"In the wood, where, if they wish to, he and she
Upon faint primrose beds may choose to be,
Or on the fruited plain away to steal,
Through magic that doth lovers' flights conceal,
Thence from Venarra turn away their eyes,
To seek new friends and truer companies!"
The combined form of the entwined lovers began to fade, then grew more vivid again. It began to fade again, but came back again—again and again, pulsing.
No surprise. Matt could feel the Latrurian environment fighting his magic. In desperation, he sang the first thing that came to mind for young people:
"Gaudeamus igitur, juvenestum sumus!
Gaudeamus igitur, juvenestum sumus!
Post jocundum juventutem,
Post molestam senectutem,
Nos habebit sumus, nos habebit sumus!"
It must have been the Latin that did it, for the resistance let go with a shock. There they were—and there they weren't! Not quite instantaneously—they sort of did a fast fade, so there was no gunshot crack of air rushing in to fill a sudden vacuum. Matt lowered his hands, relaxing—at least they shouldn't have attracted any undue attention.
Which made it all the more puzzling when the finger tapped his shoulder and a voice right behind him said, "Most neatly done. I could not have been more adroit myself."
Matt froze. He knew that voice.
Then, very slowly, he turned around. "Good afternoon, your Majesty."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"I trust it is a good afternoon indeed," the king replied. "Let us go out from this arcade into the sunshine, so that you may look your last upon it."
Matt stared at him while he waited for his stomach to hit bottom. He saw Rebozo and the ranks of soldiers behind the king, and the unremitting hostility in the chancellor's gaze, and felt his stomach take another plunge. Nonetheless, he managed to say, "Can't have been all that neat, if I attracted your attention. You were just waiting for me to try this, weren't you?"
"It was a trap most neatly laid," Boncorro confirmed. He turned to the chancellor. "I must congratulate you, Rebozo, on so adroit a piece of maneuvering. You chose exactly the right damsel to abduct."
The chancellor smiled and bowed. "It was nothing, Majesty. This foolish do-gooder is so lacking in suspicion!"
Why was it that paranoids created more paranoids? "I take it your Majesty is sore about losing a very promising concubine."
"What, that?" King Boncorro tossed his head in dismissal. "She matters nothing, nor does her swain. Indeed, I hope they will be happy together."
But Rebozo's eyes flashed with malice, and Matt realized that he was apt to track down Pascal and Flaminia out of pure spite.
"You, on the other hand, matter a great deal," the king said. "It is customary for a man of power to announce himself when he enters another country—surely when he comes to the court of its king."
"Who, me? I'm nothing!"
"I think you mean that, in some strange way." Boncorro regarded him narrowly. "I can only say that your humility is excessive. Any wizard who can overcome the spells of allure laid about my women's quarters is no mean wizard indeed."
"Well, it was nice to know Flaminia hadn't really been all that fickle."
"You are a wizard, of course," Boncorro said.
Well, that put it to the test. Matt wished Christianity let you deny it to save your life once or twice—but he had to declare his loyalty. "I am, your Majesty—but you are, too."
"I suppose I must be, since I am not a sorcerer." Boncorro sighed. "But I will not take power from either Heaven or Hell, as you no doubt know."
The chancellor flashed him a glare of annoyance, very quickly masked. Matt had guessed rightly—Rebozo was a sorcerer. "I had gathered that, yes. But how, then, do you work magic?"
"By virtue of a prodigious memory." Revenge could always be postponed in favor of a good chance at shop talk. "You might say I grew up with it—I watched my grandfather work his spells, as I was compelled to do along with half the court, that we might tremble at the mere thought of disobeying him. He never thought that I would remember every word, every gesture, since they were meaningless to me. In like fashion, I saw my father work spells that, he claimed, drew on the power of God or His Saints—in fact, he taught them to me, most earnestly."
Matt had caught the word "claimed." "But you don't believe his power really came from God?" He loved watching Rebozo wince every time he said the word.
"No, no more man I believe that sorcery truly draws on the power of Satan," Boncorro said with a cynical smile. "I do not believe in either one, nor in Heaven or Hell."
"Is that why you're so interested in trying to find a spell that will make your soul cease to exist when you die?" Matt asked slowly.
"Be still!" Boncorro's eyes flashed with anger. With an effort, he controlled himself and forced another smile. "Let us say, at least, that I deny that the sources of magic may be either Good or Evil."
"Then where does the power come from?"
"It is all around us. To ask where it comes from is useless."
Matt remembered going through that stage. "So you just go through rituals you've seen and memorized, and don't worry about why they work?"
"That is the case. What matters 'why'? All that matters is that they do most surely function!"
"Well, it helps to be able to figure out new ones," Matt said slowly, "or to understand why they sometimes don't work out quite the way you expect."
Boncorro gave him another narrow glance. "You speak as one who knows—and only the mightiest of wizards would think so precisely about the origins of his power."
"I have told you!" Rebozo snapped. "He is the Lord Wizard of Merovence!"
Matt stood very still, giving Rebozo a promissory glare.
"Is this true?" Boncorro demanded. "Are you her Majesty's wizard?"
Again that confounded Christian insistence on honesty! If it just hadn't been a direct question... "Yes, your Majesty. I am Matthew Mantrell, wizard to Queen Alisande."
"And her husband!" Rebozo's eyes glittered with satisfaction. "We have caught ourselves a most valuable hostage, your Majesty!"
"Yes, if we can hold him." But Boncorro's sudden enthusiasm seemed to be of another sort entirely. "What would you say is the source of my power, Lord Wizard?"
"The power of kingship itself, your Majesty," Matt answered. "A rightful king gains great power from his land and his people, for he is their head and representative. But his power is even greater if he is properly anointed."
"Be still!" Rebozo's hand cracked across his mouth.
Matt's head rocked; then he glared at the old man. "Try that again, and I promise you can keep the wrist."
"Treat our guest with courtesy, Lord Chancellor!" King Boncorro rebuked. He turned back to Matt. "Though you have been somewhat lacking in courtesy yourself, coming into our kingdom as a spy."
"Well, I'm sorry about that," Matt said, chagrined. "One thing just led to another, you know. I was planning on an official visit later on..."
"If you thought I was not an evil man." Boncorro smiled, without rancor. "Well, what is your judgment?"
"That you are fundamentally decent," Matt said slowly. "In fact, that you are basically a good man, and a good king. That means you are also drawing on the powers of God and His Goodness."
Rebozo let out a keening of pain, but Boncorro shook his head with dogged insistence. "No! I am a man of vice, and have had to work evil to hold my throne, to keep my kingdom orderly and my people prosperous! I have executed murderers and rapists; I have banished priests who preached against me; I have enslaved thieves and pimps for tens of years' hard labor! I am no saint. Lord Wizard."
"I didn't say you were," Matt answered. "But you have had the good of the country at heart."
"Only so that it may increase my wealth and security!"
"If you say so," Matt sighed. "But I gather you have a very deliberate program of reform,
to improve life for everybody. Mind telling me the overall plan?"
Boncorro frowned. "Surely you have seen it for yourself!"
"Yes, I think I've figured out what you're doing and why," Matt said, "but I'd like to find out whether or not I've guessed right. Mind telling it to me clearly and simply?"
Boncorro shrugged. "It is clear and simple indeed, though it took me long enough to reason it out." His smile became quite charming. "I had time enough to devote to it, however, while I waited for my grandfather to die."
The chancellor looked up, startled. Apparently, he hadn't heard this part before.
"I saw the poverty and squalor of the peasants for myself," Boncorro went on, "and heard Baron Garchi, the country lord who fostered me, grumbling often about the grinding burden of the king's taxes and how we should have to manage with less in order to pay them. I could not believe anything but that my grandfather himself must be badly in debt, though his debtors dared not seek payment—and I discovered I was right, when I came to the throne; the treasury was empty, and a host of moneylenders respectfully paid me visits."
"Fortunately, you had figured out what to do about it."
"I had, between lessons and... sports. I reasoned that the king's poverty must have come from the peasants' poverty, for if they had no more to give, he would have no more to take."
Matt nodded. "That makes sense. So you figured Item One was to find ways for the peasants to raise more grain."
"No, to keep more of what they already raised—and Item Two was to make certain their lords would not steal it from them. So I lowered taxes and appointed reeves to see that the lords collected no more than was their due."
The chancellor scowled fiercely.
Boncorro noticed and gave him a smile. "You did not approve of my reforms, did you, Rebozo?"
"Nay, Majesty, and still do not! Disaster shall yet come from these newfangled notions!"
"Not so quickly as it would have come from maintaining the old ones," the king returned.
Well. So Boncorro could enforce his will, even on his inherited Lord Chancellor. Matt decided he must be stronger than he looked—although he had to admit the young man was looking stronger every minute. "What was Item Three?"
Boncorro turned back to him. "Encouragement of trade—for no matter how much wealth my people produce for me, I shall be richer yet if they bring in gold from other lands. I could go on at length, Lord Wizard, but the long and the short of it is this: the king must plan the flow of money as a farmer must plan the ditches he digs to bring water to his crops—and manure them well, as assurance against starvation. The chance of profit encourages the peasants, tradesmen, and merchants to produce more." He gave Matt the winning smile again. "Thus far, it has seemed to work."
Matt nodded. "A planned economy combined with private enterprise—good recipe. You're way ahead of your time, King Boncorro."
"Aye." Rebozo flashed Matt a venomed glance. "But what shall he do when his time catches up with him, eh?"
Boncorro laughed, richly amused. "I shall never fear rashness, Rebozo, for I shall always have you beside me to croak of doom!"
The last thing Rebozo needed was to have somebody encourage the king—so Matt did. "When your time catches up with you, O King, it shall give you the wealth of Midas."
"Yes, it will." Boncorro gave him a keen glance. "Money makes more money, as seeds make more grain—but I see that you know of this, Lord Wizard."
"I know about capital and investment, yes."
"I shall remember that spell." Boncorro's gaze was suddenly intent, totally concentrated as he sucked up Matt's words to engrave them into his memory. "Is there more to it?"
"Yes, but it takes a long time to tell, and I know only a little of it. You seem to be ahead of me, anyway."
"Perhaps," Boncorro said guardedly. "My ideas have yet to prove themselves in fullness."
"Especially since you have more changes to make," Matt inferred.
Rebozo stared in alarm.
Boncorro's lips pursed in amusement. "You are quite perceptive, Lord Wizard. I can see that you would be a dangerous enemy indeed."
"Yes," Matt said, choosing his words carefully, "but I could also be a doughty friend."
"Aye, if we both served the same Power—but since I serve only my own interests, I doubt that we shall."
Rebozo almost collapsed from sheer relief. Matt realized that the chancellor had been afraid he would try to convert Boncorro. "It wasn't just your father and grandfather you copied spells from, was it? You had other wizards show up to try to persuade you to serve God."
Rebozo winced and glared hatred at him.
"Yes, I did," Boncorro said slowly, "though how you could have guessed that is beyond me. Still, a worthy effort deserves a worthy reward, Lord Wizard, so I shall tell you of it. I could scarcely go for a walk in Baron Garchi's woods without a holy hermit popping out of the underbrush to show me wondrous spells as evidence of the power of God. I took their spells, but left their Faith."
"It made sense, while you were still an impressionable young boy," Matt said judiciously. "There was a chance they might have been able to convert you, and through you, when you came to power, the whole kingdom."
"They were fools!" Boncorro's eyes flashed. "They succeeded with my father, and what happened to him? A dagger in the back, an early death! Satan's minions have too firm a hold on this land; they would never have permitted a saintly prince to become king!"
Rebozo relaxed and gave Matt a vindictive glare.
"So," Matt said slowly, "your grandfather was a Satanist who devoted himself to every sin he could think of, and made as many people miserable as he possibly could. That disgusted your father, so he rebelled by becoming holy and devout, dedicating himself to doing good works—and he tried to protect himself by learning as many Good-based spells as he could."
"The more fool he! What profit did it give him?"
"Probably a lot, but not where you can see it." Matt ignored Rebozo's murderous glare and went on. "Be honest. You admired him, didn't you? Even loved him, maybe—and decided you were going to be just like him."
For a moment he thought he had gone too far, for the murderous rage in Rebozo's eyes was echoed in Boncorro's. Matt hastened to add, "But what does a little kid know, huh?"
Boncorro must have missed the sarcasm, because he relaxed, and the mayhem faded from his face. "Even as you say—it was foolishness. I learned that from the point of the assassin's knife that slew my father."
"So you grew up rebelling against both Good and Evil—but you were smart enough not to let it show until Grandpa was dead. Didn't his death make you wonder about the power of Evil?"
"No, but I think that my grandfather began to have second thoughts when Father was slain. Surely he must have realized that his wickedness had not brought him happiness!"
"No, Sire!" Rebozo protested in alarm. "What could make you think that?"
"Why, your own reports, Rebozo." The king turned to his chancellor. "You told me that he was sunk in gloom for the last ten years of his life."
"Nay, Majesty! The revels began again only a few weeks after Prince Casudo's death, and were wilder and more intense than ever!"
"Almost desperate, you might say?" Boncorro smiled thinly. "As if he was striving mightily to gain pleasure, but found he could not, no matter how depraved his sporting?"
"I said no such thing!"
"You did not have to," Boncorro said with a hard smile.
"So the missionaries haven't given up on you yet," Matt said slowly.
The chancellor's head snapped up so sharply that Matt had a wild hope his neck might break. It held, worse luck, but he stared at Boncorro in total and absolute panic.
"You see far more than most men, with very little evidence." Boncorro frowned. "Still, it is even as you have guessed—ever and anon, as I am going through town or forest, an innocent-seeming beggar will pop up to trumpet the virtues of Faith to me. Will they never learn?"
&nb
sp; "Probably not, when your reign is such a huge improvement over your grandfather's—though I do wonder if maybe your reforms haven't produced just as many Hell-bound souls as his cruelty did."
Boncorro looked very interested. "Why, how is that?"
"I've seen it on my way south," Matt said slowly. "The extra money and leisure have made people start itching to have Heaven on Earth. They've heard rumors of the high life here, and are flocking in to get their share of excitement. They're holding a continual party on their way south, with drinking binges and free sex all around. Husbands are leaving their wives, wives are leaving their husbands, and young people are leaving their villages."
"Why, herein is pleasure," Boncorro said, "not misery!"
"Yes, but they're sinning hand over foot—and ending up in misery when they get here. It's almost as if they're using up a lifetime's worth of pleasure in a few months. They come into Venarra broke and exhausted, and find out that the king isn't giving everybody a fortune on a silver platter, and that there aren't even enough honest jobs to go around. They stagger back home to their villages drained and pale, or die on the way."
"He lies, Sire!" Rebozo cried. "They parade in by the score, yes, but many of them stay in Venarra!"
"Yes—in the brothels and the jails. The girls get recruited by the pimps and procuresses, the boys get taken on as apprentice thieves. They make life more dangerous for your average citizens and steal wealth instead of making it."
"They are not forced to it," Boncorro countered, "though I see I must set up some sort of scheme to keep them from having to sell themselves or die."
Rebozo gave Matt a glare that could have blistered his skin, if he had only been able to say aloud the spell that went with it. He couldn't, of course—not with his king listening.
"Perhaps work for the men, building more barracks to hold a larger army," Boncorro mused, "or repairing all the bridges and halls and monuments that my grandfather let fall to ruin—"
"Nonsense," Rebozo scoffed. "Where would we get the money?"
"True." Boncorro nodded. "We must find them work that will bring in its own revenue—that, in addition to public works."
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