The Gospel According to Verdu (a Steampunk Novel) (The Brofman Series) (38 page)

“Verdu foresees, and rightly so, that this will be a hard pill for the current religious hierarchy and various powerful factions to swallow. Furthermore, the resistance will need assurances that change is coming. The line to walk will be a narrow one. Any misstep could plunge Tugrulia into civil war. Most specifically, Verdu will be a constant target for assassination.”

A murmur of concern worked through the group.

“It became clear to Verdu that a traditional solution to this problem might help solve it: to literally marry the two factions together as if they were two powerful houses. He, a legitimate heir in the familial line of Tugrulian emperors, the bridegroom . . .” Her voice trailed off. She stood unwilling to look up at her friends.

Fenimore caught on first. “And you, the Pramuc, being the bride.” Fenimore’s voice was like a whisper from the grave. He knew Verdu so well. This solution was both selfish and wildly generous. He despised the idea of Chenda becoming the wife of another, especially of his best friend. He rejected the thought that he and Verdu were interchangeable when it came to Chenda.

“That’s out of the question!” Candice exclaimed over Fenimore’s anguish. “You’re already married—to Fenimore, if you need reminding.”

“Be kind, Candice,” Chenda said. “Verdu didn’t know I was already married when he proposed.”

“Depends on how you look at it, I guess,” Captain Endicott said.

“Max, you know they are married.
You
married them!” Candice harrumphed.

“Yes, but that was a wedding ceremony on an airship. Where exactly does one file the papers for such a thing? I can argue they are married in Kite’s Republic, but I don’t know if that’s going to be recognized here, and—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Chenda said, cutting off all argument. She put her hand into Verdu’s and took up Fenimore’s as well. She looked into Fenimore’s eyes. “We know we are man and wife. I doubt that even death could part us.”

“Yes, Candice, and this involves you directly, so please set aside your ire for the moment and participate,” Chenda said. Candice crossed her arms and harrumphed again, but said no more.

“We, the Companions, the ones who stood together in the Dia Orella, can’t be apart,” Verdu said. “You’ve all felt it, right? Being apart was . . . wrong somehow.”

Fenimore nodded his head, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Verdu. “I did; it was . . . bad.” The memory of the alien feelings of genuine hate, and the violence and overwhelming focus on “the mission” that had filled him in his time apart from Chenda–all of it turned his stomach. He thought about his manufactured connection to Ahy-Me, and knew he wanted her to be close, too, forever. He glanced her way and saw her eyes following every movement of Verdu’s.
Our webs are so tangled
, he thought to himself.

Candice said, “It was bad, and then less so, and then bad again on and off.” She slouched into Captain Endicott’s side. “Max made it better, but alone in the cell, well, there are no words.”

“Pranav Erato explained our bonds –– how we are all connected by the gods, and what you say matches his explanations. But what does this mean? Why are we talking about this?” Fenimore asked.

“I must stay here in Tugrulia.” Verdu said. “I want Chenda to stay with me. She will want you, Fenimore, to stay as well—and you will. I know it.” He turned to Candice. “You will have to stay.”

“Not without me, she ain’t!” Captain Endicott said. He clutched Candice around the shoulders as if she were a doll and he an oversized child not wanting to put his toy down.

“
Stay?
I don’t want to stay! I want to go home. I want to go back to the university, and see Max on weekends and go back to how things were! I need dusty books and cafeteria food! I want my office!” She came to the end of her rant, panting with the fervor of it. Even as she was saying the words, though, she knew the folly of trying to wind the clock backward. Those were the things she used to want; now, her soul was being pulled in other directions.

“Well, there it is,” Fenimore said.

They all stood silently for a minute or two until Bateem entered the room. “Pardon me,” he said politely to the group. Try as he might to focus on the job at hand, his eyes could not help but take in the shining airship floating just beyond the railing. He wanted to touch it, to step onto its glistening deck. His body took a step toward the ship before his mind could stop his feet. He shook himself and turned his attention to Verdu.

“Your kinsman is here, Highness, and awaits you in the gardens, with Pranav Erato.”

“Thank you, Bateem. Did anyone see Tercius? Does anyone know he is here?”

“I believe so. He was seen by a few lesser clerks on the way from the kitchens to the garden, and of the servants along the way, many will recognize him. It will not be long before word reaches the ears of those who would champion a fool emperor and know how to use him as their puppet. I urge you to hurry, Highness, and do what must be done.”

Verdu surveyed the expressions of those gathered around him. Most did not know
what
must be done
by him. Chenda did, and looked at him with sorrow.

“I won’t be long,” he said. “Bateem, please make my guests feel at home.”

“Of course,” Bateem said. “Welcome to the imperial palace. Your wish is my command, as my master bids you make yourselves at home.

The butterflies had settled all over Tercius. His hair looked like a fluttering wig, and the boy sat enthralled as he watched the delicate creatures crawl on his arms and tickle over his crossed knees.

“They really like me!” he whispered to Pranav Erato.

The mystic did not feel the need to tell the boy that what the insects really liked was the fruit juice that he had smeared on him as they entered the walled garden. There was nothing to be gained by breaking the boy’s illusions. Pranav Erato had genuinely begun to care for the young prince, and his heart sank when he saw Verdu stalking through the junglelike plantings toward the lad.

Pranav Erato casually waved to Verdu, exposing his approach. “Greetings, Prince Kotal Verdu. May I introduce you to the heir to the Tugrulian throne, Prince Tercius.”

The young man flinched, and most of the butterflies took to the air and bobbed away. “Aw! They’re gone! Can you make them come back?”

“Just give them time,” Pranav Erato said. Turning to Verdu, he motioned him to sit. “Don’t do it,” he commanded.

“You know I must,” Verdu replied, eyeing the youngster, who was trying to goad a butterfly to the end of his finger. The annoyed insect fluttered off to join its mates on a dish of overripe bananas. The prince and the mystic interested Tercius not in the least. They stepped away from him and continued their conversation.

“He is no threat. Merely an obstacle,” the pranav said. “He doesn’t
want
to be emperor. Already you can see it, yes? How can you show the Tugrulians that you are a new kind of emperor if you destroy the weakest of your brethren? It will poison your reign.” The pranav practically pleaded with Verdu. “There is a better way, I think. Let him help you.”

“Explain,” Verdu demanded, and the mystic obliged.

Ollim left the palace at midday. He wanted to return to his family at the first opportunity. Chenda invited him to stay, to see for himself what would happen next, but Ollim refused, saying, “Bad news will find me, good news will keep. Rest assured, word will reach me among my people. There are no secrets among the Mae-Lyn.” Chenda wished him well, thanked him and his family for all of their help, and promised to see him again.

Bateem arranged for food and drink to be brought to the group, and saw to it that every comfort was provided. Chenda made herself at home in a stack of fluffy cushions and bade Fenimore to stay by her side. As Candice and the captain settled into a nearby nest of cushions and carpets, Chenda began a whispered conversation with Fenimore.

“I’m sorry I got you and the rest mixed up in all this. I was a foolish girl when I started. Just imagine, I could be back in Kite’s Republic right now, silly and rich. Tugrulia would have gone on without Verdu, and you two would be working side by side on the
Brofman
. I’ve ruined your lives.”

Fenimore shook his head and threw an arm around Chenda’s shoulders. “I think you would have been sad if you had not sought out the
Brofman
. Rich silly and sad—that would have been at best. More likely, the Tugrulians would have killed you for those stones your husband had. You were destined to come here; I was destined to fall in love with you. I won’t pine for what was, because, honestly, I can’t remember too clearly what my life was like before you came into it.”

He kissed the top of her head. “What scares me is what fate calls for you next. I find myself cursing the gods for being such fools. We are but their playthings, and I hate living that way. I think you, more than most, are cheated by their whims. Are they cruel? Do they not know the limits of the human heart? How much can they ask of you before there is nothing left?”

“Don’t say that,” she said, laying her head on his chest. “I tell you what I have come to think: The gods need us as much as we need them. We are reflections of them, but they don’t know how limited we are. We believe in them, and they exist. We change them with our faith, make them stronger, and in return, they bless us. Do you feel that? Does it seem true to you when I say it?”

Fenimore shrugged. “In matters of the gods, I will take your word for it. That’s your world, darling. You would know better than I.”

Sleepily, feeling more relaxed than she had been in weeks, she said, “I would trade all of them just to be alone with you calling me ‘darling.’”

She would have paid any price to drift off to sleep in Fenimore’s arms, but Verdu, gone most of the afternoon, walked into the room with Pranav Erato.
Perhaps it is just as well
, she thought
. There was a time that when I closed my eyes with one, I awoke with the other. The gods have a rotten sense of humor.

“We have a coronation to attend,” Verdu said with a half smile. “It starts in less than two hours, so we need to dress.”

Chenda looked him over; he seemed at peace. “What happened with Tercius?”

“We had a lovely chat. He’s not thrilled about it, but he is going to the coronation,” Pranav Erato said with a twinkle in his eye. “He looks forward to a long life of butterfly chasing in the emperor’s garden.”

“What? Will he be emperor then? Was all of this for nothing?” Chenda asked.

“Of course not,” Verdu said. Before he could explain, a gaggle of women came into the room and began unloading baskets of clothing, jewels, shoes, and veils. They shooed the men, politely, toward the door, but Verdu held up a hand. “It’s all going to be fine. The pranav is a clever and holy man. He has guided me to a wonderful alternative.”

Verdu gestured to the Tugrulian women and spoke to his friends, “The women have whatever you may need to wash and dress. Captain, if you would please retire to your ship until the ceremony—the ladies will want some privacy, I think.”

“No way!” said Candice. “Have you forgotten that I was sentenced to a beheading? I’m not going back to a dungeon. I won’t be without Max!” She grasped at Captain Endicott’s arm tightly enough to make the big man wince.

“Do not trouble yourself. By Tugrulian tradition, all executions are suspended until the next emperor is seated. Furthermore, I have ordered you to remain free until the crowning of the next emperor,” Verdu said.

“Which will be you, right?” she said.

“Probably,” said Pranav Erato. “We’re confident this will all work out.”

“The man wants me to stake my life on
probably
,” Candice muttered to herself.

“I’m staying,” pronounced Captain Endicott.

“As you wish,” Verdu said as he hustled out of the room. “I’m going back to keep Tercius company. We will meet again in the great hall half an hour before sunset. It will all be taken care of soon.”

Chenda watched as he left, and turned her eyes to Fenimore. “If you think you’re going out of my sight, you are
so
mistaken,” she said.

Fenimore nodded and sat down on a cushion as women surrounded his wife to display clothing options. A servant came through with a silver tray piled high with steaming towels that smelled of tangy herbs. Chenda took one and rubbed at her tired eyes, trying to recall when she slept last.

“Pranav,” she called, “may I have a moment?”

The thin man ambled his way to Chenda’s side. They greeted each other with the traditional blessing, then hugs and tender smiles. She had missed him. It troubled her that she had not known of his fate after their last parting. They held hands and shared their thoughts.

You missed me!
his thoughts came to her in a teasing tone.

I did, of course I did
, she answered sweetly.
There are so many questions I have, and I hardly know where to begin. I have learned so much. My power—I have practiced with it, and I feel I have come close to mastering it, but what I discover about myself just brings more questions. I think you may have some answers.

I will help if I can, you know that
, he said.

She pulled her collar away from her neck and showed some of the half-faded bruises on her shoulder, bruises that had remained unchanged for months.
I am not healing
,
she thought to him. She rubbed her hair.
My hair won’t grow. Why?

Ah, you noticed. Well, it really hasn’t stopped, it’s just very, veeeeerrrrry slow. Eventually you will see a change. Give it two or three years.

“Years!” Chenda shouted. She grabbed at his hand.
What do you mean, years?

I have a little experience in this, so let me explain. The gods don’t think of time like you and I do. They have eternity, and if they’re going to invest their attention in a person, such as you or me—people they want to be able to count on, people they want to be able to do things for them—they make it so they will be around for a bit longer than average.