The Emperor

by Norman, John;

  “It is a game, a play?” said Otto.

  “A game the empire must best win,” said Iaachus, “a play it is well advised to see performed.”

  Otto and Iaachus were then alone in the throne room, save for the guards at the entrance and exits.

  “I will give no audience tomorrow,” said Otto.

  “As you will,” said Iaachus.

  “Nor the following day,” said Otto.

  “Nor for the foreseeable future?” asked Iaachus.

  “We shall see,” said Otto.

  “I am deep,” said Iaachus, “but I sometimes think you are deeper.”

  “I am a plain, simple man,” said Otto.

  “I am not sure of that,” said Iaachus.

  “How is that?” asked Otto.

  “The matter of the palace library,” he said.

  “I was curious,” said Otto.

  “You cannot read,” said Iaachus.

  “Others can,” said Otto.

  Otto then rose from the throne, cast back the regal robes, and descended the steps of the dais.

  He turned to the Arbiter of Protocol. “I seek your advice,” he said.

  “Your majesty?” said the Arbiter.

  “Come with me,” said Otto. He then, followed by the Arbiter, made his way to a table at the side of the room, near one of the rear exits. On this table there was a medium-sized box, a fourteen- to eighteen-inch cube.

  Otto removed the lid and laid it aside. He then lifted from the box a soft, yellow object, which he placed on the table.

  “What is it?” asked Iaachus.

  “A gift for Aesilesius,” said Otto.

  “What is it?” pressed Iaachus.

  “Surely it is obvious,” said Otto. “It is a stuffed animal, a small stuffed animal, a toy torodont.”

  “What is it—really?” asked Iaachus, frightened.

  “That, I trust,” said Otto.

  “You wanted my advice?” said Iaachus.

  “Yes,” said Otto, “do you think he will like it?”

  “It is truly a toy, and not a killing device?” asked Iaachus.

  “I trust so,” said Otto. “Look, you turn this key, and it moves.”

  Otto then demonstrated this feature of the object. “There is a spring inside,” he said.

  “It will not explode?” said Iaachus.

  “I certainly hope not,” said Otto. “Do you think he will like it?”

  “Any boy of five would find it a delight,” said Iaachus. “Aesilesius might have to be taught how to turn the key.”

  “I can teach him that,” said Otto.

  “The tusks are of cloth,” said Iaachus.

  “Yes,” said Otto, “he will not be able to hurt himself on them.”

  “Torodonts are not yellow,” said Iaachus, “but brown, gray, and sometimes black.”

  “But yellow is such a pretty color,” said Otto. “I do not think he will mind.”

  “He will love it,” said Iaachus.

  “Good,” said Otto.

  “You do not intend to kill him, while he plays with it?” said Iaachus.

  “I do not understand,” said Otto.

  “Many would see to it that possible claimants to the throne are eliminated,” said Iaachus. “Some, upon accession, have killed their brothers. Many would regard it as politically astute to put away young Aesilesius, as naive and harmless as he is, and, indeed, the empress mother, as well. They might constitute rallying points for resistance. Consider potential difficulties with the senate, or ambitious generals on provincial worlds, eager to move on Telnar.”

  “‘Put away’?” said Otto.

  “It might be done easily, privately, in the palace, suffocating by a pillow, strangulation by a bowstring,” said Iaachus, “or publicly, arranging the charade of a trial, finding them guilty of treason, or such, followed by an execution.”

  “A judicious, legalized murder?” said Otto.

  “Precedents exist,” said Iaachus.

  “What do you advise?” asked Otto.

  “Restraint,” said Iaachus.

  “There is strange talk in the palace,” said Otto. “—the matter of the empress mother’s custards.”

  “Absurd talk,” said Iaachus.

  “What do you make of it?” asked Otto.

  “It is false,” said Iaachus.

  “No,” said Otto. “It is true.”

  “Custards, the empress mother’s favorite dessert, mysteriously appearing in her quarters?”

  “Yes,” said Otto, “which happenings, as you have doubtless heard, the empress mother, doors being locked, and such, humbly and gratefully accepts as miracles, blessings attending her progress in Floonian studies.”

  “Absurd,” said Iaachus.

  “What do you make of it?” asked Otto.

  “Such things are smuggled to her by Sidonicus,” said Iaachus.

  “No,” said Otto. “We have made sure of that.”

  “I trust,” said Iaachus, “it is not you who are responsible, amusing yourself in some macabre way, building eagerness and trust in an old woman, who will one day partake of the last custard, thick with poison.”

  “No,” said Otto.

  “If you wished her death, you could bring it about easily, with as little as a gesture, an expression.”

  “So what, then, do you make of it all, dear Arbiter?” asked Otto.

  “The matter is perfectly clear,” said Iaachus. “The empress mother has bribed her guards.”

  “And what of “miracles”?” asked Otto.

  “The empress mother lies, to protect the guards, and assure the continuance of the custards.”

  “The guards claim ignorance,” said Otto.

  “They lie, to avoid a reprimand, to escape discipline,” said Iaachus.

  “The guards are Ulrich, Vandar, Citherix, and others, Otungs, with me since Tangara, since the Killing Time in the Hall of the King Naming. I would place my life in their hands.”

  “They, or at least one of them,” said Iaachus, “have been suborned.”

  Otto picked up the stuffed toy, the small yellow torodont. “Do you really think that Aesilesius will like this?” asked Otto.

  “Yes,” said Iaachus.

  Otto then replaced the toy in the box.

  “What do you think of the matter of the custards?” said Iaachus.

  “I think,” said Otto, “it confirms something I have long suspected.”

  “This has something to do with your inquiries in the palace library?” said Iaachus.

  “Possibly,” said Otto.

  “You will have the gift delivered to Aesilesius?” said Iaachus.

  “I will deliver it myself,” said Otto. “And I am thinking of giving him another gift, as well.”

  “The gift of death?” asked Iaachus, uneasily.

  “Speculate,” said Otto.

  “You unnerve me,” said Iaachus. “I do not understand you. I do not know what you mean.”

  “I profit from your lessons,” said Otto.

  “I do not understand,” said Iaachus.

  “I am making progress, am I not?” asked Otto.

  “In what?” asked Iaachus.

  “In diplomacy,” said Otto.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I advised against this,” said Julian. “It is dangerous.”

  “It is good to get out of the palace,” said Otto.

  “The hour is late,” said Julian. “We should have guards, lanterns.”

  “That would attract attention,” said Otto.

  “Few know you, save by name and title,” said Julian. “But I might be recognized.”

  “Cloaked, and hooded, that is unlikely,” said Otto.

  “We may have be
en observed, leaving the palace,” said Julian.

  “It is unlikely,” said Otto.

  “I do not care for these sorties, either by day or night,” said Julian. “You do not even inform the Arbiter or the Tenth Consul.”

  “The fewer who know the better,” said Otto.

  “Do you not fear assassination?” asked Julian.

  “I am aware of the danger,” said Otto. “Who, if he should occupy a throne, is not?”

  “You put our plans at risk,” said Julian.

  “I will not have the palace be a prison,” said Otto.

  “At least,” said Julian, “this evening you have chosen a gentler, more refined district for this ill-advised, nocturnal wandering.”

  “One wanders with intent,” said Otto.

  “In such dangerous darkness?” said Julian.

  “I do not wish it noted that a certain threshold has been crossed,” said Otto.

  “Then you have a particular destination in mind,” said Julian. “This is not the casual interrogation of encountered citizens, the sitting about in restaurants or taverns, unnoticed, listening to conversations, sounding out the state of the city?”

  “No,” said Otto.

  “High men use spies for that sort of thing,” said Julian.

  “I have spies out,” said Otto.

  “Yet you yourself venture forth,” said Julian.

  “And thus,” said Otto, “may better assess the reports of spies.”

  “You could send another,” said Julian.

  “I am my own best spy,” said Otto.

  “You jeopardize our projects,” said Julian.

  “It is long since I have ridden on Vellmer, or hunted in the forests of Varna,” said Otto.

  “I thought so,” said Julian. “More is involved here than intelligence and statecraft.”

  “The arn bear must leave his cave, the vi-cat its lair,” said Otto.

  “Consider the hour,” said Julian. “Even here, in the Lycon district, we might be set upon.”

  “I have not laughed with steel since a dark night on the north shore of the Turning Serpent,” said Otto.

  “I fear you would welcome such an encounter,” said Julian.

  “There are too many in Telnar,” said Otto, “who kill and rob by night.”

  “It is a large city,” said Julian.

  “Even so,” said Otto.

  “Did Sidonicus know of these wanderings,” said Julian, “we could be overwhelmed by a frenzy of assassins.”

  “But he is a ministrant,” said Otto, “a ministrant of Floon, and such would be contrary to the teachings of Floon.”

  “What has Floonianism to do with Floon?” asked Julian. “Floon, if he ever existed, and is not an invention of miscreants intent on exploiting fear, loneliness, discontent, jealousy, envy, and rage, is ignored, forgotten, and betrayed. He who controls the dagger need not touch it with his own hand.”

  “We are here,” said Otto, stopping before a sturdy portal, and lifting the heavy, hinged knocker from its metal plate to the side.

  “The house of Titus Gelinus,” said Julian.

  Otto then smote the heavy metal knocker against the metal plate, again and again, decisively, even violently.

  “Open,” he said, loudly, authoritatively, “open in the name of the emperor!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Stand them there, in the sun, where I may better see them,” said the house master, reclined in his chair, in the shade, under the porch roof.

  He sipped his drink, looked at the four slaves, placed his drink on the small table to his left, and then turned to the stranger sitting next to him.

  The stranger handed him a paper, which the house master, in turn, handed to the keeper, who looked at the paper, and then nodded, affirmatively.

  The stranger, who wore the sash of a civil servant, of the third level, then rose to his feet and took back the paper from the keeper, which paper he placed in his satchel. He then went to the short line of slaves, and walked about them. They stood, heads bowed. Slaves, they dared not meet the eyes of the free man without permission.

  “They are tanned,” he said.

  “Garden slaves,” said the house master.

  “Are they wholly tanned?” asked the civil servant.

  “Remove your tunics,” said the keeper.

  “You see,” said the house master.

  “Excellent,” said the civil servant.

  “Our keeper is skilled,” said the house master, and the keeper looked away, surely gratified, perhaps embarrassed. “One protects them from being burned, but works them naked, as well. The tanning stocks do the rest.”

  “A uniform shade sells better,” said the civil servant.

  “Of course,” said the house master.

  “They seem uneasy, agitated,” said the civil servant.

  “They are uncertain as to the meaning of their presenting,” said the house master.

  The civil servant then went to each girl, and thrust up her chin, examining her features. None of the slaves met his eyes. When he released her chin, the slave again lowered her head.

  “We will replace the house collars with shipping collars,” said the civil servant. “What is wrong?” he asked one of the slaves.

  “Nothing, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.”

  “Have they been given names?” asked the civil servant.

  “Yes,” said the house master. “We prefer them to have names. It makes it easier to refer to them and command them.”

  “Of course,” said the civil servant, “as with any animal.”

  “We call that one ‘Flora’,” said the keeper.

  “So what is wrong, Flora?” asked the civil servant.

  “Nothing, Master,” she said. “Forgive me, Master.”

  “You are a very pretty beast, Flora,” said the civil servant.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  “You might bring as much as forty darins,” he said.

  “Thank you, Master,” she said.

  Slave girls are vain creatures, and often much concerned with the price they will bring. Even free women, it is said, perhaps standing naked before their mirrors, in the privacy of their own chambers, might wonder about such things. The slave girl, of course, publicly exhibited and vended, need not leave such matters to idle conjecture.

  “That one,” said the keeper, “is Renata; the slender, dark-haired one is Sesella, and the blonde is Gerune.”

  “Gerune looks barbarian,” said the civil servant.

  “She doubtless was,” said the keeper.

  “Are you a barbarian?” asked the civil servant.

  “I was once Drisriak,” she said, “and then of the Ortungen.”

  “It must be quite an honor for you, a mere barbarian,” said the civil servant, “now to belong to gentlemen.”

  “A slave is a slave,” she said. “It does not matter to whom she belongs.”

  “It is rumored,” said the house master, “that even women of the empire sometimes fall into the hands of barbarians.”

  “Is it true?” the civil servant asked Gerune.

  “Yes, Master,” she said, “and they are well-owned. They whimper, and beg, and roll and crawl, and lick and kiss, and, supine, leap uncontrollably, obediently and pleadingly, to the least touch of their masters.”

  “Shall I beat her?” asked the keeper.

  “No,” said the civil servant.

  “They cannot help themselves,” said Gerune, “no more than I, we are slaves, only slaves.”

  “I see,” said the civil servant.

  “Slavery is the natural destiny, and fulfillment, of the female,” said Gerune. “She is whole only in a man’s collar.”

  “Perhaps I should call this to
the attention of some free women I know,” said the civil servant.

  “Better to strip them, put them to their knees, and collar them,” said Gerune.

  “I take it,” said the house master, “all is in order.”

  “Yes,” said the civil servant.

  “What do you think of them?” asked the house master.

  “Superb,” said the civil servant. “They are part of a consignment of six. We have already picked up the others, one from Tangara, one from Varna.”

  “Kneel,” said the keeper, “in line, your right side to the porch, your wrists behind your back.”

  “May I speak, Master?” asked Renata, on her knees, her hands behind her, of the civil servant.

  “If you wish,” he said.

  “We have heard little on Vellmer,” she said. “How goes the empire?”

  “Some things change,” he said, “some things remain the same.”

  “Thank you, Master,” said Renata, tears in her eyes.

  “May I speak, Master?” asked Flora.

  “If you wish,” he said, at the same time turning about and signaling to two men to the side, two who had accompanied him to the house, who carried some collars, chains, and some light, linked bracelets, suitable for confining the wrists of female slaves. In the distance, near the villa gate, there was a small slave wagon, it drawn by two horses.

  “You spoke of shipping collars,” said Flora.

  “Yes,” he said. “You are all going on a little trip.”

  “We do not understand,” said Flora. “We have, or have had, Masters. Are they done with us? Do they no longer want us? Have they sold us? Are we to be sold? Are we to be sold on Vellmer? Are we to be sold elsewhere? Where are we to be taken? What is to be done with us?”

  “You will find out,” he said.

  “Master!” begged Flora.

  “You are slaves,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, we are slaves!” wept Flora. “We will find out! We are slaves! It will be done with us as masters please.”

  “Be silent,” he said.

  “Yes, Master,” she said.

  Shortly thereafter the hands of the slaves were braceleted behind their backs, light shipping collars were locked on their necks, and the house collars were removed. In this way, there was not an instant in which a slave’s neck was not in one collar or another. They were then fastened together by a neck chain, ordered to their feet, and directed, single file, toward the waiting slave wagon, near the villa gate.