Emperor and Clown (37 page)

The
odious courtiers burst into raucous laughter at such wit.

Rap
grappled with a rage that threatened to choke him.

And
lost. Fury!

His
anger headed for the lecherous Azak and then swung away, for Inos’s sake. It
hovered briefly over the crazily impulsive Inos herself and retreated even more
quickly. It peered longingly at the looming vulture nests of the wardens’
palaces in the distance and shrank back in baffled impotence.

And
so it returned to the easiest victim, the smirking little regent on his wooden
throne.

Teach
him to make jokes about Inos!

Rap
reached out with sorcery and cured the imperor.

For
a few moments nobody noticed. The old man opened his eyes and blinked at the
shadowed crowd under the canopy, at the noisy torrents of water gushing off it
near him and the gloomy rain beyond. Rap sent a surge of strength into the
emaciated body-the mind was already burning up bright and clear.

The
regent had risen, so the honored few with chairs were rising also. Flunkies
were dashing off into the downpour to summon coaches; soldiers were running to
alert the hussars.

Ythbane
glanced around the crowd, selecting the favored ones who would be allowed to
attend the meeting with the Four.

Then
a lady squealed. Courtiers looked where she was looking and backed away in
haste, pushing those at the edges out from cover. An aisle opened between the
old man and the regent.

Ythbane
made a fast recovery. “Your Imperial Majesty! You feel better today? You
delight us! Medics!”

“Consul?”
The voice was strong. “Would you explain what we are doing here? Is this some
sort of nature festival?”

The
regent-or possibly ex-regent-staggered. Then he turned to stare at Rap, and all
the other eyes came around to Rap, also.

Rap
allowed himself a satisfied smirk, and let it grow wider as he saw the horror
and confusion spreading over those well-fed, pampered faces. This felt better
than anything that had happened since he healed Inos’s burns.

It
felt much better than killing Kalkor.

“And
who is that young man?” The imperor was alert enough to see that he must be
important. Ythbane was beyond speech, and some anonymous courtier answered for
him. “He is a sorcerer, your Majesty.”

“Ah.”
He seemed to understand instantly. “What day is this?”

Someone
told him, but Rap’s attention was distracted by Inos’s aunt, who came pushing
through the crowd to him, shoving roughly, making up in determination what she
lacked in size. Her kindly face was ashen with worry.

“Master
Rapt Is this your doing?”

“It
is, ma’am!” He wanted to laugh aloud at the consternation he had created.
Pompous parasites! The look on the regent’s face ...

The
princess wailed. “But isn’t that a violation of the Protocol, using magic on
the imperor?”

“And
if it is?” Rap demanded, his anger flaring again.

She
cringed back, .a frightened little old lady. “Rapt” Inos had arrived also,
looking even more worried than her aunt. “You didn’t!”

“I
certainly did!” He lowered his voice. “And I don’t care! They’re going to burn
me for killing Kalkor, so now they can burn me in a good cause. You don’t
prefer that horrid little merman regent do you?” He had gotten loud again. Oh,
well ...

“Rap!
You idiot!”

“Who
are you calling an idiot?”

Inos
stamped her foot, but wet turf was not satisfying for foot stamping. “You, of
course, you idiot! Blundering nitwit! Numbskull! Clown!”

“Oh?
And who are you to criticize? Who went and jumped into marriage with a man who
gives her gooseflesh when he-”

Rap
bit his tongue. The big djinn was following his wife through the crowd, dodging
his fancy hat around the water-loaded bulges of the awning. He had heard and he
was not very pleased. Other people were listening, also, and they looked both
scared and amused at the same time.

They
could surely see the anger in Inos’s scorching glare, well matching her angry
words. What they would not see was the underlying fear, which was much
stronger, although it was not fear for herself. At the moment she was only
concerned about Rap. She was far more worried about him violating the stupid Protocol
than she was about the way he’d cured her husband’s curse and made her marriage
possibleand yet she really didn’t want to be married to the djinn at all, since
even the thought of kissing him nauseated her. So at the same time as she was
shouting names at Rap, her face was sending him different messages altogether.
It was very confusing, even for a sorcerer. It could be mind-smashing wonderful
if there was any future to it.

But
it didn’t go anywhere. He was doomed, and she would just have to adjust to
married life. Her husband could touch her now and obviously intended to do so
immediately.

As
Azak put a hand on her shoulder, Inos flinched but did not look around. The
signal her eyes were sending to Rap became a plea for help and rescue, even
while she continued to shout insults at him.

“You
always were a blundering chucklehead! Gullible, Rap! That’s what you are! You
never would think out what other people really wanted. You always accepted
anything anyone said and took it at face value ... No one else could ever
possibly believe for one minute that the wardens would ever punish anyone for
killing that Kalkor horror! In fact, that’s obviously what Warlock Zinixo meant
last night and the reason why they wouldn’t listen to the regent then, because
they wanted you to go ahead and kill Kalkor. But you couldn’t see that! Oh, no!
You had to go and slap them in the face by meddling with the imperor and no one’s
allowed-”

“You
don’t know what you’re talking about! Wardens eat sorcerers!” She hadn’t been
to Faerie and she didn’t understand the politics.

“Eat
them?” Inos said blankly, stopping her tirade to breath a little.

“They
give their words to a votary and then kill them. Do you think they’re going to
pin a medal on me?”

She
pulled free from Azak’s grip and lurched at Rap in fury, trying to pound at him
with her fists. “Then what are you waiting around here for? Go away, you idiot!
Run! Run!”

He
took hold of her wrists and she was helpless. No sorcery required. He lowered
his hands so she was pulled against his chest. “It won’t do,” he said softly.

She
looked up at him in dismay. “Not do why? What?”

He
shook his head: too long to explain. Her face was very close to his. Red lips.
Green eyes, full of fear and longing. Scent of roses.

And
then he became aware that people were staring at him expectantly. The imperor
in his chair was peering along an avenue of people. He wanted Rap. Rap released
Inos reluctantly. He’d been really enjoying that last bit. He walked over to
the old man. Emshandar had been tall for an imp. His bones were still large,
but now his flesh was so wasted that the dusky, spotted skin hung limp. His
neck looked like a fishnet hung on a hook to dry, and his face had fallen in
around his teeth. Streaks of white hair hung limply from his scalp. The nose
was a knife blade, yet there was fire in the eyes still, and Rap had not put
all of that there. Even huddled under a wool rug the old man bore an aura of
authority.

Behind
the beaming faces surrounding him, most of the courtiers were in a state of
panic. All their fine calculations had been spilled in the mud by the
unexpected sorcery. Who was in charge now? How long would this remission last?
How long till the old man died anyway? His daughter-in-law, who was now the
regent’s wife, was standing very close, trying not to be visibly ill, trying to
keep her usual pout turned up in a smile.

It
was very satisfying-and yet very unsatisfying, too, because when Rap had been a
mundane he had hated the way the sorcerous seemed to play games with ordinary folk.
Now he was starting to do it himself. He’d been a sorcerer only a few hours.

He
sank to his knees on the grass by the imperor’s toes. “Your Majesty?”

“It
seems that we have been ill for several months, and today you healed us with
sorcery. Is that correct?”

“It
is, Sire.”

The
dark old eyes were filmy, but as shrewd as any. They appraised Rap carefully
and then flickered vaguely over the watchers and listeners. He wanted to know
why, and he wasn’t going to ask; not here, not now.

He
brought his attention back to Rap. “We shall reconvene this meeting in warmer
and drier climes. We can command the rest-” Yet the old fox knew that his
authority was now far from settled. “-but you can only request!” He glanced up.
“Marshal Ithy?”

“Sire?”

“How
many legions will you need to bring in this man?”

The
soldier was a hard man, and a worried one, but he had a sense of humor. “More
than your Majesty can readily muster, I fear.”

“We
fear the same. Sir Sorcerer, will you graciously agree to ride with us in our
own coach?”

He
wanted a private chat, of course, but his eyes were also saying that there were
mundane means to undo what Rap’s sorcery had wrought. He was vulnerable. He
wanted protection! That seemed very amusing, when Rap considered it.

“I
shall be greatly honored, Sire. I am at your Majesty’s service.”

“Are
you, indeed?” The imperor was relieved. “Very wells Consul?”

With
murder in his heart and a smile on his face, Ythbane said, “Me, Sire?”

“You.
Sorcerer Rap will accompany us in the great coach. We require everyone else
here to attend us in the Emerald Hall an hour before sunset. Yourself we may
summon sooner.”

Ythbane
bowed, but Rap could not understand how he expected his face to deceive anyone
at all.

As
Rap rose to his feet, he saw one person who was in no doubt how he felt about
the imperor’s recovery. Squeezed between his mother and the side of the old man’s
chair, the little prince was gazing at his grandfather with a joy so great that
he had even forgotten his own pain. The pinched features were still mantled to
Rap’s occult senses by that mysterious, unholy cowl, but there could be no
mistaking the boy’s relief and happiness. He sensed Rap’s gaze, looked up at
him in alarm-and ventured a wistful little smile of thanks.

And
Rap’s temper flashed up again. Someone must pay for what had been done to that
child!

The
great coach was great indeed, emblazoned in bright enamels and gold fittings.
It had big windows of clear crystal draped with muslin; the door carried the
Imperial arms picked out in gems; the interior was upholstered in purple silk.
Four stalwart Praetorian Guards supported a canopy over the imperor’s chair as
he was borne to this stupendous vehicle, and others lifted him in. Rap did not
know which impressed him more, the coach itself or its eight white geldings
with their jewel-encrusted harnesses and shiny plumes. If he was going to his
funeral, as his aching premonition suggested, then he was certainly going in
style.

Everyone
stood back to let him enter also, and Ythbane was not the only onlooker whose
inner thoughts were plotting that funeral. Rap moved toward the door, then
swiftly detoured in two long strides to snatch up the little prince.

The
boy gave a squeak of alarm. His mother and the regent began to react, and were
momentarily frozen by sorcery. Rap swung the lad up high, stepped up on the
footboard, and stood him inside.

“I
think this one also, Sire!” He followed the boy in.

The
Imperial eyebrows swooped down, and a haze of color suffused the parchment
face. “You presume far, Sorcerer!”

“Suffer
me this, Sire. I have reasons! Sit, lad.” With a worried look at his
grandfather, the boy eased himself onto the seat opposite. The old man frowned
as he registered the awkward movements. Then he shouted for the door to be
closed, ignoring the angry faces peering in.

Rap
settled at the prince’s side and gave him a friendly grin that had a trace of
occult reassurance included. “I ought to know your name, your Highness, but I
don’t.”

“Shandie,”
the lad whispered. “I mean, Emshandar like Grandfather.”

“A
great name, then!”

“They
call me Shandie, mostly.”

“I’m
Rap, but you can call me Rap.”

The
lad sniggered and wiped rain from his face. He began to relax, beaming
excitedly at the imperor. Harness jingled, the coach rocked smoothly off along
the road. Ythbane was glaring after it, and other faces besides his had lost
their fake cheerfulness also. Rap brought his attention back to his illustrious
companions and the opulence of his surroundings-ivory door handles, gold lamps.
Humble old Krasnegar seemed very far away now.

The
old man adjusted the lap robe that had been tucked around him, clearly planning
his first question. Rap spoke first.

“Shandie,
I’m going to heal those bruises for you, but first I want you to let your
grandfather see them.” The lad blushed scarlet, then just as quickly paled. “You
mustn’t use magic on me ... er, Rap. I’m family!”

“Well,
I’ve already bent the Protocol pretty badly, and I don’t suppose one boy’s
battered butt will make a great deal of difference to the history of Pandemia.”

Shandie
giggled at that and looked to the imperor for guidance.

“Let
me see!” The Imperial visage was stern. When Shandie stood up, turned, and
pulled down his breeches to show the awful welts, stern became menacing.

“Who
did that?”

“Ythbane,”
the boy whispered, making himself decent again and sitting down faster than he
had intended. A wince of pain escaped him.

“Boars’
blood!” the imperor roared. “Why?” Shandie cringed. “I was fidgeting at the
ceremony last night ... I didn’t know I was, honest! And then I turned around, ‘cause
I thought I shouldn’t have my back to the warlock. But Ythbane said I was
wrong.” He sniffed.