram, he captured Gwen's hand in his own. He seemed about to kiss it, then apparently decided the effort was too great and lethargically held onto it instead. ”Your beauty has completely overthrown his mind. I've seen more intelligent expressions on a catalyst. Not often, but occasionally. Speaking of catalysts, it would appear from your inquiry that our bald friend is none too well. Zounds, this astounds me.”
”But, didn't Joram tell you?” Gwendolyn attempted to look at Joram, who had been cut off by Simkin on one side and the fountain on the other.
”Egad, m'dear,” said Simkin loudly, blocking the couple's view of each other once more. ”Champagne? No? Well, I'll drink yours then, if you don't mind.” Two gla.s.ses floated over. ”What were we discussing? I can't recall - Ah, Father Dunstable. Yes Yes, you see, I've been cooped up in this stifling palace all day, listening to The DKarn-Duuk yammering about the war with Somebody-or-Other and the Emperor yammering about taxes and I've been quite bored out of my skull. Then I found Joram here and, well, my pet, you can hardly blame me if the last thing I wanted to discuss was the health of a priest?”
”No, I suppose not ...” began Gwen, her face rosy with embarra.s.sment and confusion. Simkin's conversation was attracting a crowd; people gathered near to hear what scandalous thing he might say next, and the young girl was acutely conscious of the many eyes focused on herself and her companion.
Endeavoring to get near Gwen, Joram found himself elbowed out of the way and, remembering just in time that he must not call attention to himself, was forced to take a step or two backward. Simkin, meanwhile, was the center of attention.
”Well, what did happen to our Bald Friend?” he asked languidly. ”Egad!” A look of horror caused the young man's eyebrows to ascend into his hair. ”Bishop Vanya didn't mistake him for a pew cus.h.i.+on, did he?” Smothered laughter from the audience and much nudging. ”That happened once to a catalyst known before the accident as Sister Suzzane. Quite flattened the poor thing. Now known as Brother Fred ...”
The laughter grew louder.
”No, really!” Gwendolyn tried to withdraw her hand from Simkin's grasp.
But he smoothly held her fast, though without appearing to do so, regarding her with a bored expectancy that sent the audience into m.u.f.fled giggles.
Gwendolyn had to say something. ”I - We were awakened in the night by the ... the Theldara Theldara, who had been in attendance on Father Dunstable. She said he had taken a turn for the worse and that she was transferring him to the Houses of Healing in the Druids Grove.”
”Turn for the worse, eh? I'm quite devastated. Prostrate with grief, truly. More champagne here!” Simkin called. The audience roared.
”Simkin, let me -” began Joram, pus.h.i.+ng his way around once more. But Simkin cut Joram off casually, reached out a hand, and caught hold of another young man - one of the general crowd standing nearby.
”Marquis d'Ettue. Charmed.”
The young Marquis was charmed as well.
”Here's this young woman, pining to dance with you. It's that shrimp-color jacket you're wearing. Quite bowls women over. My dear, the Marquis.” And, before she could utter a protest, Gwendolyn found her hand pa.s.sed from Simkin into the hand of an equally astonished Marquis.
”But I -” Gwen protested weakly, looking at Joram over her shoulder.
”Simkin, d.a.m.n you -” Joram again attempted to intercede, his face dark with impatience and frustration and the glimmerings of anger.
”Pleasure of this dance -” the Marquis stammered.