Treachery of Kings

by Neal Barrett Jr

  TWENTY

  IT WOULD BE MY GUESS,” FINN TO Letitia, as they followed Dostagio down the long hallway, “that these will not prove to be the jolliest folk we've ever met. When the decorator color is black, one cannot expect the circus to appear.”

  “It is certainly not inviting,” Letitia agreed. “And I am getting a chill, dear. I wish I had a wrap of some kind.”

  “It isn't cold in here, it's really quite warm. You're likely just affected by the somber atmosphere.”

  “I am cold, Finn. Please don't tell me how I feel. This is one of your most irritating habits, dear. I believe I have mentioned it before.”

  Finn was taken aback by Letitia's sudden show of discontent. Nerves, likely, reaction to the day's quite troublesome events. Still, he had the good sense to keep this opinion to himself.

  “I'm dreadfully sorry, Letitia, I meant no offense. You would surely know if you're cold or hot. Here, allow me to put my cape around your shoulders. That will take the chill away.”

  “You can't. Julia's under there.”

  “Damn. I quite forgot.”

  “It's all right. I'll be just fine.”

  She wrapped her arms about herself and walked on in silence down the gloomy hall, trembling now and then. Finn felt as if he'd failed her somehow, and didn't know how to make amends.

  Indeed, the atmosphere in this dreary place was enough to cause a chill. Gaudy, garish, daring decor were not the proper words for the dark granite floors, the drab, cyclopean walls. Faintly glowing torches, set in iron brackets, appeared now and then, but did little to lessen the pall, for the lusterless stone drank the very soul from every errant beam of light.

  Finn tried to remember the many twists and turns of this cheerless maze, but soon was completely lost. Even their guide, Dostagio, added to the task of guessing true perspective, for he was clothed in black from head to toe, and often simply disappeared ahead.

  When, at last, the fellow began to slow his pace, Finn had the feeling they might be back to the outer door where they'd begun.

  “Your quarters are just ahead,” Dostagio announced. “We don't have many guests at this time, so I am putting you in the Chamber of Celestial Bliss.”

  “Oh, that sounds very nice,” Letitia said. “Do you think there might be blankets in there?”

  Dostagio appeared not to hear. “There are four hundred twenty-two sleeping quarters in the palace,” he announced. “I am not counting the Royal Wings, of course.”

  “No, of course.” Finn wondered when the fellow would actually stop, for they had passed a good dozen dark and unadorned portals now.

  “Four hundred twenty-two,” Letitia said, in a hapless effort to keep herself warm. “Imagine that.”

  “That's a great many rooms.”

  “It is,” Letitia said.

  “And our quarters are called… “

  “…The Chamber of Celestial Bliss,” Letitia finished. “That could be—interesting, Finn.” In spite of her discomfort, she managed a mischievous grin.

  Maybe there will be blankets, Finn thought, delighted at her smile. Big, heavy quilts we can burrow under and generate heat among ourselves.

  “We are here, then,” Dostagio said, stopping before a door indistinguishable from the rest. “Just let me find the key. It fits every room, which makes it quite easy on everyone, guests and servants as well.”

  “Yes, it would,” Finn agreed. “Can you tell us, sir, when we might be able to see the King? Early is fine, if that's the custom here. Though later is satisfactory as well.”

  “Later, I should think.”

  “Good. Very well, then,” Finn said, thankful for extra hours of sleep. “So you would say—when?”

  “Seven months, I believe. Seven months and three days.”

  “What?” Finn stared. “I'm certain I didn't hear you right at all.”

  “Yes, sir, I'm sure you did, Master Finn.”

  The First Servant paused, as if in thought, then gazed at Finn again. “May I ask your religious persuasion, sir? If I seem impertinent, bear with me if you will.”

  “Crafters Tabernacle, now. Though I was raised in First Hammer and Vise. Why do you ask?”

  “You are a stranger in this land, sir, and it occurred to me you might be unfamiliar with our beliefs. His Grace and the Royal Family practice the rites of the Deeply Entombed. Toomers, as the common folk say, but I would never repeat that to the King.”

  “Toomers. I'm sure I never—”

  “Clearly you haven't, sir, or you would not have appeared to be astonished when I mentioned it would be some time before you could expect to see the King.

  “I realize, now, you thought you would see him tomorrow, which is absurd, of course, no offense, Master Finn.”

  “I will freeze in my very tracks in the next minute and a half,” Letitia said, “if you don't get me out of here.”

  “Yes, well, I will. No question of that. We cannot sim-ply—Sir, if you would just explain to His Majesty that while I do not wish to intrude upon his spiritual life, I will only require a moment of his time to present my gift. Then we'll be out of your hair, as they say, and on our way. All right? Can you tell him that?”

  “I could, but of course I will do no such thing. The Deeply Entombed, as the words connote, are deeply entombed, sir. The name is derived from the practice. Just as hastily attached conjures a picture of something quickly added to, or hurriedly affixed.

  “The Deeply Entombed show their devotion through sleep, quite a bit of sleep, as it were. This sleep is accomplished in the grave, for those who rule the Afterworld count these hours as ‘dead time,’ and thus grant their devotees a seventh of that time as bonus days in this life.

  “Do you understand, now, sir? If there are any further questions, I shall answer them if I can.”

  “Seven months? These people are sleeping for seven months?”

  “No, sir. Nine months, to be precise. But they will awaken again in seven months and three days. As I believe I mentioned before.

  “This gift you bring. May I ask if it is topical, timely, in any way?”

  “Timely, in a way. But not really, I suppose.”

  “Is it likely to spoil?”

  “No. There is no way it could spoil. However—”

  “Excellent, sir. Then we don't have a problem, do we? I shall do my best to make your stay at court a pleasant one. And you as well, Miss.”

  “Thank you, but I don't think so,” Letitia said. “I can't possibly stay in this place, and neither can Master Finn. Finn, there is nothing else to talk about, as far as I can see. This is absolutely insane.”

  “I know, Letitia… “

  “So give him the birthday present and let's take our leave. Thank the dear man and ask him where we can find a nice inn somewhere. An inn with a fire.”

  “Yes, that's certainly the thing to do.”

  Finn looked past Dostagio, down the long and lonely hall, feeling a chill and a slightly dank breeze himself. Still, he was quite aware of the aches of the day, the growing fatigue that threatened to drag him down. And, one more glance at the drawn, weary posture of Letitia Louise convinced him the choices here were not as clear as they seemed.

  “I know it's best we leave, Letitia. On the other hand, if we could simply stay over here, since that's where we are. Stay and try to get some sleep—”

  “No. Don't even think about it, Finn.”

  “—and get an early start,” Finn finished quickly. “I'll seek out Bucerius and urge him to find us another balloon. I don't think Aghen Aghenfleck, in spite of his lack of any reason at all, would expect us to stay in Heldessia seven months.”

  “Seven months and three days, sir,” Dostagio corrected.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I don't like it, Finn. I don't like it at all.”

  “Nor do I. But it has to be two or three in the morning, dear, maybe more. We have no idea where we are, and we don't know if those damnable yappers are gone.”

/>   Before Letitia could answer, Finn turned on Dostagio again. “If it's not personal, may I ask, would we find all the citizens asleep in town? I mean, is everyone in Heldessia a member of this—Deeply Enwombed church of yours?”

  “Entombed, sir. Deeply Entombed.”

  “Right. Well, are they?”

  “Oh no, sir. It's not for the common folk. Or Newlie kind, if you'll forgive me, Miss.”

  “Believe me. I am not offended at all.”

  “Only royalty, then?” Finn asked.

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “It's not your religious persuasion, then.”

  “Oh, no indeed, sir.” Despite the fact that no sign of emotion had crossed his drab features, Finn felt the man was quite stunned by the question. “Despite my esteemed and honorable position, I am only a servant here, a member of the Gracious Dead… “

  TWENTY-ONE

  I‘M SURE IT WAS ONLY A FIGURE OF SPEECH,” FINN said. “He didn't mean we should take him literally, dear.”

  “Are you? I'm not, Finn. I had a most peculiar feeling about our good Dostagio.”

  “And what kind of feeling was that?”

  “Don't pretend you don't know. I saw your face when the fellow first appeared.”

  Finn nodded. As close as they were standing, it was hard to make out Letitia's features, for there was only a single torch set in a niche in their room, just enough to see that the place was as devoid of color as the hall.

  “I must admit I did. I don't know what you saw with that keen Mycer instinct of yours, but I saw someone who looked as if he were wearing a mask, to avoid betraying his features, his feelings, as it were.”

  “Cold,” Letitia added. “Withdrawn.”

  “Not unkind, though. Indifferent, perhaps. Clearly, as I'm sure we both agree, he is neither graciousnor dead. It may be it takes a rather detached sort of person to work for people who sleep all the time.”

  “Or those who don't have to work at all.” “It's hard to imagine anyone that lazy, Letitia. Numb, petrified, perhaps. When you look in the fellow's eyes… there's nothing going on in there that would stir a garden slug to any fervid thought.”

  “I've seen more personality and charm in a roach,” said Julia Jessica Slagg. “In a log, in a sock, in a sack of cement, in a—”

  “Yes, we get the point. That's quite enough.”

  “He's awfully dull, is what I meant to say.”

  “Find some place and sit. It's irritating to hear you walk around. You sound like a bucket of nails.”

  “They don't have carpets, that's my fault?” Julia snapped her silver jaws. “I wasn't the decorator here…”

  “Finn?”

  “What, love?”

  Without even looking her way, he caught the mix of anger, aggravation and despair in the way she said his name, the tone, the manner, of a person who was beat, frazzled, weary of the day.

  And, when he turned, he saw she had swept the torch to the far corner of the room. The wall was standard decor, black, polished marble with no fresco, tapestry, nothing to relieve the chill, dark expanse.

  Nothing, that is, except two niches, horizontal ledges carved flush within the wall.

  Finn let out a breath. He was getting used to chills, tingles, hairs climbing the back of his neck, not the sort of thing he cared for at all.

  “They could be shelves. Places to put your clothes.”

  “They aren't, Finn.”

  “Books. Books would go nicely there.”

  “Stop it, will you? Stop it right now.”

  “They appear to be vaults, Letitia.”

  “Crypts.”

  “Not a good choice of words, no better than mine. Sacks and Cracks, this is a tomb, not a room. I should have made it clear to that fellow we didn't intend to be here that long.”

  “Do you think this is funny? You feel I'm amused? We have been buried, Finn. This is a jest to you?”

  “I wouldn't say buried. I don't imagine they think of it that way here. And they're not serious, love. These people don't die, they take naps.” “Very long naps, as I recall.”

  “Nine months, I know. And that's ridiculous, isn't it? I'm certain we'll discover that's meant in a ritualistic sense. A sacrament, a penance, something of the sort.”

  “It's Finn, Master of Theological Thought,” Julia said. “I understand it better now.”

  Finn pretended she wasn't there. He walked to the door, opened it, peered each way down the dimly lit hall, closed the door again.

  “It isn't locked. We could leave any time if we wanted to. The accommodations here are most peculiar, I admit. It's not the way we do things, but in their eyes I suppose it's rather like an inn.”

  “A dead inn, if you ask me.”

  “Nobody did, Julia. If you have anything to say, keep it to yourself.”

  “She's on edge, just like we are,” Letitia said, showing the lizard a weary smile. “And all that copper and brass, she's bound to have a chill.”

  “She is not cold, love,” Finn said, silently counting to three, for this was not the first time this conversation had occurred. “Julia is a mechanical device. You know that as well as I. Why would she have a chill?”

  “I am very tired, dearest, too weary to talk about science and other such matters tonight. I'm going to try to sleep if I can.”

  “I didn't think you'd—”

  “I'm not. I shall sleep on the floor. I will not get into that. And if you wish to offer me your cloak, fine. I would not refuse to accept”

  I DON'T REALLY CARE IF AGHEN AGHENFLECK DOESN'T like it, it's the only sane and reasonable thing to do. We leave the damned clock with whoever will take it. If no one will, I'll simply leave it right here with a note. Bucerius will back us up with the Prince, I think. At least, I hope he will.”

  Finn shifted his bony hips on the hard floor and frowned thoughtfully at Julia Jessica Slagg.

  “Did it ever occur to you that good Bucerius never mentioned the odd religious leanings of the King? I'm certain he never did.”

  “I wasn't present on your trip. I suppose it never cameup.”

  “We spoke of religious matters, but only in a general way. And after that, there wasn't a lot of time. I cannot imagine anyone fool enough to hang around in this— oversize casket, waiting for the King to turn over and yawn. Rocks and Crocks, seven months is out of the question. I wouldn't spend seven days here.”

  Julia swept her tail about. In the flickering light of the torch, her ruby eyes seemed to dance to a fiery beat. In the corner, in a very small bundle, Letitia moaned in her sleep.

  “Who are you trying to convince, Finn? You, or me?”

  “No one at all,” Finn said, more than a little annoyed at her remark, which hit too close to home. “I don't have to convince anyone. It's just that this whole situation is so bloody irritating. The ways of this land make no sense at all.”

  “And ours do?”

  “That's not the issue here.”

  “I suppose it isn't. I'll give you that.”

  “Gracious of you, I'm sure.”

  Finn glanced at Letitia. Even with his heavy cloak about her, he was certain she was cold. Weariness, exhaustion from the day, could scarcely overcome the chill of that stone, a chill so old, so primal, buried so deeply within its granite heart, it would never go away.

  “If you had, to, Julia, could you find your way back through this maze, to the door where we came in? I know you were beneath my cloak and all… “

  “Of course I could,” Julia said, her bright snout swiveling about, as if to test the frigid air.

  “As you well know, since it's your fancy gadget that whirls about in my gut. I know every path I've trod, though I don't see why I should. It would be more efficient if you could show me where I'm going instead of where I've been.”

  “If I could do that, I would swallow such a gadget myself. That whirly gadget, by the way, as I'm sure you recall, is a compass, Julia. It is used in navigation at sea and in the
air, though it does little good in either place, as near as I can see. And you're right on one point, at least. If I'd known where I was going, I damn sure wouldn't be here.”

  THOUGH HE SURELY COULDN'T TELL FROM A HOLE in the ground, it was likely nearly dawn. It seemed much longer than one dawn past since he and the Bullie had risen from the Royal Balloon Grounds, floated past the Swamp of Bleak Demise, the awesome battleground, and into a chimney in Heldessia Town.

  Scarcely arrived, then, and eager to depart—a wish that was nearly as strong as his second desire, a decent hot meal.

  Letitia, bless her, surely was starving as well. Only great fatigue would set her need aside. For despite her ever-slender form, Letitia Louise seldom strayed far from the chance for a tasty meal.

  No use even trying to sleep now, Finn said to himself. Morning will be upon us, and we'll be out of here.

  Where would he find Bucerius? The Bullie said he'd be around, but Finn knew he should have asked. There was a shop he'd mentioned, someone he knew. Perhaps the name would come to mind.

  As for the clock, the birthday present, the most tasteless object Finn had put together since he'd thought of lizard craft—he would give it to that sober-faced Dostagio when he saw the fellow again. Maybe a note would be apt, he could surely do that:

  Dear King Llowenkeef-Grymm:

  Here is an ugly gift from your greatest foe,

  Hatefully,

  Prince Aghen Aghenfleck IV

  Probably not the way to put it, but something like that.

  Finn rose, and gently pulled the cloak more snugly about Letitia Louise. Julia stood perfectly still in a corner of the room, giving her imitation of a nap. Finn had told her repeatedly she did not have the ability to sleep, and Julia, of course, insisted that she did, pointing out that while she was, indeed, a mechanical device, she had a ferret's brain, and that was the part that slept. A bit of logic, there, Finn had to admit—but never to Julia, of course.

  No use sleeping, but it wouldn't hurt to simply sit: either that or stand up all night. What he wouldn't do, couldn't do, on the floor that chilled him to the bone, was nod off. No chance of that. A man must take control of himself, despite the situation. Use his strength, use his will. Maintain vigilance, in spite of one's bodily needs…