by Scott Meyer
Lord Kank nodded as if he had known this without being told.
“He wants Hennik to be confident, but off balance,” Lord Jakabitus said softly. “Hennik has won every match he’s played so far, but always through trickery, and all but the first two by using the same trick. Hartchar and Rayzo figure he’ll use it again now, and they have a plan for if he does. If he tries some different tactic, then it will come down to skill. Rayzo’s been training. Hennik hasn’t.”
“I knew I wouldn’t regret choosing him as a champion,” Lord Kank said. “You must be very proud of the boy.”
Lady Jakabitus usually avoided watching sports, finding it to be at once brutish and embarrassing, but Lord Kank’s words and her son’s behavior at lunch had framed this particular match in a much more noble light. She wasn’t watching her son being forced to suffer through a mortifying ordeal. She was watching him choose to endure and triumph over a mortifying ordeal. “We are quite proud of him,” Lady Jakabitus said, smiling.
“Yes,” Lord Jakabitus said, making sure everyone heard, “we are very proud of Rayzo.”
Umily handed Lord Jakabitus a tall glass of thick red liquid, which he took without so much as a glance. His attention was elsewhere. Umily offered both Lady Jakabitus and Lord Kank a drink as well, but they both declined, focusing instead on the match.
Hennik had a firm grip on Rayzo’s right wrist in preparation for the challenge round. Hennik tipped his head toward the spectators. “They’re trying to give you confidence,” he said, sneering.
Rayzo made no reply.
“It won’t work,” Hennik said.
Rayzo said nothing.
Hennik said, “Shut up.”
Rayzo said, “No.”
The round began.
Hennik’s signature move—the move that had officially been named after him—was to fall to the ground, then propel himself between the opponent’s legs and spring up behind the opponent, using the opponent’s own arm to immobilize him and cause him pain. The move had been outlawed in regulation play, but Hartchar had made a point of keeping it legal here, where she set the rules.
Predictably, Hennik dropped to the ground, but Rayzo had adjusted his stance so that his feet were aligned one in front of the other instead of shoulder width apart. Hennik couldn’t scuttle between them, and would need to come up with an alternate plan.
Hennik thought, I have to think fast, but that was as far as he got.
Rayzo lunged into a spinning leap and landed with one foot on each side of Hennik’s back, still holding Hennik’s left arm in a painful twist. As soon as Rayzo dropped his weight onto Hennik’s back, Hennik released Rayzo’s wrist, a reflex reaction to make the pain in his shoulder stop, but he couldn’t get his arm in place to support himself in time, so he fell gracelessly to the mat, face first.
A chime played, and the segment of the mat Hennik’s face contacted lit up, signifying points scored for Rayzo. This was repeated many times as Rayzo lifted Hennik’s head up and mashed it back down into the mat.
Hennik finally managed to get his arms in position and lifted his body, as if doing a pushup. It was a desperate bid to get his face away from the mat. Hennik was in an untenable position, and Rayzo could have easily pulled Hennick’s arms out from under him or waited for his arms to give out under their combined weight. Instead he rolled backwards, down Hennik’s back and legs, and landed just behind Hennik’s feet. He grasped Hennik’s ankles and lifted, preparing to drag Hennik into the gutter.
Hennik felt Rayzo lift his legs. He knew what was coming next, but he couldn’t just passively accept this one-way trip to defeat. He had to do something, and he had to do it now.
Hennik pressed down with his arms again, lifting his torso from the mat. He was suspended like a table, his arms supporting his head and shoulders and Rayzo lifting the rest of him. Hennik pulled forward, struggling to resist Rayzo’s attempt to fling him into the gutter.
To Hennik’s surprise, Razo stopped pulling. He felt an instant of triumph, which was quickly shattered when Rayzo started pushing on his ankles instead. As his center of gravity shifted out over his hands, Hennik had a simple choice—move his hands forward or fall face first back onto the mat. He chose to move his hands forward. He did this repeatedly, and Rayzo pushed him around the mat like a wheelbarrow.
In a sense, Hennik had gotten what he wanted. He had chosen not to passively accept his defeat; instead, he was taking an active role in it.
Rayzo did not grandstand. Not much, at least. He pushed Hennik around just enough to prove that he was in control, then he steered Hennik into the patch of gutter directly in front of his parents and Lord Kank.
Hennik, of course, saw where he was headed and resisted enough to fall on the mat, scoring several more points for Rayzo as his face skidded off the mat and into the gutter.
Hartchar, Lord Kank, and Lord and Lady Jakabitus all cheered and congratulated Rayzo, who just looked relieved.
Lord Kank leaned forward and looked down into the gutter, from which Hennik glared up at him. Hennik was trying to think of a way to spin this turn of events to make it seem like losing and being humiliated had been his plan all along, but he was finding it difficult.
“Don’t look so glum, young Hahn,” Kank said. “Everybody experiences setbacks. You should think of this as a marvelous opportunity to better yourself.”
Behind Lord Kank, Lord and Lady Jakabitus were still reveling in their son’s victory. Lord Jakabitus had exhausted every positive adjective in his vocabulary and realized that, while cheering, he had shouted himself hoarse. Absentmindedly, he lifted his almost-forgotten glass to his lips and took a sip.
Everybody has had the experience of taking a mouthful of one beverage when they were expecting a different one. Everybody knows how disorienting and panic-inducing it can be, even if the surprise drink is something pleasant. Lord Jakabitus unexpectedly found himself with a mouth full of Chowklud. His instincts took over immediately, and he spit it out into the gutter.
He didn’t deliberately aim for Hennik, so only about half of the Chowklud hit Hennik’s face. Hennik shrieked, first from shock, then from the indignity of being spat upon, then from the searing pain in his eyes, nose, and open mouth.
“And here you’ve been given another marvelous opportunity!” Lord Kank said. “What a lucky day this is.”
58.
“Where’s Shly?” Umily asked, storming into the kitchen.
“I’m right here,” Shly said. She had been leaning against the wall near the door, watching Barsparse and Ebbler work, making occasional conversation with Ebbler.
Of course, she was supposed to have gone to her quarters to rest, but Shly had explained the truth to Glaz. As Glaz understood why prolonged exposure to Kreet would make anyone feel ill, she’d let Shly off the hook just this once. After all, she had bigger problems. Watching Gint attack a fresh side of beef made that painfully clear.
Barsparse had attempted to correct Gint’s technique, but his multiple regenerations had driven the capacity for subtlety out of him. Glaz was disturbed by the way he hacked at the meat, but what worried her more was the way he froze when he realized Umily was upset.
“Shly,” Umily shouted, “you said you’d set the bulkfab to His Lordship’s favorite.”
“I did.”
“Then why did it give him a glass of that damned Cappozzian pain sauce?”
Ebbler stopped working and Barsparse slowed noticeably, which was as close to stopping as she ever seemed to get. They were listening, but neither felt they would help matters by getting involved just yet.
Kreet trailed Umily in and stood along the wall, observing. Things hadn’t worked out as he’d planned, but at least it would be entertaining to watch the fallout.
“You gave Lord Jakabitus a glass full of Chowklud?” Shly asked, incredulous.
“Yes! You think
it’s funny?” Umily replied.
“No, it’s horrifying! Did you set it to Chowklud?”
“No! Why would I do that? You told me to leave the setting where you had it, and I did.”
In the far corner of the kitchen, Gint slowly turned away from the side of beef he’d been butchering, still holding the knife.
In a low voice, Glaz said, “Gint, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Gint remained still.
“Are you saying that the bulkfab malfunctioned?” Umily asked.
“I don’t know what happened,” Shly said, “but I want to find out.”
“As do I,” Lady Jakabitus said as she, Migg, and Phee entered the kitchen.
The room went silent in an instant. Everyone, even Barsparse, dropped what he or she was doing and stood at attention.
Lady Jakabitus smiled disarmingly and said, “But before we solve the case of the surprise Chowklud, we have some more pleasant business at hand. I’ve been trying all day to find an excuse to sneak down here and welcome our Gint back from the front. Where is he?”
Gint said, “I am here, Milady.” He was much taller, noticeably bulkier, and his face was far more scarred than when last she’d seen him. He was wearing a blood-smeared apron and holding a dirty butcher knife. He started to approach Lady Jakabitus, but Glaz put a hand on his shoulder and gently took the knife away. He proceeded to Her Ladyship and dropped to one knee.
“Gint,” Her Ladyship said. “That’s not necessary. Please stand up.”
Gint said, “As you command, Milady,” and stood at attention.
“You appear to have grown,” Lady Jakabitus said.
“Yes, Milady, thanks to your science corps. Every time I got killed, they brought me back stronger than before.”
“Every time,” Lady Jakabitus said. “Here I thought you’d gotten so big from eating your own cooking.” Lady Jakabitus was shifting gears, hoping to hide her discomfort behind humor. Unfortunately, nobody made any sound that could be in any way interpreted as a laugh, and like all unsuccessful camouflage, her efforts only drew more attention to what she was trying to hide.
“Not hardly, Milady,” Gint said. “Your boys in the science corps got rid of most of my cooking knowledge. Cooking wouldn’t help me kill the Hahn, Milady. Unless I were to poison them, that is.”
“I see,” Her Ladyship said.
“In fact, I have some ideas along those lines, if you’ve got a few minutes.”
“That sounds . . . interesting.”
“Yeah, of course, making a lethal gas isn’t really cooking, if you’re being technical about it, but I guess it could be classified as an aroma.”
“Thank you, Gint,” Her Ladyship said. “I look forward to discussing your ideas, but I don’t really have the time at the moment.”
Gint’s expression hardened. He looked away from Lady Jakabitus, staring off into the middle distance. “Sure, Your Ladyship. I understand. You have important business. No time to waste on a simple soldier who’s died many times in your name.”
Lady Jakabitus blanched, then looked as if she might respond. Migg cut in before she could, saying, “Milady, perhaps we should tend to the business at hand so we can get back to your guest.”
“Yes,” Lady Jakabitus said. “Quite.” She cast her eyes around the room until she found the person she was looking for.
“Umily?”
“Yes, Milady.”
“Why did you serve my husband a glass of liquid agony?”
While everybody else was focused on Lady Jakabitus and Umily, Glaz kept her eyes locked on Gint. He was standing at attention, but his knuckles were white, and he was watching and listening with terrible intensity.
“It was an accident, Milady. I would never do any harm to His Lordship on purpose.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know that no real damage was done. As we speak, Lord Kank and his Master of Formalities are helping Frederain and Hennik wash the Chowklud out of their mouths and eyes. I am curious as to how an accident like this could have happened.”
Shly stepped forward. “Milady, I am responsible, not Umily. It was my duty to dispense His Lordship’s beverage, but Umily was covering for me. I had thought I’d left the bulkfab set to His Lordship’s usual, but clearly I was mistaken.”
Lady Jakabitus did not look angry, but she didn’t look not angry either. “How could you possibly be mistaken about something so basic? Your entire job consists of working that machine. You must remember. Now, tell me honestly, did you set the machine properly or not?”
Shly grimaced. “I did, Milady.”
“Good. I believe you. Umily. Did you change the setting?”
“No, Milady.”
“Hmm. I believe you too. Not only do you both seem sincere, but the act itself makes no sense. It’s so easily traced, and would so obviously cost those responsible their jobs.”
Glaz saw the muscles in Gint’s shoulders tense. She prayed that security could intervene in time if things turned ugly, because after watching Gint hack at the carcass, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop him.
“Someone must have done this deliberately,” Lady Jakabitus said. “I would hate to think that the bulkfabs have started dispensing that awful sauce as a default.”
Lady Jakabitus paused, enjoying the tension in the air before releasing it with her next comment. “If only security were able to review all of the events that transpired in the common areas of the palace,” she said in a theatrically loud voice, “and could show us what happened.”
Instantly, as if someone, somewhere, had simply been awaiting their cue, a square patch of one of the walls went black, then displayed a high-quality, close-up image of Kreet tampering with Shly’s bulkfab. The perspective changed to a close-up of Kreet’s hand as it reset the device to dispense Chowklud.
Lady Jakabitus was clearly going to have something to say about this, but she never got the chance. Gint darted toward Kreet and grasped him firmly by the wrist and upper arm, as if his limb were an axe handle. What he did next didn’t seem like it was an attempt to hurt Kreet. It was more as if Gint were trying to hurt the wall by striking it with Kreet.
Kreet slammed face-first into the wall and sagged against it, groaning, while Gint reversed his grip and whipped Kreet around in a half circle to strike the wall again, this time with his back. Kreet’s legs lost all strength, and he crumpled to the floor, but Gint still had his arm, and several creative ideas about what to do with it. He adjusted his footing and in one smooth motion turned his back, hauled Kreet up and over his shoulder, and leaned forward at the waist, creating enough momentum to send Kreet soaring through the air to slam down onto the floor in front of Gint.
Gint let go of Kreet’s arm and reared back, preparing to rain blows down on the other man’s head, but was stopped by the four security guards who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Gint struggled for a moment, stumbling around the room with the guards hanging from his upper body like poorly fitted garments, before they managed to tranquilize him.
Kreet, whom they also intended to apprehend, did not require tranquilizing.
59.
Lady Jakabitus walked, silent and glassy-eyed, through the Grand Gallery. Migg and Phee followed at a respectful distance.
It was dusk, which was widely considered the best time to be in the atrium of the Old Palace. Because of its height, you could stand on the ground floor, at which level the sun had already set, and look up at the towering column of windows to see the reddish-orange light of sunset suffusing the space above your head. Riding the escalator up, when timed properly, would not only provide a great view of the sunset, but would prolong the very sunset you were watching.
Her Ladyship noticed none of this as she rode the floating stone escalator to the palace’s upper levels. Migg and Phee were on the next slab, having decided to give Her Ladyship
her space.
“It’s amazing, Phee,” Migg said in a whisper. “Some things just want to happen.”
“What do you mean?” Phee asked.
“Sometimes, you have the simplest plan, and nothing goes right. Other times, you have an idea that seems like it will take years of hard work and luck to implement, but everything just falls into place.”
When they reached the second floor, Migg sped up to join Lady Jakabitus.
“Milady, I would suggest we stop for a moment so you can collect your thoughts before we reconnect with your guest.”
“What?” Her Ladyship said. “Oh, yes, that’s probably wise.”
“Splendid, Milady. If you’ll just follow me.” Migg led Lady Jakabitus through the nearest door.
And of course it’s the library, Phee thought as she followed them in.
Lady Jakabitus sagged into a chair. “He was the gentlest, sweetest young man,” she said after a moment. “He was an artist. Of course, you never met him before, Migg, but Phee, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, Milady,” Phee agreed.
“I did this to him,” Lady Jakabitus said.
“You didn’t start the war,” Migg said.
“No, but I haven’t ended it, and I sent him into it. I made him what he is now, and he’s just one of thousands.”
“It’s an ugly mess, Milady. All wars are.”
“Yes, but this is my ugly mess.” Lady Jakabitus looked on the verge of tears. Phee had never seen her so distraught.
Migg said, “Milady, you do have the power to end the war. Soon, bloodlessly, and without a loss of face for House Jakabitus.”
“So you’re finally ready to tell me your plan?” Lady Jakabitus asked.
“I think, Milady, that you’re ready to hear it.”
“Perhaps I am. Okay, Migg, out with it.”
“We must arrange for Master Rayzo to marry a member of House Hahn.”
For several seconds, Lady Jakabitus was silent, concentrating all her energy on simply looking horrified. Finally she gasped, “You can’t be serious!”
