by Peter David
If, on the other hand, he became indebted to me in some fashion, why … that would be the greatest suffering that could possibly be inflicted upon him. Better still, that annoying sense of nobility to which he aspired would hold him in its iron grip, affecting all his subsequent dealings with me.
And so, reasoning that the truth would be of benefit to me, I said, “I firmly believe, Highness, that Morningstar …” I paused, watching with delicious pleasure as Morningstar involuntarily trembled in anticipation of the worst. ” … had no idea whatsoever of what Sir Coreolis was up to.”
Mace’s head snapped around so fast that I’m surprised it didn’t fall off. He gaped at me, and I continued, sounding infinitely reasonable, “I am familiar with Morningstar’s character, sire. I simply do not believe that he would have cooperated with such an endeavor. It would not be honorable.”
“I would have thought the same of Coreolis,” replied the king. It seemed as if he was challenging me. Mace’s apprehension was growing.
Utterly calmly, I said, “But I never trusted Coreolis, sire. You are asking me my opinion. I never would have spoken against Coreolis, of course, because it was not my place to do so. But since you ask what I think of Morningstar now, I say again: I think him trustworthy.” I then bowed slightly. “Of course, it is Your Highness’s opinion that holds sway, not mine.”
Slowly he nodded and then turned his thoughtful attention back to Morningstar. “Squire … since the noble Apropos, to whom I owe so much, has vouched for you … consider your position safe.”
“Although,” I suddenly said, as if thinking out loud, “it is a pity that Morningstar was not able to perceive that duplicity. After all, of all of us, he spent the most time in Coreolis’s company.”
“A good point,” said the king. “Morningstar … once you are reassigned, you will continue your term as squire for an additional year beyond the others. Obviously your senses require a bit more honing.”
Morningstar choked slightly, but he knew there was nothing he could possibly do. He knew, in fact, that he had got off extremely lightly, considering that the king could have—purely based upon suspicions—sent his head rolling across the ground with a word.
He made a point of avoiding me much of that evening, but as we prepared to set out for Isteria the following morning, Mace finally screwed his courage—not to mention pride, and humility—to the wall and approached me.
“Apropos, I … don’t know what to say,” he said.
“That’s never stopped you before.”
For a moment his face darkened, but then he fought the annoyance back as he remembered who he was talking to and why he was doing the talking. “All right … I … suppose I deserved that,” he said, his voice falling into that musical up-and-down manner he had. “You’ve … you’ve done me a service, there’s no denying that. I’m … wondering why …”
“As I wondered, when you ‘warned’ me of the princess. Do you know what I’ve discovered in all of this, Morningstar? That sometimes a little wonderment can be a good thing.”
He looked at me uncertainly, then glanced around as if to make sure that we were unobserved. Then he leaned in closely and said in a low voice, “What do you want?”
“Want?”
“You heard me.”
“Yes, but I don’t understand you.”
He sighed. “After all that has passed between us, Apropos, don’t think for a moment that I don’t know you want something.”
I considered a moment, and then said, “Knowledge.”
“Knowledge?” He couldn’t have been more puzzled. “What do you want knowledge of?”
“Not knowledge for me. Knowledge for you. The knowledge that I held your balls in my hand … and didn’t squeeze the last bit of juice out of them. Keep that knowledge with you, Mace. Let it warm you to sleep at night and awaken you in the morning.” I smiled and turned away, not even bothering to see the expression on his face. Whatever it was in reality most likely paled compared to what I was imagining.
We set out for Isteria, and quite the little procession it was. For the king made certain that I rode as near to him as possible, Entipy at my side (or I at hers, depending how you look at it). Every so often I would glance back at the knights and retainers who rode behind us, and it seemed to me that they were always looking at me with reverence, or respect, or just plain terror. I couldn’t entirely say that I blamed them. My lowly background was no secret. The thought that one such as I could rise to a position where I was being accorded respect by no less a personage than the king himself was enough to throw their entire worldview into a positive tizzy. Who knew what might happen as a result of my elevated stature? Could it be that … that the poor would come to be regarded as something other than a means of providing luxuries for the rich? Could it be that the downtrodden would actually be seen as worthy of help, rather than something simply provided for the amusement and service of those at much higher stations? I could snap the link of the entire chain of society.
And they had to be nice to me. Not only because of the way the king seemed to regard me, but also because of the princess. Her fondness for me was rapidly becoming evident to all. She certainly made no effort to hide it. She would ride near me and constantly be bending my ear. Although I had to admit that her conversation was most entertaining, since much of it consisted of making a series of cutting remarks about not only everyone who was riding with us, but the entirety of the king’s court, whom she remembered very unfondly from the time that she was in residence there. There seemed to be no one who was spared the fierceness of her tongue, and her insults were gloriously scathing.
“Ah, good Sir Austin. A man who is to intelligence what flatulence is to dinner conversation.” “If my well-being depended on the good right arm of Sir DeBeres, I’d be better off riding naked through the streets of Isteria shouting, ‘Free tea biscuits for the first ten customers.’ ” And so on.
The fact that she was as highborn as those she held in contempt didn’t seem to enter into it. She certainly didn’t seem to feel that she was one of them, and heaven knows she certainly didn’t act like it. In a way, it almost felt as if we were developing a quietly subversive relationship.
Nevertheless, my inbred distrust still ran deep. As entertaining as she was, I still could not erase from my mind our earlier time together when she had seemed on the border between insane and completely insane. The notion that she had transferred her fixation on Tacit over to me didn’t necessarily put me at ease. After all, she could in turn shift it to someone else, and where, then, would that leave me? Furthermore, she was, at the end of the day, still a princess, while I was … what I was. Every time I had lost sight of my background and my goals, it had gone badly for me. There was no reason to assume that if I let down my guard with Entipy, it would go any differently. Indeed, there were damned good reasons to think that it would play out just the same.
Whenever we stopped to rest, Morningstar or one of his associates would come by and endeavor to engage me in chat. Their reasons couldn’t have been more obvious: They were trying to get on my good side, concerned that I might wind up someone of power who could do them harm. I was consistently cordial to all of them, which was more than I needed to be, but that was all. They came away from time with me knowing no more about my mind than they knew when they first approached, which is how I preferred it to be.
We made camp when night fell and I went to sleep convinced that I’d be awoken by the screeching of the Harpers or some new disaster descending upon us. Instead the only thing that happened was a very vivid dream reliving the unicorn stampede. Except this time Entipy and I were being pursued through the halls of the great castle. The walls were shuddering from the pounding hooves, bricks tumbling all around us, and the screeching of the unicorns was so deafening that I thought my head would explode. There was a window just ahead of us, and standing next to it was Sharee, her arms folded, her expression self-satisfied. When she spoke, no words emerged from her
mouth, but I could hear them in my head. The unicorns have spoken. A pity you don’t speak unicorn, she said, and laughed, and then we were out the window and the courtyard was hurtling up toward us.
*
I awoke, bathed in sweat. It was not yet sunrise, but I did not go back to sleep. Instead I just sat there, clutching my knees tightly to my chest until dawn.
Runners had been sent on ahead to inform the castle of our arrival, and they had obviously done their jobs. The place was alive with celebration. I regarded the entire thing in a rather sour way, feeling that the celebrants had somewhat lost sight of reality. This entire business had, after all, begun as the routine dispatching of a group of knights to bring home a princess so obnoxious that her parents hadn’t seen her in years. All the knights and retainers save for one had ended up dead, and the return of the princess had turned into a winter-long endeavor in which she had repeatedly almost been killed … mostly because of dangers that arose as a result of her own big mouth. I didn’t exactly consider it knighthood’s finest hour.
But you certainly couldn’t have discerned that from the greeting we were receiving. The streets were lined with people, rose petals being strewn in our path. People were chanting and dancing and singing the praises of the king, and the princess, and most of all—believe it or not—me.
Me.
Apropos of Nothing.
It was the mummers, dressed in oversized puppets, emerging from within the castle walls to meet us and marching alongside us, who truly made me understand just what it was that everyone was getting so worked up about. The mummers were outfitted to look like—so help me—phoenixes. And on the backs of these majestic fake birds rode small dolls that were supposed to represent me. I realized that what I was seeing was a street-level theatrical representation of the tapestry that hung in the great court.
They were associating me with that woven hero. The one who was supposed to be a being of legend, who would come to Isteria, end up ruling over all, and unite Isteria and all the surrounding lands—as Queen Beatrice had said—in a golden age of reason and enlightenment. These people believed themselves alive at the time of a great, fulfilled prophecy.
They thought I was the great hero, promised them through the vision of a farweaver. Why not? The tales of my riding the phoenix had preceded us. Plus my other escapades, which I had seen as nothing more than desperate attempts to stay alive, were being transformed into great acts of bravery, determination, and whatever other positive view people chose to give them.
Only I knew the truth. Only I knew that the real hero, the “anointed one,” the one glimpsed by some unknown farweaver years agone, was actually lying entombed back at the edge of the Outer Lawless regions, with so many holes in him that—were he still breathing—he could whistle in five different keys simultaneously.
It seemed to me that, no matter what endeavor I was involved in, I was to be something of a sham.
But as women looked up at me, their eyes wide, their bosoms heaving …
And as knights who had had little patience for me shouted my praises, whether out of appreciation for who I was or stinking fear of what I might become …
As all of that was happening, I started to think …
You know … damn … I did accomplish a hell of a lot, did I not? I mean, who would have given two sovs for our chances, considering what we’d been through? A squire, lame of leg, surviving an attack of the Harpers … overcoming a phoenix and flying it (badly, but still … ) … standing up for the princess’s honor in a tavern … obtaining the money to summon help through the auspices of the dreaded Warlord Shank, all without his knowing … outrunning unicorns in full gallop … battling a known outlaw and surviving long enough for reinforcements to show up … preserving the freedom of the king, no less, through quick thinking and a plan that seemed ludicrous at one time but now was being touted as positively inspired, a work of brilliance …
It was … well … maybe not epic. But damned close.
Stop it. You’re letting yourself believe that which they say about you. That way lies the greatest danger of all.
It was good advice that I was giving to myself. Nevertheless, it all still felt very tempting. Very … very tempting …
I had not seen much of Entipy since we’d arrived back in Isteria, which I’d considered a good thing. Heaven knew there were enough others. I was the hero of the moment, the fascination that took people out of their mundane lives and thrust them into something extraordinary. I was given new chambers and, of course, knew them instantly: They had belonged to Sir Umbrage. Yet all of his belongings had already been removed, as if he’d never existed. The problem was that I didn’t have all that many belongings. At least … I didn’t before I’d moved into the room.
It was one of the most disconcerting moments of my life. When I’d been brought to my new rooms, I went straight for the only thing of interest to me at that moment: the bed. I flopped down upon it. It was the most majestic, the most glorious piece of furniture I had ever experienced. After years of beds composed of straw, or wafer-thin mats, here was bedding that I almost sank into. I had never known that slumber could be had on anything approaching such terms of comfort. I did not even bother to undress; I simply closed my eyes and let years’ worth of collective exhaustion overwhelm me. For once, my slumber was dreamless.
When I awoke, hours and hours later, I suffered from that usual disorientation one feels when waking up somewhere new. It was not helped by the fact that the room was suddenly crammed with belongings that belonged to someone else. Wardrobes were there, doors open, and richly designed finery hung within. Long, tapering candles were flickering on tables nearby. A large plate of fruit was sitting on a table, neither of which had been there before.
“What the hell … ?” I muttered.
I don’t know how long I lay there, and then the door to the chamber creaked open. I saw the face of Queen Bea poke around it.
“I didn’t do it!” I immediately said. I struggled to get out of the bed, but had sunk so far into it that my feet were practically above my head. “I didn’t take any of these things! I don’t know whose they are—!”
The queen laughed lightly at that as she opened the door fully and stepped into the room. “My, my … for one who has survived as many dangers and disasters as you … you tend to panic rather easily, squire.”
“I’m sorry … I …” I was still utterly befuddled.
“No one is going to make accusations against you, Apropos, for these things are indeed yours. Think of them as tokens of gratitude from a grateful mother and father … who just so happen to be royalty.”
I looked around as if seeing the finery for the first time. I had never had but two or three items of wearable clothing at any given period of my life. All of this … I didn’t even know where to begin to figure how I would wear it all. “You could clothe a family of ten with all this,” I said.
Once more she laughed. “I suppose you could at that. And if you’re so inclined to do that, it’s your prerogative. They’re your possessions, after all. Now … I’ve been checking on you about every hour or so, and you were beginning to worry me. I was afraid you were going to sleep right through the banquet.”
“Banquet?” I echoed.
“Yes. To celebrate your safe return of the princess. Surely you must have expected that you would be feted.”
“With all respect, Highness, I’ve been spending too much of the past months being concerned about my life being forfeited to think about being feted.”
“That’s understandable,” she said. She was kind enough to walk over to the bed and extend a hand. Never too proud to accept assistance, I grasped it and allowed her to help haul me to my feet. “Now … a warm bath will be drawn for you …”
“A what?” I couldn’t even conceive of such a thing. The most I’d ever had was cold water to splash on myself from a basin.
“A warm bath,” she said patiently. “A hairstylist to clean you up, I think; t
he beard is very becoming, but you’ll likely want to get that trimmed.” She looked at me critically, assessing. “I might as well just get everyone possible up here to get you presentable. The banquet is, after all, in your honor. Oh … and this is from me …”
She stepped toward me and kissed me on either cheek, and then squeezed my hands fervently. “Thank you,” she said, and it looked like she was doing everything she could not to cry. “Thank you … for bringing her back to me. Thank you for not letting me spend the rest of my life dwelling on the mistakes I’ve made, or thinking about how I should have made more of an effort to be a good mother.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
She did not let go of my hands as she said to me, “And as for what happened between you and Entipy, well … given the circumstances … it’s understandable. I want you to know that neither the king or I is upset … well … he was a little, but I calmed him.”
“Ah,” I said, not sure precisely what she was talking about.
“After all, no one knows better than I that Entipy can be quite a handful.”
“Well, she is a princess,” I said diplomatically.
“Yes, but even taking that into account, she can be … well … somewhat unpredictable. And she’s quite excellent at hiding what she truly is.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “She gets that from her father, I suppose.”
“Is that the king’s secret of success? Misperception?”
“The king. Yes … the king,” and she smiled. “Very much … more than you would think, actually. Well,” and she rubbed her hands briskly together, “let us attend to matters, Apropos.”
And attend she did. Minutes after she departed, the various groomers, bathers, handlers, and such trooped in and proceeded to undertake the laborious task of transforming me into something “presentable,” whatever that might be.
I found out in short order.
The bath was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Stripped naked as the day I was spat out into the world, I almost leaped out when they started pouring water into the tub. The steward looked properly startled by my reaction.
