Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) (11 page)

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Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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“Yes, Sire. And the order for his arrest?”
“I withdraw it. For now.”
“Yes, Sire.”
His Majesty looked shrewdly at Khaavren. “Thirty hours have changed you,” he remarked.
“Sire?” said the Captain, affecting a surprised expression.
“Yester-day, you would not have been so bold as to question my orders.”
Khaavren bowed. “Yester-day, Sire, it was not my duty to do so.”
The Emperor nodded slowly, then leaned against the door of the Seven Room and closed his eyes, as if he were suddenly very tired. “Do you know, Captain,” he said softly, “that it is assumed by those learned in history that Emperors of my House will become, toward the end of their Reign, weak-willed, or addled, or silly, or power-mad, or that we will neglect the Empire, giving over our responsibilities in a quest for pleasures of the moment?”
“I have heard this said, Sire.”
Tortaalik nodded. “So have I. All my life. And from the moment I took the Orb, I vowed that none of these things would happen to me. I have tried to keep my desires in check, and to find trustworthy retainers for all positions of importance, and to keep a close watch on my temper. And yet, Captain, at times like this, I feel that I am overwhelmed by my destiny; it is as if there were hidden forces that try to pull me into the abyss.”
Khaavren looked at his master, as if seeing him for the first time, and, in a
sudden return of the youthful loyalty that had been all but eradicated by the heartless years, dropped to his knee, took His Majesty’s smooth, manicured hand into his own sword-callused one, and said, “Sire, only the fates know the final outcome of the battle, but surely there is glory in knowing one has not surrendered, and surely there is comfort in knowing one is not alone.”
The Emperor nodded, and the Orb turned to a soft, gentle green as he straightened his back. “Yes,” he said. “That is a kind of glory, and that is surely a comfort.” Tortaalik indicated by a gentle pressure that Khaavren should rise. “Come, Captain. Go you and find Jurabin, and tell him that I wish to see him.”
Khaavren stood, bowed, and turned hastily away, so that His Majesty wouldn’t see the emotion that erupted unbidden in the soldier’s eyes.
Which Treats of Our Old Friend Pel,
And His Recent Activities
Regarding Information, Deduction,
And Coercion.
 
 
 
A
S KHAAVREN LEFT THE SEVEN Room, his old friend Pel, now a called Galstan (although we, like Khaavren, will continue to call him Pel), sat on a large, amber cushion in a room some half a league distant, yet still within the Palace. This room was not overly large, and boasted two small but perfectly square windows, one looking out at the rounded towers of the dark and mysterious Athyra Wing to the north, the other looking out upon a walled terrace which enclosed a neat little flower garden, some distance below. The room was furnished with a plain bed, a simple writing table and chair, a bookshelf that occupied an entire wall and was filled with works on the history and philosophy of Discretion, the amber cushion we have already had occasion to mention, and a comfortable if unornamented chair against the wall facing the center of the room.
Pel was, we should mention at once, not alone; with him was the room’s tenant—a handsome woman of middle years and dark complexion who wore the colors and features of the House of the Athyra and was addressed as “Your Discretion” and called only by the name Erna. Also with them was a pale young man (he had, to judge from appearances, scarcely seen his two hundredth year) in the brown and yellow of the House of the Jhegaala. His name was Lysek.
Erna was staring idly out one of the windows, seemingly indifferent to the conversation, or, rather, the interrogation Pel was conducting with Lysek. Pel’s countenance was stern; Lysek’s features were set in a stubborn expression.
“You must understand,” said Pel in a tone of both patience and firmness, “that you are neither the first, nor the second, to come to us with such a request.”
Lysek watched the Yendi, but made no rejoinder.
“Furthermore,” said Pel, “you are neither the first, nor the second, to make the request for the same reason you proffer.”
Lysek started slightly. “Reason?” he said. “You pretend to know—
“Here now,” said Pel. “Let there be none of this. You come to us, asking us to betray Confidence—which you ought to know we cannot do—in matters that concern personalities of the court, and you do not expect us to realize that there is only one lady who inspires such desperate measures?”
“I—”
“Are you aware that it is an Imperial crime to even ask us to betray such secrets?”
“You do not know—”
“What you are offering in exchange? No, I do not. Nor, young man, do I wish to know, for, in truth, I am weak, and can be tempted. That is why, when you asked to see me, I asked Erna, the head of my Order, to be here as witness, to keep me from such an error.”
Lysek scowled and looked at the floor. Erna continued staring out the window, taking no part whatever in the conversation.
Lysek took a deep breath. “I have learned—”
“And yet you persist,” said Pel.
“—of that which will cause the Empire itself to tremble, and within a space of hours. In exchange for this information, I merely wish to learn—”
“Bah!” said Pel, and rose to his feet. “There is no need to hear this, I know already, for your countenance betrays you as surely as if you shouted your desire through the halls of the Palace. You doubt me? Then attend: You want to know certain details about a certain highborn lady’s personal life. You have seen her from afar, and though you were in the crowd or at a distance, you know that she looked at you, and you fell in love with her, and you are certain she loves you too, only you don’t know how to arrange a rendezvous with her, and you wish to learn—”
“But this is impossible!” cried Lysek, who sprang to his feet, and whose voice trembled with emotion.
“Not in the least,” said Pel. “Moreover, you have heard that we will exchange such information for other information. Where you heard this, I cannot say, but I know that such rumors abound. But there is no truth to them, and, to prove it, I will summon the Guard and cause you to be arrested for so much as asking us.” With this, Pel turned and began walking toward the door.
“Bide,” said Erna.
Pel turned back, a look of surprise on his countenance. “Yes, Discretion?”
“Well, I wish to hear him.”
“Your Discretion wishes to hear him?”
“Yes, for I am curious.”
“And yet—”
“Come, no arguments. We shall betray nothing.”
“Well,” said the Yendi, “if we betray nothing, why should he tell us what he pretends to know?”
“He will tell us,” said Erna, “to keep us from summoning the Guard, as you were, in fact, about to do, were you not?”
“Indeed I was,” said Pel. “So much so, in fact, that I am about to do so again.
“No, I wish to hear his story.”
“But I,” said Lysek, “will tell you nothing unless you tell me that which I wish to know.”
Erna looked at him briefly, then shrugged. “You are right,” she said to Pel. “He is useless. Summon the Guard.”
Pel nodded, and walked to the door. He was, in fact, through it and into the hall before Lysek, still on his feet, cried, “Wait!”
Pel stepped back into the room. “Yes?” he said, in his melodious voice.
The Jhegaala sat down heavily. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I know, and you may tell me, or not tell me, what you wish.”
Pel caught Erna’s eye, and they exchanged a look of satisfaction. “Speak, then,” said Pel.
“I shall. But remember, this is for your ears; for you to act on as you see fit. The information I bring you is known to perhaps two others in the City, and yet it is of such import that His Majesty would tremble to learn of it.”
“We will remember,” said Pel. “Now tell us what you know.”
“There is to be a riot in the city,” said Lysek.
“A riot?” said Pel.
“Exactly. And within the week at that.”
“Impossible,” said Erna. “One cannot know when a riot will occur.”
“Allow me,” said Pel, “to disagree with Your Discretion on this.”
“How, you think it possible?”
“At least,” said Pel, “I wish to hear more.”
“There is,” said Lysek, “little more to tell. Someone is planning to start a riot, and seems convinced that she can do so.”
“For what reason?” said Erna.
“That,” said Lysek, “I cannot tell you.”
“Then,” said Pel, “tell us how you have discovered this infamous plot.”
“You wish to know how I discovered it?”
“Yes, exactly,” said Pel.
“Then I shall tell you. It was this way: You must know that I am employed at the Tricolor Theater, on the Street of the Curios.”
“I know the theater,” said Pel. “In what capacity are you employed?”
“It is my responsibility to keep the costumes clean and in repair, and especially all of the footwear of the actors.”
“The footwear?”
“Yes. You perceive, it is important to the safety of the actors that their footwear remain clean.”
“Well, I understand that, only what I fail to understand is how the footwear of the actors—and the footwear especially—becomes so soiled that a specialist is required to clean them.”
“You say,” said Lysek, “that you are familiar with our theater.”
“Indeed yes.”
“But have you ever seen a performance?”
“No,” said Pel, “I must confess that I have not.”
“Well, we specialize in the farcical costume dramas of the Late Fifteenth Cycle, which have never lost popularity, testifying to their quality by the only meaningful measure.”
“Well,” said the Yendi, who chose not to comment on this method of measuring artistic worth. “Go on.”
“I am doing so. These dramas invariably feature a character, most often played by either Sir Crowlin or Lady Neftha, who takes the rôle of the villain.”
“I understand that there is a villain,” said Pel.
“Well then, you understand that, for the drama to be successful, the audience must hate the villain.”
“That is,” said Pel, “the usual rôle of a villain in the theater.”
“Well, it is customary for the audiences at our theater to express their dislike of the villain in certain ways—ways that, I must say, are so vital a part of our performances and our reputation, that I have often suspected they account for our continued success.”
“And that way is?” said Pel.
“By pelting the villain with whatever vegetable matter they have brought for that purpose.”
“And so?”
“And so, by the end of a performance, not only is the stage filled with such matter, but all of the actors’ footwear is covered with it. If the footwear were not cleaned, why, a performance could hardly go by without someone slipping and hurting himself. There are others who clean the stage after each performance, but it is my task to ensure that the villain’s costume is clean, and, moreover, that there is nothing slippery on the boots, shoes, and sandals that are to be used in the next show.”
“And therefore, you spend your time cleaning rotten vegetables from the bottom of shoes.”
“That is exactly the case,” said Lysek.
“Well, if you will pardon me, it does not seem to be an enjoyable pastime.”
“Oh, it is not, I assure you.”
“It is, in fact, odious?”
“Odious is the very word I should use to describe it.”
“But at least,” said Pel, “the pay is good.”
“On the contrary, the pay is so poor, I can scarcely live from one day to the next. I sleep in the theater, and if the actors did not, from time to time, take pity on me by allowing me the leavings of their meals, I should be perpetually weak from hunger.”
“Well then, do you hope to someday rise to better position in the theater?”
“Hardly,” said Lysek. “I have been given to understand that this is the only rôle to which I can ever aspire.”
Pel frowned. “Well, then, why don’t you find another position?”
“How?” said Lysek, amazed. “Impossible. I live for the theater.”
Pel saw nothing to be gained by continuing this line of questioning, wherefore he said, “Very well, then, I understand that you were at the theater. What then?”
“Well, you must understand that, while the play is being performed, I am at liberty to watch it from a vantage point off in the wings.”
“Yes, yes, I understand that.”
“And from this position, I can see a portion of the audience, especially the boxes where the nobility sit.”
“Yes, and?”
“Well, and that is where I saw her, just yester-day.”
“How, yester-day? But the Consort did not leave the Palace yester-day.”
“The Consort?” said Lysek, puzzled. “Who spoke of the Consort?”
“But,” said Pel, “if not the Consort, whom did you see?”
“Whom did I see? Who else could create such an impression on the heart but the Lady Aliera?”
“What? She is in the city?”
“Well, she was masked, and so had not arrived as far as formalities are concerned, but it was she, nevertheless.”
“You are certain?”
“Certain? Yes, for I had seen the portrait by Kathana that hangs in the Pavilion of the Dragon, near the theater. And, as you will soon learn, there was additional proof.”
Pel exchanged a look with Erna, who (the reader may have noticed) had not spoken in some time. Erna still remained mute, and Pel continued.
“Well, then, you saw her.”
“Yes. And, furthermore, she saw me, and I knew that the Gods had meant—”
“Yes, yes, I understand what you knew. But permit me to remind you that you were going to explain how you came to hear of this riot.”
“Well, yes, and I am doing so.”
“Continue then.”
“When the show was over, I could not bear to let her out of my sight, while, on her part, though she remained discreet, she turned her head in such a way that I knew I was to follow her.”
“You knew this?”
“Have I not said so?”
Pel and Erna exchanged another look, after which Pel said, “Go on, then. You followed her.”
“Yes. She and another—I believe her father—”
“The Duke of Eastmanswatch?”
“Yes. They climbed into a coach. I—”
“Stay. Did the coach bear any arms?”
“Yes, on the side I could see, it bore the arms of Eastmanswatch, and, in back, was the e’Kieron sigil of the Dragon’s head with blue and green gems for the eyes.”

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