The Feline Wizard (47 page)

They came out of a boulevard into a great open plaza and saw the palace rising above a high wall. Directly before them was a huge portal closed by two massive, pale gates with the sheen of polished stone, inlaid with geometric patterns in a translucent yellowish material. The pilgrims milled about, discussing the sight with one another in tones of excitement. Then a trumpet blew and they fell silent, all eyes turning toward the gateway.

Drums began to beat and soldiers filed out of the palace. They formed into four ranks and marched toward the pilgrims, shifting their weapons from side to side at the calls of a sergeant. The pilgrims murmured in awe, for such drill was unknown anywhere else in the world. It made a brave spectacle indeed.

The soldiers marched up to them, stamped to a halt, then opened an aisle in their center, down which came a man who strutted with self-importance. He wore a brocaded gown and hat embroidered in gold. As he came, the sergeant bawled orders again, and the soldiers wheeled to the sides, files lining end-to-end until they formed a broad avenue down which the pilgrims could march.

Balkis hid a smile. She had never seen this display before but could tell it was calculated to awe and entertain the pilgrims—and, without their realizing it, to contain them in case any wished to make trouble. She thought she detected Matthew's hand in this.

The courtier came to a halt in front of the band and gave them a condescending smile. “Good morning, good pilgrims! I am Hajik, and I shall guide you through such of the palace
as the public may see! If you have questions, I shall answer as many as I may.”

The pilgrims murmured to one another, but none asked any questions, though each had a dozen clogging his throat.

“The square in which you stand,” said Hajik, “is where our glorious emperor witnesses the judicial contests of trial by combat: It is paved with onyx in order that the courage of the fighters may be increased by the virtue of the stone.”

Balkis shuddered. “Horrid custom!”

“It is indeed,” Anthony agreed, low-voiced. “We must find a better way to decide which is the worthier case.”

Balkis looked up at him in surprise; he spoke with the sound of a man who had pondered the issue. She had not expected Anthony to have given any thought to such matters.

“These great gates before you are made of sardonyx inlaid with the horn of the serpent called ‘cerastes,’ so that no one may enter with poison.”

The pilgrims murmured, suitably impressed.

“So if any of you come with poison about you,” the courtier said with a twinkle in his eye, “you were best to leave it on the ground!”

The pilgrims gazed at him in shock. Then one or two realized that he spoke in jest and managed a weak laugh. Hearing them, the rest of the company joined in, halfheartedly but relieved.

“Come in, then, come in!” Hajik stepped to the side, spreading an arm toward the sardonyx gates. “The emperor invites you!”

He stepped aside and the pilgrims surged forward with cries of delight and awe, scarcely noticing that the soldiers closed in to their sides and their rear, shepherding them and making sure none went running off to investigate on his or her own.

Exclaiming to one another, the pilgrims came through the twelve-foot-high portal and saw vast lawns stretching away to the distant castle.

“How awe-inspiring, how huge!” one of the pilgrims exclaimed.

“It is indeed,” said another, “but why should the emperor need veritable fields within his walls? Why, you could drill an army in here!”

“He probably does, neighbor,” a third man said. “He probably does.”

Anthony looked the question at Balkis. Eyes twinkling, she nodded.

“If the city were invaded,” said another thoughtful pilgrim, “he could house half his people here, in tents and such.”

“All his people, actually,” Balkis confided to Anthony.

He grinned down at her, then turned away to regard the palace itself. Soldiers herded straying pilgrims onto the flags of the broad paved apron before the palace. Gradually all of them came there to stare at the graceful building.

“The emperor's palace is patterned after the heavenly mansion St. Thomas constructed for the Hindu King Gundafor,” Hajik explained. “The king appointed the apostle to build him an earthly palace, but St. Thomas gave the money to the poor instead. When the king indicted him for it, St. Thomas replied that he had used the gold to build the king a palace in Heaven. Soon after, King Gundafor fell into a deathlike sleep and was transported to Heaven, where he gazed upon a palace much like this, only grander and even more magnificent. An angel told him it was the castle St. Thomas had built for him by his charity to the poor, then sent the king back to the world of the living, to be baptized as an example to all his people.”

The people murmured, marveling at the tale and the palace both. The building was three hundred feet long and a hundred deep, with a huge central dome and four smaller domes at the corners, all bulbous and pointed—but the central doorway was a Roman arch flanked by Corinthian columns. The window opening onto the central balcony, right above the main door, was a smaller version of its arch, with railings of ivory. The windows were Moorish arches with balconies enclosed by elaborately carved railings. The roof, however, was completely black.

“Good sir, why is there so dark a roof on a palace so light and colorful?” Sikta asked, frowning.

Hajik puffed himself up with the pride of knowledge. “It is made of a precious wood called ebony, good woman, and it has the virtue of taking and holding a spell that will make it immune to fire.”

“You mean it cannot burn?” a pilgrim asked, wide-eyed.

“Not once Prester John enchanted it, no,” Hajik said. “The gates of the palace itself are likewise of ebony so that no enemy may burn them down to enter.” He turned and pointed at the eastern end of the roof. “Notice the gables at either end! Above each are two golden apples—see how they shine! But set in each of them are two carbuncles; as the gold shines by day, so the carbuncles shine by night.”

“That must have been the glow I saw in the sky last night!” one pilgrim exclaimed.

“It was indeed.” Hajik turned sideways with a flamboyant gesture toward the castle. “The windows are of crystal. At night you shall see them glowing with light from a thousand lamps… ah, I see by the wonder in your faces that you gazed upon the sight last night! Know that in this palace all the lamps are fed by balsam, and the sweet aroma permeates all the chambers.”

“Even in the emperor's personal rooms?” a pilgrim asked.

Hajik gave the speaker a forbidding frown. “I cannot speak of Prester John's private chambers, for none but the emperor, his family, and his privy ministers know what lies therein.”

Balkis smiled secretly, barely managing to keep from showing off by telling Anthony that the emperor's withdrawing room was marvelously bedecked with gold and all manner of precious stones. But hold it back she did—she was trying to keep him from knowing that she was part of the emperor's family, not display it.

“Whenever an onyx is used for ornament,” Hajik orated, “four carnelians are set about it so that the assertive effects of the onyx may be tempered. When it is used for its magic, of course, the onyx is inlaid by itself.”

From the top of the palace's dome a gong sounded. Its tone faded, but before it was quite gone, another boomed, then ten more. The crowd gasped, staring in awe, trying to see the man who struck the great tam-tam—for that matter, trying to see the instrument itself.

Hajik smiled. “Yes, good people, the emperor has a wondrous machine crafted for him by a smith of magical powers, and that machine reminds us of the hours of the day, even as
you have but now heard. The stroke of noon tells us that hours for viewing the palace are ended. Go back to your hostel in peace; your guide shall bring you here again tomorrow, for it is a holy day, and you may hear the apostle Thomas preach from the balcony above the main gate.”

The crowd stirred, exclaiming to one another in delight and surprise.

“Go your ways now,” Hajik said, “and come back on the morrow.” He saluted them with a slight bow, then turned to walk back toward the palace. The soldiers closed in, ushering the people out the main gate. The pilgrims dispersed with happy chattering, but Balkis, so close to the palace, realized that if there was a proper time to tell Anthony her true rank, it had better be now—and she dared not risk his learning by another source, for every minute in Maracanda increased the chances of some acquaintance greeting her by her title. She nerved to the deed and caught Anthony's arm as he was about to exit the black portal. “No, Anthony! I wish to see inside the palace.”

“Mere country folk like us?” Anthony exclaimed, horrified. “They will think us assassins and execute us on the spot!”

“They will not.” Balkis said, gazing at him with an intensity he found unnerving.

Anthony's eyes went to a man approaching over her shoulder. “Lord Wizard!” he cried gratefully. He waved.

Matt waved back, smiling as he came up. “I thought that might have been your band of pilgrims. What do you think of the emperor's palace?”

“It is beautiful and wondrous—but Balkis thinks to look inside.”

“Does she really?” Matt stared at Balkis.

“She does, and I fear we will be struck down on the spot! Lord Wizard, I pray you—for her safety, persuade her of her folly!”

Balkis gave Matt stare for stare and moved her head up and down a fraction of an inch.

“No,” Matt said to Anthony, “you're my friends, and therefore privileged people. Besides, Prester John likes wizards— as long as they're on his side. Let's go have a look at the throne room.”

“The chamber of state?” Anthony goggled.

“Well, we couldn't expect him to show us the private apartments, could we? Come on, let's go.” Matt turned to talk to the captain of the guard, who nodded and led the way. Soldiers formed up about them.

Anthony eyed them nervously; then apprehension was drowned in a rush of enthusiasm. “To think, we shall actually see the wonders inside the palace! Balkis, what great fortune that your teacher was someone of such influence!”

“Yes, great fortune indeed.” But why did her heart feel like lead?

They walked between the Corinthian columns, under the Roman arch, and Balkis was struck once again at how Prester John's palace was a thorough mixture of the styles of East and West, for his empire comprised people of all cultures. Somehow, the architect had made them work—not surprising, if it really was copied after the work of an Israelite prophet for a Hindu king.

They walked down a broad hallway paved with semiprecious stones, between pillars of sandalwood and cedar. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting scenes of strange slant-eyed, yellow-skinned people with elaborate coiffures and silken robes, playing at games that seemed quite ordinary and plucking musical instruments that seemed quite exotic. Anthony exclaimed with wonder at every step, but beside him Balkis was silent, growing more and more nervous.

“How polite these people are!” Anthony marveled. “They bow to us at every step! But why do they stare?”

“No doubt they are unused to seeing people in humble clothing amid such grandeur,” Balkis replied. She bit her lip; it hadn't been a complete lie, after all. The servants knew her face, but they certainly had never seen her in rough travel garb.

At the end of the corridor were two huge portals with guards holding crossed pikes before them—but Matt turned down a side passage. The ceiling was only ten feet high and there were no pillars here, but the walls were marble.

“Even the servants walk amid splendor!” Anthony marveled.

Matt led them to a smaller set of doors, only seven feet tall, but still with two guards holding crossed spears.

“We are expected,” Matt said, and Balkis' heart beat so heavily and rapidly that she was sure Anthony could hear it.

He didn't, though, only beamed down at her. “Be not apprehensive, my love. If the Lord Wizard conducts us, surely there is nothing to fear.”

“Surely not,” Balkis said faintly, and clutched his hand, hoping it would not be the last time.

The soldiers bowed—apparently to the Lord Wizard, though their gazes were fixed on Balkis. They opened the doors and the little company went in.

They entered a circular chamber that seemed a veritable cavern, but one floored with marble, walled with lapis lazuli and jasper, and framed by gilded columns upholding a ceiling that stretched away into the dimness of the great central dome. Some window must have been opened there, for it let a shaft of sunlight spear down to bathe the throne in a golden glow.

That throne stood atop a dais ten feet high, and in it sat a man with golden skin, black hair, and black beard. There was an elaborate jewel-studded golden crown on his head and robes of cloth-of-gold on his body. He held in his left hand a golden scepter while he gestured with his right as he spoke to the richly dressed men on the floor before him, their leader honored to stand on the lowest step of the dais. The emperor looked larger than human, glorious as a pagan god, awe-inspiring and intimidating, and if she had been in cat form, Balkis thought, she would have hissed.