The Bastard King (62 page)

No one required Lanius to come to the piers to greet Grus on his return from the south. Maybe Grus didn't think he'd won enough of a victory to hold a celebration. Maybe it had just slipped his mind to send ahead to the city, and order one. Either way, it didn't bother Lanius. He had his children. He had the archives. He had the moncats. Now he had the monkeys with the ridiculous mustaches, too.

He was with the monkeys when Grus came in. They required a room of their own, not only because they needed to be kept warm whereas the moncats didn't but also because the moncats, larger and fiercer, would have made a meal out of them if they'd lived together.

When the door opened behind Lanius, he turned in some annoyance. By now, the servants knew they weren't supposed to bother him when he was with the animals. Grus, however, was a different story. He did as he pleased. He eyed the monkeys with more than a little curiosity. They stared back at him from their round black eyes with at least as much curiosity. One of them fiddled with its droopy mustache, just as a man might have done.

"Quite a menagerie you're getting," Grus remarked. "I don't think I've ever seen a monkey before."

"I hadn't, either. The Chernagors brought them to me," Lanius answered. More slowly than he should have, he added, "Welcome home."

"Thanks, Your Majesty." Grus' voice was dry. He eyed the monkeys again. "The Chernagors are shrewd. Say what you want about'em, they're nobody's fools. They must have figured out that you like funny beasts."

"Well... yes." Lanius didn't care to admit that he'd given the Chernagors a few hints about what he liked. If he told Grus, it would get back to Sosia. It probably would anyway, sooner or later, because of what Lyashko had said in the throne room. But when it got back to his wife, he knew he would hear about it.

"If you want to see strange creatures, I can show you some I brought back from the south," Grus said.

"Really? What sort of creatures?" Lanius asked eagerly. He knew there were some animals and birds that dwelt in the south but never came up to the capital. He knew which of those he would most like to see, too. Had Grus figured out that the road to his affection ran through his curiosity? Maybe he had. He was nobody's fool, either.

But what he said now - "Thralls" - rocked Lanius back on his heels. Grus went on, "We brought some of them back so we can go on studying them here."

"I see," Lanius said. "But isn't that dangerous?"

"Probably," the older man answered. "We decided
not
bringing'em back would be even more dangerous, though. I hope we were right." He didn't look altogether contented with the choice he'd made.

For his part, Lanius didn't suppose he could quarrel with that choice till he knew more; whether it proved right or wrong, Grus had obviously made it with care. Lanius said, "Yes, I would like to see the thralls before long."

"Good." Grus nodded in unreserved approval. Lanius cherished that, for he seldom got it. Thoughtfully, Grus went on, "You need to have a notion of just what kind of foe Avornis is up against there."

"Oh." That quite took the urge off Lanius' desire to learn more about thralls. His own voice grim, he said, "As a matter of fact, Your Majesty, so do you."

Grus' eyes widened. Lanius rarely used his title. Then one of the monkeys pulled the other's tail. The victim, screeching, scrambled up the lattice of sticks and boards Lanius had had the carpenters run up to simulate a jungle. Screeching in a different key, the tail-puller pursued. Right over Grus' head, one of them - Lanius didn't see which - did something that monkeys do. People also do those things, but after about the age of two they're more careful about where.

A cloudburst of curses burst from Grus. Then, to Lanius' astonishment, he started to laugh. Pointing an accusing finger at Lanius, he said, "I think you've trained them to do that."

"I have not," Lanius said. "They've gotten me, too. They aren't like moncats - they go where they please. Can I get you a towel?"

"I could use one," his father-in-law answered. "I could use a bath, too, as a matter of fact. And if they can't get the stink out of this robe, the tailors are going to have some very unkind things to say about me - and about your precious pets."

"Here's the towel," Lanius said. "I
am
sorry."

"So am I." Grus scrubbed vigorously at his hair. "Maybe I should have been wearing the crown." After a moment, he shook his head. "No, then more of it would have dripped down onto my face." He threw the towel on the floor. "Thank you kindly, Your Majesty. That helped - some. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going off to clean up." He did make sure he latched the door behind him.

And so, Lanius' news didn't get told just then. In fact, he forgot all about it for a while, the first time he'd been able to do that since discovering it. He wagged a finger at the monkeys. "That was naughty," he said. "That was very naughty."

Then, as Grus had before, he started to laugh. His reasons, though, were rather different. He found himself wishing he were much, much smaller. Then he too could have scrambled up into that lattice. He too could have poised himself over the other king's head. And he too could have done just what that little mustachioed monkey had done.

King Grus walked through the royal palace with a curious mix of pleasure and apprehension. He'd never dreamt, when he first boarded a river galley all those years ago, that he would end up here. And he had a firm grip on the throne. Lanius was in no position to challenge him, not really. After what he'd done to the luckless Pandion, none of the nobles seemed inclined to try to take the crown away. Knowing that would have been plenty to please almost any man.

As for the apprehension ... Like a lot of husbands, Grus feared his wife would find out he hadn't been faithful. Like a good many of those husbands, he feared his wife would find out he hadn't been faithful
again.
He couldn't very well deny he'd slipped once, not when the evidence of his slip was at the moment Arch-Hallow of Avornis. But the difference between once and twice was almost bigger than the difference between never and once. Once could - well, nearly could - be an accident, an aberration. Twice? No, not twice.

Maybe fewer people really knew than Alca thought. Maybe the ones who did know would keep their mouths shut. He was the King of Avornis, after all. If he found out who spread gossip about him, he could make that person sorry for the rest of his days.

If. The trouble with gossip - so he thought, being gossiped about rather than gossiping - was that it was too easy and spread too fast. This one told that one, who told the other one, who told the next one, who... Before long, who could say where the chain started?

He sometimes thought he would welcome an invasion from the Thervings. That would let him forget his own troubles and start thinking of Avornis'. But Lanius had known what he was talking about. King Berto, unlike Dagipert, was more interested in praying than fighting. Grus was sure that made Olor and Quelea and the other gods very happy. Most of the time, it would have made him happy, too. Now? That he wondered was a measure of how worried he was.

Not even playing with his grandchildren let him ease his mind. As he tried to keep Pitta from tearing out his beard by handfuls, he wondered whether Lanius was amusing himself outside of Sosia's bed.
If he is, I'll
... He stopped, feeling foolish.
I'll what?
Considering what he'd been up to, what
could
he say to his son-in-law?
I can say whatever I want, by the gods, as long as I don't get caught myself.

Later, he suspected that that blasphemous thought had had something to do with what happened. But, no matter how little he could prove, he knew what he thought.

Once back in the city of Avornis, he didn't watch Alca working with the thralls. That, he thought, would have been asking for trouble. If he spent a lot of time with the witch, one of them or the other might do something or say something to give them away. He could see that plainly, and so he stayed away.

Sometimes, though, whatever you did was wrong. Estrilda said, "Why aren't you paying more attention to those poor people you brought back from the south? Didn't you go down there to try to do more for them?"

Grus was drinking a mug of wine when his wife asked the question. He didn't choke, though he came close. Once he was breathing normally again, he said, "I've been busy. I've had a lot to catch up on since I got back."

"Even so," Estrilda said. "The more the witch finds out, the better off we'll be. And the better off the thralls will be, too. You should keep an eye on what Alca's doing here."

He couldn't even tell her no. If he hadn't taken Alca to bed, he would have been hovering around her, trying to learn as much as he could about what she was up to and what the chances were. If he hung back now, Estrilda would start wondering why. He couldn't have that. Finishing the wine at a gulp, he spoke as casually as he could. "Well, maybe I will."

"I hope you do," Estrilda said. "The thralls are the key to everything, I think."

That, Grus knew, was liable to be true in ways Estrilda hadn't expected. Still, he went off to see Alca with more than a little eagerness.

He found her sooner than he'd thought he would, not in the suite of rooms where she worked with - worked on - the thralls, but wandering through the hallways. He smiled and hurried toward her, but then stopped short. Her face was almost as blank as that of a thrall. She looked as though she'd been through some dreadful disaster and had no idea how she'd come out alive.

"Sweet Quelea's mercy!" Grus exclaimed. "What's wrong?"

Her expression didn't change. Her voice was just as empty as she answered, "He knows."

"Who knows?" Grus asked automatically, though any idiot should have been able to figure that out for himself. Maybe the question was one to which he didn't really want an answer.

Want it or not, he got it. "My husband," Alca said, spelling out the obvious. "He ... is not pleased with me." By the way she said that, it was as much an understatement as she could make of it.

"How did he find out?" Grus asked.

The witch shrugged. "He did, that's all. He knew enough that I couldn't make it out to be a lie - especially when it was no lie." She paused, then added, "He is going to cast me aside. I don't suppose I can blame him." She stared down at the mosaic work floor.

Grus knew she loved - or had loved - her husband. He asked, "Do you want me to order him to keep you?"

Alca didn't look up. She simply shook her head. "What good would it do, Your Majesty? The thing is broken. There is no magic to put it back together. I wish there were." She turned away. "I can't even blame him. He has good reason for doing what he does."

"I'll take care of you." Grus set a hand on her shoulder.

She twisted away from him. "We've already taken care of things well enough, wouldn't you say?"

He had no answer for that. Even so, he promised, "You'll not want."

"For money, you mean?" Alca asked, and Grus nodded. Her laugh was bitter as wormwood. "And for love, Your Majesty? Can Petrosus allocate that from the treasury, too?" She held up a hand. "Never mind. It's not your fault alone - it's not as though you forced me. But that doesn't make things easier right now. If you'll excuse me ..." She walked down the corridor. Grus wanted to follow her, but he knew that would only make matters worse, if they could be any worse.

"Something's wrong," Sosia said in the quiet of the royal bedchamber.

"Wrong? Where?" The last time she'd said that, it had alarmed Lanius. This time, it only puzzled him. "Everything seems quiet to me. Thervingia's peaceful. The Chernagors are squabbling amongst themselves instead of with us. We taught the Menteshe a lesson - I hope we did, anyhow. The moncats are healthy. Even the monkeys are doing well. What could be wrong?"

His wife sent him an exasperated look. "There are times when I wish you paid less attention to your beasts and more to the people around you. Something's wrong with Father."

"Oh." For various reasons he found good, Lanius paid as little attention to Grus as he could get away with. Sometimes, of course, that was like trying not to pay attention to a natural calamity. A couple of heartbeats later than he should have, Lanius realized he needed to ask, "What is it?"

"I don't know," Sosia answered. "That's part of what worries me. Haven't you noticed how he has his mind on something lately, something that doesn't let him pay attention to things right under his nose?"

"I'm like that all the time," Lanius said.

"Yes, I know." Sosia's tone was quietly devastating. She went on, "But Father
isn't.
Or he never used to be. If he is now, all of a sudden, it must be because something isn't the way it ought to be."

"Why don't you ask him what it is?"

Sosia's expression got more exasperated than ever. "Don't you think I have? He just looked at me and said,'Nothing.' But it
isn't
nothing. If it were nothing, he wouldn't act the way he's acting."

"Maybe he'd tell me if I asked him," Lanius said.

"Maybe he would," Sosia said. "You're a man. Maybe that makes a difference. Would you try, please?"

"All right, when I find the chance." Lanius wondered what he was getting himself into. "The time has to be right. I can't just ask him out of the blue, or he won't tell me anything. I wouldn't tell anybody anything if I got asked out of the blue."

"All right." Sosia didn't complain, which proved how worried she was.

Finding the right time to ask his father-in-law personal questions proved harder than he'd expected. The moment did finally come, though. King Grus was complaining that Evren's Menteshe had done more damage down in the south than he'd thought they would when their invasion started. "Unfortunate," Lanius agreed.

"Worse than unfortunate," Grus said. "Between this and all the losses we had from the civil war and from the Thervings, I just hope the harvest is decent next year. If it's bad, we could see trouble."