The Gospel According to Verdu (a Steampunk Novel) (The Brofman Series) (35 page)

He limped across the room to take a turn at the washstand, dripping gore as he went. He cupped his hands under the running tap and splashed at himself. The filth from his face and hands dribbled onto the floor.

Chenda paced the room, clearly angry at the traitorous turn of events. “I think you can stop wondering what happened to your archers. One of our own took them out.” She snapped.

Nameer stood dumbly, staring at the lumps hitting the floor at Verdu’s feet. The councillor racked his brains thinking about what his prince needed to do next, and came up with nothing.

“Verdu,” Chenda commanded, “if we are not going to run from here, please make introductions.”

“Chenda, this is my advocate, Nameer, councillor to the emperor. Nameer, meet the Pramuc.”

Nameer had no idea what to say. He had read Verdu’s little book, and on an intellectual level he had believed that Verdu had written what he thought to be true. Now faced with the abstract made flesh, Nameer could neither grasp the reality of the situation in which he found himself nor reconcile his theology with Verdu’s The evidence was overwhelming: she was indeed the Pramuc. He was having an epiphany.

“I have been filled in on Prince Ha-Ting’s move to secure his place in the succession. Do we have any new information yet on who else the prince has attempted to eliminate?”

“Pramuc . . . ,” he said as his thoughts failed him. “I am sorry. The palace is in a state of alarm. Bateem, a clerk of the palace and one loyal to Verdu, is looking into it. For now, I have directed the guards away from here. You are sought throughout the palace, and it will not be much longer before the remains of your entourage there in the hall will be discovered. You need to escape, be away to the resistance.”

“I won’t do that,” Chenda said as she took Verdu’s hand. “I’m not accepting your proposal, Verdu, but I am not rejecting it entirely. We must talk further, preferably when the sky is not falling on our heads.”

Verdu walked to a wardrobe in the corner of the room and pulled out a long, flowing shirt embroidered in a rainbow of colors, so much so that Chenda could not determine what the base color of the garment was. She helped him ease the shirt over his head and down onto his shoulders. He grabbed a length of dark-purple ribbon and bound his still dripping hair into a loose knot at the back of his neck. All in all, he looked very princely.

“I am quite finished with this room, Nameer. I think the Pramuc and I need to have a conversation with the emperor about—”

Bateem stumbled into the room shrieking and waving his hands. Having seen the slain bodies in the hall, he feared the worst for his favorite prince. Seeing Verdu, standing and very much alive, Bateem burst into tears of joy and fell to his knees at Verdu’s feet, kissing the hem of his long shirt.

Through the sobs, he muttered praises and recited the traditional chanting prayers of gratitude to the One True God. Once he had self-soothed with the childhood prayer, he expanded to bless a whole pantheon of gods.

Verdu muttered reassurances in Tugrulian, and Chenda turned to Nameer. “Loyal. Very. I see.”

Verdu helped the near-blubbering man to his feet. He spoke in Tugrulian to Verdu, and Nameer translated for Chenda. “Highness, I have news. Prince Cutis Veritan, first heir to the throne, has been slain by his son Ha-Ting. The brother remains alive. Prince Ha-Ting is here at the palace. He is in audience with the emperor.”

“Here!” Nameer took the little clerk by the shoulders and gave him a light shake, which helped to stanch the sniveling. “Are you sure? How long have they been in conference?”

“On the news of Prince Cutis, I have it on great authority. And I saw Prince Ha-Ting with my own eyes entering the receiving room. I ran here straight away. He was summoned to the emperor. Evidently he returned to Kotal on news of the Companion Scholar’s execution. He wanted to see justice done, or so he has said.”

“Wanted to see if he could successfully eliminate the new rival, more like,” Nameer reflected as he scratched his chin thoughtfully. Clearly, he was calculating his assets and advantages. He turned to Verdu. “This is the best chance you will have for a while. We should make the most of it.”

“I think I understand you,” Verdu said. “I think we need to interrupt the emperor’s meeting. Bateem, is it possible to get Tercius to come to the palace without anyone—especially his handlers—knowing about it?”

“I won’t be staying in
this
room anymore. Can you find me another secure room? And give my apologies to whoever cleans up.”

“Of course, Highness; I will take care of everything,” Bateem said as he left.

Verdu walked to the first dead resistance fighter outside his door and flipped the body over with his good foot as he teetered on his braced leg. He started to lean over to grab a knife wedged in the corpse’s waistband, but he felt the stitches across his chest strain. He sucked in air through his teeth as he straightened up. “A little help, please,” he said.

Chenda pulled up the knife, a traditional Tugrulian dagger with a double point like the forked tongue of a snake. It was just the same as the knife that had killed her first husband, Edison. She shuddered as she handed it to Verdu. “How are you going to take on this Ha-Ting? Between the bad leg and a chest full of sutures, not to mention that you are weak from leaving a blood trail all through the palace, how much of a fight do you think you can put up? I could help you—”

“
No!
” Verdu and Nameer shouted at her at the same time. Verdu put a hand on each of her shoulders. “It cannot be anyone but me. I kill Ha-Ting, it’s a battle for succession. Anyone else lays a finger on him, it’s murder and treason. You especially need to stay clear. Don’t be tempted to help me in any way. When the time comes, I will find the strength to do what must be done. This is a coup, and a very particular one at that. We must do this carefully and properly. Tradition must be followed, or it will all fall apart.”

“And we need to get on with it before our chance is lost,” Nameer said. “Let’s go.”

The three of them set out for the emperor’s receiving room, Nameer in the lead, as he knew the least observable routes to the emperor’s apartments; Verdu in the middle, the most protected position; and Chenda at the rear. She used all of her senses to help them travel without finding a fight. More than once she quietly hissed for them to stop and waved them into the shadows moments before a squad of guards hustled past at the next intersection ahead of them. Occasionally, a servant would flee down the hall, and Chenda would neatly stand behind Verdu’s larger frame, where the frightened passerby took no notice of her. It only took a few minutes to travel through the labyrinth of halls and galleries, but the journey felt a lot longer. Chenda sighed in relief as Nameer waved them to a halt in an ornate corridor, the far end of which was guarded by two imperial soldiers.

Verdu was out of breath and very pale. Chenda mopped his forehead with a scrap of cloth she had taken from his room. “Nameer, he’s not up for this. Look at him,” Chenda whispered.

“He must, and now is the time,” Nameer countered.

Chenda growled at him, “He’s been roughed up by an assassin, and you want him to step up and lead your coup? Now? If you leave it to me, I can clear the room of life from here.”

“No!” Verdu and Nameer said as one.

“Honestly, woman,” Verdu wheezed. “This has to be done in the right way. It must be me. In person. Me. I can imagine this seems daft to you.” He clutched her hand and squeezed it. “I can see you want to protect me, but I must follow the traditions of our people.
Our
people, yours and mine. Even if you think I am going to lose in there, I beg of you—I insist—do not step in for any reason. I may not be my strongest, but I still have my wits.”

Chenda opened her mouth to protest, but Verdu put a finger to her lips, cutting off her rebuttal. “I insist.”

She pouted and gave a curt nod. Despite her ire at the lunacy of Verdu doing anything other than resting on a pillow in his current state, she understood. Only months before, weak with grief, she had embarked on a foolish journey based on nothing more than the cryptic instructions of her late husband. Her will to make the trip had carried her, and Candice, too, onto the
Brofman
and into harm’s way. It had gotten her more than she had even dreamed possible: gifts from the gods, true friends, a broader understanding of the ways of the world, and love. These next few steps would be nothing less for Verdu. She understood and would do as he asked, but she was not happy about it.

“And the guards?” she asked.

“They will not stop us from delivering the emperor’s most hated enemy to his presence,” Nameer said as he grabbed Chenda by the elbow. “Ready to play along?”

“You better make this count,” she said as Verdu used the scrap of cloth to loosely tie Chenda’s hands together, making her look the part of a captive.

Verdu now took the lead as Nameer dragged Chenda along. She did her best to look defeated. The guards raised their eyebrows as Verdu passed by them, but did not move.

The arguing from within, carried on the breeze drifting in from the open balcony, could be heard before any of the party could see either the emperor or Ha-Ting. The two stood in the lavishly decorated receiving room, mere inches apart, each showering the other with insults.

“Ha-Ting! You show your ignorance and you miss the point!” the emperor yelled at the wiry man in front of him.

“The point, Your Majesty, was to eliminate the threat.” Ha-Ting’s sallow cheeks flushed as he shouted back at the emperor. His hands shook as the rage rolled off him in waves. “It seems that you
and
the fools from the Hierarchy were unable to accomplish the simple task of separating a head from a neck. Someone had to step in.”

“I have yet to die and make
you
emperor. You overstep your bounds,” the emperor growled, and cuffed Ha-Ting across the cheek.

At that point, Nameer cleared his throat to announce his presence, slipping into the role of an obsequious councillor. “I am sorry to interrupt, Majesty, but I thought you would be pleased to receive the gift that Prince Kotal Verdu has brought you.”

The arguing men turned to look. “The witch!” exclaimed the emperor. He pushed Ha-Ting aside to fully take in what he was seeing.

“You!” Ha-Ting shouted, glaring at Verdu. He turned back to the emperor. “How can you—”

“Silence!” the emperor shouted. “I will not be interrupted in this.” He stepped away from the fuming Ha-Ting and looked at Chenda. Nameer shoved her forward and onto her knees. An element of decorum returned to the emperor, who addressed Nameer. “She seems smaller than I thought.” He circled around her, taking her in from all sides. “And the powers she supposedly possesses?”

“She cannot harm you, not with her hands bound,” Nameer lied. “That is her weakness. She came to Prince Kotal Verdu, thinking him still loyal to her, but she did not know that Prince Verdu now serves only himself and his bid for the succession. He bound her hands and brought her to you, a gift and a show of good faith.”

Chenda kept her eyes turned to the carpet, not wanting to give the game away. In that position, she did not see the blow coming. It was all she could do to hold on to her power as the pain of the emperor’s balled fist rattled her jaw.

Delighted that his first strike caused no retaliation, he sneered to Verdu, “Well, let’s not be overconfident then. If her power comes through her hands, let us call for a guard and have her hands cut off.”

“Allow me,” said Verdu. He pulled the Tugrulian knife from his belt and leaned over Chenda and pulled her bound hands out as if to make the cut, but then he straightened and turned to Ha-Ting. He sniffed disapprovingly at the prince and said, “See what I am doing here? I’m doing what must be done. Personally. That’s what one with the soul of an
emperor
does. A strong arm and a stronger will—that is what makes a prince of the blood. Cowards who bribe others to do the dirty work of succession—what kind of leader will that make? I hope I never live to see the day when a coward such as yourself sits atop the throne of Tugrulia. Coward. That’s you. Not fit to be emperor.”

He turned his back on Ha-Ting, and tugged Chenda’s wrists.

Ha-Ting, seeing his dishonor dangling exposed in the room, leaped at the bait that Verdu had laid. Hands outstretched and reaching for Verdu’s neck, he attacked. Verdu, with complete ease and economy of movement, lifted the knife from Chenda’s outstretched wrists and rested it on his left shoulder. Ha-Ting’s bodyweight did the rest as the flying tackle knocked Verdu facedown on the floor. The butt of the knife, perfectly positioned over Verdu’s shoulder, struck the floor, and the blade stabbed upward as the two men hit the ground. The knife slid past Verdu and into Ha-Ting’s larynx. He screamed, or at least tried to, in pain and surprise. Only a gurgle escaped him as he rolled to the side, flailing his arms. Verdu, flat on his stomach, struggled to get up.

Nameer tapped Chenda on the shoulder, cautioning her to stay still. Chenda watched as Verdu finally rocked onto his side and reached for the knife, which he grasped firmly in his hand. “Long live the emperor,” Verdu said as he pushed the knife deeper into the throat of Ha-Ting. A soft crack announced that Verdu had hit bone and severed the spine. The stillness of death followed.

“
No!
” the emperor shouted. “No, I forbid it!
You
will not be emperor. Never!”

He too ran at Verdu, who was still lying on the ground. Chenda called on her will and gathered wind. She pushed the emperor back before he could land a kick to Verdu’s ribs. Wiggling her hands out of the loose bindings, she got to her feet and stood between the stunned emperor and Verdu. Blood was starting to seep through his shirt where many of his sutures had been torn in the fall.