The Hidden Land (11 page)

“Benjamin,” he breathed, “is that crown magic?”

“Certainly not,” said Benjamin. “Hush.”

Ted was a little comforted.

Fence stopped before the stage and looked up at Ted. The crowd hushed as swiftly as if it had heard Benjamin. Benjamin and Randolph moved a little backward, and Ted felt suddenly idiotic, standing all by himself so high above them all. He hated looking down at Fence.

“Edward Fairchild,” said Fence. “I am about to confer upon you the powers, privileges, and obligations of Prince of the Enchanted Forest, Lord of the Desert’s Edge, Friend to the Unicorns, and King of the Hidden Land. Are you willing to be so invested?”

When Fence put it that way, Ted was not at all willing. What was the Hidden Land, anyway? It must be the Secret Country, but then why didn’t they say so? Fence stood looking at him, unmoved, but he heard Benjamin make an impatient noise behind him, and gave up.

“I am willing,” he said.

“Do you solemnly swear, in the tradition of John, by the mercy granted to Shan, in accordance with the laws of the Hidden Land and the dictates of Chryse, to honor and protect the people in your power; to deal lightly in the exercise of your privileges and straitly in the fulfillment of your obligations; to reward valor with honor, service with service, oath-breaking with vengeance?”

Ted was petrified. He did not know what he was doing. What tradition, what mercy, what laws and dictates? Oh, God, he thought, we’ve got to find the real Edward quick. Fence’s steady gaze still held him, more daunting than any sign of impatience or bewilderment.

“I do so swear,” he said.

Fence turned his back on him and addressed the crowd. “If any wight in this gathering knoweth of any impediment to this coronation, let him speak now or be forever silent.”

No one said a word. Fence gave them a good long time, during which the sweat ran down Ted’s neck and he refrained from fidgeting.

Fence faced Ted again. “My lord Regent,” he said to Randolph, “knowest thou of any impediment to my performing this act?”

“My lord, thou art suited to’t,” said Randolph.

Fence nodded to Ted, who knelt down and began to shake.

“In the names of John and Chryse, I call thee King,” Fence said, and set the crown on Ted’s head. It was heavy, and too large. Fence tilted it back a little. “Move gently,” he breathed. Ted did not dare to nod, but he raised his eyes to Fence and tried to look intelligent. Fence held out his hands to Ted, who stared for a moment and then took them between his sweaty ones. Fence’s were like iron.

“I, Fence, sorcerer, of no land, within the confines of my judgment and the needs of my knowledge, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly worship, and faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folk.”

Ted’s eyes stung and his throat clogged. Behind him Randolph’s voice said, “I, Edward, do become your liege lord.”

“I, Edward,” said Ted, wishing his name were anything else, “do become your liege lord of life and limb, and of earthly worship, and that faith and truth I receive of you, that I will requite.” Well, he thought, you’ve done it now.

Fence kissed him on the mouth. Ted did not mind that particularly, but he had a fleeting hope that everyone in the room would not do the same.

“Stand up,” said Fence, kindly. Ted did; and remembering his instructions now, he backed to the far side of the stage. Randolph knelt and swore fealty to him, with a grim emphasis on the words “faith and truth” that made Ted shiver. Randolph must have sworn the same oath to William, but his hands between Ted’s were quite steady. Saying, “that I will requite,” Ted thought of the rose garden and shivered again.

“Put thy mind at ease,” said Randolph before he kissed Ted; “all may yet be very well.” He dropped down from the front of the platform and joined the crowd.

Benjamin swore next; he seemed delighted, which was comforting, if not understandable. Then people began coming out of the crowd. Ted was glad it had not been his task to figure out what order they should come in. For some time he did not know any of them: men, women, children his age and younger. He began to wonder what Randolph had meant by “useful age.” Most of them did not kiss him. In the midst of a group of girls who looked as if they would have liked to, Ruth showed up; she was grinning so hard she looked as if she might cry any minute. She did kiss him; the crowd chuckled a little. Over her bowed and braided dark head, Ted saw Randolph set his mouth, and wished she had not done it.

After Ruth, more and more of the faces were familiar. Ted’s counselors—or William’s, really, he thought—began to show up, most of them with people Ted took to be their wives and children. Matthew, Celia, and a yellow-haired girl around Ellen’s age came together. She must be the notorious Margaret, and Matthew and Celia must be married. Ted felt like congratulating them, but restrained himself. He was getting a little light-headed. Andrew came and went, so quietly and gracefully that he was an insult, and Ted no longer found it hard to believe that he was Claudia’s brother. He looked for Claudia, but she did not come. Ellen came after Andrew, doing everything with a demure flourish that made Ted grin, and saying her oath as if she meant it, which made him nervous.

Ted wondered where Laura was. Perhaps she was not of useful age, poor kid. Or maybe it wasn’t “poor kid.” She probably wouldn’t take kindly to swearing to obey him; she would be sure that he would take advantage of it when they were back home. And it would, in fact, be tempting. Ted felt a little cold. He should not have let Ruth and Ellen swear fealty to him. No one except Fence had mentioned any titles in the oath: it was just, “I, Ruth, do become your liege man”; and he had not accepted the oaths as King of the Hidden Land, but only as Edward.

Walking very tall in his green tunic and white cloak, Ted’s cousin Patrick came up the room, knelt, and bowed his head—which, Ted noted, somebody had made him comb—and held his hand up for Ted’s.

Ted caught him by the wrists and said in an urgent whisper, “Don’t do that!”

Patrick looked up at him with the startled and irritated expression of someone who has been interrupted in the middle of a good book. “What?”

“Stand up!” hissed Ted, pulling at him. He most emphatically did not want to be Patrick’s liege lord.

Patrick got reluctantly to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Shhh! I don’t want you doing this!”

“I have to,” said Patrick, practically, just above a whisper. “It’ll look funny.”

“I guess I can favor my younger brother if I want to.”

“Younger brothers are usurpers,” said Patrick. “I don’t want to be poisoned for my own good.”

Ted was furious. “Randolph wouldn’t do that.” He was acutely aware of Randolph and Benjamin, in the front of the crowd, staring.

“It wouldn’t have to be Randolph.”

“I don’t want you swearing fealty to me,” said Ted.

“I’m swearing fealty to the King,” said Patrick, “and as long as you are King, I might as well swear it to you.”

“You are not. Weren’t you listening? Edward, that’s me. This isn’t just a king’s oath. It’s personal.”

“Uh,” said Patrick, noncommittally. “We better do something, they’re getting restless.”

“Why don’t you kneel down and mumble at me?”

“No, they have to hear the oath or it isn’t legal. Give me a minute. Okay.” Patrick knelt down again, and Ted took his hands. Patrick looked up at him. “This oath that I am about to swear,” he said in a whisper, “shall bind me only upon the business of the Secret Country, and only so long as thou art king thereof.”

“It shall bind thee only under these conditions,” said Ted, remembering what this summer had almost made him forget, how satisfactory it could be to play with Patrick.

L
AURA stood in a corner and wondered irritably how many banquet halls there were in High Castle. They had held the coronation in the same hall they had used for the Banquet of Midsummer’s Eve. This hall was not entirely as it should have been, but was at least in the right part of High Castle—the innermost, oldest building of gray stone that looked from the outside precisely as they had imagined it.

The coronation feast, however, was being laid out in a rosy twin of the room where they had their everyday meals. As far as Laura could tell, it was in the outermost pink part of the castle, on the same side and with the same orientation as the Dragon Hall. She hated the pink marble far more than it deserved; it was the most obtrusive reminder of their dilemma. The prospect of suffering it all around her for an entire banquet was almost the last straw. If Laura had thought anyone would notice, she would have skipped the coronation feast and sulked. She was not sure whom she was angry at, but she was certainly put out. She had found the ceremony awesome. Even Ellen had made not one snide remark. Laura would have been happier if she had. It was not so bad to be left out of a ceremony that Ellen made snide remarks about.

Laura pressed herself against the wall to let by two boys carrying a tray of fruit. Not only had she been left out of her own brother’s coronation, but Ellen had not returned after her part in it. People were already beginning to sit down, and no one had come to find Laura. Sitting through a formal feast with strange grown-ups would be worse than having been left out of the ceremony.

Laura backed tighter against the wall to let by someone with a pile of napkins. A fold of tapestry landed on her head. Laura ducked frantically away from it, narrowly missed upsetting a tray of cheese and its bearer, and looked up. Sure enough, the tapestry hung crooked now, showing a bare space of gray wall. Laura got away from the evidence, taking the easiest route through the crowd. This put her too far from the doors. She began a course calculated to take her to the front of the hall but on the other side, and came face-to-face with someone in a page’s costume who seemed to know her.

“My lady, the King requests your presence at his table at supper.”

Laura, after one frozen moment in which “King” still meant the old man buried up on the hill, beamed wildly and followed the page.

Ted, Ruth, and Benjamin were standing in a tight group beside the head table. Patrick and Ellen lurked around its outskirts, making loud remarks and being ignored.

“What can he say to her with all these people around?” demanded Ellen.

“I tell you I’ll not have it,” said Benjamin to Ted. His back was to Laura, but she had no trouble hearing him.

“If you didn’t mean I could sit with anyone I wanted to, why did you say it?” said Ted.

“Benjamin,” said Ruth, “I give you my word of honor—”

“Those who kiss in public,” said Benjamin with deadly calm, “need no speech in private.”

Laura’s page chose this moment, while both Ted and Ruth were gathering their indignation into speech, to say loudly, “My lord the King, the Lady Laura.”

Benjamin turned. He, Ted, Ruth, Ellen, Patrick, and a number of random strangers all looked at Laura, who would gladly have been back under the tapestry.

“Thank you,” said Ted to the page, who bowed and went away. Laura looked longingly after him. “Laurie,” said Ted, “will you sit with us at supper?”

“Sure,” said Laura, and recovered enough to do him a courtesy.

“Benjamin,” said Ted, and Laura stared. The change in his voice was frightening.

“No,” said Benjamin.

Laura took this to mean that Benjamin would not sit with them at supper, and was relieved.

“Ted,” said Ruth, in her most ordinary voice. “It was a dumb thing for me to do. Just forget supper, okay?”

“This one time,” said Ted, looking at Benjamin.

“My lord Benjamin,” said Ruth. “I crave your pardon for my behavior at the coronation. ’Twas lack of thought, not malice.”

Benjamin said, “Lack of thought in a sorcerer is like unto lack of weapon in a battle. For thy manners I pardon thee. Look well to thy thoughts.”

Ruth swept him an impressive courtesy and walked away.

“May I have the rest of them?” Ted asked Benjamin. Laura could tell from long experience that he was furious but wished not to show it.

Patrick shook his head at Ted. When Ted frowned, Patrick touched the dagger at his belt and jerked his head upward. Ted’s face cleared, and then he looked irritated.

“For heaven’s sake,” he said to Benjamin, furiously, “what difference does it make? Get Fence and Randolph and Matthew. I don’t care!”

“I’ll sit with you, Ted,” said Ellen.

Patrick turned to leave, and Laura, momentarily abandoned, panicked and trailed after him. She was not sure Ted wanted her, and Benjamin obviously didn’t. Patrick was better than strangers.

She was so busy following him that she did not realize he was leaving the hall until they were both outside it. Patrick stopped to take off his cloak, and Laura bumped into him.

“What’re you doing here?” Patrick said. “You’re supposed to be eating with Ted.”

“Benjamin doesn’t want me.”

“No, he doesn’t want Ruth.”

“Well, I’m not going back there now. I bet they didn’t save me a seat. What are you doing?”

Patrick drew her into the nearest stairwell and whispered, “Stealing our swords while Fence is eating.”

Laura suddenly found supper with Benjamin more appealing.

“You can’t get in,” she said after a moment. “Fence keeps it locked.”

“Yes, I can,” said Patrick, and he held out to her on a grubby palm Fence’s twisted silver key for the lower door, and the plain one for the upper.

“How’d you do that?”

“Bumped against him in the crowd,” said Patrick loftily. “Well,” he added, when Laura only stared, “I had to watch him for a month before I found out where he kept the key.”

Laura was irked. “Ellen and I could’ve told you.”

“And I tried three or four times before and couldn’t get it because there wasn’t enough of a crowd.”