by Peter David
So I sat there and waited.
Of the four people I most did not want to see at that moment, naturally it was the one I didn’t want to see most of all. That was probably because he was the one I’d been thinking about for the longest time.
Odclay stood a couple of steps away from me, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness. There was none of the fool about him. “I wouldn’t suggest you try to get away; there’s guards at either end of the corridor.” The door swung shut behind him.
I said nothing, did nothing. Just stared at him. Part of me wanted to launch myself at him, to knock him to the floor, to feel his throat between my hands, to feel the pulse slow and stop beneath my fingers as I choked the life out of him. I would have. I should have.
I couldn’t. I just couldn’t work up the interest. After all this time, after all that had happened, it seemed … it seemed irrelevant to me somehow.
“How did you know?” he finally asked.
I told him. Why not? What did I have to lose at that point? In as flat and steady a voice as I could, I told him everything. The circumstances of my creation, the birthmark, the reason I had come to Isteria, the involvement with Entipy, the realization … all of it.
He took it all in, nodding. He didn’t reply immediately. Instead he wandered the cell, looking around it as if he were surveying my summer home. Seeing him walk in this way, rather than capering about, I noticed for the first time that—in addition to his other deformities—he had a limp. I never would have thought that I would consider my physical impairment as having gotten off lucky.
And yet … part of me wanted him to deny it. After all, if he said he wasn’t there, that left possibilities open. Finally he stopped wandering and leaned against the wall. “That night,” he said softly, “was the worst night of my life.”
” ‘That night’?” I asked, momentarily confused. But then I understood. That night. That night with my mother. That terrible, terrible night. “Oh,” I said.
“Yes. Oh.” There was grim amusement in his voice, and no hint of the madness whatsoever. None. My thoughts flew back to Beatrice, talking about how people hid what they were. She wasn’t talking about Entipy so much as she was talking about Odclay. He continued to speak, and it almost seemed as if he wasn’t just speaking to me … but also to the distant shade of my mother. “Because when the knights insisted on my joining in … why, to them, it was the biggest joke of all, you see. A jester having a woman that knights had taken. It was the crowning giggle. I kept …”
His voice caught. He looked as if he was ready to cry. Unsurprisingly, my heart didn’t exactly go out to him. “I kept … kept whispering in your mother’s ear, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ even as I kept a grin forced on my face, and there were peels of laughter from all around. A joke. A great joke.”
“You are so full of shit,” I said coldly. “They were likely halfdrunk. They couldn’t have been too difficult to fool. You could have pretended, could have mimed it, could have joked your way out of it. Instead, you took her. Took her just like the others did, to prove to a group of men who thought you incapable that you could be as brutish as any of them. And you’re sitting here now, years later, telling me that you were reluctant. That you, of all of them, were the man of conscience who didn’t want to have anything to do with it, so that I’ll feel … what? Compassion? Sorry for you?” I snorted. “You claim that you were forced. Gods … you’d paint yourself to be as big a victim as she was. Let me say something, jester, that I’m sure very few say to you: Don’t make me laugh.”
He looked down, but he was smiling grimly. “Believe what you will, Apropos. I can’t really blame you for it.”
“Oh, good. I truly lived in fear of your blame.” I studied him for a moment, thinking about all that had happened, putting the final pieces together. “It’s been you, all along, hasn’t it.”
“I’ve already admitted to being with your moth—”
“Not that.” I waved impatiently, as if the last thing of interest to me was that which I had been dwelling on for nearly two decades. “I mean the brains behind the throne. The craft. The cunning. It hasn’t been Runcible at all, has it. It’s been you.”
He smiled at that. “Very good. I daresay you’ve inherited a good deal of my wit, along with some of my more,” and he glanced at my leg, “unfortunate attributes.”
“Shame my mother didn’t mention to me one of her ‘visitors’ had any physical deformities. Might have narrowed down for me who to look at as potential father material.”
Odclay shrugged. “It was dark. We were cloaked. And she had stars in her eyes that night, Apropos. That much I can tell you. To her … we were all giants. All of us. I …”
Then he saw how I was looking at him, and looked down. “In any event … yes, you’re correct. As a jester, I’ve always been appreciative of the ultimate joke. None of them know, none of them realize … Runcible has no knack for strategy at all. He’s neither wise nor clever … well, no more so than the average man. But it takes more than an average man to become king. It’s always been me, guiding him in private, telling him what to do. He likes the limelight; I like to run things, try and make the world a better place.”
“You’ve certainly made a mess of it so far,” I said bluntly.
“We all do the best we can, in our own way. As you yourself have just done.”
“I don’t give two damns about the world,” I said flatly. “I care about myself, and that’s all.”
“So you say,” and he eyed me skeptically. “Yet you could have said what you knew, or guessed. But you were willing to sacrifice yourself on others’ behalf. That’s heroic, Apropos. A father could not be more proud of his son.”
And that was all I could take. He was crouching near me when he said it, and that was his mistake. I lunged toward him, swinging as hard as I could. My fist caught him square in the face and I heard the satisfying crunch of a very familiar impact. He lay back on the ground, stunned.
“Enjoy your broken nose,” I said tightly. “Gods know I’ve had mine shattered enough times.”
I leaned toward him and he put up his hands reflexively to try and ward me off. I think he thought I was going to hit him again. Once upon a time, I would have. Once upon a time, I would have set upon him and strangled him with my bare hands. But now …
… now I was just tired.
Instead I satisfied myself with looking at the blood gushing from his nose. Copious flow. Good. Nice to know I still had a good punch. Then I leaned back and just stared at him.
“And that’s it?” asked Odclay after a while.
“You want more? I can accommodate you …”
“No, that’s … quite all right. Still … it’s interesting.”
The longer he stayed, the more tired I was getting of him. “In what way?” I asked, despite my better judgment.
“Your world has widened, Apropos. I don’t think you yet realize how much. Only a few years ago, if you’d known who I was, you’d likely have kept hitting me until I stopped moving, forever. Because vengeance against me was so much a part of your existence.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said.
He ignored me and went on, “But now you’re part of a much greater, much grander scheme of things. Compared to that, I’ve shrunken to insignificance.”
Slowly I shook my head. “You,” I said slowly, “are a coward who raped my mother and hides his intelligence behind fool’s motley. Take my word for it, Odclay: You were always insignificant.”
He seemed prepared to argue the point, but instead shook his head. Then he rose and went to a far corner of the cell. I watched him with little interest … until I saw him push against one particular brick. Suddenly a small section of the wall slid aside. It was not much; just enough for us to slide through, one at a time, on our bellies. I gaped at it as Odclay turned back to me and gestured for me to enter. “After you,” he said.
“You first,” I replied cautiously.
He shrugged, apparently uncaring, and crawled in ahead of me. I waited for a moment, glanced around nervously, and then followed him in.
The passageway remained narrow for a time, but in short order it widened out and I was able to stand. Odclay was already standing, and he was holding a torch in order to illuminate the area. He angled it down and I looked where he was pointing. My eyes widened. My staff was there, as were a few of my things … including the belt that held the jewels, gold, and other riches I’d garnered from Astel. He must not have looked within the pouches.
“Take them,” he said tersely. “Let’s go.”
“Go … ?”
“Hurry up. It wasn’t easy greasing the palms of the guards to ‘forget’ that I came in to see you. I think it wiser not to press our luck by acting as if we have all the time in the world.”
Deciding that it would be best to save all questions, I picked up my staff and few belongings, and headed down the corridor. The jester remained close behind me, not saying anything. Indeed, what was there to say?
The flickering torchlight seemed to indicate that the path ahead was ending. Nothing but a large wall greeted us. However, Odclay pushed against another section and this one, too, swung open. I stepped out into the night air, breathing in deeply. It was a warm night and there was no rain, which was certainly a pleasant change of pace.
“I am sorry your mother was killed,” he said softly. “You … seemed rather focused on the scars Meander carried upon him. Do you think that was her mark upon him? That he did it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I may never know. Although I’m beginning to think that knowing things can wind up being as painful as not knowing them.”
Odclay stood in the doorway, not emerging. I noticed now that there was a package sitting on the floor next to him which apparently he’d had waiting there. He picked it up and handed it to me. “In the event that it was him, and you seek vengeance … or find another blackguard who was truly responsible … I wouldn’t want you to go against him, or even out into the world, armed with nothing but your wits and a staff.”
“It’s gotten me this far,” I said.
“So has luck. But this might help you make your own luck.”
The cloth seemed to be thick, woven. I unwound it and discovered within it a sword. I held it up in the moonlight. It had an odd heft to it, and an elaborately carved pommel in the shape of a screaming bird’s head, not unlike that of a phoenix.
“It’s called a hand-and-a-half sword,” said Odclay. “It can be wielded with either one hand or two, depending upon whether you’re holding your staff or not. And it’s a particularly appropriate weapon for you.”
“Why?” I had to ask.
“Because it’s also called a ‘bastard sword.’ “
“How apropos,” I said mirthlessly. Then I realized that the cloth in which it had been rolled had some sort of an image on it. I straightened it, held it up in the moonlight.
It was me. I looked older. There was gray in my hair and—I might have been mistaken, but I appeared to be missing an ear. I was leaning forward on the sword that I was holding at the moment, and I was seated upon a throne.
“What is this supposed to be?” I asked.
“A farweaver did it.”
“A farweaver did the tapestry that hangs in the castle. That didn’t come true.”
“Didn’t it?” he said.
“No. It called for a great hero to come. He didn’t come. He died. You got me instead.”
“People read things into the tapestries that might or might not be there. And don’t sell yourself short; you might just be more of a hero than you want to admit. Has it occurred to you that maybe you’ve spent your whole life doing the right thing … and justifying for yourself that it’s from selfish motives?”
“It’s never occurred to me, no. Probably because it’s not the case.”
“As you will,” he said with a shrug. “In any event, take that with you if you wish. Consider it a gift … from the same farweaver who did the tapestry in the castle.”
“Really. I’d like to meet him so I can tell him he’s an idiot. Although,” and I looked at it with a critical eye, “I admit … I’m not happy about the missing ear … but it’s a rather good likeness.”
With a wry smile, my father said, “Thank you. I try.”
And as I gaped at him in astonishment, Odclay swung shut the wall, locking me out of the castle and giving me my freedom.
I turned, took two steps …
… and froze as Entipy came around the corner. She stopped, faced me, and simply stood there with her arms folded.
My mouth, my throat, were completely dry.
“Did you think I was stupid?” she inquired. When I was unable to make a response, she continued, “I had a feeling you’d show up right about here sooner or later. I know about the hidden passages in this place. Odclay showed them to me when I was a child. He was the only one in the whole place, aside from my mother, who had any patience with me. He’s the brains behind my father’s kingdom, you know. Had you figured that out?”
I nodded. She sounded so calm, so conversational, that part of me thought I’d gone mad, because the entire encounter seemed unreal.
“He’s not so foolish as he seems,” she went on. “In some ways he’d be a better father than my real one is.”
I shuddered. I didn’t think she noticed it, and she didn’t. Because although she was looking at me, I think she was also looking inward as well.
“Am I hideous? Is that it?” she said abruptly.
I finally found my voice. “What? No! No, it’s—”
“A bad sex partner, perhaps. You seemed to be enjoying yourself—”
“Yes, I did! You’re … it’s not you. It’s me. I can’t.”
“You still can turn this around, Apropos,” she said, sounding quite reasonable. I couldn’t tell whether she was bottling her emotions or had simply detached from them. “Apologize to my father and mother. Tell them you were overwhelmed by the moment. And marry me. You know you want to. You know you love me.”
“It’s not that simple …”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not. Trust me. Don’t you trust me?”
She laughed at that, as if it was the most absurd question in the world. “No. Of course not. I know you better than I know myself. You’re a scoundrel, and always will be. That’s what makes you attractive to me.”
“But back at the fort! You said you trusted me then.”
“I lied.”
“Were you?” I said sharply. “Lying then? Or are you lying now?”
She didn’t say anything. And then something occurred to me. “You keep saying that you know I love you. Do you truly love me?”
“I want you.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“When you’re royalty, it is.”
I leaned on the staff, feeling much, much older than I was. “And what would have happened, Entipy … once you had me? If you truly didn’t trust me … and the closest you could come to loving me was desiring me, in the same way that you might fancy attractive jewelry or a fine wine … what hope would there have been for the two of us?”
“Apropos,” she sighed, as if pitying me greatly, “I thought you, of all people, understood. This is a hopeless world. We would have fit right in.”
I let out a long sigh. “I want … more than that. I never thought I did until this very moment. I want to be … I want to be better than the world that surrounds me. I spent years thinking I was. But now … I genuinely want to be. And you should want it, too. And I know, beyond any doubt, that we can’t possibly achieve that together, for more reasons than I can go into. And I know you say you can’t trust me, and maybe I deserve that, but at least listen to me and believe me when I say this: I’ve spent my whole life doing what was right for me, even if it was wrong for everybody else. This is the first time I’ve actually done what I know is right for everybody else …
even though it might be as wrong for me as it could possibly be. Will you accept that? Please?” And I sank to one knee. “Please … Your Highness … ?”
Entipy looked at me for a long moment, as if from a very great height. And then, very softly, she said, “Apropos … I have to admit … you’ve become the one thing I never really thought you’d be.”
“Heroic?”
“No. Dull.”
And she drew her cape around herself, raised her hood to cover her features, and walked away. For a moment, just a moment … I thought I heard a choked sob from her, but it might well have been my imagination.
I walked as quickly as I could, distancing myself from the castle, but stopped at one point to look back at it. In a high window, framed against a glimmer of light, I was sure I saw Entipy seated there, a single candle burning just in front of her face. I thought, She’s leaving a candle burning for me in the window, and for half a heartbeat, I almost turned back to go to her. But then she blew the candle out and became one with the darkness.
I made my way to the front gate of the great wall surrounding the city. I drew my cloak tight around me, my hood up and over my face, trying to minimize my limp so as not to attract attention from the guards. Neither of them paid me the slightest mind. It might have been that I simply wasn’t interesting-looking or important enough to warrant a glance from them, or perhaps Odclay had “greased” their palms as well. In either event, I passed through the front gates with no problem and increased my speed until I had left it behind me.
I made my way down the main road, then off to a less-used trail, then off to an even less frequented one. I kept moving, straining to hear sound of pursuit, but nothing came. The absence of it, though, did not cause me to fear it any less. I didn’t run, not wanting to wear myself out, but I kept up a very brisk pace. Slowly the sun rose, and I, worn out from the constant moving, decided that it would be best to get off any roads entirely. Certainly forests held their own risks, but they were preferable to traveling roads that angry knights could come riding down, looking for escaped prisoners.
