“Listen, old friend,” Dramocles said, resting a hand on Max’s stocky shoulder, “there are matters which must not be revealed prematurely. In the fullness of time, Max–time, that endless and beginningless flow which presents itself to us in serial fashion–there will come a moment in which I will no doubt avail myself of your advice. But for now, a wink is as good as a nod to a dead horse, as our ancestors used to say.”
Max nodded.
“Go prepare the evidence,” Dramocles said.
The two men exhanged ambiguous looks. Max bowed and departed.
7
Prince Chuch, eldest son of King Dramocles, and heir apparent to the throne of Glorm, was visiting his great estate of Maldoror, halfway around the world from Ultragnolle, when news was received of Dramocles’ action in Aardvark. Chuch had gone out for a walk, and was presently brooding on a little hillside above his spacious manor house. The Prince was tall and thin, black-haired, with a long, saturnine, olive-complected face and a hairline mustache. His black velvet cloak was thrust back, revealing the power rings of rank on his left arm. Beneath the cloak he wore Levi’s and a white Fruit of the Loom T-shirt, for Chuch affected to dress in the classical garb of his ancestors. The Prince was toying with a jeweled fluuver as he sat on a mossy boulder in a willow glade; but his thoughts were on other matters, as they usually were.
A messenger was dispatched from the manor to tell the Prince about Aardvark. The messenger’s name was Vitello.
“Sire,” said Vitello, louting low, “I bring news most extraordinary from Ultragnolle.”
“Good news or bad?”
“That depends upon your response to it, my Lord, a matter I know not how to predict.”
“Is it a weighty matter, then?”
“Aye, if a planet’s weighty.”
The Prince thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “I know! Aardvark’s been taken by tempestuous Dramocles!”
“How did you guess, Sire?”
“Call it a presentiment.”
“I’ll call it grape jelly if that will please your princely fancy,” said Vitello. “My name is Vitello.”
Chuch looked at him keenly. “I find thee apt. Tell me, Vitello, are you a useful man?”
“Ah, Sire,” Vitello said, “I may hope to be serviceable. Whom did you wish me to kill?”
“Softly,” said Chuch. “For the moment, to assassinate a concept may be murder enough.”
“Your Excellency conceals his thought in dark obscurities through which flashes of meaning appear which cause this barren aspen to quiver all over.”
“You don’t do so badly yourself in the obscurity department,” Chuch said. “But I get to say all the good lines. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t, Sire.”
“I shall return to Ultragnolle immediately. Strange days are coming, Vitello. Who knows what great prize I might fish out of these troubled waters? You will accompany me. Go at once and see that my spaceship is made ready.”
Vitello bowed low. The two men exchanged master-slave looks. Vitello departed.
Chuch remained pondering on the hillside until the lower rim of the sun had touched the horizon. As blue twilight fell over the land he smiled to himself a smile of secret intentions, rose to his feet, folded his jeweled fluuver, and returned to his manor. An hour later, he and Vitello left Maldoror in the Prince’s space yacht.
8
The Main Salon in Ultragnolle Castle was a vast, high-ceilinged room made of undressed gray stone. Set into one wall was a colossal fireplace, with a brisk fire burning in it. From the walls hung yellow pennons, and upon each of them was emblazoned the name of one of the fiefdoms of Glorm. There were glass vaults set into the ceiling, and through them poured beams of mottled yellow sunlight. It was a noble room. Within it there were four kings, waiting to confer with a fifth.
Dramocles was in a small room adjoining the salon, watching the four kings through a peephole. He knew them all well. Seated in a rocker, puffing on a cigar, one plump leg crossed over another, was his brother, John, just arrived from his planet of Crimsole. Standing in front of the fireplace, hands clapsed behind his stalwart back, was Rufus, Dramocles’ oldest friend, a strong and martial figure, ruler of Druth, the planet nearest to Glorm. Ten feet away stood Adalbert, ruler of the small planet of Aardvark, a tall, thin young man with fair, floating hair and wire-rimmed spectacles perched insecurely on his small, bridgeless nose. Near him was Snint of Lekk, a somber-looking middle-aged man dressed entirely in black.
Dramocles was nervous. His elation at the taking of Aardvark had dissipated. He was still confident that he was doing the right thing–the signs and portents had been unmistakable–but he saw now that it was not going to be simple. And how could he explain any of this to his peers, especially Adalbert, whose father had been a close friend and whose planet he had just seized? How could he explain what he barely understood himself? If he could only tell them, “Trust me. I’m not really after your planets. These are just the things I must do to achieve my destiny.…”
And what was his destiny, anyhow? Why had he taken Aardvark? What was he supposed to to next?
Dramocles didn’t know. But the kings were waiting.
“Well,” he said to himself, “here goes.” He straightened his shoulders and opened the door into the salon.
“Fellow rulers,” he said, “old friends, and our dear brother John, welcome to our great celebration. All of us have prospered mightily in these years of peace, and we all intend them to continue. I want to assure you that I am, like you, a firm believer in the republican principle as it applies to kings. No ruler shall rule another ruler, nor disenfranchise him from what he rules. This was the oath we swore to many years ago. I subscribe to it still.”
Dramocles paused, but there was no response from his audience. Rufus stood, a pillar of stone, his stern face unreadable. John lounged back in his chair, a distrustful smirk on his face. Snint of Lekk seemed to be weighing each word, trying to test the true from the false. Adalbert listened frowning.
“In view of all this,” Dramocles said, “it is with sincere regret that I tell you what you must already have heard: that my troops have taken over Aardvark in the last few hours.”
“Yes, Dramocles, we have heard something to that effect,” said Count John. “We are waiting for you to enlighten us.”
“I have taken Aardvark,” Dramocles said. “But only to preserve it for Adalbert.”
“It’s an original way of doing it,” John remarked to Snint.
Dramocles didn’t reply to the sally. “Shortly after King Adalbert’s departure, my agents on Aardvark reported the sudden uprising of the Hemreg minority. Troublesome schismatics, they had been hoping in an unguarded moment to take your throne.”
“My own troops could have handled them,” Adalbert said.
“Your troops were quickly overwhelmed. There was no time for me to consult with you. Only through prompt action could I preserve your throne for you.”
“You mean your occupation is only temporary?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“And I get my kingdom back?”
“Of course.”
“When?”
“As soon as order is restored.”
Count John said, “That might take a few years, eh, Brother?”
“No more than a week,” Dramocles said. “By the time our festivities are over, all will have been put right.”
Snint asked, “Then we need fear no further alarums?”
“That is correct.”
Rufus turned from the fireplace and said, “That’s answer enough for me. We’ve known Dramocles all our lives. Never has he gone back on his word.”
“Well,” Adalbert said, “I must accept what you say. But it’s awkward for me, you know, being a king without a planet. Still, a week’s not so bad.”
Dramocles said, “Is there any further explanation that any of you require of me? No? I trust your accommodations are sa
tisfactory. I beg you to tell me if anything has been omitted. Please enjoy yourselves. I will see you again soon.”
He bowed to them and departed by way of the door into the antechamber.
There was silence for a full minute after he had gone. Then Adalbert said, “He speaks fair, no denying that.”
“Just like the old king Otho,” John said. “Both of them could charm the birds out of the trees. And often did, if they happened to want a quail stew.”
Rufus said, “Count John, your enmity toward your brother is well known. That is your business. But for my part, I ask you to spare me your barbed innuendos. Dramocles is my friend and I’ll not hear him mocked.”
Rufus stalked out of the room. After a moment’s hesitation, Adalbert hurried after him.
“Well, Snint,” John said, “what do you think?”
“My dear Count John, I think as you do, that we are in a tricky situation.”
“But what are we to do about it?”
“Nothing suggests itself at the moment,” Snint said. “I believe we must wait.”
“I’ve half a mind to take my ship back to Crimsole.”
“That is not presently possible. This morning all our ships were taken to the Royal Repair Yard for modernizing and refurbishing, a gift from our host.”
“Damnation!” cried John. “It’s a well-honed generosity that cuts to the bone. Snint, we must stand together.”
“Of course. But to what purpose? We are powerless without Rufus on our side.”
“Or Haldemar and his Vanir barbarians.”
“Haldemar was wise to stay home. But that’s the advantage of being a barbarian. You don’t have to put your head in a noose for the sake of civility. For now we must wait. Come, my dear John, shall we stroll along the river?”
They departed by the main door.
In the antechamber, Dramocles heard a rustling sound behind him. He turned away from the peephole and found his computer standing near him.
“I’ve told you not to sneak up on me that way,” Dramocles said.
“I have an urgent message for you, Sire,” the computer said. He held out an envelope. On it Dramocles could see written, in his own handwriting, Destiny–Second Phase.
Dramocles took it. “Tell me, computer,” he said, “how did you get this? Why are you delivering it now? And how many more do you have?”
“Do not seek to know the workings of heaven,” said the computer.
“You won’t answer me?”
“Can’t, let us say. Just be happy you got it.”
“Every mystery conceals another mystery,” Dramocles grumbled.
“To be sure: that’s nature’s signature, and art’s,” the computer replied.
Dramocles read the message. He shook his head as though in pain. Something like a groan escaped him.
“Sounds like a tough one,” the computer said.
“Tough enough. But even tougher for poor Snint,” Dramocles remarked, then hurried off to the War Room.
9
The planet Lekk was only a third the size of Glorm, but it had sufficient density to give it 1.4 Glorm’s gravity. Because of this your feet always hurt on Lekk, but in compensation you had less distance to travel. Only an eighth of Lekk was land. There were no large continents, and only one or two good-sized peninsulas. The rest was smallish islands scattered haphazardly throughout the ocean. The indigenous Lekkians, a humanoid people, numbered barely twenty million. Their numbers had remained small throughout history, perhaps because of their custom of exposing at birth all children born without a sixth finger. They were a short, swarthy race of human stock who grew tomatoes and cucumbers and held political meetings in town halls all over the planet trying to decide what political system would suit them best. Since they never agreed, it was anarchy most of the time. Snint of Lekk was an elected king, empowered to talk with foreigners, but to make no agreements until the Generalitat had considered the issue.
The Lekkians lived mostly in villages, with an occasional small city here and there to provide university services. They had no standing army, since they had not figured out how to protect themselves from one. They were frequently rude to visitors from other worlds, but they were not violent.
Dramocles closed the report. He was in the War Room. Standing beside him was Rux, his Sberrian mercenary general, commander of Dramocles’ main strike force.
“Now is a most auspicious time to seize the planet,” Rux stated in his cold way. “The orbital relationships of Glorm to the other planets ensure economical orbits for our spacecraft. This is the best strategic advantage we’ve had for thirty years or more.”
“Thirty years? I wonder.…”
“Sire?”
“Nothing, Rux, just a private conjecture.” Dramocles looked at the crumpled envelope in his hand. Within it, on a sheet of yellowed paper, written in his own hand, were the words Take Lekk now!
“The time’s right,” Dramocles said. “If ever time’s right for such a deed.”
“Old bones,” Rux growled. “These foolish kings have put their planets into your hands. If you don’t take them, you’ll be as foolish as they. This is the supreme moment for the Dramocletian line. If your father were alive now–”
“–he’d feel a lot better about this than I do.”
“It is for you to say,” Rux replied. “I am but a simple soldier, though I can recite poetry and play the accordion.”
The loneliness of supreme command! Dramocles felt light-headed. Was he doing the right thing? It was impossible now to know.
“Rux,” he said, “get me Lekk.”
“You’ve as good as got it,” the Sberrian said, in his matter-of-fact way.
10
When Prince Chuch arrived in Glorm, he found an air of disquiet and apprehension throughout the city. News of the intervention in Lekk was now widespread, and the populace seemed stunned. Crowds moved through the gaily bedecked streets in whispering clusters. Although every effort was made to continue the elaborate pageants and mimes that had been planned, the actors were stumbling and self-conscious, and they played to silent audiences.
Chuch went directly to Ultragnolle Castle and asked if the King would receive him. After a considerably delay, the Chamberlain came out and explained that Dramocles was in seclusion. “He is greatly disturbed,” said Rudolphus, “over the cruel necessity that was imposed on him.”
“What necessity was that?” asked Chuch.
“Why, that of sending troops to Lekk, and this so soon after Aardvark.”
“You speak of necessity?”
“Of course, my Lord. An alien invasion of any of the Local Planets is an attack against all. Dramocles had no choice but to respond immediately.”
Chuch would have asked more, but a bell tolled within the castle and the Chamberlain excused himself and hurried off.
Chuch telephoned Count John’s residence in Ultragnolle. John was out, he was told, but might be found at the nearby Tavern of the Green Sheep. Chuch took a palanquin there.
The Green Sheep was an old-fashioned saloon, typically Glormish with its bay window, its geranium pots, and its calico cat. Chuch went down three steps and entered a twilight haze of beer, tobacco, and wet wool–for it had rained earlier–and passed through a low hum of conversation punctuated by an occasional clink of glasses. He noticed many older men standing at the bar, most of them with a distinctive rosette in their lapels, throwing down tiny cups of schnopp, the national drink, a liqueur very much like anisette. A radio in the background droned out the results of sports events all over the province. There was a small fire in the fireplace, and points of light were reflected from the polished copper plates on the walls, the antique steel sword over the bar, and from the commemorative pewter mugs hanging from the ceiling. Chuch passed through into the inner room, a low-ceilinged place indistinctly lit by fifteen-watt light bulbs in imitation candlestick holders. There was a fine long oak table and four plush-padded armchairs drawn up to it. John was seated in
one chair, Snint in another. Adalbert was sprawled half across the table, head down, drunk and snoring. There were a dozen bottles of potent crinkleberry wine on the table, and five muggards, some of them spilled.
Chuch sat down without being invited, poured himself a muggard of wine, sipped at it fastidiously.
John, red-faced from drink, said, “Well, my Lord Chuch, have you been off discussing this latest treachery with your father, two-faced Dramocles?”
“Neither of the King’s faces wished to see me,” said Chuch. “Rudolphus told me that the King’s heart was sore vexed over what he’d had to do. There was some mention of aliens. What did he say to you, King Snint?”
Snint said, “He took me aside for private audience. His face portrayed distress, his voice trembled, yet he rarely met my eye. ‘Snint,’ said he, ‘I am much embarrassed by a recent turn of events, though I myself am guilty of no wrongdoing. Just minutes ago, my agents in Lekk reported that a force of aliens landed on the northern promontory of Catalia in the province of Llull. They numbered in the tens of thousands and were well armed. My agents identified them as Sammack nomads, of the Sammak-Kalmucki horde which has been coming into our region of space for the last century with their old-fashioned spaceships filled with smelly livestock. This group, however, was one of the elite Sammak battle groups, obviously come to try the defenses of our worlds before summoning the main horde. Since Lekk has no standing army, and since hesitation might prove fatal, I have ordered my Commander Rux to wipe out these invaders without mercy. The rapidity and sureness of our response will impress their warlords, and save us from grievous trouble in the future.’ ”
“Did you believe him?” Chuch inquired.
“Of course not,” said Count John. “But Snint feigned agreement. What else could he do?”
“What about Rufus? How did he react to the news?”
John smiled maliciously. “Sweat sprang to his loyal brow, and his mouth turned down in pain and disbelief. Yet still he declined to condemn Dramocles. He said it was a time of trials for us all, not least our host. He counseled us to be patient a little longer. ‘How long?’ I asked. ‘Until he takes your kingdom or mine?’ He had no answer for that, but turned away and went to his chambers, perplexed, disturbed, but still stubbornly loyal to Dramocles.”
Dramocles: An Intergalactic Soap Opera Page 3
